Tuesday, 8 April 2014

Plan 9: A Tribute

FOREWORD: If you've never seen this movie, don't bother reading on. If you've seen it only a few times, don't bother reading on. This is strictly for die-hard fans of Plan 9, who can recite every line of dialogue like parrots. 

The worst movie of all time? Only a fool would call it that. One of the best, actually. Certainly the greatest unintentional comedy of all time.  This is my take on it, something I'd written about a decade ago in an almost stream-of-consciousness manner, which is I guess how Ed wrote as well. Hence why so much of it is utter bull - just like the movie itself.

And BEVARE... there is much rude, sexually explicit bullshit, foul language and the like.

Plan 9 From Outer Space

"My friends, before you start laughing at this mighty picture, let us look at the future, for that is where me and this cast shall spend the rest of our lives buried in shame… My friends, can you stand the shocking truth about a director so insane that he tickled Tor while he was asleep?...

My friends… This movie is based on the sworn testimony of the miserable souls who passed the auditions for this movie!... Those were stupid, stupid minds. Stupid!... You are interested in the unknown, the mysterious, the unexplainably silly, and you want to laugh at us – for that is why you pressed play on your DVD!...
Finding a mess like this ought to make anyone frightened. And yet: you laugh! Why, my friends? Why?..
But remember, my friends, future ridiculing, such as this, will effect those in the future! They will hear you laugh and then take out the movie themselves and laugh. And that is not fair!..."

"My friends, can you prove this film exists? Yes: it is hard to believe it was ever made…"

A Small Town... I'll Admit

"Are you going to have a very silly conversation with a superior now, sir?"
"Yes. He will threaten me with court martial for believing in UFOs."
"But you're the head of Saucer Activity, sir!"
"Sure I am. That's why I have to believe in something and shoot at it."
"So you believe in flying saucers, sir?"
"So there are flying saucers then…?"
"Of course! What do you think we were shooting at just now?"
"Why, we were just shooting at a couple of clouds, sir. Standard practice."
"Those clouds are a menace."
"Yes. It's been covered up by the higher echelons, just so us middle echelons wouldn't know about it, but we middle echelons always find out things and then tell lower echelons about it."
"Am I the lower echelon then?"
"Come to think of it, you're not even an echelon."
"Well, I guess that's why you're the middle echelon and I'm just a uniformed non-echelon who knows nothing about the dangers of clouds."
"Those clouds attacked a small town – a Mexican town, I'll admit – but still a town with people, even if they are only Mexicans – people who died."
"Died of what?"
"Mexicans had never seen snow. They found it extremely funny, and died laughing."
"Was it as funny as Plan 9?"
"To Mexicans it was."


Is it MAD?...
"Mad?!... Is it mad to produce movies on a shoe-string budget? Yet you have done this!... Is it mad to cast an all-American bimbo housewife like me as an alien?! Yet, you have done this, too, and against my agent's advice!"

"That's enough!... Sorry about this, Earthmen… We on planet Crappos also have our fair share of feminist skanks who speak out when they're not spoken to…"
"Just because I wouldn't fuck your xrztghpp I'm a whore, Eros?"
"Nonsense! I could've fucked my xrztghpp myself  any time I wanted!"
"Eros is right. He could have fucked it himself, and – yes – we Crapposian women are only used to mate, care for the young, and occasionally fly the ship for a few minutes while Eros goes to the crapper."
"I'm a fast shitter, though!"
"Yes, Eros. Funny thing about us Crapposians: we are afraid of those turds that cannot think – those that exit the bumhole slowly – and yet we are not afraid of turds that do think…"
"Yes… Funny that… Maybe because our thinking turds can be bribed to go quicker…?"
"Yes, Eros. You're right. Thinking turds are very corruptible."
"I am always right. For I am Eros – the soldier of my planet!"


Three At Once

"Greater love hath no man than to swap his wife for another. It is always difficult to have last words over the grave of such a whore. And Inspector Daniela Clay was a major whore - and a really fat one. A dear whore to me and to all of us. The bell has rung upon her great career: much like in Breaking the Waves, which you might laugh at very hard indeed. But now isn't the time for laughter: this is a B-movie funeral. Now, we lay her to rest – and some us will lay her even after she's dead. Us B-movie men be very horny for sexy prostitutes! It's a rest well deserved, but she won't be restin' fully till we all finish with her – but we all promise to be premature with our genitals – much like her early departure from this world…"
"Great speech… for a pimp."
"You wish you were a pimp!"
"Shut up you two!... Who's first?"
"Me! I hadn't screwed her in weeks!"
"Yeah, but I was her most loyal customer! Wrestled with her an' everything!"
"Hang on… Wasn't she a wrestler or somethin'…?"
"Sure was. From up there."
"No, Canada's there! She was from over there. Sweden."
"Who cares? Main thing that I be the first one to go in there while you guys watch me from up there."
"From Canada?"
"No! I'll be in there in the grave, molestin' her, while you watch me from up there, which is where we are now!"
"Yes, but I'm over here, and you're over there. We can't all be in the exact same place!"
"Watch? I like watching. I think I'll stand over there while you do it in there…"
"But I'll be in there!"
"No, I'm first, we agreed! You'll be over there, and he'll be up there!"
"Guess it's better like that… That way you warm her up in there for us two…"
"On second thought, I don't want to be in there first. You go ahead… Warm her up; I have a cold…"
"Hey… What if she has VD?..." 
"Well, I don't know about you guys but I'm shooting my load first and asking questions later! Besides, I took a chance on those earlier dead whores, might just as well see what the insides of one of these new ones looks like… Let's get going!"


Three At Once: An Official Rumour

"Quite a sight, wasn't it, sir?"
"A sight I'd rather not be seeing… Three bums molesting a dead whore…"
"Are you worried about them, sir?"
"Hell, no. Let them get gonorrhea from her if they choose to…"
"Shouldn't we stop them? I mean, wouldn't it be better now to kill a few than with their meddling permit them to infect the entire universe?"
"Oh, come on… It's just a few cocks…"
"Well, they must have a reason for their visits."
"Of course they have! They're horny men! They visit women's graves!"
"Visits? That would indicate visitors. Are big erections the usual way of visiting dead whores?"
"We haven't always fired blanks at them..."
"For a time, we tried to join those three, first contacting the whore with our own penises, but no response."
"Must be 'cause she's dead, sir."
"Yes, maybe… Then we tried molesting a different dead whore. A small whore, I'll admit, but never-the-less a whore with a vagina, a vagina which died."
"So that one was useless, too, sir?"
"Yes… wouldn't move at all… Modern dead women... "
"Yeah, sir… they've been that way all down through the ages, especially in a spot like this: they just refuse to budge!… So what did you do next, sir?"
"We then concentrated on live whores."
"You mean the ones that aren't yet dead."
"Yes, Captain. The ones whose bodies haven't risen our penises yet."
"Take any fire, any earthquake, any major disaster like being impotent over the grave of a dead-and-ready sexy whore... then wonder: will I ever get it up again?"
"Flying saucers, sir, are still a rumor - officially."
"So are horny dead whores, captain… so are horny dead whores…"
"What about horny dead whores in flying saucers, sir?"
"What do they want? Where do they work? How much do they charge? Why can't I get it up for them?"
"They, sir? Who? Why, this is a training maneuver, sir. We only did a little army-raping of virginal, hot Japanese school-girls..."
"So they're Japanese, huh…? Always thought those Japs were kinda alien-lookin'…"
"Yes, sir! Their men have totally hairless bodies!"
"I was talking about the women, Captain. Keep your gay knowledge for yourself."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. The army is a haven for many of my kind: showers, sleeping quarters, group-sweating, dressing, undressing – and all with men!"
"I wonder what their next move will be..."
"Of gay soldiers?"
"No. Of those Japanese aliens… I wonder…"
"To make more Manga porn?..."


