Week 7, Weekly Task: THE BIG SHELBOWSKI...

***THE BIG SHELBOWSKI***

by Sam Harken


A Parody of

"The Big Lebowski"

by Ethan & Joel Coen


~~~PART ONE~~~


We are floating up a steep and scrubby slope. We hear male voices gently singing "The Wizard of OZ" and a beautiful, sexy, Western-accented voice--TheEmperorsHand's, perhaps:


VOICE-OVER: A way out midwest there was a fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Sammy Shelbowski. At least, that was the handle his lovin' parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Shelbowski, he called himself The Len. Now, Len, that's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about The Len that didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, like-wise. But then again, maybe that's why I found the place s'durned innarestin'.


We top the rise and the farmland vastness of Waterloo, Iowa at twilight stretches out before us.


VOICE-OVER: They call Waterloo the City of Hicks and Cows. I didn't find it to be that exactly, but I'll allow as there are some nice folks there. 'Course, I can't say I seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain't never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I'll tell you what, after seeing Waterloo and thisahere story I'm about to unfold--wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever' bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any a those other places, and in English too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feelin' like the good Lord gypped me.


INTERIOR - HY-VEE SUPERMARKET

It is late, the supermarket all but deserted. We are tracking in on a twentyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the dairy case. He is The Len. His rumpled look and relaxed manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.

He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their expiration dates.


VOICE-OVER: Now this story I'm about to unfold took place back in the early two-thousands--just about the time of our conflict with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies. I only mention it 'cause some- times there's a man--I won't say a hee-ro, 'cause what's a hee-ro?--but sometimes there's a man.


The Len glances furtively about and then opens a quart of milk. He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.


VOICE-OVER: And I'm talkin' about The Len here-- sometimes there's a man who, wal, he's the man for his time'n place, he fits right in there--and that's The Len, in Waterloo.


The Check-out girl waits, arms folded. A small black-and white TV next to her register shows George W. Bush on the White House lawn with helicopter rotors spinning behind him.


GEORGE W. BUSH: This aggression will not stand....This will not stand! These weapons of mass-destrucion will not stand!


The Len, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at the little customer's lectern. Milk beads his mustache.


VOICE-OVER: ...and even if he's a lazy man, and The Len was certainly that--quite possibly the laziest in Blackhawk County.


The Len has his Hy-Vee Shopper's Club card to one side and is making out a check to Hy-Vee for sixty-nine cents.


VOICE-OVER: ...which would place him high in the runnin' for laziest Iowa-wide--but sometimes there's a man....sometimes there's a man. Wal, I lost m'train of thought here. But--aw hell, I done innerduced him enough.


LEN'S HOUSE

The Len is going up the walkway of a small Hick-ravaged bungalow court. He holds the paper sack in one hand and a smal

 

Can't wait for the rest

 

Quite an interesting mind you got there, Sammy babe.

 

I'm a little confused, but a good job so far!

 

Thanks, gals.


Hmmm...by some of the confusion I can only assume that you three have never seen The Big Lebowski...tisk, tisk...


Also...the plan is....to do the ENTIRE movie. So hopefully it will all make sense to you at the end, Kas...//crosses fingers//

 

@ Sammy

I told you I've never seen it

 

~~~PART TWO~~~


BOWLING PINS

Scattered by a strike. Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes, sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.

The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a distant jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.

A lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.


MAN: Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight! Mark it, Len.


We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man nursing a large plastic cup of Pabst. He has dark worried eyes and a goatee. Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts. He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves cut off over an old bowling shirt. This is Watson. He squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he addresses The Len at the scoring table. The Len, also holding a large plastic cup of Pabst, wears some of its foam on his mustache.


WATSON: So these were valued Star Wars Videos?


He elaborately clears his throat.


WATSON: These were, uh--

LEN: Yeah man, they really tied my movie collection together--

WATSON: These were a valued, uh.


Jamesy, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Watson.


JAMESY: What tied your movie collection together, Len?

WATSON: Were you listening to the story, Jamesy?

JAMESY: What--

WATSON: Were you listening to The Len's story?

