Part IPart IIPart IIIWarner Bros., in association with DreamWorks, Paramount, Universal, and Miramax regretfully presentA story written by Cbrad
Based on the novel by Cbrad
Which was all based on an idea originally thought of by Cbrad
An idea thought of while sitting on the toilet by Cbrad
(in an order made by Cbrad)[/b]Picolas
The Gold Trumpet
A few unnamed special guests
And Sphinx…as Sphinx
[/b][/i]PART IV: THE SEARCH FOR XIXAX Without fools the rest of us could not exist.
INT. EBEAMAN AND STEFEN’S DORM ROOM- DAY
Medium shot of Ebeaman and Stefen sitting on a worn, stained, duct-taped couch, watching a movie. Although we cannot see their hands, it is pretty obvious that they are giving each other handjobs.
EBEAMAN (moaning): I’m close.
STEFEN: Shut up... best part.
We cut to the TV and see they are watching “That Moment” on the Magnolia extras DVD. On-screen, Paul Thomas Anderson is sitting on a sofa being interviewed.
PTA (on the DVD): I just couldn’t write with the chaos of Boogie Nights coming out, I just couldn’t. I think I really just wanted to make another movie right away because I was afraid of expectations and I thought I could beat them to the pass if I just, bam, made another movie… I went to Bill Macy’s cabin, which is in the middle of fucking nowhere, and this is actually a true story, there was a snake at the door and I was scared to leave…
STEFEN: Oh… Paul… give it to me.
EBEAMAN: I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. Go faster.
STEFEN: Me too. Shoot your load. Shoot it. Punch it. Punch-drunk it.
EBEAMAN: I’m coming.
STEFEN: I’m coming too.
We do a Reservoir Dogs-esque pan to the right as Ebeaman and Stefen take care of their business (moans, heavy breathings, girly screams, ‘oh Paul’s’ are heard).
STEFEN: That was hot.
EBEAMAN: Let’s get some tacos and then we’ll go again, but this time- Hard Eight commentary.
STEFEN: No! You always get to pick. Let’s do the Boogie Nights group commentary.
EBEAMAN: We did that one two nights ago.
STEFEN: So? It’s the best one.
EBEAMAN: Alright, but only if we pick up more of the KY Warming Gel because I am tired of using this baby oil. It's so messy.
STEFEN: Done and done.
The two boys put their pants back on and get ready to head out for tacos, when…
EBEAMAN: Say, has the internet been down all day?
STEFEN: Not that I know of, why.
We do a super fast Scorsese-ish zoom in on the computer monitor, and see the following:ERROR--- XIXAX NOT FOUND. INT. KITCHEN- THAT MOMENT
Themodernage sits at a dining room table inside a modest kitchen with Cecil, sharing a glass of water. The two are silent, starring at the wall.
THEMODERNAGE: I think I need to buy more paper clips.
CECIL: What would make you say that?
THEMODERNAGE: Well, I was paying some bills and noticed I was running low. I always like to paper clip the check to the bill statement, you see.
A long pause. Silence.
CECIL: Do you need to pay a bill?
THEMODERNAGE: No. Why do you ask?
CECIL: You just said you needed more paper clips because you use them to pay bills. I would only assume that if you thought you needed more paper clips at this moment, you would probably have a bill that needed to be paid right now.
THEMODERNAGE: No, I don’t have any bills that need to be paid right now.
Another long silence. They each take turns sipping the glass of water.
CECIL: I just don’t understand the sudden urgency of this impending paperclip purchase. Do you have anything, be it a bill or some other document, that would necessitate a special trip out today to a staple store?
THEMODERNAGE: No. They’re just good to have in case.
A longer silence than the previous two. A tick-tock is heard in the background, yet we do not see a clock.
CECIL: I think my cat is depressed.
Just then, the all too familiar Windows you-fucked-up/something-is-fucked up- with your computer ‘ding’ is heard. Cecil jumps up and retrieves his laptop.
CECIL: What in the name of…ERROR—XIXAX NOT FOUND. INT. GHOSTBOY’S APARTMENT- THAT MOMENT
We cut to a wide shot of a retro, borderline pretentious yet undeniably hip apartment. There is no furniture; rather, various levels of green, shag carpeting. One wall is painted bright red, another black. The air is smoky due to a burning candle and there are at least three different cats in the room at all times. Ghostboy enters wearing only a towel and eating a piece of broccoli, singing along to Cheryl Lynn’s Got to Be Real, which plays loudly on a stereo we cannot see.
GHOTSBOY: Whatcha knooow, now? Whatcha feeeel now? To be real!... You knooooow, that your love, is my love, and my love is your love, and our love is here to staaay!!
He dances over to a desktop computer and logs on to xixax.com, chewing on his broccoli, only to get the following:ERROR--- XIXAX NOT FOUND.
Puzzled, Ghostboy continues to eat/sing as he picks up his phone and dials for…INT. MACGUFFIN’S HOUSE- THAT MOMENT
MacGuffin sits at his computer, sipping a vanilla milkshake, looking troubled. The same message is displayed on his computer monitor. He picks up his phone.