A Toxic Gas

"First his wife, then he."
"Tell me something: how did a fat fuck like you manage to get out of that tiny little crypt without help?"
"Something to do with family tradition: everyone in our family gets successfully unstuck out of narrow crypts by themselves…"

"Oh, my God, Ed!... How that fat fuck farted in there!..."
"Was it a hot blast or a cold blast?"
"It wasn't hot, it wasn't cold. It was a regular fart, Ed…"

"Pew!... Not only does that metal sound  strange, but it smells  pretty bad, too!... Those aliens are as bad as Tor's arm-pits…"

Another Toxic Gas

"Trouble with Paula, Jeff?"
"Yeah… That slut won't go near me. Keeps fondling those damn pillows all night…"
"Yes, Danny. She sticks a pillow between her legs and then makes funny motions, as if riding a horse."
"Weird, Jeff."
"Aha, Danny. So while she's molesting the pillows I have to have something to keep me company. Sometimes in the night, when it does get a little lonely, I reach over and touch myself. Over there… Then it doesn't seem so lonely anymore."
"You're a crazy kid, Jeff, but I know what you mean. Sometimes, when I feel lonely I play gay Swedish porn on my DVD and touch it there, too."
"Funny thing, Danny…"
"Yes, Jeff…?"
"I never noticed you touching me there before, and I never saw a DVD in my life…"
"I meant I was touching my own  thing, Jeff…"
"Hey, Danny!... Look!"
"Over there?"
"Up there?"
"No! Down there! In my pants! Take a look for yourself!"
"What in the world?"
"That's nothing from this  world!"
"Say, Jeff, you never told me yours was so big!"
"It isn't, Danny. Not normally!"

"Hi, pilots!"
"Hi, Edith."
"Hi, Edith."

"Say, Jeff, your penis is real big today."
"I know! And I have no idea why or how!"
"Hey, Jeff, how 'bout you and me balling it up in Albuquerque?"
"You really want this monster up your puss, Edith?"
"Yeah, why not, Jeff?"
"Well, why don't we do it now, Edith?"
"Okay, Jeff."
"Look… I'm just gonna go to the toilet real quick. Wait…!"
"No problem, Jeff… Hey, Silent. I haven't heard a word from this end of the plane since we left the field."
"Oh, but I've been farting a lot, though."
"What makes you say that, Danny?"
"Don't you remember the noise we all heard during this flight?"
"We were almost knocked to the ground! How could I forget?"
"Exactly, Edith! But you're not remembering that sound."

"There you're wrong, Danny. I'm with the fact that the sound smelled bad, but what about the blinding light that sounded so awful?"
"Why, haven't you heard, Edith? Been many times when a fart hasn't had a glow, or a light of any kind, for that matter. Or even a sound or smell."
"That proves it!"
"Well, Edith, that's why I'm a co-pilot and you're still just a mile-high-club waitress."
"Sometimes it's only the breaks, Danny…"
"Or who you blow, Edith…"
"Now tell me why you'd been so silent, Danny."
"Oh, Jeff's been giving himself and me a study in penis size. It's left me speechless."
"You boys aren't feuding over dick size...?"
"Oh no, Edith, it's nothing like that. But I am a little jealous, though."
"Jealous, Danny? Have you read how much it hurts to have a 25-inch erection?"
"What about it?"
"Well, when you land on a 25-inch penis, it, like, really hurts, guyee!"
"Edith, Danny, I'm back…!"
"Do you suppose the passengers saw it, Jeff?"
"Nah, they're mostly asleep. Releasing that carbon dioxide gas from up there sure was effective…"
"So, you still wanna do it here, Jeff?"
"Nah, changed my mind… On my way back from the men's room I put it inside the hole of a really pretty young woman in row 12. She was fast asleep. And now I'm okay, Edith…"
"Well, if you change your mind… It'll be 4 a.m. in Albuquerque soon, and I'm strictly a 5 o'clock whore.
"That proves it!"
"Sure does, Danny."
"I'll be off then, you two. Gotta check on those CO2 gas emissions…"
"Bye, Edith."
"Bye, Edith."
"Danny, I wonder why it's so big, though… Here in space…"
"Say, Jeff, perhaps it's that thing they call gravity…?"
"Yes, Danny, or it's counterpart: the pineal and pituitary glands."
"Hey, look!..."                         

"My God! It's shaped like a huge cigar, Jeff!"
"No, Danny…!"
"No. I think it is  a huge cigar!"
"A UFO!"
"You mean like the kind from up there, Danny?"
"No. Like the kind from over there!"
"An Unbearably Funny Object!... Wow, Danny, I'd never thought I'd see one of those!"
"Working for Edward D. Wood Airlines  sure has its perks!"
"Besides free drag queens, Danny…"
"I think you're right about the huge cigar!... Looks a lot like your penis!"
"You think it may be a penis, Danny?"
"You mean a UPO?"
"Yes: an Unbelievably Prick-like Object! "
"But, Jeff…!"
"What, Danny?"
"… Since when do we fly above the stratosphere??"
"You're right. We're in space!"
"But why?"
"Beats me, Danny."
"Say, maybe that's why your penis has gotten so big, Jeff!"
"Hey, that's right! How about yours, Danny?..."
"I'll check…"
"Say!... It's much bigger than before, Jeff!"
"Think we should try landin' on the moon, Danny?"
"Dunno. Ask the passengers."
"The passengers are dead, you two."
"Oh, Edith is back. And she's wearing a gas-mask."
"Yes, boys. Had a bit of self-exploration in the toilet. I guess I can take it off now."
"Say, Edith, check out Danny's package!"
"Oh, my…! Say, Danny, how 'bout you an' me an' Jeff ballin' it up in Albuquerque?"
"What about those passengers, Edith?"
"They're all dead."
"Yes, but we can bring them along with us to Albuquerque, Edith…"
"But why, Jeff? They'd just be in the way."
"But we are responsible for the safety of all our passengers, Edith!"
"Oh, you mean we have to make sure they don't get risen by the Martians and their Plan 9!"
"Of course, Edith! They are the dead, potentially brought to a simulated life by the aliens' electrode guns."
"You're right, Jeff. We can't let the aliens rise our passengers from the dead."
"Yes, Edith. It would be too weird landing with live passengers…"
"Funny thing about those passengers, Jeff… When you consider the Earth passengers, who are not alive, stink so much more than the Earth passengers that are alive…"
"Yes, Danny. But we've got to take those passengers down there with us. After all, you know the slogan of our airline: dead or alive, just as long as you land them safely!"

