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Friday, October 08, 2004

Another Blast from the Past

Here's something I wrote quite a few years ago. It's the first part of a pilot for a TV show. Do you think it has nay chance of being picked up? Maybe I can replace that boxing show that got cancelled.

The Quentin and Cthulu Show!

Pilot Episode --- “A loathsome pair”

Theme song: “He’s Quentin,” (shots of Quentin Tarantino eating barbeque ribs, throttling and slapping a dog, getting slapped in the face by a girl, sneezing into his hands and wiping it on a chair.) “He’s Cthulu” (shots of Cthulu Tarantino eating ribs, eating the mailman, eating a bank teller, eating a chair.) “They’re both loathsome creatures with something to prove -- you bet baby they’re really on the move.”(shot of Quentin and Cthulu hugging each other, posing for a picture, some guy’s leg sticking out of Cthulu’s mouth, Quentin giving a disgusted look.)

The scene opens with Quentin Tarantino sitting on the couch in his living room, apparently playing some sort of video game. He’s really into it. In the background you can see a piano with a bouquet on it, pictures of people on the wall, some of whom look like Quentin, some of which look like Cthulu.

Quentin: dikdikdikdikdikdikdikdikdikdikdik. Aw come on -- this game isn’t supposed to be this hard! And it’s not nearly violent enough! Why is it called “Space Brain Monsters from Inside the Earth”? There’s no space, brains, or monsters in it and the planet looks more like Deng Xiaopeng’s ugly brown head painted green than it does earth. If I didn’t steal it, I’d demand my money back! dikdikdikdikdik...

A pounding begins at the door, first softly and then increasing to a tremendous rattling. Quentin is obviously annoyed. He pauses the game and then stomps to the door, mumbling “dikdikdikdikdik” all the way. He opens the door to a big green guy who looks like he has a giant squid for a head.

Quentin: Cthulu, you gotta learn to use the doorknob. That’s what it’s there for, you know.

Cthulu: Ugubleah! (belches, then pushes Quentin out of the way and enters the living room.) Blahugbomughalbh!

Quentin: Aw shut up. I’m not your doorknob, you know. I’m not anybody’s doorknob -- not even that jerk Travolta. That guy owes me his career you know. But do I ever hear from him? No. Now that the guy’s a big star he won’t even return my calls. I need him to star in my next picture: “Pain and Baloons.” He’s just gotta play the complicated mobster, Goatie. dikdikdikdikdikdikdik...

Cthulu: Hogblighgh! (he leans back as if to sneeze, and then as he sneezes, what appears to be a weinerdog flies out of his mouth).

Quentin: Aw Cthulu, you gotta stop eating old Mrs Ferngo’s dog like that. She’s probably looking all over the neighborhood for it now. Now I gotta go take it back to her so she doesn’t go insane again. dikdikdikdikdikdikdik... (picks up dog)... ew gross -- it’s half digested! Well, I sure hope the old bat isn’t wearing her glasses!

Quentin walks out the door and down the block, carrying the slime covered dead dog with him. He knocks on Mr’s Ferngo’s door, and when there’s no answer, he whips the dog through an open window and leaves. When he gets back, he finds a young woman knocking at his door. Cthulu can be heard muttering through the door.

Young Woman: Oh, is this your house? I heard a commotion inside, and thought something might be wrong.

Quentin: What, you walk around the neighborhood listening to what’s going on inside people’s houses? What’s your problem, lady?

Y.W: Well, actually, I’m from the IRS. I came here to audit a Mr. Tarantino -- would that be you?

Quentin: The IRS? Aren’t you supposed to give me a notice first? I mean, you just come to my house here and audit me out of the blue? Again I ask, what’s your problem?

Y.W: The IRS has sent you a total of...let’s see...250 messages dating back to 1980.

Quentin: 1984?! How could you be so stupid? I didn’t pay any taxes in 1980! I’m only 30 years old, for pete’s sake! That would make me 13 years old. THIRTEEN YEARS OLD.

Y.W. You mean your name isn’t Cthulu Amadeus Tarantino?

Quentin: No, you fool. It’s Quentin Tarantino. Don’t you recognize me, you out-of-touch freaky freak woman? I’m the acclaimed actor and director of great movies such as...