GHOSTBOY: Hey man, I just tried to log-on to Xixax and got a weird message.
MACGUFFIN: I know. It’s been like that all day.
GHOSTBOY: Fucking internet is about as reliable as a Jeep Wrangler.
MACFUFFIN: There’s more going on here. Something bad is happening.
GHOSTBOY: What do you mean?
MACGUFFIN: I don’t know but I’m not sure we should talk about this on the phone.
GHOSTBOY: This sounds very Bruckheimer-ish, very TV-movie of the week.
MACGUFFIN: Look, I’m serious. P, Picolas, Jeremy, Sphinx, Mogwai, and Regular Karate are missing. Cbrad is presumably dead. They killed Bret Ratner who posed as some bar robber to steal Cbrad’s script (which was mediocre at best). I haven’t been able to get in touch with any of them for the past 6 hours. And now Xixax is down. Something is happening here.
GHOSTBOY: Okay look, I’m going to finish eating this piece of broccoli and then I probably should put on a pair of pants of some sort, and then, I’ll come over.
MACGUFFIN: Well do all that and then hurry. We need to call a meeting. A meeting for all Xixax members. An emergency meeting for all Xixax members to figure out what the hell is going on as soon as possible!
CUE: suspenseful Hans Zimmer score.
CUT TO:INT: HOSPITAL ROOM- THAT MOMENT
A hospital room. The coma patient ward, to be specific. A stedicam shot slowly creeps in and finds XIXAX in a bed. The familiar “beep… beep” hospital sound is heard. In the background we hear loud footsteps which are soon followed by the cocking of a gun. A brief moment of silence, a subtle laugh, and then…
CUT TO:INT. DARK CAVE- XIXAX MEMBER EMERGENCY MEETING.
A massive herd of Xixaxians gather together in a dark gave. CInephile and Ghostboy stand at the front, speaking quietly amongst themselves. The rest of the bunch looks worried. Some are in tears (ebeaman, pete, and Stefen, mainly). Walrus and Pwaybloe wear t-shirts that say “XIXAX 4 life.” Gold Trumpet spray-paints ‘~rougerum’ on the wall.
Ghostboy stands to the front and speaks into a microphone that happens to be there.
GHOSTBOY: Attention, everyone. Fellow Xixaxians, my friends, Myxomatosis, we gather on this good night with bad tidings.
GODDAMNIMDAMAN: Bad what? Speak up asshole!
GHOSTBOY: Something is happening, and if we don’t act soon Xixax will be nothing more than a… well… Xixax will be… terminated.
An overdramatic, collective gasp, followed by cries and sighs, permeates throughout the crowd.
GHOSTBOY: I myself will not go into the details of what we know now because, frankly, I don’t even know the details. However, someone else here does know. Someone who hasn’t spoken here in a while… well, that’s not entirely true. He has spoken here recently. In fact, he speaks her everyday. Nevertheless, let us at least pretend that we are indeed excited to hear him speak, as if he doesn’t speak here often. Gentleman, ladies (if any are present)… I give you… MacGuffin.
The crowd erupts in a roar, cheering.
MACGUFFIN: Everyone shut the fuck up.
MACGUFFIN: It is true, what many of you have heard… actually I’m not so sure what exactly you all have heard, so I can’t really say that. Anywhooo, Xixax is down.
More sighs, cries.
EBEAMAN: Oh my god!
GHOSTBOY (to Cinephile): What if they all start rioting?
CINEPHILE: As long as they don’t erupt into some bizarre, violent, hypnotic dance set to hardcore techno I think we’ll be okay.
MACGUFFIN: We have been unable to locate Xixax. Added to this- P, Mogwai, Cbrad, and Regular Karate killed Bret Ratner and now Cbrad is dead and Agent Smith is after the rest of them along with Jeremy, Picolas, and Sphinx.
EBEAMAN: They killed Bret Ratner?!?
MACGUFFIN: Yes, and Cbrad’s script was stolen.
WALRUS: Who is Cbrad?
GODDAMN: Yeah, and where in fuck’s sake are those other little spermaronies?!
CUT TO:EXT. THE SKY, SOMEWHERE ABOVE TEXAS- THAT MOMENT
Sphinx is flying through the hair, pulling a big sleigh that P, Mogwai, Jeremy Blackman, Regular Karate, and Picolas are riding on.
Picolas: I see a little silhouetto of a man,
P: Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the Fandango-
Jeremy: Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me-
P: Galileo Galileo
Sphinx: Galileo figaro-Magnifico!
Picolas: But I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me-
P: He's just a poor boy from a poor family-
Jeremy: Spare him his life from this monstrosity-
RK: Easy come easy go-,will you let me go-
P: Bismillah! No-,we will not let you go-let him go-
Sphinx: Bismillah! We will not let you go-let him go
RK: Bismillah! We will not let you go-let me go
Picolas: Will not let you go-let me go
P/Picolas/RK/Sphinx/Jeremy: Will not let you go let me go
MOGWAI: FOR REAL THO!