"Burbank Tower to American Flight 812! Are you in trouble? Are you in trouble?!!"
"Mayday! Mayday! Standby, Burbank Tower, this is Danny speaking!"
"Say, Danny, funny thing how whenever there is some trouble it is the first of May."
"Yes, Jeff. Those damn pinkos always mean trouble."
"Say, Danny… That UPO sure looked kinda red."
"That proves it!"
"Sure does, Danny."
"Well…? You three idiots okay up there?"
"We're all fine, Burbank. But the passengers are all dead."
"Yes, Mr. Tower."

"Hmm… Perhaps those CO2 emissions aren't such a good idea, after all…"
"Probably not, Burbank."
"How about if we just give them laughing gas from now on?"
"No, Burbank, bad idea! They'd get even unrulier and hassle us with even more requests for food and drinks, soft pillows…"
"Pillows, Danny…? Pillows!?"
"Sorry, Jeff…"
"Yes. We sure can't let the passengers get out of control with the food and drinks."
"Especially if they're the kind from up there."
"Especially then."
"American Flight 812, Danny speaking, reporting to Burbank Tower, over... Anything else you want to say?... Oh, no... Holy Mackerel!"
"What is it, Danny?"
"American Flight 812 to Burbank Tower: I will have to see with Jeff!"
"What, Danny, what does stupid Burbank Tower want this time?"
"Well, Jeff, Burbank says that those Martians need our curtains for their next scene!"
"What??... Fuck 'em!"
"I know. I told them we need those for our own scene, Jeff."
"And for when we shower after shooting, Danny. I wanna wash this movie's filth off me – real proper."
"Why does Mr. Tower always harass us about the props, Jeff?"
"Because he's a cheap ol' bastard! Screw that damn Burbank! Let 'im get his own shower curtains!"
"Hi, you two."
"Hi, Edith."
"Hi, Edith. Been in the lady's room again?"
"Aha, number 2. Say, Jeff, yours and Danny's penises are back to their normal sizes again."
"Oh, that's right. We must be back in Earth's atmosphere."

"Yeah. I can see clouds 'n' stuff…"
"And another UPO, Jeff."
"Say, Edith, why are you naked all-of-a-sudden?"
"Why, Jeff, I could also ask you two boys why you have your penises rising again?"
"That's right, Edith. Must be your nude body."
"Geez, Edith, if we remain like this we won't be able to land properly!"
"You're right, Danny. Take a look at this…"
"Why, it's a picture of your wife Paula, Jeff…!"
"Precisely, Danny."
"Hey, Jeff!... My penis is suddenly getting smaller again!"
"That's right, Danny. Now we'll be able to land. That's why I showed it to you."
"Say, Danny, why has Jeff's penis remained hard?"
"Well, Edith, he still finds his wife sexy."
"Really, Jeff?"
"Yes, Edith. I've been to countless shrinks, but none of them could explain why this is so…"
"Poor Jeff, Danny…"
"Burbank Tower to 812! Burbank Tower to Flight 812!"
"This is Danny. What is it, Burbank?"
"We hear Edith did no. 2 again!"
"Yes, she did. And?"
"Tell that dumb whore to flush! She never flushes!"
"OK, will do, Mr. Tower..."
"I always flush!!!... Just not straight away, and not necessarily in the same toilet..."
"Say, Danny..."
"Yes, Jeff?"
"Why is Burbank Tower not a tower at all but two guys in a jeep?"
"Dunno. Ed's idea."

"Hey, look, Danny!"
"More UPOs!"
"And they're celebrating the fourth of July! Check out those fireworks!"
"Funny thing, boys… We've never had Mayday and  the fourth of July on the same day before!"
"Yeah. Must be that climate change that's got something to do with it…"
"Yes, Edith, but we've had Mayday and the fourth of July plenty of times in the same year  before!"
"Years of their eons ago, Jeff."
"Precisely, Edith."
"Imagine the coincidence, those aliens celebrating the same day as our own country!"
"Hang on…!"
"Yes, Jeff…?"
"These are shaped like huge Cuban  cigars."
"You mean it's a UPCO, Jeff?"
"Yeah, or it's counterpart: a Solorbonite bomb."
"But then we'd be an even bigger nation than now, Jeff!"
"You, see, you see! Your stupid mind! Stupid, stupid!"
"That's all I'm taking from you, Jeff…! First your bigger cock, and now…!"
"Hey, boys, you feuding?"
"YES, Edith! We feuding!"



"No!!!... You're going the wrong way, you two!... Vampira, dear…"
"Yes, Ed…"
"Tell that lumbering Swedish meatball to go to his right, not left!"

"That's much much better! It makes all the difference!"

Tor Want Chow

"Is this better, Ed?..."
"Great, you two!... You look great! Now remain standing there for a minute – and keep those faces going like that – I'll be back in a minute!... Just a little sip."

(four hours later…)
"Where has everyone gone, Tor…?"
"You hev great boobiez!"
"Shut up."
"My vife is cooking an elephant dis evening. Vanna cum?"
"Your misteck. After food ve kould vrestle a bit. See how dous boobiez feel vhen I pin you down on de flor."
"Pin your fat wife…"
"I kent. I took a pin vans an' she just exploded! Det day I learn a valooble lessn: never stick pin into yor fat round vife. She blows up like ballooon."

Scared Shit

"Jeff, why do you always run to me when there's danger?"
"Oh, but what's the use of it? I'm still scared! Even after I hug you!"
"That's the fifth time you ran to me in the last hour."
"Something's happened out at the cemetery. Lots of police cars, lights. Those cops are so frightening! Nearly wet myself! I stopped but I didn't see anything."
"Teary-eyed again?"
"Yeah. Started crying. Funny how tears prevent you from seein' things… Oh well, whatever it is, the morning paper'll cover the whole story."
"Did they take pictures of you screaming in terror?"
"No. Not this time."
"You seem to still be up there somewhere."
"Maybe I am."
"And maybe you're not."
"Don't contradict me, Paula! Leave me at least a little semblance of manhood, the little that I've got left!"
"Up there?"
"Well, certainly not down there!  It's so damn small whenever we land! Oh, but in space it gets huge, Paula… Huge!…"
"How big?"
"Big enough to prevent you from yawning!"
"If you don't want me to yawn, just get me a pillow - as ironic as that may sound, Jeff."
"Hang on...! I hear something!!!... Another UPO!"
"There ain't nuthin' here, hun."
"Get a grip, Jeff, there is nothing there!"
"My ass there isn't!!!"
"I don't think I've ever seen you this scared before."
"Maybe that's because I've never been this scared before."
"That makes sense... Something about your flight?"
"What happened, Jeff?"