JAMESY: I was bowling--

WATSON: So you have no frame of reference, Jamesy. You're like a child who wanders in in the middle of a movie and wants to know--

LEN: What's your point, Watson?

WATSON: There's no ****ing reason--here's my point, Len--there's no ****ing reason--

JAMESY: Yeah Watson, what's your point? ?

WATSON: Huh? ?

LEN: What's the point of--we all know who was at fault here, so what the **** are you talking about?

WATSON: Huh? No! What the **** are you talking--I'm not--we're talking about unchecked aggression here--

JAMESY: What the **** is he talking about? ?

LEN: My Star Wars video collection.

WATSON: Forget it, Jamesy. You're out of your element!

LEN: This Chinaman gorilla who peed on my SW video collection, I can't go give him a bill so what the **** are you talking about?

WATSON: What the **** are you talking about?! This Chinaman gorilla is not the issue! I'm talking about drawing a line in the sand, Len. Across this line you do not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman gorilla is not the preferred, uh....Asian-American gorilla, please.

LEN: Watson, this is not a gorilla who built the rail-roads, here, this is a gorilla who peed on my--

WATSON: What the **** are you--

LEN: Watson, he peed on my Star Wars video collection--

JAMESY: He peed on The Len's Star Wars video collection--

WATSON: JAMESY, YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT! This Chinaman gorilla is not the issue, Len.

LEN: So who--

WATSON: Sam Shelbowski. Come on. This other Sammy Shelbowski. The millionaire.

LEN: That's ****ing interesting, man...That's ****ing interesting...

WATSON: He's gonna be easier to find anyway than these two, uh. these two...And he has the wealth, uh, the resources obviously, and there is no reason, no ****ING reason, why his wife should go out and owe money all over town

 

~~~PART THREE~~~


CLOSE ON A PLAQUE

We pull back from the name SAMMY SHELBOWSKI engraved in silver to reveal that the plaque, from Bean Planter's Club International, honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.

Reflected in the plaque we see The Len entering the room with a YOUNG MAN named Williamandt. We hear the two men talk:


WILLIAMANDT: And this is the study. You can see the various commendations, honorary degrees, et cetera.

LEN: Yes, uh, very impressive.

WILLIAMANDT: Please, feel free to inspect them.

LEN: I'm not really, uh.

WILLIAMANDT: Please! Please!

LEN: Uh-huh.


We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:


WILLIAMANDT: That's the key to the city of Dunkerton, which Mr. Shelbowski was given two years ago in recognition of his various farming, uh.

LEN: Uh-huh.

WILLIAMANDT: That's a Waterloo Chamber of Commerce Farming Achiever award, which is given--not necessarily given every year! Given only when there's a worthy, somebody especially--

LEN: Hey, is this him with RuPaul?

WILLIAMANDT: That is indeed Mr. Shelbowski with the first transsexual, yes, taken when--

LEN: Shelbowski on the right? ?

WILLIAMANDT: Of course, Mr. Shelbowski on the right, Mrs....uhhh...Mr....uhhh...Miss Paul on the left, taken when--

LEN: So he's crip...he's handicapped, huh?

WILLIAMANDT: Mr. Shelbowski is disabled, yes. And this picture was taken when RuPaul was first "lady" of the nation of transsexuals, yes, yes? Not of California.

LEN: Far out.

WILLIAMANDT: And in fact he met privately with the Gary Coleman, though unfortunately there wasn't time for a photo opportunity.

LEN: RuPaul's pretty good.

WILLIAMANDT: Wonderful "woman". We were very--

LEN: Are these...?

WILLIAMANDT: These are Mr. Shelbowski's children, so to speak--

LEN: Different mothers, huh?

WILLIAMANDT: No, they--

LEN: I guess he's pretty, uh, racially pretty cool--

WILLIAMANDT: They're not his, heh-heh, they're not literally his children; they're the "Little Shelbowski Rural Achievers", country children of promise but without the--

LEN: I see.

WILLIAMANDT: --without the means for higher education, so Mr. Shelbowski has committed to sending all of them to college.

LEN: Jeez. Think he's got room for one more?

WILLIAMANDT: One--oh! Heh-heh. You never went to college?

LEN: Well, yeah I did, but I spent most of my time occupying various, um, administration buildings--

WILLIAMANDT: Heh-heh--

LEN: --smoking thai-stick, breaking into the ROTC--

WILLIAMANDT: Yes, heh--

LEN: --and bowling. I'll tell you the truth, Williamandt, I don't remember most of it.--Jeez! **** me!


Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed Farmer's LIFE Magazine cover which is headlined "ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI ACHIEVER"? Oddly, The Len's sunglassed face is on it; we realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the display is mirrored.

We hear the door open and the whine of a motor. The Len, wearing shorts and a bowling shirt, turns to look.

So does Williamandt, the young man we've been listening to. He wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.

Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized wheelchair--Sammy Shelbowski.


SHELBOWSKI: Okay sir, you're a Shelbowski, I'm a Shelbowski, that's terrific. I'm very busy as I'm sure you are. So what can I do

 

