"The Blair Butt Project"
by Michael J Paluka (Xebot)
SCENE - HEATHER'S APARTMENT.
[Camera 1, shot of Heather in sweatshirt.]
Heather: Hello everybody, and welcome to my first student project. It's so nice of you to join me on my journey to discover the real truth about ...
[Cut to camera 2, shot of Josh.]
Josh: Heather, does this T-shirt go with these jeans?
[Cut to camera 1, Heather.]
Heather: How the fuck would I know, you cocksucking faggot?! As I were saying, to discover the real truth about ...
Mike: Heather, zipper me caught again on me no-no!
Heather: I'm trying to fucking make a fucking movie here, asshole!
Josh: Heather, how many pairs of underwear should I pack?
Heather: It's only a three-hour cruise, you Gilligan shit-head!
Josh: Then, how much film should I pack?
Heather: Seventeen VHS, twelve 8-mm packs, and twenty-two 16-mm packs. And be sure that most of it's black-and-white; it's more scary that way.
Mike: What for three hours all that?
Heather: I work fast.
[Cut to camera 7, shots of dirt and leaves.]
SCENE - THE BULLWINKLE GRAVEYARD
[Cut to camera 3, more shots of dirt and leaves.]
Heather: [Talking to camera 2] Here in the Bullwinkle graveyard are buried lots of memories; some pleasant, some not so ... pleasant. In 1940 an unusually large number of children died in the town of Bullwinkle. Some say it was due to the influenza epidemic of 1940; some say it was due to the Blair Butt. Who can say? I just know that their bodies lie here -- but what about their souls? Who can say what phantom menace may yet be torturing their innocent souls?
Mike: Jar-Jar Binks can do say who!
SCENE - IN THE TOWN OF BULLWINKLE
[Cut to camera 5, still more shots of dirt and leaves.]
[Heather walks up to a passerby.]
Heather: Excuse me, sir, have you ever heard of the Blair Butt?
Passerby 1: I heard tell. Mostly old-timers that talk about it. They say that several hundred years ago, there was a woman who was pure evil. They say she used to worship Satan, smoke cigarettes, you know, the usual evil medley. Then one winter, the coldest winter on record, several of the children came down with a mysterious illness -- jest like a cold. Folks figured it must be the second-hand smoke what done it -- smoke from the Blair bitch's butt! They say she left one burning out there, just waiting to give cancer to anyone what goes near the woods. Don't matter to me, though, 'cause I don't go near the woods.
Heather: Is that because of fear of the Blair Butt?
Passerby 1: No, 'cause I'm in a wheelchair, you stupid bitch!
[Heather walks up to another passerby.]
Heather: Have you heard of the Blair Butt?
Passerby 2: I know all about it. Many years ago, there was five kids that played hookey from school. A search party set out lookin' for 'em. The town pastor found them up by Coughing Rock. They was drinkin', and smokin', and swearing. The pastor told them to wait right there whilst he went for the truancy officer. When they came back, there was no sight of the boys, nowhere! Just some cigarette butts and oddly arranged piles of puke.
Heather: Could the cigarette butts have been left there as the calling card of the Blair Butt, itself?!
Passerby 2: Most likely 'twas the kids that left 'em ...
[Heather grabs the throat of Passerby 2.]
Heather: PLAY ALONG, YOU CUNT-SUCKING WHORE! MY FUTURE DEPENDS ON THIS FUCKING FILM!!!
Passerby 2: Ok, Ok, must-a been left by the Blair Butt! I'll say anything, just let me breathe!
SCENE - AFTER SEVERAL DAYS LOST IN THE WOODS
[Cut to camera 6, STILL MORE shots of dirt and leaves.]
[Cut to camera 2, shot of Heather.]
Heather: Where's my compass, please? Which of you pig-sucking, butt-rafters has my fucking COMPASS!
Mike: Me River Phoenixed it, I did!
Heather: Why the fuck would you do that?! How will we know what time it is?!
Josh: What do you mean 'what time'?
Heather: Big hand points North, right?
Josh: You stupid, fucking bitch! No wonder we're lost! The LITTLE HAND points North!
Heather: I'll rip your fucking balls-off!
Mike: Me have GPS.
Josh: What's he blabbering about?
Heather: Who the fuck cares? He's just the sound man.