RK: Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go-
Sphinx: Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,for me,for meeeeeee-
P: -wait wait wait. Cut it cut it cut it. We’ve been flying around singing for nine hours now. Where the hell are we going?
SPHINX: I was just going to keep flying until someone said something.
JEREMY: Are you getting tired, Sphinx?
SPHINX: Well, now that you mention it… no.
PICOLAS: Can we stop and get something to eat?
REGULAR KARATE: Yeah no joke. I’m so hungry I’m about to eat Picolas.
JEREMY: He doesn’t seem to be doing well.
P rubs Mogwai’s back.
P: I think he’s dehydrated. Either that or he needs to smoke a bowl.
PICOLAS: Sphinx, why don’t you land us near a Pizza Hut or something.
SPHINX: Why don’t you
lick my balls.
JEREMY: Didn’t we agree that the two of you would not
talk to one another?
SPHINX: Sphinx has never been found of agreements.
JEREMY: Whatever. Look, land us near a restaurant of some sort and let’s regroup.
RK: Isn’t this fun? Doesn’t this feel like the Goonies or something? Like we’re on this big adventure and the bad guys are after us and we don’t know what’s going to happen.
PICOLAS: Yeah! Except we don’t have any girls with us.
P: Imagine that.
RK: Cbrad is kinda like a girl. Does that count?
JEMERY: Cbrad is dead.
RK: I know. I’m just saying, if he were
with us, we could pretend he was a girl.
PICOLAS: Did anyone read his script?
P: Don’t get us started on the script. It’s that blasted script that got us into this pile of horseshit situation in the first place.
JEREMY: I read a rough draft a while back. It was pretty terrible, from what I can remember, except for the part when that African beekeeper has anal sex with Princess Goldstenburger. That was interesting.
RK: Well I don’t know about you guys but I could really go for some chicken wings and a blowjob right now, not necessarily in that order.
PICOLAS: I once walked in on my mom giving my dad a blow job. I’m actually very mentally unstable because of it.
P: Okay I’m officially 86’ing this conversation.
SPHINX: Okay I’m getting tired now.
P: Well, land then, you goofy little guy.
We now cut to an establishing shot of this restaurant:INT: MONK’S COFFEE SHOP- DAY
The boys squish into a small booth, with barely enough room to breathe let alone eat. Mogwai opens a sugar packet and snorts a line of it.
P: What the hell is this “Now serving Atkins friendly menu” bullshit? Can’t you get a piece of fucking bread in this country anymore?
JEREMY: Apparently not. A cheeseburger served on lettuce wraps? Gross.
RK: I can’t take this shit. Can’t we go to Arby’s?
PICOLAS: This barbeque shrimp quesadilla intrigues me.
SPHINX: Your mom intrigues me.
P: Ladies, please. It’s getting old.
A 20-ish waiter who looks like a paler Phillip Seymour Hoffman- if Phillip Seymour Hoffman was a skinny heroin addict from Detroit- walks up to the table.
WAITER: What can I get you?
JEREMY: Chicken salad.
RK: Chicken wings, extra hot.
PICOLAS: A shrimp quesadilla.
SPHINX: Oysters rockafeller.
MOGWAI: Tho tho tho real tho.
The waiter looks confused.
P: He’ll have a fruit salad. And I want a cheeseburger, with
a bun or some kind of bread, and a cup of chili.
RK: And a pitcher of beer for everyone too.
The waiter nods and runs off.
P: Does that waiter look familiar to y’all?
JEREMY: He kind of looks like the guy who waters my garden.
RK: You have a guy who waters your garden?
P: You have a garden
PICOLAS: My knees are really sore for some reason.
SPHINX: Well maybe if you didn’t spend so much time on them you wouldn’t have that problem.
PICOLAS: Well maybe if you didn’t… spend.. time flying… like around… you wouldn’t be… you wouldn’t be… so… stupid…
SPHINX: Got that?
PICOLAS: I hate you.
The waiter returns with a pitcher of beer and 6 frosted mugs.
RK: I’ll do the honors.
RK pours himself a beer and no one else. He chugs it down fast.
A long silence. Jeremy pours everyone a beer. Mogwai insists on drinking his out of the pitcher. The silence ensues. Everyone seems to be in deep thought.
RK: You know, I haven’t taken a shit in four days. Isn’t that fucked up?
P: (to waiter) Excuse me, can I cancel that cup of chili? ‘Preciate it.
JEREMY: Do you think Agent Smith was hired to track us down and kill us?
P: Of course he was. Why else would he be after us? We didn’t do anything to him personally. He has no reason to hate us.
RK: We did trash The Matrix pretty hard on the message board.
JEREMY: Everyone trashes the Matrix. That doesn’t warrant a good enough reason for him to want to kill us.
P: He said he was looking for Xixax. That’s it.
SPHINX: Xixax is missing.
JEREMY: What? How do you know?
Sphinx pulls out his cell phone.
SPHINX: I have the internet in my phone. I just tried to log on. I got “ERROR—XIXAX NOT FOUND.”