Y.W: Look, if you want a date with me, you can just ask me. You don’t have to make up stories about yourself. Now -- who is Cthulu Amadeus Tarantino and where may I find him?

Quentin: Urrgh...Ooo...(other sounds that indicate disgust) A) I don’t want a date with you, B)I am a famous director and actor, and C) You suck. Cthulu is my brother. Let me show him to you.

Quentin opens the door, and you see Cthulu, sitting on the couch with his back to the camera. He turns around, and the when the Young Woman sees him, she recoils in disgust. She cautiously approachs Cthulu.

Y.W: Are you Cthulu Amadeus Tarantino?

Chthulu: Umglapgh! Dances around in a circle, as if doing some bizarre ritual that nobody can figure out).

Y.W: Excuse me? What did you say to me? I didn’t catch that...

Cthulu: Umglaph! Horugdiplaght plb! (spits a baseball glove at her).

Y.W: Ahh! (Brushes slime off of her suit) That glove had slime on it! Now there’s slime on me! Quentin, could you explain to me why this person just spit what appears to be a baseball mitt at me?

Quentin: Well, you see, Cthulu is a disturbed, disturbed man. He thinks he’s a squid, you see. That’s why he tries to eat everything. (Turns to Cthulu) Man, how many times did I have to tell you -- don’t spit stuff at people!


When the show returns, Cthulu and Quentin are in the kitchen, discussing the situation.

Quentin: Cthulu, man, you mean you never paid taxes? You’ve never filled out an income tax form? Even when you had that job as an Orthodontist? You are in big big big trouble, man!

Cthulu: Igmplaph!

Quentin: No, you can’t just eat her this time and make the porblem go away. Oh, did I say porblem? I meant problem. I haven’t taken my medication yet today. But like I was saying, you can’t just eat your way out of your hole this time. You’ve got to go in there and talk to the woman. And don’t spit stuff at her this time.

Cthulu: Urglipuh! (walks into the other room) Klaopedij! Pluhg!

The woman is looking at the pictures on the wall. She turns and is apprehensive towards Cthulu, for good reason.

Y.W: Uh...Mr. Cthulu...can we talk? I mean, can I please talk? To you? About your taxes...T-A-X-E-S, you know, your taxes.

Cthulu just stands there, motionless and apparently expressionless, though it’s hard to tell with him.

Y.W: Right. I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of all the jobs you have performed from your 15th birthday until now -- an extraordinary total of 456 different jobs in 30 years. You owe us 600,000 dollars at this point. Now, are you paying in cash or credit? We don’t take personal checks.

(Quentin bursts into the room)

Q: Holy Toledo! 600,000 dollars? How can a person owe 600,000 dollars in back taxes? There must be some mistake!

Y.W: I’ll say there is. Is Cthulu here going to pay us the money or what? I was told there would be no porblem...I mean, problem. We will get your way or another.

(Y.W. storms out of the room)

Cthulu: (as she storms) Unglaupliphdih! Ungawas!

Quentin: Shut up, man -- remember the last time you used those curses on somebody. The side effects, man. I don’t even want to deal with this.

Cthulu: Kijuph.

Quentin: You’re right, man, something about this whole thing...well, it stinks! The IRS doesn’t come here, to one’s house, to harass one at first. They write one letters, and only after months of harassment over the phone and through the mail do they come to your home. And another thing -- you’ve never had a job in your freakin’ life. You’ve been here, freeloading at my place for 6 years now, and before that you did gosh-knows-what -- but it wasn’t a job, that’s for sure. What was she talking about?

Cthulu: Hophglouyhi!

Quentin: No.

(scene switches to double-screen phone call, with Young Woman in one half of screen, and Scummy Guy in the other)

Young Woman: I thought you said this was a done deal. That they were so stupid that this thing would work for sure. But they didn’t buy it. I got scared and scooted.

Scummy Guy: Look, I didn’t say that it was anything. I just said that these jokers owed me some money, and then came up with an idea to get the money that didn’t involve leaning on anyone for a change. Like I said, I don’t know if we want to mess with these guys.

