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Other than the fact Benz55 didn't use time travel as a way to go back and bone his mom when she was a teenager.
I think his brother might have met Doc Brown and used the DeLorean to go back in time to bone his mom....with Benzs55 being the result. So his brother is also his father. Sometimes his kookiness seems like the result of inbreeding.
You should write the screenplay for Dumb & Dumbererer.
nah, instead ill write the screenplay for how I got a car and naysayers said nay. I fixed the car and made a profit. Put it down on a house and lived happily ever after.
Unless your talking about Mikey. In which case, he has been doing that for about 2000 posts.
Last edited by mercedesbenzs55; May 15, 2016 at 11:40 AM.
DUMB & DUMBERER
An Original Screenplay
By
Mike & Dave
Based on a thread by Benz55
FADE IN:
EXT. SALVAGE YARD - DAY
Rows and rows of wrecked cars, barely discernible from one another.
PUSH IN on a row, until a BLACK MERCEDES S CLASS SEDAN is full frame.
ANGLE: REAR 3/4
To reveal EXTENSIVE DAMAGE. FREEZE...
CROSSFADE TO:
INT. SUBURBAN RENTAL HOME - NIGHT
A COMPUTER SCREEN displays the frozen image of the wrecked car, as part of an AUCTION LISTING. PULL BACK to reveal a tousle haired MAN, 30's. This is BENZ55. He is of Russian descent, lanky, uninsured.
He STARES LONGINGLY at the image of the wrecked car, even as he DRINKS VODKA STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE. His SWEATY HAND hovers over the computer mouse.
INSERT: COMPUTER MONITOR
CLOSE IN ON A BUTTON: "CLICK NOW TO BID". THE CURSOR MAKES SLOW HESITANT CIRCLES AROUND THE BUTTON...
BACK TO SCENE. BENZ55 takes another long pull off the VODKA BOTTLE. He is visibly intoxicated. He struggles to focus his vision and then WITH LASER FOCUS he steadies the mouse and:
INSERT: SUPER TIGHT ON "BID NOW" BUTTON. IT'S THE SIZE OF A FOOTBALL FIELD. THE CURSOR IS A 747. WE HEAR A MOUSE CLICK LIKE A THUNDER CLAP AND THE BID NOW BUTTON READS:
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR BID!"
BACK TO SCENE:
SPENT, BENZ55 COLLAPSES ON THE KEYBOARD AND PASSES OUT.
----
First draft of the open. Thoughts/revisions?
Last edited by Mike5215; May 15, 2016 at 12:14 PM.
nah, instead ill write the screenplay for how I got a car and naysayers said nay. I fixed the car and made a profit. Put it down on a house and lived happily ever after.
Unless your talking about Mikey. In which case, he has been doing that for about 2000 posts.
This story has lots of holes in it. How do you intend to make a profit on a car that you guaranteed not to misrepresent? Then, how do you expect to profit on your wreck when you'll have more money into it than a non-wrecked comparable car? Lastly, do you really think that buying a house will make your life happily ever after? Boy have you got a lot to learn.
I had my agent reach out to Yakov Smirnoff's people about possibly getting a read for the male lead. Also, Marvel Studios may pick up an option on it, since apparently they can make a movie about ANYTHING and it does $100M domestic.
Dude this is Hollywood. Bet your *** I wrote us in...
EXT. SALVAGE YARD - DAY
A GRUBBY TRAVEL TRAILER serves as an office. It has seen better days. A big BASSET HOUND sleeps sprawled out at the door.
INT. TRAVEL TRAILER - DAY
A makeshift desk surrounded by snack food boxes and strewn papers. At the desk, a SCRUFFY MAN, smoking a cigar, feet up. A WORKER ENTERS.
SCRUFFY MAN
(Without looking up)
What?
WORKER
What's the deal with that black Mercedes? Crusher or what?
SCRUFFY MAN
No. Some kid out in Oregon bought it for
Ten Grand. He's gonna fix it with a mallet.
The WORKER begins laughing hysterically. Tears roll down his face.
The SCRUFFY MAN begins laughing as well.
THE WORKER struggles to catch his breath. The sight of the SCRUFFY MAN brings another convulsion of laughter. Both approach the point of no return.
ANGLE ON: The WORKERS PANTS CROTCH as a DARK LIQUID STAIN blooms.
ANGLE ON: SCRUFFY MAN, as the sight and smell of the WORKER pissing himself puts him over the edge.
SUDDENLY, the SCRUFFY MAN'S face registers HORROR. He SPITS OUT THE CIGAR and CLUTCHES HIS CHEST. His EYES ROLL OVER WHITE. In a single spasm he KEELS OVER DEAD.
The WORKER passes out from a lack of breath and crumples to the floor. A large POOL OF URINE continues to spread out around him.
CUT TO:
EXT. SALVAGE YARD - DUSK
YELLOW CRIME SCENE TAPE surrounds the TRAILER. Police cars, a CORONERS VAN, an AMBULANCE.
The WORKER sits in the open bay of the ambulance, drinking a bottled water, shaken. An EMT tends to him.
WIDE SHOT: SALVAGE YARD ENTRANCE as
A BLACK S600 barrels down the road, leaving a swirling vortex of dust in its 12 CYLINDER WAKE.
TRACK as the S600 races into the CRIME SCENE and lurches to a dust cloud stop.
Two HANDSOME, VIRILE MEN step out. They are DETECTIVES DAVEW and MIKE5215. Both could be models or Chippendale dancers, except for their RUGGED LOOKS and NO NONSENSE demeanor. These guys are PROS.
A UNIFORMED OFFICER greets the men as they duck under the crime scene tape.
DAVEW
Whadda we got?