~~~PART FOUR~~~


WALKWAY

A houseman with a boxed-up Star Wars video collection on one shoulder goes down a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a swimming pool to a garage. Williamandt and The Len follow.


WILLIAMANDT: Manolo will load it into your car for you, uh, Len.

LEN: It's the LeBaron.


LEN'S POINT OF VIEW

Tracking toward the pool. A young woman sits facing it, her back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.

Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the pool.


WILLIAMANDT: Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see you again some time, Len.

LEN: Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the neighborhood...and I need to use the john...


CLOSER TRACK

Arcing around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the nails emerald green.

THE LEN

Looking.

WIDER

The young woman looks up at him. She is in her early twenties.

She leans back and extends her leg toward The Len.


YOUNG WOMAN: Blow on them.


The Len pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over them.


LEN: Huh? ?


She waggles her foot and giggles.


YOUNG WOMAN: G'ahead. Blow.


The Len tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.

LEN: You want me to blow on your toes?

YOUNG WOMAN: Uh-huh....I can't blow that far...


The Len looks over at the pool.


LEN: You sure he won't mind?


The monkey bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out. He is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair. He wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open, shirtless, exposing fine blond chest fur. One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty whiskey bottle bobs.


YOUNG WOMAN: Mr. Frassmo doesn't care about anything. He's a nihilist.

LEN: Ah, that must be exhausting...


The young woman smiles.


YOUNG WOMAN: You're not blooowing...


Williamandt nervously takes The Len by the elbow.


WILLIAMANDT: Our guest has to be getting along, Mrs. Shelbowski.


The Len grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still looking at the young woman.


LEN: Oh! You're Katie!

KATIE: I'll make you a balloon animal for a thousand dollars.


Williamandt releases a gale of forced laughter.


WILLIAMANDT: Ha-ha-ha-ha! Wonderful woman. Very free-spirited. We're all very fond of her.

KATIE: Williamandt can't watch though...Or he has to pay a hundred.

WILLIAMANDT: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That's marvelous...


He continues to lead away The Len, who looks back over his SHOULDER:


LEN: I'm just gonna find a cash machine...


To Be Continued...

