TAMPA ON

INT. SHABBY TENT ON FRINGE OF OCCUPY TAMPA CAMP IN DOG-DOO PARK – DOOMSDAY

Outside the wind is stirring ominously driving the rain hard through the various worn spots in the tent as water drips from the tent ceiling

KELVIN & CELSIUS sit hunched cross-legged on the dirt floor amidst a dozen or so various sized glass wine bottles and several red & yellow five gallon gasoline cans

K & C, who are in their early to mid-twenties, are being glared at by an older man, Branson, who is pacing the perimeter of the tent and whose demeanor and body language would indicate Pretentious Alpha Male–the Man in Charge

KELVIN: Look dude, what’s the point of a firebomb with all this rain anyway? I sounds like a fuckin’ tornado out there!

BRANSON: So you pussies are gonna flake on this? And you wimps think you’re supposed to make a difference? Wotta fuckin’ joke! That’s why shit never changes! Because when it comes down to getting it done, the johnny–come-lately wannabee mama’s boy fags like you two flake every fuckin’ time when the going gets tough!

CELSIUS: Aw, c’mon man…that lady Claire over at the main tent even said that the violent stuff is counter-productive–might create a backlash, and with that burnining gas and shit, somebody could get really hurt, y’know?

KELVIN: Yeah, my uncle Sparky was a fireman and got the whole side of his face burnt n’ scarred… some real sad shit, man…we just came down here to protest, but this shit could get someone killed…

BRANSON: That’s just the kind of crap I’m talkin’ about. All spun around by “Claire at the main tent”! Quoting some granola-granma dyke softball sob-sister? Just listen to you! I can’t believe how pussy-whipped you faggots are! Nothing gets changed till you fudgesicles get your house in order and show these cunts who’s really in charge! Che didn’t wait for some bitch’s permission to act! He just went ahead and did what he had to do, but you little college-boy sissies wanna have a commitee of these fem-nazi cunts dominate you, and tell you what to do while you two just jerk each other off thinkin’ you’re these big radicals! You fucking DISGUST me!

KELVIN: Uh, well…when you put it like that I guess…

BRANSON: Good, then let’s get started… fill up these bottles, and insert the fuses like in that manual I downloaded for you…

(phone rings)

BRANSON: …uh, gotta take this…be right back…

BRANSON exits tent squinting into the intensifying wind-driven rain, then huddling under a partially detached canopy tarp on the other side of some very distressed looking trees…

(BRANSON on phone)

BRANSON: …no, but I’m totally sure…no they don’t have records, but these two are total psychos…definite cop-killers…yeah I’m pretty sure they’ve been out raping too…real sickies, but we can put them out of business first…yeah, I got the envelope–all ten grand…I dunno, she said her name was Marcia Garcia…well maybe, but Lee wouldn’t know a Cuban from a cubist…

FADE…

CUT TO: POV high-arc overhead zoom on wind-thrashed palm-trees and blowing debris under sinister darkening skies…

(voice over)

NARRATOR: I hadn’t seen Marcia since Rove spoke at EX-PAC in Dallas, the Executive Action PAC where assorted Las Vegas casino owners, Mex drug cartel frontmen, Chinese investors, money-laundering Salvadoran bagmen for death-squad speculators, reps from blatantly propagandistic “news” organizations, and bat-shit crazy dictator headbust & memorbilia collecting billionaires brainstormed ways to “terminate the command” of the current POTUS with “extreme prejudice”, as various parties pledged $10,000,000 apiece toward that eventuality…

CUT TO: EX-PAC AT THE CUSTERDOME IN DALLAS

INT. CUSTERDOME

Billionaire political fixer and former Batman villian Mr. Freeze is at the podium introducing Rmoney to his client constituants…

FREEZE: …well Mr. Obama better watch out when he gets to the debates with Rmoney up there – he better have a bullet proof teleprompter, ’cause we got him in our sites and he just better be careful and watch his step or he might just bomb! O-bomb-a! You know what I mean?

(crowd roars in lusty appreciation)

FADE…

CUT TO: Darkening storm fills sky over deserted urban Tampa intersection…

(voice over…)

NARRATOR: She said “ciao” at the corner of Acacia & Valencia according to the technician. Now, I think it would be beneficial if we could appreciate how an asocial provincial beautician like Marcia Garcia, would associate the official racial pronunciation by the politician’s crucially beneficial mathemetician in that special artificial Cialis commercial, with the excruciating sciatic dissassociation now masked by the facially glacial expression of renunciatory sacrificial apathy, like the very sociable infomercial physician’s (or was he a pediatrician?) magician-like, but superficially musicianesque insouciance back at the estancia…

2 B continued…

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