#luckyscript

Lucky x Scripter for pride month or whatever

FIRST SCENE IDEA OF A SCREENPLAY BEING WORKED OUT. 

EXT.  THE FLAT ASS STREETS OF THE MOST BORING TOWN IN THE HISTORY OF TOWNS, WICHITA FUCKING KANSAS — DAY.

MUSIC IN: Mr. Mister “Broken Wings”

Welcome to Wichita. It’s balls-sticking hot. And the sun hangs over like a giant “fuck you” to the Earth. A funeral procession enters into frame driving through the streets toward a jerkoff’s final resting place. 30 or so cars snake through the beige streets of a beige town.

At the end of the procession of standard automobiles is a brand spanking new bright yellow Ferrari. Or what’s left of it at least.

It’s barely hanging in there as it tries to keep up with the line of cars. The state of it is fucked. The grill is smashed in. The driver’s side door is missing. And the word “Pussytard” is emblazoned on the side.

EXT.  ST. ANTHONY’S CEMETERY.

A gold framed photo of the douchiest smirking dickhead you ever saw sits by a casket covered in flowers. A pastor says some canned stuff about life and death.

EXT.  OUTSIDE OF THE FERRARI

Broken Wings (a fucking classic!) is blaring from the speakers abruptly turns off. A cigarette drops and his snuffed out by one of two dirty ass converse that hit the pavement.

EXT.  FUNERAL

Paul walking from his fucked up Ferarri, giant bottle of Ten High Whiskey in hand, stumbles toward the mourning mini-crowd dressed in black. Stunned, the pastor’s gospel trails to mumbles. All eyes are on Paul as he takes a swig of Whiskey, spits it at an old lady, unbuckles his belt, drops trou and pisses a thick and ropey stream all over the casket...then pukes.