 

~~~PART FIVE~~~


BOWLING PINS

Scattered by a strike.

THE BOWLERS

Jamesy calls out from the bench after rolling a strike:


JAMESY: HOO! I'm throwin' rocks tonight!--You guys are dead in the water!!


Watson, just arriving, is carrying a leatherette satchel in one hand and a large plastic carrier in the other.


WATSON: Alright! Way to go, Jamesy! If you will it, Len, it is no dream.

LEN: You're ****ing twenty minutes late. What the **** is that? ?

WATSON: Theodore Herzel.

LEN: Huh?

WATSON: State of Israel. If you will it, Len, it is no--

LEN: What the ****'re you talking about? The carrier. What's in the ****ing carrier?

WATSON: Huh? Oh--Cynthia's acid-tripping hyena. Can't leave him home alone or he eats the furniture.

LEN: What the **** are you--

WATSON: I'm saying, Cynthia's acid-tripping hyena. I'm looking after it while Cynthia and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.

LEN: You brought a ****ing acid-tripping hyena bowling?

WATSON: What do you mean "brought it bowling"? I didn't rent it shoes. I'm not buying it a ****ing beer. He's not gonna take your ****ing turn, Len.


He lets the wild yapping dog out of the carrier. It scoots angrily around the bowling table, sniffing at bowlers and wagging its tail.


LEN: Hey, man, if my ****ing ex-wife asked me to take care of her ****ing acid-tripping hyena while she and her boyfriend went to Honolulu, I'd tell her to go **** herself. Why can't she board it?

WATSON: First of all, Len, you don't have an ex, secondly, it's a ****ing show hyena with ****ing papers. You can't board it. It gets upset, its hair falls out.

LEN: Hey man--

WATSON: ****ing dog has ****ing papers...--Over the line!


Richie Simmons turns from his last roll to look at Watson.


RICHIE: Huh?

WATSON: Over the line, Richie! I'm sorry but that's a foul.

RICHIE: Bull****. Eight, Len.

WATSON: Excuse me! Mark it zero. Next frame.

RICHIE: Bull****, Watson!

WATSON: This is not 'Nam. This is bowling. There are rules.

LEN: Come on Watson, it's just--it's Richie. So his toe slipped over a little, it's just a game, man...

WATSON: This is a league game. This determines who enters the next round-robin, am I wrong? ?

RICHIE: Yeah, but--

WATSON: Am I wrong!?

RICHIE: Yeah, but I wasn't over. Gimme the marker, Len, I'm marking it an eight.


Watson takes out a gun.


WATSON: Richie my friend, you're entering a world of pain.

LEN: Hey Watson--

WATSON: Mark that frame an eight, you're entering a world of pain.

RICHIE: I'm not--

WATSON: A world of pain.


Watson primes the gun and points it at Richie's head.


WALTER: HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY? AM I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO GIVES A **** ABOUT THE RULES? MARK IT ZERO!


The acid-tripping hyena is excitedly yapping at Watson's elbow, making high body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.


LEN: Watson, they're calling the cops, put the piece away...

WATSON: MARK IT ZERO!

RICHIE: Watson--

WATSON: YOU THINK I'M ****ING AROUND HERE? MARK IT ZERO!!


Watson hold the gun inches from Richie's face, who nervously takes the pen from The Len's hand and

 

~~~PART SIX~~~


LEN'S HOUSE

A large, brilliant television is pulsating with the sounds of Star Destroyers flying overhead in A New Hope. The bass is so loud it is rumbling the entire pad.

At the table next to the answering machine The Len is mixing kalhua, rum and milk.

The answering machine beeps as he is listening to his messages.


VOICE: Len, this is Richie. Look, I don't wanna be a ****-on about this, and I know it wasn't your fault, but I just thought it was fair to tell you that Gene and I will be submitting this to the League and asking them to set aside the round. Or maybe forfeit it to us--

LEN: ****!

VOICE: --so, like I say, just thought, you know, fair warning. Tell Watson...


A beep.


ANOTHER VOICE: Mr. Shelbowski, this is Williamandt at, uh, well--at Mr. Shelbowski's office. Please call us as soon as is convenient.


Beep.


ANOTHER VOICE: Mr. Shelbowski, this is Fred Dynarski with the Southern Blackhawk County Bowling League. I just got a, an informal report, uh, that a uh, a member of your team, uh, Watson B'omarr, drew a loaded weapon during league play--


We hear the doorbell.

THE DOOR

It swings open to reveal an wild-eyed old man wearing a neckerchief.


LEN: Hiya Mr. Roeper.

MR. ROEPER: Len, I finally got the venue I wanted. I'm Performing my dance quintet--you know, my cycle--at Young Arena on Tuesday night, and I'd love it if you came and gave me notes.


The Len takes a swig of his White Russian.


LEN: Sure Mr. Roeper, I'll be there.

MR. ROEPER: Len, uh, tomorrow is already the tenth.

LEN: Far-out.


The two stare at each other for a moment.


LEN: Oh...oh yeah...ok, man...

MR. ROEPER: Just, uh, just slip the rent under my door.