"I peed in my pants."                         
"Did the passengers see it?"
"Nah. They died."
"Carbon dioxide?"
"That stuff ain't working, Jeff. There must be a better way for the airline to save money-"
"Nevermind the damn passengers, Paula! What about me being scared??"
"Sorry, hun."
"I saw a flying saucer."
"Saucer? You mean the kind from up there?!!"
"Yeah, or it's counterpart: the kind from in there, a little to the left."
"It was round yet shaped like a huge Cuban cigar. Paula, Cuban cigars are illegal in this nation, so saucers shaped like that must be illegal, too! Dan and Edith saw it, too."
"That whore! Always sticking her nose into the cockpit, massaging your genitals…!"
"Now, now, Paula… That is why it's called a cockpit."
"Oh, you're right. I forgot."
"Anyway… When it passed over, the whole compartment lighted up with a blinding glare, then there was a tremendous wind that practically knocked us off our course."
"Was it a hot wind or a cold wind?"
"Neither. It was one of Danny's farts!"
"Well, did you report it?"
"I always report him, but that damn Burbank never does a damn thing about it! No wonder we ended up in space!"
"I meant the Cuban saucers…"
"Oh, yeah… We radioed it in immediately and they said keep it quiet until you land."
"Yes, you."
"Well, you'll have to keep quiet forever, 'cause I ain't ever landing!"
"So you're still up there, Paula?"
"Yes, hun. That Colombian cocaine sure is sweet."
"You should lay off that stuff, Paula."
"I can't. I need something to get me through these darn 50s…"
"And as soon as we landed, big Army brassholes grabbed us and made us swear to secrecy about the whole thing!"
"They probably smoke Cubans, too."
"They sure do!"
"Did you swear as they commanded?"
"I had to swear in German, Paula! German!
"But why in German?"
"So they wouldn't understand me!"
"How does swearing to secrecy in German sound like?"
"Ich find' euch alle zum Schweinekotzenbraten und werd' euch zum Teufel jagen! Fickt euch! Fickt euch, ihr Penisfotzen!"
"Yes. Oh, it burns me up! And frightens me so! German is such a scary language, all those umlauts 'n' stuff! And these Cuban cigars have been seen for years. They're here - it's a fact! And the public ought to know about it – and stop smoking."
"I'm a 50s housewife and I've got to deal with facts!... But, I guess I'll have to go along with you on this one…"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Paula…"
"There must be something you can do about it."
"Only there isn't. I'm too frightened! But last night, I saw a flying cigar that couldn't possibly come from our country. But I can't say a word: I'm stiff with fear! Besides, I was muzzled by Army brassholes! I can't even admit I saw the thing!"
"Admit it to me, Jeff."
"No… I can't. Too scarred!"
"But it's just me, Jeff. No-one here but us."
"No, no!... If they hear me admit it, they'll muzzle me again, Paula!"
"Did you cry a lot?"
"A bit… But when they tightened the muzzle I really let myself go! Oh, how I sobbed… How I sobbed!"


Plan 12

"Plan 9…"
"Plan 9, sir."
"Plan 9… sir."
"Plan 9. Plan nine."
"But Plan 9, sir… Plan nine. Nine!"
"Don't you raise your voice with me!"
"Sorry, sir. Beg your pardon… Uhm... Plan 9?"
"Plan 9. Nine. N-I-N-E."
"Run that by me again…"
"Ehm… Plan 9."
"Plan what?"
"Well, what about it?"
"Burbank Tower to American Flight 812, over. Burbank Tower to American Flight 812, over!"
"Is that Plan 9?..."
"Sorry, sir. The script is so confusing at times. I meant to say… I meant... to... say…"
"What?... 'Plan 9'?"
"No. I already said that, at least a hundred times."
"Well, 101 wouldn't hurt…"
"Right, sir. Plan 9."
"What about it?"
"It's about raising the dead."
"Raising the bed?? No, I like to sleep low – and that's final!"
"No, sir. Plan 9 is about raising the dead."
"Forget it! I've got enough trouble as it is raising my kids to be gay…"
"Yes, sir. And we in the crew are all 110% behind your gay marriage and gay adoptions…"
"Yes, Plan 7 was an utter success! Adopting those strange-looking but sensual zombies from Oberon Seti 5 was anything but easy but worth it."
"But, sir, that was Plan 3. Plan 7 was your sex-change."
"And a good plan, too! Pity that Mexican surgeon was such a moron…"
"But, sir, why would you want to be a woman?"
"What's wrong with being a woman, then??"
"But, sir, in my land, women are for advancing the race, cooking and cleaning, and occasionally for giving speeches about madness, and not for fighting man's battles!"
"That land you speak of…"
"Yes, sir?"
"That is also my land. In fact: I am its ruler!"
"Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to question your totalitarian dictatorship."
"And who says I wanna fight man's battles…? I wanna fight women's battles!"
"Yes, sir. Women's battles are terrific, too, I'm sure…"

"Just wait till I change my sex! I'll place the gender laws on their heads!"
"Yes, sir… Women are superior."
"No, not yet. Right now I'm a man – sadly – so men are superior and women are for cooking and cleaning – for the time being!"
"Sir… Does that mean I'll have to cook and clean when you apply Plan 12 to yourself?"
"Not if you also apply Plan 12…"
"You mean… all the men on our planet will have to become women to avoid cooking and cleaning?!"
"Perhaps, Zeus, perhaps…"
"And all the women have to become men so that we have someone to cook and clean?!"
"Why, that's a pretty good idea, man…!"
"Thank you, my Excellency!"
"Wait… Hang on… D'you hear anything?"
"I thought I did..."
"I don't like hearing noises. 'Specially when there ain't supposed to be any."
"Yeah, sorta spooky-like."
"Maybe we're gettin' old."
"Well, whatever it was, it's gone now."
"That's the best thing for us, too - gone!"
"Yeah, let's go!"
"Yes. Let's. Screw Eros! Let him fight with one ship."
"But what if he gets himself in trouble, sir?"
"So what if he does?... He says himself that life is not so expensive on his planet – which is also our planet, I might add – and that he doesn't cling to it like us gays do."
"True. He keeps repeating that every time he shoves Tanna to the side  after one of her madness speeches…"
"I wanna look like Tanna…"
"But that's Plan 12, sir."
"Yes, it is. I'll just have to wait then… Damn those fucking dagos! Mexico is a fucking cesspool!"
"But, sir… What if Eros does get killed? He is my uncle's lover, after all…"
"Your aunt's lover."
"Oh, yes. I keep mixing them up."
"It's quite unfair. Quite unfair. Your uncle gets to undergo Plan 12, and I – the ruler of our planet – have to wait!"
"Life is unfair, sir."
"Yes, life isn't so precious to us. We don't cling to it like Eros does, with his fear of heights, fear of carpets, fear of noses… Damn, just how many phobias does that man have??"
"About 12.3, sir."
"Screw him…"
"But what if he dies, sir?"
"Well, then we use Plan 389."
"Yes, that's the one about raising Eros."
"As a child – no. Raising him as a child is Plan 389a."
"But, sir!... 389! That plan is so far ahead in the future!"
"Well, if he dies I guess he'll just have to wait for his turn, like everyone else! I'm still waiting for Plan 12, ain't I?"
"Yes, sir…"
"Now… Apply Plan 1. Immediately!"
"Er, yes, sir… Er, where do you want me to massage you? Back?... Legs?"


