A Short Film

(not that short, not all that long either, sort of an average length film)

FADE IN:

(The scene opens on a shot from above of a car speeding and weaving dangerously on PCH. The person driving is either running from or to someone. We watch as the car careens into a seaside jungle paradise known as Ocean View Trailer Park. As we follow the car up the twisting roads deep into the dark forbidding forest, we glimpse suspicious old people peeking from out of their huts. The car parks and we zoom in on the driver as she emerges sensually from the vehicle. Despite her casual attire, we notice that this is one hot babe. She’s got all the right equipment, in the right places, and from the look in her eyes, we can tell that at some time in the distant past, she knew what to do with it.

She approaches the front door of a palatial manufactured home, passing several women lined up with their Match.com profiles in hand. Obviously, the owner of this place is either an incredible stud, or likes to take long walks on the beach.

As she is about to ring the doorbell she hears the frightening sounds of an angry Welsh Corgi coming from inside. She is trembling, if not with fear, then certainly with anxious anticipation of what is to follow. It’s as if she is being asked to play a part in a movie that has no script, or at least none that she has been given until she walks on the set. Suddenly the door opens revealing Mister M, aka Mr. O, aka Mr. Overweight. He is standing there framed by sunlight shining around his head, wearing an outfit that can only be described as “special.” He is adorable. He smiles that adorable smile of his, and for a moment the woman feels like she is going to faint. As her knees buckle, she vainly tries to hold on to the door frame, but before she can slide to the floor of the porch, M takes her in his incredibly strong, masculine, yet sensitive and gentle hands, and draws her tight, we’re talking really really tight, against his strong, masculine, yet sensitive and gentle loins. She tries to speak, but can only manage a whispered plea.)

SHE: Take me.

HE: Are you talkin’ to me? Well, you must be talkin’ to me cause I’m the only one here.

SHE: I want you to take me . . . take me inside. I’ve been stuck in traffic for a over an hour, and I have to pee something fierce.

HE: Of course. I seem to have that effect on many women. The facilities are down the hall, the first door on the right. Remember, the door on the right, not the left.

(We see a CU of a far off look in his eyes as he recalls countless women who, unhinged by his raw masculinity, have turned mistakenly to the left, become lost in the detritus of the second bedroom and in quiet desperation, pee’d on the carpet.)

SHE: Thank you. I’ll try to remember.

HE: One more thing. You must wear this blindfold. There are things between here and the bathroom that you are not yet ready to experience.

SHE: Blindfold??? Are you fucking kidding me??? Never mind, I’ll hold it in.

HE: I was hoping you would feel that way. Now, take my hand and walk with me towards the sea.

SHE: You mean walk down the deck to the back patio where the dogs pee? Is that what you have in mind for me? Listen Buster, there is no way I’m squatting over that gravel pit of yours. You got some weird idea of romance here.

HE: Would you PLEASE get your mind off your bladder. I’m trying to weave a tapestry here. Work with me on this, ok?

SHE: (realizing how fragile her dream of finding that special someone has suddenly become, and suppressing her gag reflex) Oh. Yes, my darling. Take me to that place where only you know how to teach me how to see the sea through the eyes of love.

(They walk together out to the patio, where there is a magnificent vista of the pure blue sea, and a virgin white sandy beach, speckled with municipal trash cans. The only sound, is the insistent rumble of the Harleys on PCH, their riders on PCP.)

SHE: It’s all so beautiful. (Noticing the table set before her,) Is that what I think it is? Oh God, tell me this isn’t all a dream.

HE: No, it’s not a dream, and yes, it’s for you, and you alone. Please, take a seat. Whoops, I’ll take those. Imagine that, my neighbor leaving his panties on my patio.

(Quickly, he snatches the crotchless undergarment from the chair and shoves them in his pocket. Luckily she is so wrapped up in absorbing the view, she doesn’t notice a thing.)

(After a long period of quiet between them, they begin to enjoy what is set before them)

HE: How do you feel? You seem a bit anxious.

SHE: Oh, never mind the tee tee dance. This is just so perfect.

HE: Great, whatever you say. Let’s move on. I’m going inside now. This timer here is set for 3 minutes, exactly. When the time is up, you may enter and follow your heart. In case your heart is on a break, follow the road to paradise. (He starts the timer.)

SHE: I’m not sure I understand. You want me to go back out on the road?

