If you wish to read the old version I published way back when you can click here for the original post, which is more of stage script. I was never quite happy and with all this time off I’ve been going through my old stories and scripts and knuckling down and doing rewrite. Maybe in another few years I’ll change it again. Maybe. Anyway I hope you like the changes and you get a giggle out of this little short film script that I will as soon as the wigs arrive shoot… Or I may try animating it. hmmm. There’s an idea
zig.
EXT. HEAVENLY NEIGHBOURHOOD - DAY A row of unassuming semi-detached houses on a beautiful sunny day. Each of the houses have their own little peculiarities but each one is clearly produced from the same template, only their gardens and the ornamentation on houses differentiate them. The house we are interested in is number 7 - front garden a mess, hedges overgrown, pieces of broken motorcycle lying amongst unidentified junk. WE HEAR DIESEL ENGINE VAN before we see it. As the COURIER van pulls up tiny winged creatures fly out of the bushes - humans with wings instead of arms, squawking like angry sparrows. The cheerful COURIER hops out of the van with a clipboard and a fairly large box, almost skipping up the path to the front door of number 7. He knocks on the door missing the obvious please ring bell sign. He waits a whole 5 seconds before knocking again. THE OLD MAN (O.S) Alright, alright I hear you. THE OLDMAN grumbles and mutters then... WE HEAR him slip and tumble down the stairs. The Courier leans into the door. Is the old man OK? THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) (Shouting) Jesus fucking Christ! The door opens revealing THE OLDMAN, white beard, matching hair, a pair of boxer shorts and grubby looking dressing gown lazily not covering his tea stained singlet. He's half stoops, grabbing his foot and removes a fish from the bottom of it. When he comes back up he has a little head rush and shakes it off. He looks as hung-over as he feels. For a moment he doesn't know what to do with the fish. He looks at the courier, his hands are full with the large box, clipboard wedged into his armpit. The Old Man thinks about just throwing it out the front, then turns back into the house scratching his belly as he goes. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Oi! Junior! Parcel for you. He bangs on JUNIOR's door, slapping the fish on the door, which sticks for a moment before sliding down as the Old Man strolls to the kitchen much to the Couriers consternation JUNIOR (O.S.) I'm busy! The Courier can just make out the old man making himself a cup of coffee in the small kitchen. COURIER Um... Just need a signature... THE OLD MAN Stop wanking and answer the fucking door! JUNIOR I'm not wanking! THE OLD MAN I'm omnipotent. All seeing. He turns to the courier and whispers THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Unfortunately. The kettle is already hot so it doesn't take long for it to boil and click off. COURIER Anyone can sign... THE OLD MAN And stop leaving your fish lying all over the fucking place. (Then to Courier) Good job I don't condone abortions eh? A head pokes out of Junior's room looking back at the kitchen, first at his Old Man and then to the Courier who holds up the parcel hoping someone will take it sign for the damn thing. COURIER Please can someone just sign... JUNIOR is the early twenties version of his father, if the early twenties version was a stoner hippie. The hair hasn't gone away or is receding as far as the Old Man's but give it a few years... Junior leaves his room, almost slipping on the fallen fish. He removes the fish from his foot much in the same manner as his old man, only inadvertently smelling it upon bringing it up near his nose. He throws it past the courier, into a bush where it is voraciously devoured by the little human bird things. The Courier inches away from the bush next to him - just in case. Junior takes the parcel from the courier reading the label then shouts back of the Old Man. JUNIOR This isn't for me. It's for you. The Courier hands the clipboard for Junior to sign. THE OLD MAN Who's it from? Once the Courier recovers his clipboard he hops down the lane back into his van and drives off. Junior is rolling the box between his hands, half shaking it, like a kid trying to work out what his Christmas present is. The Old Man strolls back from the kitchen to the front door, coffee in had. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Who's it from? JUNIOR What don't you know? Thought you were omnipotent? The old man launches up with a cup of coffee in one hand and looks at the box ripping the packing slip off the top of the box. THE OLD MAN It's a big fucking universe, alright? He struggles opening the plastic envelope, eventually using his teeth which at first has no effect. JUNIOR You want me to get your teeth? THE OLD MAN Fuck off! The Old Man rips the plastic open, spits the shard out and shakes the folded packing slip out of its sheath. He reads it slowly then stops. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Put it down son. Slowly. JUNIOR What? Junior is still rocking it about. THE OLD MAN ...and stop shaking it. Junior looks at his dad then carefully puts the box down - the Old Man is not mucking around. The Old Man then backs up grabbing his kids arm and the two back away, very slowly from the box. It is a while before any of them speak. JUNIOR It's another present from Kali innit? The Old Man doesn't get it. JUNIOR (CONT'D) Blue bird. Loads of arms? Skulls around the neck? Asian? Crazy look in her eye? THE OLD MAN I know who Kali is, What I don't know is what you're talking about. JUNIOR This is another severed head? THE OLD MAN It's not from Kali. JUNIOR How do you know? THE OLD MAN You see any bloody finger prints? JUNIOR I don't know why you hooked up with her in the first place. THE OLD MAN 'Cause she's a lot of fun... Sure she's a little wild but what you going to do? She is the goddess of destruction and rebirth. BEAT. