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

~~~PART THIRTY-SIX~~~


BOWLING ALLEY PARKING LOT

Jamesy, Watson and The Len emerge from the alley, each holding his leatherette ball satchel.


WATSON: A tree of life, Len. To all who cling to it.


They react to the droning synthesizer-based technopop coming from a boom box.

REVERSE

Frassmo, Curiousiop and Georgie Franz, in shiny black leather, stand in a line facing them in the all-but-deserted lot. Behind them orange flames lick gently at The Len's car, which has been put to the torch. The orange flames glow on the monkey's creaking leather. Next to the car are three motorcycles, parked in a neat row. The Len looks sadly at the burning car.


LEN: They finally did it. They killed my ****ing car!

FRASSMO: Vee vant zat money, Shelbowski.

CURIOUSIO: Ja, uzzervize vee kill ze girl!

GEORGIE FRANZ: Ja, it seems you forgot our little deal, Shelbowski.

LEN: You don't have the ****ing girl, dip****s! We know you never did! So you've got nothin' on my Johnson.


LEN

The monkeys in black, stunned, confer amongst themselves in German-Irish. Under his breath:


JAMESY: Are these the Nazi Monkeys, Watson? ?


Watson answers, also sotto voce, his eyes still on the three monkeys:


WATSON: They're nihilists, Jamesy, nothing to be afraid of.


The German-Irish Monkeys stop conferring.


FRASSMO: Vee don't care. Vee still vant zat money or vee **** you up, boyo.

CURIOUSIO: Ja, vee still vant ze money. Vee sreaten you.


He pulls an uzi from under his coat. It glints in the firelight.


WATSON: **** you. **** the three of you.

LEN: Hey, cool it Watson.


Watson ignores The Len, addresses the German-Irish Monkeys:


WATSON: There's no ransom if you don't have a ****ing hostage. That's what ransom is. Those are the ****ing rules.

FRASSMO: Zere ARE no ROOLZ!

WATSON: NO RULES! YOU CABBAGE-EATING SONS-OF-*******--

CURIOUSIO: His girlfriend gafe up her toe! She sought we'd be getting million dollars! Iss not fair!

WATSON: Fair?!?! WHO'S THE ****ING NIHILIST HERE?!?! WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCH OF ****ING CRYBABIES?!

LEN: Hey, cool it Watson. Listen, pal, there never was any money. The Big Shelbowski gave me an empty briefcase, man, so take it up with him, man!

WATSON: AND I WOULD LIKE MY UNDIES BACK!


The German-Irish Monkeys confer again, in German-Irish.

Jamesy is visibly frightened.


JAMESY: Are they gonna hurt us, Watson? ?


WATSON'S TONE IS GENTLE:


WATSON: They won't hurt us, Jamesy. These monkeys are cowards.


THE CONFERENCE ENDS:


FRASSMO: Okay. Vee take ze money you haf on you und vee call it eefen, boyos!

WATSON: **** you.


The Len is digging into his pocket.


LEN: Come on, Watson, we're ending this thing cheap.


Watson's eyes, burning with hatred, are locked on Frassmo's.


WATSON: What's mine is mine.

LEN

 

~~~PART THIRTY-SEVEN~~~


HOLD IN BLACK

THE LEN AND WATSON

---

They sit side by side, forearms on knees, in a nondescript waiting area. Watson bounces the fingertips of one hand off those of the other. They sit. They wait.

A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters. He eyes The Len's bowling attire and sunglasses and Watson's army surplus, but doesn't make an issue of it.


MAN: Hello, gentlemen. You are the bereaved?

LEN: Yeah, man.

MAN: Francisco Nolte. Pleased to meet you.

LEN: Sammy Shelbowski.

WATSON: Watson B'omarr.

LEN: The Len, actually. Is what, uh...

NOLTE: Excuse me? ?

LEN: Nothing.

NOLTE: Yes. I understand you're taking away the remains.

WATSON: Yeah.

NOLTE: We have the urn.


He nods through a door. Another man in a black suit enters to carefully deposit a large silver urn on the desktop.


NOLTE: And I assume this is credit card? ?


He is vaguely handing a large leather folder across the desk to whomever wants to take it.


WATSON: Yeah.


He takes it, opens it, puts on reading glasses that sit halfway down his nose, and inspects the bill with his head pulled back for focus and cocked for concentration. Silence. The Len smiles at Nolte. Nolte gives back a mortician's smile. At length Watson holds the bill towards Donnelly, pointing.


WATSON: What's this? ?

NOLTE: That is for the urn.

WATSON: Don't need it. We're scattering the ashes.

NOLTE: Yes, so we were informed. However, we must of course transmit the remains to you in a receptacle.

WATSON: This is a hundred and eighty dollars...

NOLTE: Yes sir. It is our most modestly-priced receptacle.

LEN: Well can we--

WATSON: A hundred and eighty dollars?!

NOLTE: They range up to three thousand...

WATSON: Yeah, but we're--

LEN: Can we just rent it from you?

NOLTE: Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental house.

WATSON: We're scattering the ****ing ashes!!!

LEN: Watson--

WATSON: JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T MEAN WE'RE SAPS!


Watson pounds his fist angrily on the desk.


NOLTE: Sir, please lower your voice--

LEN: Hey man, don't you have something else you could put it in?

NOLTE: That is our most modestly-priced receptacle....

WATSON: ***DAMNIT!


Watson pounds the desk again.


WATSON: Is there a Hy-Vee around here?!


To Be Continued...