Josh: Heather, I'm afraid that I've got some worse news for you. It appears that Mike also ate the script. We'll have to shit-can the Blair Butt Project until we get a new script.
Heather: Who the fuck needs a script? Marlon Brando has never heard of the WORD script!
Josh: He can't pronounce it correctly either, but that's not the point. We can't continue without a script.
Heather: Fuck the friggin' script! We don't need a script. ARE WE ACTORS OR FILM STUDENTS?!!!
Josh: Frankly, I'm not clear on that myself...
SCENE - A STICK MAN IN TIME, SAVES NINE
[The team emerges into a clearing. There are several 'stick-men' hanging amongst the trees, each smoking a cigarette.]
Heather: Oh my God! Oh my God! What the fuck is it?!
Josh: Joe Camel's last stand?
Mike: Camel pooh-pooh; me Marlboro Gungan.
SCENE - THE SCARY NIGHT SCENE SCENE
[The team are in their tent.]
Heather: EEEEEEEEEEEEE! What the fuck was that?!
Josh: That was an owl.
Heather: IIIIIIIIIIIIIIYE! What the fuck was that?!
Josh: Mike farted.
[Cut to camera 8, Heather, followed by Josh, runs out of the tent into the black, black night! I get shivers just thinking about something scary, but not this.]
[Cut to camera 5, lots of blackness.]
Heather: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Oh m'God! What the fuck is that!
Josh: That's a branch.
Heather: IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYE! Oh m'God! What the fuck is that!
Josh: That's a rock.
Heather: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!!
Josh: Did you see something, Heather?
Heather: No. You stepped on my fucking foot, you asshole niblet! I feel awfully claustrophobic. The woods are closing in on me! They're surrounding me! They're getting closer! Help me!
[Cut to camera 17, Josh adjusts Heather's camera lens.]
Josh: You had the lens set to 200 mm zoom, stupid slut.
Heather: TAKE THIS, YOU EVIL PENIS!
[Cut to camera 51, Heather clubs Josh to death with her camera. She returns to the tent.]
Mike: Josh no come back?
Heather: No, Josh no come back; the Blair Butt got him! Any complaints, you Gungan butt-guerilla?!!!
Mike: What me worry?
SCENE - THE SCENE AT THE EVIL CABIN SCENE SCENE
[Camera 21, Heather and Mike walk up to a cabin: the kind that evil comes from. Real scary, right?]
[Cut to camera 4, Mike runs up the stairs. We see little hand prints on the walls. Beneath one it reads "Midget Painters Union, Local 32."]
[Cut to camera 16, Mike running to the basement. The camera is dropped. Sounds of screaming and evil laughter.]
[Cut to camera 5, shows Heather running to the basement. Silly bitch. WHY are you going there?]
[Cut to camera 19, Heather enters the basement. We see a figure in the dark behind a desk, surrounded by radio equipment. The evil form is smoking a cigarette.]
Heather: Who the fuck are you?
Art Bell: My name is Art Bell. I've been waiting for you.
Heather: Are YOU the Blair Butt?
Art Bell: No, but you might say she's a child of mine; a child of my fertile imagination.
Heather: You made it all up?
Art Bell: Well, let's say that I got tired of other people making money off of bullshit that I was promoting. This time I played it smart. I've already copyrighted the name Blair Butt, including the Canadian and Venezuelan rights.
Heather: But what about your integrity? Many people trust you to bring them "the truth" that the Government and the X-Files are keeping from us!
Art Bell: I was pretty broken-up after the Hale-Bop comet/flying saucer bits that I ran.
Heather: Because of those Heaven's Gate people who committed suicide believing that there really was a saucer coming to get them?
Art Bell: No, because I didn't move fast enough to snarf-up the screen-rights. This time all of the ducks are in order. Oh, I'll just take that film from you now.
Heather: NO! You can't have my film! This is MY project!
Art Bell: Well, there's that little matter of Josh outside.
Heather: How could you know about that?!
Art Bell: Who do you think was working camera 51?
Heather: SHIT!
Art Bell: Don't worry. I'll give you ten grand against seven-percent of the gross if you'll just disappear for a while -- and take jungle boy with you.
Heather: Mike? He'll do what I say. Make it twenty-grand against ten-percent of the gross, and you got a deal.
Art Bell: Deal.
THE END (?)