P: No joke? What in the flying heap of monkey shit is going on here?
JEREMY: Check your email. See if Mac or Ghostboy have sent you anything.
SPHINX: I’m already in the process of checking my email.
P: Cell phones… they’re gonna rule us
RK: This beer is going down like… good beer.
PICOLAS: I can’t stop thinking about my mom giving blowjobs, now. Damnit.
SPHINX: No emails, at least none that are relevant to our situation. I did get one that says a new breakthrough in penis enlargement therapy has just been approved by the FDA. Picolas, what’s your email addy? I’ll forward it to you.
JEREMY: Say, does this beer taste odd to anyone else?
P: I don’t know but RK is right. It’s going down pretty well.
RK: It’s really good, isn’t it?
JEREMY: Something sweet. I can’t put my finger on it.
P: Let’s get another pitcher.
RK: Excuse me, Phillip Seymour- I mean, waiter? Can we get another pitcher of beer?
PICOLAS: Make it two. Save you the trip.
The waiter nods and runs off.
JEREMY: That waiter… looks so familiar…
P: Who gives a fuck about the waiter? Me’s want’s some’s more’s of this’s shit’s.
RK: I’m really excited about this next pitcher, is anyone else excited?
SPHINX: Sphinx is excited.
JEREMY: I must admit, I am as well.
PICOLAS: Me too.
P: I can’t wait for another beer. I think I’m getting a semi just thinking about it.
MOGWAI: For real… really real… tho. TITLECARD: 10 minutes later.
The boys are wasted, but not drunk wasted (more so the hallucinagentic-I-just-took-three-hits-of-acid-and-I’m-tripping-my-balls-off kinda wasted).
Jeremy and Sphinx are dancing on top of the table. Picolas is starring at a napkin. RK can’t stop laughing. P is running his fingers through his own hair and keeps licking his arms. Mogwai has taken off his shirt and is pouring salt on his head.
MUSIC CUE: Peter Frampton “Do you feel like we do”
P: Dude, my arms are like… so weird.
PICOLAS: You ever just look at something and see how there’s more, like… it’s so weird how you look at stuff and see more stuff in the stuff you’re looking at.
JEREMY: I think my skin is on fire.
SPHINX: Dude… dude…
RK: HAHAHAHAH. Stop it, please. It hurts.
MOGWAI: Como estas? Asi asi. Y tu? Asi asi. Y tu? Como estas?
JEREMY: Seriously, is my skin on fire? Can someone check?
SPHINX: Let’s make a fire!
P: I cannot leave this booth like ever… seriously. We are going to live here, now.
PICOLAS: I love this napkin. I really love it.
JEREMY: Did we take… some… sort of… hallucinogenic…
SPHINX: Hallucinogenic is like… the longest… word… ever… made.
P: WE. CANNOT. LEAVE. THIS. BOOTH. EVER. PERIOD.
The kitchen door near the back of the restaurant slowly cracks open. The waiter takes a peek at them, and then disappears.
Mogwai begins to make out with a sugar caddy.
RK: Hey you guys! Look at Mogwai! Look at what he’s doing! He thinks the sugar caddy is a real person! HAHAHAHAHAH.
P: I want to make a home here and just live and stay here and never leave.
JEREMY: Something was in that beer… okay seriously you guys, my skin is on fucking fire. I mean, I can really feel it. Am I right, people?
RK: Jeremy, you so crazy.
P starts to crack up, along with RK. Mogwai is now licking the wall.
SPHINX: Anyone want to go fly with me? Like around the block or to Delaware or something?
PICOLAS: Is Delaware like... a state... or what? I can never... remember...
JEREMY: We can’t fly… to Delaware. Something happened… we have to save something and we’re on the run from someone but I just don’t remem- okay I need a pitcher of ice water or something because the fire on my back is spreading.
P: I have this urge… a sudden urge to kill all of you right now.
RK: Go ahead. HAHAHAH. You’re doing us- HAHAHAH- a favor. We won’t have to pay-HAHAHAH- the-HAHAH- bill. HAHAHAHAH.
PICOLAS: My mom gives blow jobs… it’s so fucked up… this napkin is the only thing keeping me from really freaking out right now.
P: I want to kill one of you, just one. Waiter! Can you bring me a knife or anything sharp from the kitchen?
JEREMY: Something… something…
MOGWAI: THO REAL.
CUT TO: INT. DARK CAVE- XIXAX MEMBER EMERGENCY MEETING- THAT MOMENT
We return to the creep dark cave thing. Everyone is taking a nap, save a few who are still freaking out. CInephile is packing a bowl. Ghostboy is doing yoga. MacGuffin is on the phone with Budgie.
MACGUFFIN: Alright well I don’t know what else to tell you… the only thing I can say to you right now is good luck and goodbye.
Mac hangs up.
CINEPHILE: What’s wrong with her?
MACGUFFIN: Usual. Depressed and won’t let anyone help her.
GHOSTBOY: I’m sorry, buddy.
CINEPHILE: Yeah man, that’s a drag. You want to smoke with us?