LEN: Yeah, okay.


BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM

The voice continues on the machine.


VOICE: --serious infraction, and examine your standing. Thank you.


Beep.


VOICE: Mr. Shelbowski, Williamandt again. Please do call us when you get in and I'll send the limo. Let me assure you--I hope you're not avoiding this call because of the Star Wars videos, which, I assure you, is NOT a problem. We need your help and, uh--well we would very much like to see you. Thank you. It--It's Williamandt...


Beep.


To Be Continued...

 

I'm still confused, but you're doing a great job!

 

Ummm...what's so confusing? ? I'm doing the task...a movie parody...


Thanks though. I appreciate it.

 

~~~PART SEVEN~~~


TRACKING

We are pushing Williamandt down the high-ceilinged hallway. Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano. Williamandt talks back over

HIS SHOULDER:


WILLIAMANDT: We've had some terrible news. Mr. Shelbowski is in seclusion in the West Wing...

LEN: Huh.


Williamandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors. The music washes over us as we enter a great study where Sammy Shelbowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly into a fire, listening to polka.

WILLIAMANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:


WILLIAMANDT: Mr. Shelbowski.


Sammy Shelbowski waves The Len in without looking around.


SHELBOWSKI: It's funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, cattle herds bested, obstacles overcome. I've accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What...What makes a man, Mr. Shelbowski?

LEN: Len.

SHELBOWSKI: Huh? ?

LEN: I don't know, sir.

SHELBOWSKI: Is it...is it, being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn't that what makes a man?

LEN: Sure. That and a pair of testicles...


Shelbowski turns away from The Len with a haunted stare, lost in thought.


SHELBOWSKI: You're joking. But perhaps you're right.


The Len thumps at his chest pocket.


LEN: Mind if I do a jay?

SHELBOWSKI: Katie...


He turns back around and the firelight shows teartracks on his cheeks.


LEN: 'Scuse me? ?

SHELBOWSKI: Katie Shelbowski....She is the light of my life. Are you surprised at my tears, sir?


The Len lights the jay and takes a drag.


LEN: Ah, ****in' A...

SHELBOWSKI: Strong men also cry....Strong men also cry.


He clears his throat.


SHELBOWSKI: I received this fax this morning.


Williamandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and hands it to The Len.


SHELBOWSKI: As you can see, it is a ransom note. Sent by cowards. Men who are unable to achieve on a level field of play. Men who will not sign their names. Weaklings. Bums.


THE LEN EXAMINES THE FAX:


THE LEN: (reading silently) WE HAVE KATIE. GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-CONSECUTIVE ONES. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. NO FUNNY STUFF.

LEN: Bummer. That's a bummer, man...That's a bummer...


Shelbowski looks soulfully at The Len.


SHELBOWSKI: Williamandt will fill you in on the details...


He wheels his chair around to once again gaze into the fire. Williamandt tugs at The Len's shirt and points him back to the hall.


HALLWAY

The soprano's singing is once again faint. Williamandt's voice is hushed:


WILLIAMANDT: Mr. Shelbowski is prepared to make a generous offer to you to act as courier once we get instructions for the money.


LEN: Why me, man? ?


The Len takes another drag from his jay.


WILLIAMANDT: He suspects that the culprits might be the very people who, uh, soiled your S

 

Not really sure if anyone is reading this due to the lack of responses...but hey! That never got me down before...I'm too stubborn to quit. So I continue to "plug-away"...


~~~PART EIGHT~~~


BOWLING PINS

CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.

WIDER

Still in slow motion. We are looking across the length of the bowling alley at a tall, thin, effeminate bowler displaying perfect form. He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.

FAST TRACK IN

On The Len, sitting next to Watson in the molded plastic chairs. The Len is staring off towards the bowler.


LEN: ****ing Lowell--that creep can roll, man--


BACK TO THE BOWLER

Displaying great slow-motion form as The Len and Watson's conversation continues over.


WATSON: Yeah, but he's a ****ing pervert, Len.

LEN: Huh?

WATSON: The man is a sex offender. With a record. Spent six months in Clarinda for exposing himself to one of his designer friend's eight-year-old kid.