 

~~~PART THIRTY-EIGHT~~~


POINT SULLIVAN -- DAY

It is a high, wind-swept bluff. Watson and The Len walk towards the lip of the bluff. Parked in the background is one lonely car, Watson's van.

Watson is carrying a bright red coffee can with a blue plastic lid. When they reach the edge the two men stand awkwardly for a beat. Finally:


WATSON: I'll say a few words.


The Len clasps his hands in front of him. Watson clears his throat.


WATSON: Jamesy was a good bowler, and a good man. He was.....He was one of us. He was a man who loved the outdoors, and bowling, and as a farmer explored the farmlands of southern Iowa from Sioux City to the bowels of Des Moines. And he was an avid bowler. And a good friend. He died--he died as so many of his generation, before his time. In your wisdom you took him, Lord. As you took so many bright flowering young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc and Hill 364! These young men gave their lives. And so did Jamesy....Jamesy who loved bowling.


Watson clears his throat.


WATSON: And so, Willie--James--Oxnard, in accordance with what we think your dying wishes might well have been, we commit your mortal remains to the bosom of...


Watson is peeling the plastic lid off the coffee can.


WATSON: ...the Cedar River, which you loved so well.


AS HE SHAKES OUT THE ASHES:


WATSON: Goodnight, sweet prince.


The wind has blown all of the ashes into The Len, standing just to the side of and behind Watson. The Len stands, frozen. Finished eulogizing, Watson looks back.


WATSON: ****, I'm sorry, Len.


He starts brushing off The Len with his hands.


WATSON: ***damn wind.


Heretofore motionless, The Len finally explodes, slapping Watson's hands away.


LEN: ***damnit, Watson! You ****ing @$$hole!

WATSON: Len! Len, I'm sorry!


The Len is near tears.


LEN: You make everything a ****ing travesty!

WATSON: Len, I'm--it was an accident!


The Len gives Watson a furious shove.

LEN: What about that **** about Vietnam!?!?

WATSON: Len, I'm sorry--

LEN: What the **** does ANYTHING have to do with Vietnam?!?! What the **** were you talking about?!


Watson for the first time is genuinely distressed, almost lost.


WATSON: **** Len, I'm sorry--

LEN: You're a ****, Watson!


He gives Watson a weaker shove. Watson seems dazed, then wraps his arms around The Len.


WATSON: Awww, **** it, Len. Let's go bowling...


To Be Concluded...

 

~~~PART THIRTY-NINE~~~


THE LANES THE LEN AND WATSON BOWLING

We watch each of them glide across the floor, release, follow through--gracefully. We have never seen them bowl before. They are quite good. Each wears a black armband on his bowling shirt.

BAR AREA

The Len walks up to the bar.


LEN: Two oat sodas, Gary.

GARY: Right. Good luck tomorrow.

LEN: Thanks, man.

GARY: Sorry to hear about Jamesy...

LEN: Yeah. Well, you know, sometimes you eat the bar, and, uh.


"The Wizard of OZ" has come up on the jukebox, and The Stranger ambles up to the bar.


THE STRANGER: Howdy do, Len.

LEN: Oh, hey man, how are ya? I wondered if I'd see you again.

THE STRANGER: You know I wouldn't miss the semis. How things been goin'?

LEN: Ahh, you know. Strikes and gutters, ups and downs.


The Stranger's eyes crinkle merrily.


THE STRANGER: Sure, I gotcha.


The bartender has put two gleaming beers on the counter.


LEN: Thanks, Gary...Take care, man, I gotta get back.

THE STRANGER: Sure. Take it easy, Len--I know that you will...


THE LEN, LEAVING, NODS:


LEN: Yeah man. Well, you know, The Len abides.


Gazing after him, The Stranger drawls, savoring the words:


THE STRANGER: The Len abides...


She gives her head a shake of appreciation, then looks into the camera.


THE STRANGER: I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there, The Len, takin' her easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes The finals. Welp, that about does her, wraps her all up. Things seem to've worked out pretty good for The Len'n Watson, and it was a purt good story, dontcha think? Made me laugh to beat the band. Parts, anyway. Course--I didn't like seein' Jamesy go. But then, I happen to know that there's a little Shelbowski on the way. I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' it-self, down through the generations, westward the wagons, across the sands a time until-- aw, look at me, I'm ramblin' again. Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed yourselves.


She brushes her hat brim with a fingertip as we begin to pull back.


THE STRANGER: Catch ya further on down the trail.


As we pull-away The Stranger swivels in to the bar. As her voice fades:


THE STRANGER: ...Say friend, ya got any more a that good sarsaparilla?...


THE END


CAST OF CHARACTERS

(in order of appearance)

The Len...................................Leonard_Shelby
The Blonde Gorilla....................Ian Ziering
Woo........................................Luke Perry
Watson B'omarr.......................B'omarr
Jamesy...................................RidingMyCaroselOnYou
Williamandt............................wstraka5
The Big Shelbowski..................cbjedi
Katie Shelbowski.....................Katya_Jade
Mr. Frassmo............................Himself
The Acid-Tripping Hyena...........Eric Roberts
Richie Simmons.......................Himself
Mr. Roeper..............................Himself
Christopher Lowell...................Himself
Martha Stewart.......................Herself
Younger Cop...........................Carrot Top
Older Cop................................G

 

Great story Sammy

You can tell you are a writer

 

Thanks, Jenny. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

 

Drama! Suspense! Monkeys!

Nice Job, Sammy.

 

Drama! Suspense! Monkeys!






Thanks, Kate! I'm glad you enjoyed it!