Post by The Delivery Men on Jan 20, 2006 20:42:57 GMT -5
(Lights up. We are outside the Ship and Anchor pub in Calgary, one of the best places to go in Alberta's second-place city, and smack-dab on the former "Electric Avenue", 17th Southwest. Raucous laughter can be heard from within, and gets louder as two men spill out onto the street--Delivery Man #1, hair standing like a monument designed by God, and . . .
And . . .
And Billy Kryenik.)
KRYENIK: And then I ate the puppy!
(Both men laugh, slapping each other on their backs.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: You know, Kryenik, I might not respect you as an opponent, but you make one frick of a drinking buddy, or possibly some kind of cautionary example brought to life.
KRYENIK: And while you are merely a pitiful man who cannot fathom the wreck I will make of his body and soul, you help ease the passing of the cancer of life.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Frick, you got me. Listen, I gotta go meet my partner, he's gotta have the replacement van by now. How're you fixed for getting to Edmonton?
KRYENIK: I'm going to steal a horse and ride it until it dies.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Yeah, I hear that. Sorry we can't, frickin', drive you and all. Number Two kind of wants to beat you until you stop moving altogether.
KRYENIK: Tell him I shall feed him his own entrails until he is an obscene parody of the Oroborus.
DELIVERY MAN #1: (Laughs.) Well, I can try! But until then, see you in the ring, Frick-O!
(Both men laugh, #1 playfully tags Kryenik's shoulder, Kryenik straps a bomb to #1's chest, then they wave and leave.
Delivery Man #1 strolls down 17th, stepping in tune to the rhythm of the street. Footfalls, honking horns, the murmur of the crowd, all of this plays out a catchy melody that keeps him strutting in time.)
PASSERBY: Is that a bomb strapped to your chest?
(He comes up against the busy intersection of 17th and 4th, and smiles as he observes traffic come to a complete stop for him. Feeling like a prince, he salutes the courteous Canadians, and his smile grows deeper as he reaches the other side, spring-heeled.)
HOMELESS MAN: You've got a bomb strapped to your chest.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Get a job!
(Looking ahead, he can't believe his luck . . . a trio of lovely young college students, each of them giggling as they try to hail a cab. Delivery Man #1 whips out his comb, runs it neatly through his hair, then struts over, sticking his chest and six sticks of dynamite out.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: I'm new to Calgary, ladies . . . where the frick does a guy find a good time?
GIRL: Uh . . . you've got a bomb strapped to your chest!
DELIVERY MAN #1: (Raising an eyebrow.) Really? Well if that's the case, how about you set it off?
(All three girls run off, screaming.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: Easy, One . . . you'd only frickin' hurt them.
(He sees a shortcut through a local basketball court. Instantly, he is reminded of his native Trenton, and his mind flashes back to all of the good times he and his buddies had playing "B-Ball" on cracked pavement, over-grown with weeds . . . he wonders what they're up to now.
He wonders if they're okay.
Emboldened by the past, Delivery Man #1 walks straight into the game.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: What's the shizzle, my nizzles?
TEEN: Dude, why is there a bomb on your chest?
DELIVERY MAN #1: Ha! That's the "street" for today, is it? "Aight." I got the whole bomb, yo! Now pass me that rock!
(Terrified, someone complies and passes the basketball. It bounces off of the bomb's digital read-out, and a time comes up on the display, audibly counting down. The game disperses as the kids head for the hills.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: Hmm. Must be "the drugs". (He tosses the ball one-handed from the three-point line, and sinks the shot.)
(He continues to hoof it through Downtown Calgary--)
MAN #1: There's a bomb on your chest!
(--observing every little detail, from the dense sea of skycrapers to the names of local newscasters on buses--)
MAN #2: There is literally a bomb that is strapped onto your chest.
(--and while intrigued, finds everything that is different, to be essentially . . . the same.)
WOMAN: There is a bomb, consisting of six sticks of dynamite, blasting caps, lead wires and an improvised timer attached to your chest in what I can only assume is a noticeable leather harness. Why?
(And refreshed, he enters the Calgary Delivery Service's truck yard, finds Delivery Man #2 sitting in an idling new cubevan, and gets in.)
DELIVERY MAN #2: What took you so frickin' long?
DELIVERY MAN #1: Enh. New cities. I always gotta frickin' check them out.
DELIVERY MAN #2: Yeah, well, lucky for you I drive fast. We should get back in town before the new duty roster's up.
(He taps the bomb on Delivery Man #1's chest.)
DELIVERY MAN #2: And you know that bomb's not dress-code.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Pffft. Nazi.
(The van drives up to a trash can, where #1 leans out the window and tosses the bomb harness into it. Then the van drives off, away from the camera, in a northerly direction.)
DELIVERY MAN #2 (Voice-over): So whaddya frinkin' think of Calgary?