FLASHBACK

We see Lowell, in pressed jeans and a stretchy sweater, walking up a stoop in a residential neighborhood and ringing the bell.

The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.


LEN: Huh.

WATSON: When he moved down to Cedar Falls he had to go door-to-door to tell everyone he's a pederast.


The door swings open and a beer-swilling middle-aged man looks dully out at Lowell, who looks hesitantly up.


JAMESY: What's a pederast, Watson? ?

WATSON: Shut the **** up, Jamesy.


PINS

scattered by a strike.

LOWELL

wheeling and thrusting a black gloved fist into the air. Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his first name, "Christopher".

BACK TO WATSON AND THE LEN

They have been joined by Jamesy.


WATSON: Anyway. How much they offer you?

LEN: Twenty grand, man! And of course I still keep the Star Wars videos....

WATSON: Just for making the hand-off?

LEN: Yeah.


He slips a little black box out of his shirt pocket.


LEN: ...They gave Len a beeper, so whenever these guys call--

WATSON: What if it's during a game? ?

LEN: I told him if it was during league play--


Jamesy has been watching Lowell.


JAMESY: If what's during league play? ?

WATSON: Life does not stop and start at your convenience, you miserable piece of ****.

JAMESY: What's wrong with Watson, Len? ?

LEN: I figure it's easy money, it's all pretty harmless. I mean she probably kidnapped herself.

WATSON: Huh?

JAMESY: What do you mean, Len?

LEN: Star Wars-pee-ers did not do this. I mean look at it. Young trophy wife. Marries a guy for money but figures he isn't giving her enough. She owes money all over town--

WATSON: That...****ing...*****!

LEN: It's all a ***damn fake. Like Lenin said, look for the person who will benefit. And you will, uh, you know, you'll, uh, you know what I'm trying to say--

JAMESY: I am the Walrus.

WATSON: That ****ing ****!

LEN: Yeah.

JAMESY: I am the Walrus.

WATSON: Shut the **** UP, Jamesy! V.I. Lenin! Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!

JAMESY: What the **** is he talking about? ?

WATSON: T

 

Not really sure if anyone is reading this due to the lack of responses...but hey! That never got me down before...I'm too stubborn to quit. So I continue to "plug-away"...

I am

I'm just waiting for you to finish before I respond again

 

Nice Sammy.

 

Thanks, gals.


I was just messin' around anyways...



So...has anyone been able to tell which character that they are yet?

 

Other than a mention in the first installment, I don't think you've characterized me yet.

 

Sure I have, Katie baby. Check installment number four near the end...

 

So...has anyone been able to tell which character that they are yet?

I haven't

 

Behind him stands his partner, Martha Stewart, a short, fat, stuck on herself interior designer.

Hey!

 

I haven't

You will...in time...


Hey!