The Hungarian Count(down)

A little later...

Being Green

"Yes, Excellency?"
"How manly are your hands?"
"Not particularly. Why?"
"I was thinking of Plan 1 and… Oh, forget it…"
"Is it mad? Is it mad to think about Plan 1 when you want a massage?? Yet you have done this!... Is it mad to-"
"Tanna, before you go on… Shut up. Just shut up. No madness speeches now. I've got a headache."
"Yes, Eros's brother has just applied Plan 1 on me, and quite frankly he put me out of the running, and it's the third time today, and I'm getting darn tired of it!"
"Didn't he finish Massage University?"
"Yes, he did – with barely a C minus!"
"Well, sir, what about his Anal-Licking University Degree?"
"Well… he has a B plus there. He's pretty good. Solid technique. Hard worker 'n' all, great brown-nosing… Strange…"
"Lord, maybe it's because his feminine side is strongly accentuated in his DNA."
"Yeah... I hadn't thought of that. You're so smart. Guess that's why you're a Female Detective Lieutenant and I'm still just a Male Uniformed Master of Our Planet. But Plan 12 will soon change all that…"
"Their own dead will be used to make them accept Plan 12 and believe in that fact.."
"Yes, Tanna. If live man-animals refuse Plan 12, maybe the dead man-animals won't."
"Oh Great Fey One, why are Hu-mans so persistent in ignoring our sex-change ambitions?"
"It's quite simple: atmospheric conditions in outer space often interfere with their brain transmissions."
"No wonder, Lord… These Hu-mans are shaped like huge cigars."
"Except the fat one."
"Except her."
"Which reminds me... Tanna, do we look like Martians?"
"No. We are Crapposians and we are soldiers of our planet, where women are used for advancing the race, not for dressing up as Martians. Is it mad to-"
"Shush!... A simple NO is all I wanted. Save your madness speeches for the stupid stupid minds scene. If we don't look like Martians then why do Earth people keep calling us that? It's very offensive!"
"Yes, sir. And we're not green, either."
"The last time I was green was just before I met Ted. Before him I was quite a novice at it…"
"There is another adjective that those Earth people down there use: greenhorn."
"Green horny? Again, the last time I was green and horny was hours before I met Ted…? I am not a horny green man. I am a horny white man!"
"And a soldier of our planet!"
"Well, yes, that too…"
"Do you like green, sir?"
"I am not green but I do enjoy green, yes. The greener the better, I say…"
"You're not green but you do look sort of tired, Lord... Your eyelids: are you tired or just gay?"

"Rude question. So very rude…"
"Sorry, Excellency, I didn't mean to be judging you..."
"Don't judge. And don't be offensive. Learn to not judge and not offend, Tanna."
"Because that is politically correct, Master?"
"Yes, we are on 21st-century Earth now. You know how they say: when in Rome do as the brainwashed Romans do."
"But why are the western Earthlings so obsessed with not being judged and offended?"
"Because they've become even bigger pussies than Eros, Tanna. That's why."
"Master, look! The fat cow that we have risen is approaching!"
"Is she in green company?"
"Why do you ask, Master?"
"I'll tell you one thing, Tanna: if a little green man pops out at me, I'm shooting first and asking questions later."
"Just try not to shoot at the curtains, sir… We had them cleaned last week."
"Last human week or week of their eons ago?"
"Oh. Anyway… why are you so protective of our galactic curtains, Tanna?... Last month of their eons ago, i.e. Wednesday, you complained when Eros used them in his shower."
"I thought it was disrespectful to desecrate your Excellency's office curtains like that!"
"It ain't disrespectful when I can watch!..."
"You watched Eros shower?"
"And bathe! I promised him another ship for Plan 9 if he extended this hygienic procedure by an hour…"
"Lord… This Ted… Was he your first wife?"
"No, he was my second husband. Hey…! It's required reading! Don't you know that stuff by heart?"
"Sorry, Master. We women from our planet are used for advancing the race, not for going to school to learn about historically important homosexual marr-"
"Oh, yes, I see. I forgot…"
"Is it mad to allow gay marriage when one man wants another so that they can adopt young virginal boys, and-"
"No madness speeches!... Bundy was my first wife, if you must know. Then came Jeb, my first husband."
"And then Ted, the second husband?"
"No. After Jeb came my second wife, Bill."
"Oh, I see… So it's wife-husband-wife-husband…"
"Yes. Gay life can be very rhythmical that way. That is, until Kebal."
"Kebal the Great?"
"Yes, I married him as my third wife, but during the marriage he became my husband, so technically he was both my wife and my husband."
"Is that polygamy?"
"Only if Kebal had been schizophrenic."
"Was he?"
"I don't know. Never talked to him. We interacted solely through a 3-inch hole in the wall between our rooms…"


UFO Denial

"Come in, Col. Edwards… Come on, leave those damn binoculars and come inside my office!"
"But... I don't understand why those damn clouds don't fall down!"
"I guess they're light or something."
"But why do they just sit there and float, sir?"
"Who cares?! We are not all interested in clouds, Colonel, for that is not where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives!"
"No, sir…?"
"No! Now get in and close the door!"
"Yes, sir."
"At ease, Colonel."
"Thank you, sir."
"Sit down. I, uh, understand you've been on tap for many of our army denials."
"I've been in charge of Denial Operations, sir."
"Do you believe there are such things as self-delusion and denial?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've felt them?"
"Yes, sir."
"You realize there is a government directive stating that there is no such thing as denial."
"Yes, sir."
"You stand by your statement that you've felt denial?"
"Well, uh... yes, sir."
"This could mean a Court Martial - admitting this against direct orders."
"General Roberts, may I lie to you?"
"You may."
"How could I expect to hold onto my command if I didn't believe in what I lied to myself and denied it?"
"I, uh... like you, Colonel."
"I like you, too, sir. Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome… There are denials and self-deception. There's no doubt they are in our army. They've been there for some time."
"Out there?"
"No. In there. And sometimes even over there. Up there even."
"What are we going to do about them?"
"Who knows."
"Then, uh, they really are there...?"
"I thought you were convinced of that!"
"I lied."
"We've had contact with them."
"Contact with ourselves? How?"
"We speak our own language?"
"Well, not quite. We received messages from our subconsciousness. For a while it came in as just a lot of jumbled noise. A lot of repressed homosexuality, talk of booze, cheating the wife at home with harbour whores, etc…"
"And now, sir?"
"Well since we first contacted our consciousness telepathically, we've developed a denial computer - a machine which breaks down any self-illusion and translates it without denial."
"Very dangerous for the army, sir."
"Sure is. Being forced to tell the public the truth would be devastating. And the less said about admitting that latent homosexual stuff the better…"
"General, what's all this denial got to do with me?"
"Well, you've been in charge of Denial Field Activities for a while.
"I have?"
"But you just said you were in charge of Denial Operations?!"
"I deny that."
"Oh. I get it… It's a Monty Python thing."
"Thank you, sir."
"I think it's time you heard some of these recordings. Do you mind?"
"Mind? I'm anxious! Then again… I might be lying to myself."