MACGUFFIN: No thanks. And forget about her. We got other problems, here.
CINEPHILE: 99 problems and a bitch ain’t one.
GHOSTBOY: Are Ebeaman, Stefen, and Gold Trumpet playing naked Twister over there?
EBEAMAN (in background): Okay, right hand blue!
CINEPHILE: They’ve been playing for the past three and a half hours. We could’ve watched and finished Titanic and they would still be playing.
MACGUFFIN: You know what I’ve been thinking about?
GHOSTBOY: No but for some reason I hate it when people start a story with “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” because it without fail leads to a long-winded monologue.
MacGuffin walks forward, looking out into space. Ghostboy and CINEPHILE follow.
CUE: Overdramatic John Williams score
MACGUFFIN: Maybe Xixax shutting down is a good
thing. Maybe we should take this as a sign, a cue- if you will, and go out and start really living our lives. Look at all the people in this room. Not many, but a good few, are really talented, really wonderful, really intelligent people who have good hearts and strong desires to share their ideas with others. I mean, think about the potential in this
room. Man, I guaren-goddam-tee that there are many in this room that, if given the proper means, could blow Spielberg and Scorsese and Soderbergh out of the fucking water with a rocking, mother fucker of a movie. Instead of spending so much of our lives online bitching and moaning about stupid movies and why they suck or annoying actors and why they suck or the directors who cast the annoying actors and who make the stupid movies and why they suck
, instead of doing all of that, instead of concentrating so much time and energy on that
, why don’t we stop bitching and start revolutionizing? If we’re so convinced that everything sucks, then why don’t we get our
pale asses out there and make something that doesn’t
suck? Can you imagine a movie, made with the collective effort and intelligence of all of us? That movie could change a person. It could change the world.
Ghostboy is in tears. Cinephile looks stunned, hitting his bowl hard.
MACGUFFIN: I mean... it’s just an idea.
GHOSTBOY: That was… wonderful.
CINEPHILE: I think it’s about time for that damn climax to start climaxing.
Just then, a big message appears on a giant computer screen that suddenly shoots up from the ground.
CINEPHILE: Ahhh, here we go.
The computer screen turns itself on. “YOU HAVE 1 NEW EMAIL” appears.
GHOSTBOY: Everyone wake up! Ebeaman, Stefen, GT, for the love of God, stop playing naked Twister and put some clothes on. Quick, come, we have email!
GODDAMNIMDAMAN: God damn that’s a big computer screen.
MACGUFFIN: How are we suppose to check the message? We don’t have a mouse or anything to control this damn thing.
On the computer screen, a message scrolls up: “I WILL AUTOMATICALLY OPEN THE EMAIL FOR YOU MOMENTARILY.”
GHOSTBOY (yelling towards the giant computer screen): Thank you!
An image appears on the screen:
GHOSTBOY: What the hell?
UNIDENTIFIED MAN: Hello Xixax…
CINEPHILE: Who is that?
HARRY KNOWLES appears on the computer screen. He is smoking a cigar and looks rather pleased, sitting in a lazyboy drinking a YooHoo. Agent Smith is giving him a foot massage.
HARRY: Aloha losers!
EBEAMAN: HARRY! I love your website! You rock!
CINEPHILE: Harry-fucking-Knowles. What the fuck do you want?
MACGUFFIN: What can we do for you Harry?
HARRY: Oh you’ve already done plenty for me my little chubby, pale friends. You’ve done more than enough.
A not too long but not too brief pause takes place.
CINEPHILE: Ooooo’kay. I sense you have more to say here.
HARRY: Oh that I do Cinephile.
CINEPHILE: How’d he know my screen name?
STEFEN: Can you cut to the fucking chase? We’re not getting any gayer here.
HARRY: Okay, you want me to cut to the chase? My cut, my final cut? XIXAX is now owned and operated by myself. That’s right. I killed your master! (actually, I put him into a coma but most likely he will never come out of it).
GHOSTBOY: You evil, evil film lover! You’ve seen one too many scary movies!
MACGUFFIN: What have you done with P, RK, Mogwai, Picolas, Jeremy, and Sphinx?
HARRY: Oh my Agent Smith replicas are in the process of hunting them down and will inevitably torture them to death, medieval like. In fact, I had some help from a former Xixaxian.
On the computer screen, the Phillip Seymour Hoffman-esque waiter enters the room Harry is in. He takes off his mask and reveals his true identity.
CINEPHILE: Sweet. Fucking. Christ.
ACJJ: Hey there fuckers! Remember me?
MACGUFFIN: Trying desperately not to.
GODDAMNIMDAMAN: ACJJ you little fuck, if I was there right now I’d punch a whole in your neck and throat-fuck you.
HARRY: ACJJ assisted me in sedating your little friends.
ACJJ: That’s right assholes. I spiked their Budweisers with a little LSD. A lot, in fact.
CINEPHILE: ACJJ aren’t you missing some I’m-a-big-fucking-tool-and-am-obsessed-with-Audrey-Tatou benefit or something?