What?!?! ?





~~~PART NINE~~~


LEN'S BUNGALOW

We are looking down at The Len who is prone on the SW videos. His eyes are closed. He wears a Walkman headset. Leaking tinnily through the headphones we can just hear an intermittent clatter.

In his outflung hand lies a cassette case labeled BUTLER COUNTY LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.

The Len absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a hall rumbling down the lane. On its impact with the pins, The Len opens his eyes.

He screams.

A brunette woman looms over him. Next to her a young man in paint-spattered denims stoops and swings something towards the carrier.

The sap catches The Len on the chin and sends his head thunking back onto the SW videos.

A million stars explode against a field of black. We hear the "Ompah-Loompah" from The Wizard of OZ.

The black field dissolves into the pattern of the SW video collection. The SW videos roll away to reveal an aerial view of the city of Waterloo at twilight, moving below us at great speed.

The Len is flying over the city, his arms thrown out in front of him, the wind whipping his hair and billowing his bowling shirt. He looks up.

Ahead the mysterious brunetee woman wings away, riding on The Len's SW video collection like a sheik on a magic carpet. She is outpacing us, growing smaller.

The Len does a couple of lazy crawl strokes and then notices that a Pabst Keg has materialized in his forward hand. His bemusement turns to concern over the aerodynamic implications just as the keg seems to suddenly assume its weight, abruptly snapping his arm down, and him after it. He is falling. From a high angle we see The Len hurtling down toward the city, dragged by the keg.

A reverse looking up shows The Len hurtling toward us out of the inky sky, his eyes wide with horror. Led by the Pabst keg, he zooms past the camera leaving us in black.

We hear a distant rumble, like thunder. Dull reflections materialize in the darkness. They are glints off the shiny surface of an oncoming Pabst keg.

We pull back to reveal that the blackness was the inside of a ball return, and the gleaming Pabst keg is being regurgitated up at us, overtaking us.

The Len looks up, up, up at the looming keg, its mass rolling a huge shadow across his face.

The gleaming keg shows three dead black holes rolling toward us --finger holes.

The largest--thumb--hole rolls directly over us, engulfing us once again in black..

The black rolls away and we are spinning--spinning down a bowling lane--our point of view that of someone trapped in the thumbhole of the rolling keg.

We see the receding bowler spinning away. It is the brunette woman, performing her follow-through.

Floor spins up at us and then away; ceiling spins up and away; the length of the alley with pins at the end; floor; ceiling; approaching pins; again and again.

We hit the pins and clatter into blackness. We hear pins spin, hit each other and drop.

We hear an irritating, insistent beeping.

FADE IN

We are close on The Len, upside down. As the picture fades in the bowling noises continue, but filtered and faint. They come from The Len's Walkman, the headset of which is now askew, with one arm off his ear.

As The Len opens his eyes we spiral slowly upward to put him right side around. His head is now resting against hardwood floor, not SW videos.


LEN: Oh...man...


He raises himself onto his elbows and massages the red lump on his jaw. The beeper on his belt is blinking red in sync with the continuing irritating beeps.

WIDE ON THE ROOM

An end table is upset, but otherwise the furniture is in place. The Star Wars video collection[/b

 

~~~PART TEN~~~


LEN'S CAR


We pan off the Dude, driving, to his point of view through the front windshield. The headlights play over Watson standing waiting in front of the storefront of Mister Money Pawn Shops. Though he is wearing khaki shorts and shirt, the fact that he holds a battered brown briefcase makes him look oddly like a commuter. He also holds an irregular shape bundled in brown wrapping paper.

The car stops in front of him and he opens The Len's door and hands in the briefcase.


WATSON: Take the ringer. I'll drive.


The Len takes the briefcase and slides over.


LEN: The what? ?

WATSON: The ringer! The ringer, Len! Have they called yet?


The Len opens the briefcase and paws bemusedly through it as the car starts rolling.


LEN: What the hell is this? ?

WATSON: My dirty undies. Laundry, Len. The whites!

LEN: Agh--


He closes the briefcase.


LEN: Watson, I'm sure there's a reason you brought your dirty undies--

WATSON: Thaaaat's right, Len. The weight. The ringer can't look empty.

LEN: Watson--what the **** are you thinking?

WATSON: Well you're right, Len, I got to thinking. I got to thinking why should we settle for a measly ****ing twenty grand--

LEN: We? What the **** we? You said you just wanted to come along--

WATSON: My point, Len, is why should we settle for twenty grand when we can keep the entire million? Am I wrong?

LEN: Yes you're wrong. This isn't a ****ing game, Watson--

WATSON: It is a ****ing game. You said so yourself, Len--she kidnapped herself--

LEN: Yeah, but--


The phone chirps. Len grabs it.


LEN: Len here.

VOICE: (German/Irish accent) Who is this? ?

LEN: Len the Bagman, man. Where do you want us to go?

VOICE: ...Us?

LEN: ****....Uh, yeah, you know, me and the driver. I'm not handling the money and driving the car and talking on the phone all by my ****ing--

VOICE: Shut the **** up. (Beat) Hello?

LEN: Yeah?

VOICE: Okay, listen--


Watson looks over at The Len and bellows:


WATSON: Len, are you ****ing this up?!?

VOICE: Who is that?

LEN: The driver, man...I told you--


Click. Dial tone.


LEN: Oh ****! Watson...

WATSON: What the **** is going on there?