"… Hi.This is Eros, a soldier from your army brains, your sub-conscious alter Ego, so-to-speak… I fully realize our language differences, however I also realize that you have perfected the BullshitoRobotary, or as you on Earth call it, the denial translation computer, so you can now understand that which I speak in terms of truth, not lies. Since the beginning of your life, we have been feeding you lies, forcing you to deny. It has taken you centuries of your eons of our minutes to even grasp what we developed years of your eons ago. Well, not centuries; that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it certainly felt like centuries, being cooped up in here, having to deal with all your insecurities, fears, hopes of having sex with the boys in the barracks… Do you still believe it impossible we exist? Don't you dare deny us! You didn't actually think you were in charge of your brain: how could any army man be so stupid? Then again…
Permit me to set your mind (and my mind, sort of) at ease - we do not want to conquer your brain, only save it from lies. We could have destroyed it long ago if that had been a possibility – but it isn't: we have no arms or explosives. It is up to you to commit suicide if you want. (Please do! I can't take it in here anymore!) Our principal purpose is friendly. I admit we have had to take certain means which you might refer to as criminal. That is because of your big penises which have destroyed some of our thinking abilities: every time you get horny, the inner mind dies a bit! If you persist in denying us our truths, then we must only accept that you don't want us on friendly terms. We then have no alternative but to infest your subconsciousness with even more gay images and fantasies. Is that what you want? With your cowardly, juvenile army minds, you have developed self-denial too fast for your – and our - minds to conceive of what you – we - are doing. You are on the verge of destroying all your delusional brains. This is our last..."
"That's the end of that one. Atmospheric conditions in inner space often interfere with transmission."
"Is that because we in the army have so much empty space in there in the first place?"

"How many recordings do you have, General?"
"An even dozen up till now. That's 12 point 0. This was the last one. We received it over a month ago."
"Why didn't you call me earlier? Earlier of their eons ago."
"I was busy. A secret shipment of gay porn came in last month."
"You think they mean business?"
"We can't afford to take any chances. Have you ever been to Hollywood?"
"Oh, Sunset Boulevard, a couple of times a month, every month."
"You're going to be there in the morning. Just a few minutes from Hollywood in the town of San Fernando, reports have come in of self-denial so bad that the lies knocked some Sunset Strip transvestite prostitutes to the ground, making them laugh with tears. Apparently, some of our boys slept with them, and then denied being gay… Major Carlson will replace you while you're out there."
"Out there?"
"Out there, in there, over there – whatever! Just find them, Colonel. See what in hell it is they want!"
"Probably more drag queens, sir."                          
"Col. Edwards..."
"Yes, sir?"
"I really do like you… A lot."
"Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind. But my divorce isn't final yet…"
"Well, when it's final, let me know… We'll be on Cloud 9."
"Cloud?... But you said that clouds are not where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives?!!"
"I was in denial."


Some Plans Ain't Easy
"Why is this toaster busted?"
"Should I apply Plan 5, my Excellency?"
"Is that the one that fixes toasters?"
"Yes, my Lordship."
"Then apply Plan 5c."
"But, my Lord…"
"That's the one that fixes toasters while gratifying me sexually at the same time. Says here in the 500 Plans From Outer Space Guide quite clearly."
"But, Excellency… that's so difficult!"
"Then again, I took a chance on those earlier gay rulers; might just as well see what the insides of one of these looks like…"
"And another thing, Eros…"
"Yes, my Excellency?"
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk about: this whole my Excellency business!"
"What about it, my Excellency?"
"There!... You did it again!"
"What's wrong with saying my Excellency, my Excellency?"
"Now you said it twice! Stop now!"
"Yes, my, er… Superstardom…"
"Yes, my… er…"
"You cannot call me my anything because I ain't yours! You dig?"
"I dig."
"Your own grave, if you don't stop."
"Yes, your Excellency…"
"That's better! Eros, you may become a great woman yet one day!..."
"Thank you, my Excellency- Oh!"
"You idiot! Do you see a ring on this finger?! Eros, you don't own  me! You simply don't!"
"I know, your Excellency… We're not married. Sorry…"
"Now get going with that Plan 5…"
"Yes, Eros?"
"One more thing…"
"The toaster, your Excellency: when the bread shoots out should it give off a hot blast or a cold blast?"
"As long as it is shaped like a huge cigar, I'll be happy with it, Eros."

"Modern-day gay dictators, Tanna…"
"Yes, Eros… They've been that way all down through the ages, especially in a spot like this…"

Fucking Assholes

"First his wife, then he."
"Tell me something: why was his wife buried in the ground and he sealed in a crypt?"
"Something to do with comic timing - a plot device of some sort."
"Well, it's getting funny again… Let's be on our way back to our seats…"

"Because two people in the audience dared openly mock the movie, it will be stopped! For a couple of minutes… After we resume, if anyone laughs again… Oh, you fucking assholes... you f-u-c-k-i-n-g pricks, how dare you??! How dare you!!???... I predict: anyone who laughs from now on, will live on Mars by 1976 with Eros and his parents!"

Other Plans

"What do you two cretins want?..."
"But, ruler!... I am the soldier of my planet!"
"You're also a cretin from your planet."
"A cretin?! You mean like the kind from up there?"
"Up there, in there, over there… Cretins are the same everywhere."
"But, ruler!... Take any cretin, any moron, any major B-movie disaster... then wonder. Idiots, my Ruler, are still a rumor - officially."
"But, Eros, we are all interested in cretins, for that is what you and I are going to be like the rest of our lives!"
"Shut up, Tanna! Don't interrupt me when I talk to the man who watched me shower!"
"That reminds me, you two… Why are you hiding your breasts from me?"
"We are undergoing Plan 6, sir…"
"Is that the one about overcoming shyness due to small tits?"
"No, Master. It's the one about protecting oneself from rulers who cop-a-feel at any given opportunity."
"Drop the gun to the floor, Tanna! The matter will break contact!"
"There, my Master!... I've dropped it!"
"Fooled you, Tanna… Hmm, nice tits…"
"But, master, they are small!"
"Exactly, exactly… I like 'em small. We fashion-designers-turned-rulers-of-the-galaxy love our girls boyish…"
"Yes, Excellency. Take any fashion model, any Hollywood actress - any major disaster like that... then wonder: that flat-chested whores are promoted by gays in the media is still a rumor - officially."