ACJJ: Everyday for the past two years I have thought of nothing but how I could get you fuckers back for what you did to me.
MACGUFFIN: Whatever. Let’s back up here for a minute—Harry, what the hell do you want with Xixax?
GHOSTBOY: I sense another long monologue is near.
HARRY: What do I want with Xixax you ask? I’ll tell you what-
GHOSTBOY: Fucking hell.
HARRY: For the three years since its incarnation, I have been plagued by your beloved site. As we all know, internet message boards have proliferated, having spread throughout the internet world like the cancer spreading through Denis Leary’s body right now. Like comedy clubs in the 80s, internet message boards are everywhere. The one common thing amongst all these message boards are the people—on any message board, you have your smart people, your funny people, your smart-funny people, your dumb people, and your obsessed, fan-boy, you wish they didn’t exist people. My own ain’titcoolnews has long since suffered from an overabundance of the latter category. My message board is diseased, it is sick, infected, page after page of incompetent retards with too much time on their hands, bitching about teaser trailers of star wars and how bad everything sucks. It got to the point when, and it really is difficult for me to say this outloud, I almost yanked the Ethernet card out of my hard drive.
EBEAMAN: Harry! Noooo!
CINEPHILE: Dude, can you wrap this shit up? Like, seriously. Give us the Cliff’s Note’s version? The plot synopsis on the back of the DVD cover version? Some
of us have lives.
HARRY: Long story short, I found your site, thought it was wonderful, thought a good portion of the people feel into that smart-funny category, and decided to take it over.
MACGUFFIN: So you hired Agent Smith to kill us?
HARRY: Kinda. It’s so complicated I don’t really want to get into it.
MACGUFFIN: You can’t take our site. If you do, we’ll leave and start a new one.
HARRY: I can do or take whatever I want. I’m Harry fucking Knowles. However, I do not want to take anything. I want you to give it to me.
GHOSTBOY: You expect us to hand over xixax.com, just like that?
CINEPHILE: You can forget that shit.
HARRY: No, no, no. I offer you a challenge. A movie trivia challenge. Me vs. 5 of you. The topic?—movies. Any movie. Any genre. Any country. Any time. Movies. Me vs. 5 of you. An unbiased third party will moderate the challenge. The winner gets the rights and full control of Xixax. The loser? Ain’titcoolnews in all its shitty glory. Deal?
MACGUFFIN: Shouldn’t we talk about this first?
CINEPHILE: Dude, enough talk. Let’s get this stupid story over and done with. It’s too long already.
GHOSTBOY: Agreed. Come on, 5 of us can take Harry Knowles in a movie quiz, easy.
CINEPHILE: Hey Harry. One more thing, if we win we get to chop ACJJ’s balls off and feed them to a coyote high on angel dust.
HARRY: Agreed. But just... one... more... thing… hehehe...I get to pick who will be on your team.
MACGUFFIN: Shit, I knew he was going to pull something like this.
GHOSTBOY: Who do you pick?
Harry clears his throat and pulls out a little sheet of paper from his pocket.
HARRY: Five gentlemen by the names of P, Regular Karate, Jeremy Blackman, Picolas, and Mogwai.
CUT TO:INT. CHUCKY CHEESE’S- THAT MOMENT
EVERYONE: Mocking bird, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing-
SPHINX: -don’t sing-
RK: He’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
They all start laughing uncontrollably.
SPHINX: Dude… we’re surrounded by… balls. It’s like a normal Friday night for Picolas.
RK starts to piss in his pants, laughing.
JEREMY: How long have we been in here?
CHUCKYCHEESEMANAGER: Six hours and we’re closing.
P: You can’t close! The sign says “All the fun you’d ever want in one building!” We haven’t had all the fun we want to have yet, man.
RK: I could totally sue you for this, manager-sir.
PICOLAS: Can I buy one of these balls?
MANAGER: No. Get out. EXT. CHUCKY-CHEESE PARKING LOT- MOMENTS LATER.
Mogwai has collapsed on the concrete. RK is drooling. P is chain-smoking. Jeremy is petting a weed that has grown out of a crack in the sidewalk. Sphinx is trying to fly but can’t seem to get off the ground. Picolas is at the front door of the Chucky-Cheese, looking inside.
PICOLAS: I just wanted one ball.
RK: Hey Picolas, you still got that napkin? I’m having… issues …drooling issues.
JEREMY: I don’t understand this flower.
SPHINX: It seems that I’ve… lost my flying…a…b…i…l…i…t…i…e…s…
P: Whole lot of nothing going on, I’ll tell you what.
PICOLAS: Isn’t that like a song or something?
Noise, helicopter-ish noises gradually builds. The wind picks up. Not too suddenly, a helicopter lands right in front of them. MacGuffin is flying it. Cinephile and Ghostboy are riding in the back.
P: Say, I know them.
JEREMY: I think I’m shrinking.
Ghostboy gets out of the helicopter and runs towards them.
GHOSTBOY: Get in! We have to fly to New York City right now! INT. HELICOPTER- MOMENTS LATER
MACGUFFIN: We brought you some orange juice and Ritz crackers. Apparently, that will sober you up.