Young Womn: I thought you were tough! Since when are you afraid of 2 losers, one of which can’t even talk, and the other of which is so spindley that I could beat up 12 of him without breakin’ a sweat. Lets lean on ‘em, boss!

Scummy Guy: I gotta think about it...

Young Woman: While you’re thinkin’, I’m stinkin’, man.

Scummy Guy: What? What do you mean?

Young Woman: What I mean is, you’d better think fast and think hard, because if you don’t, you may find yourself needing another “point girl.”

Scummy Guy: And you’d better just stay put and wait, because if you don’t, you may find yourself in need of another set of kneecaps.

Young Woman: We’ll see. You got 24 hours to decide.

(Young Woman hangs up, walks away. Split-screen turns to full screen on Scummy Guy)

S.G: Golly, I love that woman. (pushes intercom button) Weezie, get me Rocco and Slob. Tell them I got a job for them. And then pick me up a tuna sandwich.

Intercom Voice: Ok, boss! (snort)


Scene opens with Cthulu and quentin sitting on the couch, obviously deep in thought.

Quentin: Ok, think man, is there anyone you owe money to? Any ex-girlfriends who would like to get you?

Cthulu: Higurph?

Quentin: That was a low blow. I don’t go around airing out your old dirty laundry, do I? Yes, Sheila swore she would get back at me, and yes, she owns a posh restaurant with possible mob ties, but that means nothing. Nothing at all.

Cthulu: Hogplah. (insistently)

Quentin: Look, I don’t give you a super-annoying guilt trip every time you drug a date’s drink and take her wallet and use her credit cards to buy 50,000 dollars worth of baseball cards for her just before the baseball card market crashes and she loses all her money and all her credit cards are overdrawn, and then dump her because you like her little sister better. I don’t need this I-told-you-so crud from you. If everybody listened to you, we’d all be eating other people’s pets and trying to fly spaceships into the sun. Don’t forget that I bailed your butt out of the “I’m the demi-god of a stupid cult” phase of your life that lasted so long.

Cthulu: Hipthug.

Quentin: Ok, so maybe it IS Sheila. I should give her a call, clear this whole thing up.

(Q. goes over to the phone, dials) (split-screen, woman answers phone)

Q: Hello, is Sheila Floyd there?

Sheila: Hey, Sheila can’t come to the phone right now, because you suck, don’t leave a message, please die at the beep...

Q: Sheila, is that you? Come on, pick up! We need to talk!

Sheila: BEEP!...BEEP!

Q: (Whiny) Come on! Oh man! Ok...Here’s the message -- stop trying to get me, call me back soon, love ya, bye!

Sheila: BEEP! ...etc.

Q: Sheesh -- that chick has got a dark side, man -- Agh! For pete’s sake, man, don’t eat the couch cushions!

Cthulu: Jobni! (spits out 3 cushions)

scene changes to Scummy Guy’s office. The whole gang is there

Rocco: Yo, what’s up? Weezie said you sent for us.

S.G: I have a very important job for you to do. I’m itching to get back some of the money I lost to shall we say, a jerk. We want you to sqeeze this little nut until he bleeds chex mix -- got it.

Rocco: You lost us there, boss -- you hungry or somthin’? And what this jerk doing now?

S.G: Pay attention. You beat up this guy (hands picture) until he pays you 600,000 dollars. And if he won’t pay, beat him up until he does, got it?

Rocco: I’m confused.

S.G: Pay attention. Beat that guy up and I’ll give you a “Slobby snack”.

Rocco: Alright!

Slob: Ooo -- I be dead -- no, he be dead. Bleah!

S.G: And stop the drooling, please (calls Y.W.)

Y.W: Yo, babycakes, what’s up?

S.G: I got the gang here, and they’re itchin for some action. Slob! I told you to stop drooling! So, they’ll meet you at the spot and you can direct them to the shall we say, jobsite.

Y.W.: Ok, but just don’t send that Rocco jerk over here. He’s too uncultured.

S.G.: I won’t send you Rocco, I’ll, um, send you , um, Ricco, his twin brother.

Y.W: I should kill you for even trying that again.

S.G: Up...gotta go! (hangs up)

S.G: Go -- you two -- meet Kelly at the spot.


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