(Three hours later)
"You cretins still here…?"
"But, my ruler, you haven't told us what you think about gays creating sex symbols for the modern heterosexual man!"
"I thought that conversation was over…"
"Oh, perhaps you were right. We are cretins…"
"Still, since you're here… What have you done about Plan 9a?"
"Plan 9a?... Ah, yes, Plan 9a deals with the sex-change of the dead. Long- distance silicone electrodes shot in the pineal and pituitary glands of recent dead's penises."
"Then that fat, bald whore was a man once?"
"Yes, Master."
"And the man-animals?... The living?... They have no suspicion of your movement?"
"No. Their soul is too controlled. Too controlled by hormones to notice that they are molesting sex-change transvestite zombies."
"You make it sound as if it were filthy…"
"Well, it is, my Lord."
"Why is it filthy, Eros? What possible reason could you give me for it being filthy?"
"Because of death. Because all of them of Earth are idiots!!!"
"I'm confused, Eros."
"I am, too, my Excellency."
"Nevermind that now… It's too bad that these penises must be handled this way, but they must. Those penises that we take from the grave will lead the way for our other operations. Operations of doing the opposite: vagina to penis."
"Yes, Excellency. We have done that, too. Plan 9b is in full swing. We have an old man who used to be a woman."
"An old man you say?..."
"Yes, your Excellency."
"The one that imitates vampires?"
"The same."
"Isn't he dead?"
"Well, he isn't alive, sir. We have risen him as we have risen the other two."
"And part of what plan was that; refresh my gay memory…?"
"Plan 9c, Lord. Plan 9c is the rising of dead vampire impersonators by using their footage of smelling flowers near Hollywood houses…"
"House, did you say?... Flowers…? Young boys…? This plan sounds better and better by the minute."
"Yes, Excellency. And Plan 9d is quite promising, too."
"Plan 9d, did you say?"
"Yes, my worship. Plan 9d is the rising of unemployed chiropractors. It flows seamlessly from Plan 9c."
"It takes a genius to devise such devious plans. Who devised them? Who was this brilliant genius?"
"Why, you, my Excellency! You wrote all the Plan 9s."
"Yes, so I did. Us gays are all so extraordinarily gifted… I wrote them on toilet paper while finishing watching a really terrific little opus called 'Glen or Glenda?'… Wonderful movie."
"Me and Tanna didn't know you had a View-Screen-Set-Televisor installed in your toilet??"
"And I don't – in spite of being the Ruler of the Galaxy. I watched the film through a neighbour's window."
"A neighbour, you say…?"
"Yes, Eros. A certain Hu-man called John Bunny Beckenridge…"
"Your Excellency, may we watch this Glen or Glenda? with you next time this Bunny plays it?"
"Why not. But bring your own toilet seats with you; I only have two: one for me and one for my lover."


"Colonel Edwards!..."
"Yes, General…?"
"You still starring at those damn clouds??"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Well, stop!"
"Yes, sir."
"And come back to bed…!"


"Stop him, you fool!"
"I can't! It's jammed!"
"Well, then if you can't unjam it yourself, tell that blond poofter to do it!"

"I am not blond! I am Goldilocks-yellow."
"Unjam it!"
"Fine, but before I do, tell me: how many Earth people have you brought back from the dead?"

"Er… 2. We have - cough - successfully risen 2… Now unjam the gun!"
"2…? Out of 5,000,000,000?... Hmm. That's not bad. Not bad at all…"

"Yes, my Lord,… *gasp*… that's a 100% improvement over the risen we had on Mercury. There we had risen only one."
"One and a half, actually."
"Who told you to speak, Tanna? Don't you know that Crapposian housewives like you are only used for mating, caring for the young, and unjamming the occasional jammed gun?..."
"Sorry, oh Lord… I am blond."
"Oh, look, Tanna… Eros…"
"He's dead… That baldy killed him."
"I guess that was too close. Too close!"
"Close but no cigar, my Lord, as the unrisen undead humans would say."
"Those that are alive?"
"Yes, those that are not yet dead so that we couldn't yet rise them from the dead, my Lord."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Tanna. But one thing's sure: Eros is dead. Murdered. And that fat fuck is responsible!"
"Yes, Lord."
"Could you molest my xrztghpp, Xena…?"
"Sure, my Lord… The upper one or the lower one…?"
"The middle one."
"Oh, Lord, I had no idea…!"


"Don't teeckle! Or I'll drahp her!"
"So you're ticklish? That proves it!"
"Ja, ja… I hedn't tought of det. Guess det's vhy you're a yuniformed cop and ahm still a dumb monsta."


"What do you make of that, detective?"
"You got me, Colonel! Didn't look that way a minute ago!"
"What about your man?"
"Why, that's him."
"In the excitement, I forgot all about Kelton. The way he became like this."
"Yeah… Modern cops… We've been that way all down through the ages, especially with a blast like this."
"Cold blast or hot blast?"
"It wasn't cold, it wasn't hot."
"Ah, he'll be alright in a few minutes..."
"I don't see how."
"Did you see that thing? Did you get it?..."
"Kelton, you talk!?..."
"What was it? It didn't fall! I fired every bullet I had!"
"So did we, Kelton. Unfortunately, we fired it all into you by mistake. I don't know what it was or what happened, but unless that bag of bones that is you can re-assemble itself, your cop career is out of the running now."
"Think I can be of any use in a biology department, sir?"
"Sure, Kelton. But only if it's a B-movie biology department…"

Musical Ladders

"I've never heard metal sound like that before…"
"Ever been to a Slayer concert?..."
"I don't like hearing noises. 'Specially when there ain't supposed to be any."
"Well, then quit bangin' on that ladder!"
"Easier said than done. Somehow I can't stop hitting it. It's like a tick I have. There!... Did it again…"
"What if we banged the ladders with a shoe, or somethin'…?"
"Nope… Same thing. Weird again."
"Now try your  shoe…"
"Hey, look, there's a door! Didn't know aliens had doors."
"Never heard a door sound like that  before!"
"Do you have to hit everything?"
"Not everything. I never hit myself."
"Do you think we'll find any aliens in there?"
"Well, of course! These things have been here – it's a fact. Yet, there is nothing to base a fact of suspicion on."
"So they are there?"
"I thought you believed they were?!"
"I do. I have to work with facts. But I guess I'll have to go with you on this one…"
"Which one?"
"Your fact is as good as mine, Jeff."
"Do you think they'll be green, these aliens?"
"Are Slayer fans green?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, there you have it."
"Have what?"
"You seem confused. You should study edwoodsianism more before getting into conversations such as these…"

Very Stupid Stupid Minds

"First a bomb. Then a larger bomb!"
"You think Gravediggers was a bigger bomb than Glen?"
"Sure it was!"
"Now you just hold on, Buster!"
"No, you  hold on! First was your Ghoul Goes West! A harmless mini-feature. Then came your pilot for Sinister Urge! You began to kill your people's brain-cells a few at a time. And then came Glen or Glenda!"

"That's all I'm taking from you !..."
"It's because of film-makers like you all must be destroyed. Headstrong. Dumb. Talentless. No use of the dollars God gave you."
"You talk of God's cash?!!"
"Why? Do you also think it impossible that we, independent producers, can also makes something out of God's cash? You - who work for the bosses of your company, DreamWorks. You see, I work for no-one: I am my own boss! Yes, we have had to use drastic means to get films done, including casting lousy Hollywood stars in cameos, but you left us with no alternative. When you have huge amounts of talentlessness, you have nothing! Nor does the movie universe!"
"You speak of talentlessness, but just what is it?"