HE: (stopping the timer) No. What are you talking about? It’s a metaphor, a metaphor for Christ’s sake. Just walk in and . . . and . . . oh, you’ll figure it out. Try not to trip. (He re-starts the timer.)

SHE: Why would I trip? Do you think I’m clumsy, is that what you’re saying? Or do you want me to wear that stupid blindfold?

HE: (Stopping the timer as he sighs heavily, his thoughts visible in a little balloon over his head.) [Why does she do this to me? I’m busting my hump here and all she wants to do is bust my chops. Women! The old saying is so true, “If it wasn’t for that little thing between their legs, there’d be a bounty on them.”] No, my sweet. I want you to enter with eyes wide open to the possibilities before you. “Legs too,” he thinks lasciviously, forgetting the thought balloon over his head. He notices her squinting to make out the words suspended in the air. Luckily they are written in Italics and she isn’t wearing her glasses.)

(Once again he re-starts the timer, aware of the precious seconds he has lost, and hurriedly exits into the house, parting the drawn vertical shades he purchased from 3-Day Blinds, just enough to allow him to slip through, but not enough to allow her inquisitive gaze to follow. Soon after he enters, we hear the sound from inside of someone falling down followed by muffled curses)

(During the following moments as the camera zooms in for a CU of the timer, we dissolve to a montage of her memories: getting drunk and holding hands at Home Depot, her first time at this unbelievable paradise, soaking up the view along with a whole lot of wine, running for her life across PCH, then a quick long walk on the beach then back to his bed for that first drunken embrace. We are suddenly snapped back to the present by the rather annoying chirp chirp of the timer.

SHE: Ready or not, here I come.

HE: What?

SHE: Is it ok to come in now?

HE: WHAT? I can’t hear you. What is that noise?

SHE: It’s the timer.

HE: Well, why don’t you shut the thing off?

SHE: How do I do that?

HE: You push the button marked “Off.”

SHE: Don’t snap at me! I just woke up from a montage, mister big shot romantic! Ok, button . . . button . . . ah, here it is.

HE: So push it already.

SHE; I did. It’s not working.

HE: Well, do something. That sound is driving me crazy.

(She grabs the timer and throws it about 20 yards down to the street below where it hits the asphalt and explodes into a million pieces.)

SHE: Ok, that did it. Coming in now.

HE: What did you do? That’s a very expensive timer.

SHE: Never mind, I’ll tell you later.

(She enters the house and as her eyes adjust to the dim lights she beholds something wonderful and unexpected. She is struck dumb with awe and admiration for this man who has gone to so much trouble to make this happen.)

HE: (from the bedroom) Hello?? Anyone out there.

SHE: You are so fucking adorable!!

HE: I know. I’m also adorable fucking. Ok, now follow the trail and find the envelope. Inside you will find the clues to your next adventure.

SHE: (She finds the envelope and tears it open. Inside is an even more wonderful surprise.) I don’t know what to say. I don’t deserve all this.

HE: Sorry, I think you do. Ok, now continue following your heart, till you come to where you will find what you are looking for.

SHE: (Following the trail down the hall.) Oh, you mean the bathroom? I don’t know about my heart but some part of me is really grateful. Just a sec.

(As she exits into the bathroom the camera holds on the empty hall and slowly zooms towards the closed bedroom door. After what seems like a long time to take a leak, even for a woman, we hear the sound of a toilet flushing. She then slowly emerges from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel of course, and walks towards the bedroom door. This happens in slow motion to emphasize the importance of her physical and symbolic journey to where she is destined to be. We watch as she opens the door and softly closes it behind her. The camera does not follow her, as we dissolve to stock footage of a very large train going into a tunnel that some joker in the set department has painted pink on the inside. Ok wait, it’s not a very large train. It’s an average train, certainly not a small train. I’ve seen a lot of trains and I know what I am talking about. It’s definitely not a small train. The picture then becomes hazy, and for a few moments the train looks like some kind of wiener, Oscar Meyer, Hebrew National, who knows exactly what kind of wiener, and for a moment the audience will worry if a soft limp wiener will make it into that tunnel. Not to fear. It’s a frozen wiener, and then it’s back to being a train and then we fade to Black.)

THE END

(As we roll the tail credits, we hear loud moans and oooohs and ahhhhs signifying that someone is either having a very good time or doing a damn well good job of faking orgasm. It hardly matters. Women are so easily fooled.)