GHOSTBOY: Alright, let’s keep going here. Tokyo Story.
P: Yasujiro Ozu.
GHOSTBOY: Good. The Marriage of Maria Braun?
RK: I feel like refried ass.
CINEPHILE: You guys better not fuck this up.
JEREMY: I can’t believe Harry Knowles is doing this.
GHOSTBOY: Just concentrate on sobering up. Acid or no acid, you can still beat his fatass.
PICOLAS: Mac, are we almost there?
MACGUFFIN: Almost. We don’t have that much gas though. I hope we make it.
RK: Man, what if we ran out? Could it get any worse?
Just then, frogs start falling from the sky. riiiight, like that could happen.
Mogwai, having slept for the past hour, suddenly wakes up and starts shaking violently.
P: Mogski, u alright?
MOGWAI: THO THO NO THO NO THO NO.
GHOSTBOY: What’s wrong with him?
P: I think he’s having a bad trip.
Mogwai gets up and dives towards the cockpit, slamming his head in the dash and subsequently, causing the helicopter to start to beep/smoke/not work.
JEREMY: Mogwai! What are you doing?
MACGUFFIN: Holy rusted metal Batman! I’ve lost control!
GHOSTBOY: We’re going down!
RK: God damnit I knew something like this would happen. Didn’t I say it?
P: I don’t want to die in a helicopter with you bastards. I never got to make my movie!
RK: I never got to go down on Jessica Simpson!
JEREMY: I never got to run for some sort of office!
PICOLAS: I’ve never eaten at a Wendy’s!
MACGUFFIN: Oh my God we’re heading toward that mountain!
P: That’s the biggest fucking mountain I’ve ever seen.
Everyone is going ape shit… except Sphinx, who is in another state of mind that can only be described as blissful clarity.
GHOSTBOY: I just want to let you guys know how much I love you all.
GHOSTBOY: And maybe we’ll meet again on an internet message board in our next life.
SPHINX: I can feel it.
P: Feel what? Are you still tripping?
SPHINX: I can feel the helicopter.
RK: Yeah, I feel it too. I feel a seatbelt that is jammed up my ass.
Just then, the helicopter stops in mid-air.
P: Holy shit.
MACGUFFIN: SPHINX! Do you know what you are?
SPHINX: We’re going now.
SPHINX mentally flies the helicopter. Another John Williams score, this one triumphant and glorious, fades up. The boys cheer Sphinx as he flies them to the awards show. INT. AWARDS SHOW SET- AN HOUR LATER:
ANNOUNCER: Welcome to a show that will never be aired or seen by anyone else but the people in it. It is my distinguished honor as the announcer of this show that no one will ever come to see to introduce our host, the one, the only, James Lipton.
JAMES: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the single greatest game show ever created… by man… in the history… of man. The following contestants are by far, some of the greatest and smartest people ever… to grace… the earth.
CUT TO: INT. HAULING-ASS HELICOPTER-THAT MOMENT
Sphinx is sweating. The mental workout that he is forced to undergo in order to fly the helicopter is really taking its toll on him. Everyone else is freaking out.
MACGUFFIN: Sphinx, are you okay?
GHOSTBOY: Hurry buddy! If we don’t show up on time we automatically forfeit and Harry will get Xixax!
SPHINX: This is hurting me…
GHOSTBOY: You’re doing great, buddy. Keep going.
P: Wait wait, my brain just went dead. Who directed Parenthood?
SPHINX: I can’t… do this… it’s hurting…me…
PICOLAS: Sphinx. Sphinx. Listen to me.
SPHINX: It’s too… hard.
PICOLAS: SPHINX. It’s Picolas. Listen.
CUE: a sentimental, the-movie-is-about-to-end-and-the-moral-message-is-about-to-be-spoon-fed-to-you score.
PICOLAS: Sphinx, I think you’re amazing. I know you hate me right now and you have good cause to do so, but I just want you to know that I… love you like a brother, and whatever happens, it doesn’t matter because we’ve had so much fun in the little time we’ve had together in life that it’s all okay. It’s great. No one can fuck what we’ve had up. And yeah, we might lose Xixax and we might not talk everyday, but still, there are people you are close to that even if you never even talked to them for years, you would still be close. You would feel them. We’re all like that, I think. Sphinx- we love you. And none of this matters. There is no problem here. We have no problems. We worry about nothing. Rent, bills, blah blah blah. A problem is a problem when money can’t solve it. We’re all fine here. Everything is okay.
Sphinx, sweating and panting, is now in tears. The helicopter, which by the way, was two steps shy of hitting a huge fucking mountain, has once again leveled itself upright. Sphinx is back.
SPHINX: We’re going to that fucking game show right now.
CUT BACK TO:INT. GAME SHOW THAT MOMENT
JAMESLIPTON: And our first contestant is one… of the smartest… men… in the history… of smart…men. I give you… Harry. Knowles.
Harry comes out wearing a “Phantom Menace sucked” t-shirt.