DELIVERY MAN #1 (Voice-over): Meh. I like Edmonton better.
(And the trash can explodes. Lights down.)
----------
Billy Kryenik used with permission.
And . . .
And Billy Kryenik.)
KRYENIK: And then I ate the puppy!
(Both men laugh, slapping each other on their backs.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: You know, Kryenik, I might not respect you as an opponent, but you make one frick of a drinking buddy, or possibly some kind of cautionary example brought to life.
KRYENIK: And while you are merely a pitiful man who cannot fathom the wreck I will make of his body and soul, you help ease the passing of the cancer of life.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Frick, you got me. Listen, I gotta go meet my partner, he's gotta have the replacement van by now. How're you fixed for getting to Edmonton?
KRYENIK: I'm going to steal a horse and ride it until it dies.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Yeah, I hear that. Sorry we can't, frickin', drive you and all. Number Two kind of wants to beat you until you stop moving altogether.
KRYENIK: Tell him I shall feed him his own entrails until he is an obscene parody of the Oroborus.
DELIVERY MAN #1: (Laughs.) Well, I can try! But until then, see you in the ring, Frick-O!
(Both men laugh, #1 playfully tags Kryenik's shoulder, Kryenik straps a bomb to #1's chest, then they wave and leave.
Delivery Man #1 strolls down 17th, stepping in tune to the rhythm of the street. Footfalls, honking horns, the murmur of the crowd, all of this plays out a catchy melody that keeps him strutting in time.)
PASSERBY: Is that a bomb strapped to your chest?
(He comes up against the busy intersection of 17th and 4th, and smiles as he observes traffic come to a complete stop for him. Feeling like a prince, he salutes the courteous Canadians, and his smile grows deeper as he reaches the other side, spring-heeled.)
HOMELESS MAN: You've got a bomb strapped to your chest.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Get a job!
(Looking ahead, he can't believe his luck . . . a trio of lovely young college students, each of them giggling as they try to hail a cab. Delivery Man #1 whips out his comb, runs it neatly through his hair, then struts over, sticking his chest and six sticks of dynamite out.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: I'm new to Calgary, ladies . . . where the frick does a guy find a good time?
GIRL: Uh . . . you've got a bomb strapped to your chest!
DELIVERY MAN #1: (Raising an eyebrow.) Really? Well if that's the case, how about you set it off?
(All three girls run off, screaming.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: Easy, One . . . you'd only frickin' hurt them.
(He sees a shortcut through a local basketball court. Instantly, he is reminded of his native Trenton, and his mind flashes back to all of the good times he and his buddies had playing "B-Ball" on cracked pavement, over-grown with weeds . . . he wonders what they're up to now.
He wonders if they're okay.
Emboldened by the past, Delivery Man #1 walks straight into the game.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: What's the shizzle, my nizzles?
TEEN: Dude, why is there a bomb on your chest?
DELIVERY MAN #1: Ha! That's the "street" for today, is it? "Aight." I got the whole bomb, yo! Now pass me that rock!
(Terrified, someone complies and passes the basketball. It bounces off of the bomb's digital read-out, and a time comes up on the display, audibly counting down. The game disperses as the kids head for the hills.)
DELIVERY MAN #1: Hmm. Must be "the drugs". (He tosses the ball one-handed from the three-point line, and sinks the shot.)
(He continues to hoof it through Downtown Calgary--)
MAN #1: There's a bomb on your chest!
(--observing every little detail, from the dense sea of skycrapers to the names of local newscasters on buses--)
MAN #2: There is literally a bomb that is strapped onto your chest.
(--and while intrigued, finds everything that is different, to be essentially . . . the same.)
WOMAN: There is a bomb, consisting of six sticks of dynamite, blasting caps, lead wires and an improvised timer attached to your chest in what I can only assume is a noticeable leather harness. Why?
(And refreshed, he enters the Calgary Delivery Service's truck yard, finds Delivery Man #2 sitting in an idling new cubevan, and gets in.)
DELIVERY MAN #2: What took you so frickin' long?
DELIVERY MAN #1: Enh. New cities. I always gotta frickin' check them out.
DELIVERY MAN #2: Yeah, well, lucky for you I drive fast. We should get back in town before the new duty roster's up.
(He taps the bomb on Delivery Man #1's chest.)
DELIVERY MAN #2: And you know that bomb's not dress-code.
DELIVERY MAN #1: Pffft. Nazi.
(The van drives up to a trash can, where #1 leans out the window and tosses the bomb harness into it. Then the van drives off, away from the camera, in a northerly direction.)
DELIVERY MAN #2 (Voice-over): So whaddya frinkin' think of Calgary?
DELIVERY MAN #1 (Voice-over): Meh. I like Edmonton better.
(And the trash can explodes. Lights down.)
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Billy Kryenik used with permission.