LEN: They hung up, Watson! You ****ed it up! You ****ed it up! Her life was in our hands, man!

WATSON: Easy, Len.

LEN: We're screwed now! We don't get **** and they're gonna kill her! We're ****ed, Watson!

WATSON: Len, nothing is ****ed. Come on. You're being very unLen. They'll call back. Look, she kidnapped her--


The phone chirps.


WATSON: Ya see? Nothing is ****ed-up here, Len. Nothing is ****ed. These guys are a bunch of ****ing amateurs--

LEN: Shutup, Watson! Don't ****ing say peep when I'm doing business here.

WATSON: (patronizing) Okay, Len. Have it your way.


The Len unclips the phone from the battery pack.


WATSON: But they're amateurs.


The Len glares at Watson.

I

 

~~~PART ELEVEN~~~


BOWLING LANE

A ball rumbles in to scatter ten pins.

WATSON.

He turns from the lane to where The Len sits in the nook of molded plastic chairs. The Len listlessly holds the portable phone in his lap. It is ringing.


WATSON: Aitz chaim he, Len. As the ex used to say...

LEN: What the **** is that supposed to mean? What the ****'re we gonna tell Shelbowski? ?

WATSON: Huh? Oh, him, yeah. Well I don't see, um-- what exactly is the problem? ?


The portable phone stops ringing.


LEN: Huh? The problem is--what do you mean what's the--there's no--we didn't, uhh--they're gonna kill that poor woman--

WATSON: What the ****'re you talking about? That poor woman--that poor ****--kidnapped herself, Len. You said so yourself--

LEN: No, Watson! I said I thought she kidnapped herself! You're the one who was so ****ing certain--

WATSON: That's right, Len, 100% certain--


Jamesy is trotting excitedly up.


JAMESY: They posted the next round of the tournament--

WATSON: Jamesy, shut the f--when do we play? ?

JAMESY: This Saturday. Lowell and--

WATSON: Saturday! Well they'll have to reschedule.

LEN: Watson, what'm I gonna tell Shelbowski?

WATSON: I told that **** down at the league office--who's in charge of scheduling?

LEN: Watson--

JAMESY: Burkhalter.

WATSON: I told that kraut a ****ing thousand times I don't roll on shabbas!

JAMESY: It's already posted.

WATSON: WELL THEY CAN ****ING UN-POST IT!!

LEN: Who gives a ****! Watson...What about that poor woman? What do we tell--

WATSON: C'mon Len, eventually she'll get sick of her little game and, you know, wander back--

JAMESY: How come you don't roll on Saturday, Watson? ?

WATSON: I'm shomer shabbas.

JAMESY: What's that, Watson? ?

LEN: Yeah, and in the meantime what do I tell Shelbowski?

WATSON: Saturday, Jamesy, is shabbas. The Jewish day of rest. That means I don't work, I don't drive a car, I don't ****ing ride in a car, I don't handle money, I don't turn on the oven, and I sure as **** DON'T ****ING ROLL!!!

JAMESY: Sheesh.

WATSON: SHOMER SHABBAS!!!

LEN: Watson, how--

WATSON: Shomer ****ing shabbas.


The Len gets to his feet with the portable phone.


LEN: That's it. I'm out of here.

WATSON: For Christ's sake, Len.


Watson and Jamesy join The Len as he walks out of the bowling alley.


WATSON: Hell, you just tell him--well, you tell him, uh, we made the hand-off, everything went, uh, you know--

JAMESY: Oh yeah, how'd it go?

WATSON: Went alright. Len's car got a little dinged-up--

LEN: But Watson, we didn't make the ****ing hand- off, man! They didn't get the ****ing money and they're gonna--they're gonna--

WATSON: Yeah yeah, "They're gonna kill that poor woman."


He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.


WATSON: "They're gonna Kill that poor woman..."

JAMESY: Watson, if you can't ride in a car, how d'you get around on Shammas--

WATSON: Really, Len, you surprise me. They're not gonna kill ****. They're not gonna do ****. What can they do? ****in' amateurs. And meanwhile, look at the bottom line. Who's sitting on a million **