"intrepid rhythm arrangements, clever lyrics,... booty shaking" -TimeOut New York
"insanely catchy pop songs" -the village voice "decently competent" -ink19


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Hey, everybody. This guy wrote a script:



Yeah, and he sent it to us hoping that we'd produce it. We're considering it. It's pretty good. We'd like to see what you people think. Take a look at this chunk from early on in the story and give us your sincere opinion.

Weirdly, he didn't give us his name, just his picture. So, uh, without further ado, we offer you a chunk of an untitled screenplay by this guy:







RAY'S SALOON, early evening. Sunlight whispers in through wooden slats in the windows. Men play pool. Other men drink at the bar or at tables. The jukebox plays Willie Nelson. DAPHNE, mid-20s, lovely, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper chest where the shirt opens, enters. A CREATURE like DAPHNE doesn't go unnoticed at RAY'S. All eyes politely acknowledge her beauty-queen figure. She leans on the bar, giving the BARTENDER a lucky angle that reminds him of sweaty clean-shaven midgets moving against each other under flannel sheets.

BARTENDER: Help you, missy?

DAPHNE: You can start by quit'n starin' at these titties.

BARTENDER: Reckon you oughtn't bring them things in here if and you don't want 'em stared at.

DAPHNE: Oh, I guess. Where's Jimmy.

BARTENDER: Over yonder.

JIMMY, cowboy handsome, sits alone at a table near the back of the bar. DAPHNE walks over and sits down across from JIMMY. JIMMY looks up from his beer.

JIMMY: Hell you doin' here, D?

DAPHNE: Might ask you the same thing, Jimmy. Ray finds you here you know he'll leave ya worse off than he did last time, and there ain't a whole lotta room between what happened last time and dead.

JIMMY: Ray ain't gonna find me here.

DAPHNE: Why not, Jimmy.

JIMMY: Know how come?

DAPHNE: How come, Jimmy.

JIMMY: Ray's dead, that's how come.

DAPHNE, whispering: He what! You mean to tell me you killed Ray!

JIMMY: I did or I didn't, it don't matter. Fact is Ray's dead.

DAPHNE: I'm not sure that's the way the law reads, Jimmy!

JIMMY: Look, D, I'm sorry 'bout what happened with you and me, 'bout as sorry's I've ever been, I guess. Hell, you know I never meant what I said to your sister.

DAPHNE, choking up: It ain't what you said, Jimmy, it's what you did. An' with my kid sister!

JIMMY: Hell, she's legal, D.

DAPHNE: The hell she is, Jimmy! She turns fourteen this spring!

JIMMY: Kate's a beatiful woman, just like you, D. Ain't no way a man as whiskey-soaked as I was coulda turned down what she was purveyin'.

DAPHNE makes to smack JIMMY'S face, but JIMMY catches her hand by the wrist.

JIMMY, angrily: You oughtn't to hit a man who just done what I come from doin', D. He's liable to lose his cool.

JIMMY farts, loudly.

DAPHNE, scoldingly: Oh, Jimmy.

SCENE.







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