JAMES: Hello Harry.
HARRY: James, always a pleasure.
JAMES: And for our next contestant(s), we have five people I’ve never heard of and yet… still… they are without a doubt five of the most wonderful…charismatic… intelligent… people… who ever… lived. I give you… P, Regular Karate, Jeremy Blackman, Picolas, and Mogwai.
Beat. CUE: Noisy cricket sounds.
JAMES: Huh. Where the fuck are they?
JAMES: We must not forget, that even the smartest of people can get lost in the maze that is our green room.
Still still nothing.
HARRY: Well, I guess I automatically win by forfeit, unless of course, they show up in about, oh, eleven seconds.
JAMES: You would be punctilious in that assumption.
The fucking helicopter smashes through the ceiling and lands right on top of Carrot Top, the only person sitting in the audience.
HARRY: Fuck me.
P: We’re here fuckos!
Sphinx immediately passes out upon landing. Ghostboy and Macguffin pick him up.
GHOSTBOY: Sphinx, are you okay?
MACGUFFIN: He needs some water.
JAMES: That was… the greatest entrance… ever made... by anyone…ever. Let us start… the…show.
DISSOLVE TO:TITLECARD: 3 hours later.
XIXAX: 3020 points
HARRY: 3500 points
JAMES: For 480 points (and don’t ask why the question is worth that rather random and convenient number of points, it just is), please give me the first and last name of the woman who insisted that her fellow cast members “Don’t Speak” in Woody Allen’s Bullets Over Broadway.
P immediately buzzes in.
P: Diane Weist!
HARRY: That was… the greatest delivery… of a correct answer… ever given by a man… in history.
P, Rk, Mogwai, Picolas, and Jeremy give eachother a collective high-five.
JAMES: The score… is…tied. We will have one more question… that will end… the… game. However, we will do this one… a little… different…ly. I will first ask Mr. Knowles a question, and then will ask Team Xixax a different question. If one answers correctly and one doesn’t, we have a winner. If both answer right or wrong, we move on to another question. Understood?
EVERYONE: Yes Mr. Lipton.
JAMES: Wonderful. Mr. Knowles, your question.
Harry rubs his hands together.
JAMES: How does the monumental film Gone With the Wind… end?
Harry begins to panic. Beads of sweat pour down his bulbous face.
HARRY: Um.. Gone with the Wind, yes, wonderful film, a classic, as we all know, I mean that’s why everyone has seen it, yes? Because it’s a classic. And everyone should see classics. That’s what makes them classics- everyone sees and knows them. And I know how the movie ends because it’s a classic and I’ve seen it before because of course me of all people would’ve seen every classic known to—FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK MOTHER FUCKER FUCK I NEVER SAW IT!
He bursts into tears. P, RK, Picolas, Jeremy, Mogwai, MacMan, and Ghostboy do a double take- is Harry Knowles crying- look.
HARRY: I meant to watch it, I really did! I just never got the chance to! I swear, I swear, it’s on my Netflix list right now! Call them, call the Netflix people, they’ll tell you!
He continues to cry, uncontrollably.
JAMES: That was an incorrect answer but yet, one of the most memorable and perhaps greatest performances… of an incorrect… answer… ever… given. Anyway, XIXAX. Your question. Remember, if you guess correctly you win and your beloved XIXAX.COM is yours forever.
The xixax boys sit up, ready to answer, looking confident but yet with a little “I’m scared we won’t know the answer” look in their eyes.
JAMES: Paul Thomas Anderson’s first film Hard Eight was originally called by another title, one persistently fought over and still referred to by the director himself. What… is… this… original and yet… unknown… title?
RK, Picolas, P, Jeremy, MacGuffin, Ghostboy, Cinephile, and Mogwai all simultaneously sit back in their chairs, putting their arms behind their heads, smiling. INT. HOSPITAL ROOM- 2 weeks later
Sphinx and Xixax are in comas. After the successful reinstitution of Xixax.com and the eradication of Harry Knowles, peace is abound, at last. P, Rk, Picolas, Jeremy, Cinephile, Mogwai, Ghostboy, MacGuffin, Bonanzataz, and FilmStudent gather to visit Sphinx and Xixax in the hospital.
CINEPHILE: What do you think people in comas think about?
GHOSTBOY: I’m not sure they do think.
RK: I’m sure they dream, I mean, they’re brains are still somewhat functional, yes?
MACGUFFIN: I think they dream.
BONANZATAZ: I think so, too.
FILMSTUDENT: Me too.
RK: Where the fuck have you two been through all of this?
BONANZATAZ&FILMSTUDENT: Um… Six Flags.
Picolas stands near Sphinx, near tears.
RK: Do you think they’ll wake up soon?
JEREMY: Of course they’ll wake up soon. They have to.
P: You know what I think?
Everyone looks at P, who has been silent for the past few hours.
P: I think these two fellas are amazing.
We dissolve into a montage of the guys giving each other bear hugs and whathaveyou. Everyone leaves except Picolas, who takes a seat right next to Sphinx’s bed. the end.