OFFICER
Pretty bad Detective. I got a dead John Doe in the camper, and this worker guy damn near croaked from exhaustion and dehydration.
MIKE5215
(To Dave)
Sounds like our friend "The Russian" has been at it again.
Last edited by Mike5215; May 15, 2016 at 02:44 PM.
You should be proud so far. You ignored some bad advice (as it turned out), got a great car, great steering wheel and a little refer as a cherry on top.
I have two people on ignore but I can only guess what nice things the lower classes have to say!
Mike and Dave, ALX and a TALL MAN IN A DARK SUIT. This is NYPHOTOGUY.
ALX
Tell me right now you two dick-heads aren't still working The Russian case!
MIKE
We caught a homicide. Just following leads.
DAVE
(gestures toward NYPHOTOGUY)
Who's the stiff, Sarge?
NYPHOTOGUY begins to speak. ALX cuts him off.
ALX
This is NYPHOTOGUY, from the FBI Intetpol joint task force work group. They have jurisdiction on the Russian.
DAVE
Tell me when you get to the part where we give a f---
ALX
Oh, you two cowboys are about to give a serious F---.
NYPHOTOGUY
We've been tracking the Russian for months. You guys walked right into an undercover op. That worker who pissed his pants? He's a federal agent, and his cover damn near got blown.
MIKE
Blow THIS!
DAVE
He doesn't mean that literally. His dick's shot.
ALX
Shut up, both of you. I want you numb-nuts to liaison with the task force. Give them everything we've got on the Russian. Understood?
DAVE
Technically Sarge, Mike has the numb nuts. Mine still work.
ALX
Get the f--- out of my sight before I kick your working nuts up into your working throat!
You should be proud so far. You ignored some bad advice (as it turned out), got a great car, great steering wheel and a little refer as a cherry on top.
I have two people on ignore but I can only guess what nice things the lower classes have to say!
Stop being a tool and interrupting us. We've got some serious business going on here. You are getting the chance to see a blockbuster film in its infancy.
Aerial tracking shot. The S600, hidden lights flashing red and blue through the grill slats, glides effortlessly in the fast lane as lesser cars scurry out of its way.
INT. S600 - DAY
Dave at the wheel, Mike shotgun. Both steely eyed.
MIKE
Three dead salvage yard owners in two weeks. What's The Russian up to?
DAVE
Don't know. But I'm about to find out.
MIKE
Our favorite snitch? You know where he is?
Dave gives a KNOWING LOOK.
SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. COUNTY JAIL - DAY
As the 600 pulls up to the guard gate, past a sign: COUNTY DETENTION CENTER.
ANGLE ON:
Guard shack, as the 600 passes through, barely slowing.
CUT TO:
INT. JAIL INTERVIEW ROOM -DAY
Mike and Dave are waiting inside as a GUARD walks a hand cuffed inmate into the room. The inmate is a FRAIL, EFFEMINATE MAN, 20's, DISHEVELED and UNSHAVEN with BEADY EYES that DART FURIOUSLY. This is COMPADDICT. He SEES DAVE and immediately turns to leave. The guard pushes him back in and forces him into a chair.
MIKE
(To the guard)
Uncuff him.
GUARD
You sure?
DAVE
Yeah. We're not nine year old girls.
We'll be safe.
The Guard removes the cuffs and exits.
DAVE
The Russian is active, killing salvage yard owners.
COMPADDICT
(To Mike)
He's on my ignore list so I can't hear him.
DAVE
Bet you're real popular around here. Dance card always full, huh?
COMPADDICT
A girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do. And I don't know any Russians.
MIKE
Six months ago. You tried to move a hot W221 mini fridge. Who was the buyer.
COMPADDICT
How would I know? Sounds like some classy dude who enjoys delicious cold beverages whilst motoring.
(Looks at Dave)
Oh... Sorry Detective. You don't have the mini fridge do you?
DAVE
If I wanted something small packed in my trunk you'd be my guy.
MIKE
(To COMPADDICT)
How's house arrest and an ankle bracelet sound? Unless you like Club Med here ....
No response.
DAVE
(To Mike)
Let's go. It's almost meal time and our
friend here has some salads to toss.
Dave opens the door and signals the Guard.
COMPADDICT
Okay okay okay. I may have heard something.
His beady eyes dart back and forth between Mike and Dave.
Last edited by Mike5215; May 15, 2016 at 04:29 PM.
Dramatic tension my friend. It's what keeps the pages turning. I need to cut away to the B plot-line now to milk it.
EXT. FUNERAL HOME -DAY
A service in progress. A non-descript Acura TL pulls up to the porticochere.
INT. FUNERAL HOME RECEPTION - DAY
As BENZ55 enters. Dark suit, RED SNEAKERS. He strolls past a portrait of THE DECEASED on an easel rimmed with flowers. It's THE SCRUFFY MAN, looking his Sunday Church best.
INT. FUNERAL PARLOR - DAY
A MINISTER is comforting the DISTRAUGHT WIDOW, the casket nearby. BENZ55 approaches her.
BENZ55
Sorry for your loss. He was a great man.
The Minister steps away.
WIDOW
You knew my Chester?
BENZ55
Yes. Yes of course. Who didn't know Chester?
She nods knowingly, pausing to blow her nose.
WIDOW
You knew him from the junkyard?
BENZ55
(Annoyed)
Well I knew him from his reclaimed auto business.
WIDOW
Reclaimed Auto? It's a scrap yard! A filthy scrap yard fixed with crappy useless garbage that used to be cars.
BENZ55
(Upset. He turns and looks directly into the camera)
Uh. I'm gonna need a minute.
DIRECTOR (OS)
CUTTT!
Last edited by Mike5215; May 15, 2016 at 05:29 PM.
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