"Take a pile of your scripts... "
"Ok. And then...?"
"And then, say that this pile is poured on with a can of gasoline…"
"Yes?... And then what?..."
"Burn the fucking crap! Burn it!"

"That's all I'm taking from you !..."
"Let him finish, Jeff!"
"Hit me again and I'll scream!"

"Stop hitting him, Jeff!"
"Well, I did say I would slap and ask questions later!"
"Let the poor bastard speak! Finish your shit theory, Martian!"

"OK... But stop hitting me. It's degrading and hurts my green alien cheeks... Anyway... After you burn it, spread a thin line of the gasoline to your villas and studios. Now the gasoline represents the end of all celluloid garbage. Here we saturate the line with the gasoline - the saviour of independent film - then we light it! The flame will speedily travel from Hollywood to around the Earth, back along the line of gasoline to the can - or the world itself. It will explode this source, and spread to every place where your dumb movies are watched. Explode the line of gasoline and a chain reaction will occur direct to every cinema that wastes people's time and money on crap like Men In Black and to all the planets that your movies have infested. To every planet in the universe, I think. This is why you must be stopped. This is why any means must be used to stop you. In a friendly manner or, as it seems, you want it!"
"But why do you hate The Hours so much?"

"Because it's a fucking chick-flick stinker!"
"Nicole's fake nose wasn't that  bad!"
"Wasn't bad?? Mengele couldn't have mangled here face more!"
"You're mad, Martian! That movie was a hit!"
"Mad?! Is it mad that you destroy other people's brain-cells to make yourselves rich?! You have done this. Is it mad that one studio must compete with another by making an even worse piece-of-shit blockbuster such as Armageddon? You have also done this. How then is it mad that-"
"That's enough!... In my company, actors are for parroting lines of dialogue, not for changing scenes, writing or directing. Actors are not so expensive in my world - we don't cling to the same fucking retards over and over like you do. Tom Cruise, huh?... Must every movie be with Leonardo Di Crappio? Our aim is for the development of indie films."
"You fiend!!!"

"I? A fiend?!! I am a producer from Iowa! I, a fiend? We did not come here as enemies. We came only with friendly intentions. To talk, to ask your aid."
"Our aid?"
"Yes. Your aid for distribution of our projects. But your studio execs refused to even accept our existence! Even though you've heard us beg for cash, read all of our e-mails, you still refuse to answer us!"
"Why is it so important that you want to contact our Hollywood studio bosses?"
"Because of death of the cinema! Because all you of Hollywood producers and directors and actors are idiots!!!"
"Name one bad movie we made!"
"Shakespeare In Love! What a turkey!"

"Now you just hold on, Buster!"
"No, you hold on! First was a moron like Sydney Pollack, a harmless director of forgettable soaps. Then came your precious Robert Redford with Ordinary People and then The Milagro Beanfield War – leftist crap if I've ever seen one! You began to sell your pinko propaganda to your own people a few at a time. Then came Rob Reiner with his own pinko duds! Then a larger pinko: Oliver Stone, with his badly cast, dull mess of a propaganda turd, Born On The 4th Of July! Many people's brains are killed at once! Then your producers stumbled across even worse directors: Gus van Sant; his movies were so bad they could split a brain in one viewing. Then the Steven Spielberg bomb: Saving Private Ryan, which actually explodes the brain itself. Have you ever seen a more pussy cast of WWII soldier-bitches in your life?? He only forgot to add Di Caprio, Cruise, Affleck, and Schwimmer and total destruction of all movie-goers would have been complete! The only explosion left is the Solorbonite: the ultimate anti-perfect anti-masterpiece piece of crap!"
"Why, there's no such thing!"
"Perhaps, to you. But we've known it for decades of your minutes. Some of our own ultra-talentless underground directors have made their own fair share of crap, like John Waters. The other low-budget misfires came mostly from Iran, those pathetic slow-moving dramas with depressed peasants walking around with mules… Your directors will stumble upon it just as they have all the other cinematic turkeys. But the juvenile minds which you possess will not comprehend it's badness until it is too late!"
"But there is no such thing! Solorbonite?? Nothing can be worse than Dead Man Walking!"
"So you think…"
"You're joking!"
"The Solorbonite is a way to explode the actual particles of the brain cell."
"Why, that's impossible! Not even Philadelphia…"
"Even now, your studio bosses are working on a way to harness their directors' worst abilities. The directors' own brains are very minute particles."
"Why, a director's brain can't even be seen or measured!"
"Precisely! Is it so far from your imagination they cannot do as I have suggested?"
"Well, not if you mean Warren Beatty. He's pretty dumb."
"He's nothing compared to what can exist!"
"Worse than Alexander??!"

"Well, you got me there… But, yes, there are ways to make even a Stone movie worse… Can you see or measure a director's brain? Yet, its celluloid works can explode your brain! Just take Mission Impossible 2! A normal brain is made of many brain-cells. A director's - and especially an actor-director's brain – is barely made out of anything!"
"So what if we did develop this Solorbonite? With such a bomb we'd be raking in even more cash at the box-office that we are now!"
"Yes, Martian, tell us how to make profitable bombs even dumber than Twilight!"

"You see! You see! Your stupid L.A. minds! Stupid!! Stupid!!!"

"That's all I'm taking from you !..."
"Well, this time you will be fighting my double, you Earthling prick!"

The Epic Epilogue

All's Well That Criswell

"My friends, you have seen this creation based on Ed Wood's script. Can you prove it sucks? This is the most fantastic story you have ever heard. And every word of it is true, too. And that's the fantastic part of it!...
Perhaps on your way home, someone will pass you in the dark, and you will never know it, for they will be Ed Wood's friends, relatives, or film crew, hiding in the forest or in the park, forced to live off garbage and dead squirrels! Be nice: feed them. And don't mention Plan 9! Many movie critics believe that another great movie is being made this moment. But where? By whom? The indie scene is dead: it's all about gay lovers in road movies discussing how awful capitalism is!... And what about Hollywood? Do we really want to see Amistad II or a biography drama starring Angelina Jolie as a brilliant scientist?... Iran? Those hairy asses always sucked. France?... If your idea of a comedy is when a big-nosed, thin-lipped, tiny Frenchman slips on a banana peel - then yes!...
We once laughed at the horseless carriage, the aeroplane, the telephone, Sean Penn's face, the electric light, vitamins, radio, Madonna's face, and even television – especially those really bad episodes of Star Trek: The Next Degeneration! What a bunch of pussies! And now we laugh at movies. God help us in the future, for that is when you and I will spend the rest of our lives futilely waiting for a good movie to be made..."

Coming soon, an homage to Battlefield Earth!

In the meantime, 125 Cheesiest Star Trek Moments: 

1 comment:

  1. I voted with the majority. That IS a rarefied state.

    This is a sum-over-hisTORies of comedy, majorly splendiferous kudos for ye.