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Besides she's got all those arms and a really long tongue... You can't imagine the dirty shit she gets up to... JUNIOR You disgust me. THE OLD MAN She's really flexible, knows yoga. JUNIOR Stop now. THE OLD MAN She can bend so far down she can lick her... JUNIOR Enough! The Old Man acquiesces. THE OLD MAN You're such a prude. BEAT. JUNIOR Then who's it from? THE OLD MAN The Muslims. Junior looks at his dad ashamed. JUNIOR You fucking racist. THE OLD MAN What? JUNIOR You you think there's a bomb in there don't you? The Old Man says nothing, merely shrugs. THE OLD MAN Well if you're so fucking confident you open it then. JUNIOR Fine. THE OLD MAN Good. JUNIOR I will then... Junior doesn't move. THE OLD MAN Go on then. Junior still doesn't move. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Yeah I thought so. Junior, chest puffed up, walks back to the box and carefully examining the box - from a safe distance. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Oh come here you pussy. Let me... The Old Man walks over the box and pulls out a knife, from where we don't know - even Junior seems impressed. He flicks the blade open and cuts the packing tape away from the box. Using the tip of the blade the Old Man opens the box very gingerly and peers inside. For a moment there is nothing save for the questioning look on his face. The Old Man folds the knife and puts it back into his pocket. He then plunges one hand in the box and pulls out a small pink rubbery item that looks for all the world like an ear lobe or a piece of pork scratching before it's been properly cooked in the oven. Nonchalantly the Old Man passes it back to his son who rolls it around his fingers not sure what to make of it. THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) Jesus Christ it must be thousands of these and they're all different colours. He passes another back to Junior. This one the colour of a dark African skin. JUNIOR They look like pork scratchings... As soon as the words have escaped his mouth a thought occurs to him. He drops the rubbery thing. JUNIOR (CONT'D) Oh my god that's disgusting. The Old Man is still rummaging. JUNIOR (CONT'D) They're foreskins. The Old Man gets up in a shot wiping his hand on his dressing gown. THE OLD MAN Oh... that is disgusting. With the tip of his toe the Old Man pushes the box out of the front door back onto the step. JUNIOR What did you do? THE OLD MAN What do you mean "what did I do?" JUNIOR I mean, what did you do? You've got form. THE OLD MAN What are you talking about? JUNIOR You get a little drunk and you start calling people up in the middle of the night making proclamations... THE OLD MAN Fuck off! Junior lifts his hand up as if he's making a phone call. JUNIOR Hi Abraham? Yeah it me God. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it's a little early. Just fancied a chat. Three AM you say? Yeah that is fucking early. The Old Man's face is telling the kid the fuck off. JUNIOR (CONT'D) Yeah love you too... How much? I mean... If I asked you to kill your son would you do it? THE OLD MAN Jesus I get a little emotional and everyone takes everything out of context. JUNIOR You know you say you love me but the only time you speak with me is if your crops are doing badly or your misses won't go down on you... THE OLD MAN Alright enough. JUNIOR ... I've got feelings too you know. Why don't we meet at the top of the mountain? Yeah right now... bring Isaac. What do you mean he's got school in the morning? He's home schooled! THE OLD MAN I admit sometimes I get a little emotional. JUNIOR Tell that to Moses. THE OLD MAN Now there's a man who could drink... Just then a SECOND COURIER turns up, with another parcel skipping like the first up to the front door. SECOND COURIER Special delivery for...ffffhslalggd The Courier tries and tries but cannot say the name on the label. THE OLD MAN Yeah... It's for me then. The Courier is still trying to say the name... THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) It's unpronounceable. SECOND COURIER You don't say. That's a lot of consonants. The second Courier smiles at Junior. SECOND COURIER (CONT'D) Alright madam. THE OLD MAN That's my son. SECOND COURIER Oh I'm sorry. It's the cheekbones. The Old Man looks at the dispatch date, blowing off a cloud of dust as he does so. THE OLD MAN This was sent four hundred fucking years ago. SECOND COURIER Ah... sometimes these things get a little mixed up in the sorting office. The Old Man just shakes his head as the second courier skips off to his next delivery. The box is identical to the first only a little more dusty. JUNIOR Who's that one from? The Old Man reads the packing slip and slaps his forehead. THE OLD MAN The Jews. He opens the box and... JUNIOR More foreskins? THE OLD MAN More foreskins. For a while neither say anything more. JUNIOR Should we send them back? The Old Man thinks about it... almost agreeing. Almost... THE OLD MAN Hang on a minute I've got an idea. CUT TO: EXT. THE PUB - LATER The Old Man and Junior stroll from the pub in bad disguises. The Old Man has a wad of notes in his hand and he's counting them. THE OLD MAN That, my son was the brilliant idea you had. Junior is puzzled - it wasn't his idea. JUNIOR Shall we tell the Muslims and Jews to stop chopping off bit's of baby dick? Behind them the barman puts the boxes of pork scratchings up behind the bar. The labels on the boxes look like they were scribbled by a kid - which they were. His Assistant is bust scribbling "NEW IN - ORGANIC PORK SCRATCHINGS £1.50" THE OLD MAN Yeah yeah yeah but let's first go to the pub and have a couple of sneaky pints. I'll call them in the morning. Promise. Junior just stares incredulously at his Old Man - Oh Really? THE OLD MAN (CONT'D) I swear. Set your alarm though, Just in case. Not too early. FADE OUT. THE END
Categories: Comedy, Genres, Scripts/Screenplays, Short Film (Script), Writing