You guys seemed to pretty interested in seeing the original script to last week’s comic. It sure goes against my desire to “put things on the internet that I’m proud of,” but I guess it could be interesting enough. We decided to bench this script not only because it’s too long, but also because it’s kind of boring and heavy-handed (not like the other things I write a hurr hurr hurr). This script is unpolished and bumpy, Dana and I deciding to kill it early on in the writing process. I have removed some of the notes I leave for Dana in the scripts, but otherwise it’s unedited from when I wrote it a few months back. I don’t think it gets good till toward the end, but your pleasures may vary.
It’s pretty vulgar, so if you’re not into that kind of thing, I’d skip reading it. Otherwise, enjoy!
Politics Ghost Comic
Enter DEBATE MODERATOR. Can be whoever. I would vote for some cruel caricature of Wolf Blitzer, but you can do who or whatever.
Moderator is addressing the reader, as if talking into a video camera. Maybe not making direct eye contact with the reader, but definitely talking into a camera. The setting is appropriate for a televised national political debate.
MODERATOR: “… now resume the 8th national debate between the party’s best candidates.”
Enter POLTICIAN A (PA). Smug white front runner. George Clooney, John Edwards, etc. Note: though I obviously modeled these characters off the current Republican candidates, there not meant to be them specifically.
PA is talking. We are focused on his face. He is smiley smugly as he talks.
CAPTION, TOP: ” We’ll pick with the current frontrunner, Larston Richel.”
PA (shit-eating smile): “Look, all I’m saying is I can lower taxes for everyone, everywhere, while also increasing national tax revenue overall …”
The lights and power are cutting out for the whole building. We are looking at PA, who is surprised and stopped dead in his speech.
SFX FOR POWER OUTAGE :”ZOT!”
PA: ” …”
In front of all the candidates there is a huge puff of smoke. Everyone is wide-eyed in surprise.
SMOKE SFX: “THOOMPH!”
Enter SAMUEL BELLOWS, COLONIAL GHOST. Sam is a ghost, as in the see-through kind with no legs. He is from colonial times, and has that lolling, spacey look that zombies sometimes have about their faces. He is otherwise dressed like a colonial soldier, tri-corner hat at all. If you want to put a tomahawk in the back/side of his head, or fill his chest with arrows, that might be fun.
Samuel is materializing out of the smoke. His materialization looks painful.
SAM: “Rrrrrrrrah …”
Sam is addressing the crowd/everyone.
Sam: “I am the ghost of Samuel Bellows, legendary American frontiersman and revolutionary war hero.”
Sam is still talking.
“I have slipped from death’s merciless choke for mere seconds, in order to beg our future leaders to honor our country’s oldest, purest and most true values …”
Sam is still talking.
SAM: “… which are, of course, communing with witches and fucking as much furniture as possible.”
Pause panel. Everyone, the crowd, the moderator, even the candidates, are looking around, quietly shocked and wide-eyed, but afraid to interrupt the ghost or make a noise.
Sam is starting to fade out and swirl away, as if he is being sucked down an invisible drain.
SAM: ” Truely America has strayed far from its noble roots. Who among you has the wisdom and patriotism enough to lead us back to the perfect, holy rightness of yesterdayyyyy …”
A tiny poof of smoke is popping off as Sam disappears into nothing.
All of the politicans are silent, looking at each other and sweating nervously.
Politician A is talking, but is interrupted by Pol B via an off-panel word balloon.
PA (neverous explaning): “Well I for one would just like to [cut off]”
PB: “Shut it Larston!”
Enter POLITICIAN B (PB): The Texan. White Male PA’s age, wearing a cowboy hat and maybe with a more leathery face.
PB: “That brave and noble spirit has just confirmed what I’ve been saying about you all along: You don’t have enough integrity to shove your dick into a couch over and over ’til the job is done.”
PB (self-satisfied): “Now myself, I understand commitment. I’ll fuck a chair ’til it’s finished. Just the way I was raised.”
Enter POLITICIAN C (PC). Religious Dipshit. Meticulous clothes and hair. Male. insanely smug and condescending-looking. Pol C is talking now. He is rolling his eyes.
PC: “Senator, spare us. You may give your lazy boy a real pounding every night, but census statistics clearly show that hardly any recliners are getting rammed in your state, let alone couches or even kitchen chairs.”
PC: “Clearly you’ve put your own furn-gasms ahead of your own constituents’ chairdicking needs, and I think that’s deplorable.”
PC: “Now what we need to do is bring focus back to communing with witches here for a second. What happened to our love of black seance with a group of women who have sold their souls to the devil in exchange for sinister powers? When did we get so far from the witchcraft that made this country great?”
Enter POLITICAN D (PD). Older white guy, fat head. Grouchy. Pol D is talking now. He is mad, pound his fist or something.
PD: “How does spellcraft create jobs? Through magic? Ha! What this country needs is a stiff, pulsing cock in a bookshelf, and it needs it now!”
Enter POLITICIAN E (PE). The token woman. Pol E is talking now, rolling her eyes.
PE: “Cock balls cock balls. You know, in the original text of the constitution there is no mention of male genitals as all. Clearly the founding fathers meant “fucking” in the more general, genderless way …”
PE: ” … most probably in the sense of aggressive, fast-paced anal play and climax.”
We are back to Pol C now
PC (Mad, accusatory): “Blasphemy! Furniture was never meant for butt-shoving, only for rubbing the male junk in the proper, church-approved way! So says the Church of Hags for Satan, so it must be true!”
Enter POLITICIAN F (PF). The token black guy.
PF (trying to calm everyone down): ” Now now now, I think we all need to take a step back and take a moderate’s approach here.”
PF: “America needs indirect devil worship, sure, but what toilet fucking? Do we need both for America to prosper, to both give our souls to Lucifer and to repeatedly cram our genitals into the feed of a running toilet?”
There is a great burst of green light that silences everyone.
Enter LUMPKIN 9 (L9). A small green alien with a tiny American Flag growing off its head. The alien is fat and male, but also has breasts and is wearing sexy lingerie. Lumpkin 9 appears out of nowhere, pretty much in the same space Sam the Ghost was. He appears as a translucent green hologram.
L9: “I am Lumpkin 9. I have come from America’s perfect future, in order to ensure you all follow the ethical path that will lead us to our destined utopia.”
L9: “The rules are as follows: Furniture is to never, ever be fucked in any way …”
L9: “… and all pigs must be carefully bred into a race of illiterate, bisexual leprechauns that will lead us into the promised land,
L9: “… also know as the acid-filled gullet of the dread breast implant god Morphblat.”
Also the politicians are looking at each other, nervously sweating as they were in panel 12.
L9 (off panel): “Transmission end.”