SKY - DAY
A small private jet streaks across the sky.
SENATOR'S JET - DAY
Luxurious. Assistants mill about, on cellular phones. Senator Chester stands, cocktail in hand, reading paperwork.
"No, no, no, this is all wrong. Who drafted this? Start from scratch. Go!" Chester yells, and throws the papers. He drains his drink, then rattles the ice.
"Heeellllo... I'm dry here." He yells, holding an empty wine glass.
SKY - DAY
The Senator's jet soars. Higher up, a second jet flies into view.
SECOND JET - DAY
On the cockpit floor, a pilot lies unconscious, tied up. Toad is in the pilot seat, in an oxygen mask. He looks back to the cabin, gives thumbs up. Blob stands by the open door, fingers crossed.
SECOND JET - DAY
Blob sticks his head out. The Senator's jet is below and behind. Blob swallows. He leaps out, yelping... Free falling. Blob tumbles through the air, a blubber projectile.
SENATOR'S PLANE - DAY
Senator Chester sits down. WHHOOOOMP! - the plane lurches violently. Senator Chester's refilled cocktail spills. He's furious.
"What in tarnation... ?" He looks out the window, surprised. "There's an enormous fat man on the wing!" He yells, and looks at his drink.
SENATOR'S JET - DAY
Blob is barely hanging on. He grips tight with one hand and punches a hole in the wing. Jet fuel spews.
Senator Chester backs away from the window, panicky. He pushes an aide aside, sits again and frantically fastens a seatbelt. He puts his head between his legs, keeping it there.
"Um, excuse me, gentlemen... this is your pilot. We have a bit of a problem..." Pilot says over the intercom.
"We're all going to die!" A terrified Co-Pilot yells.
"Shut up!"
"What am I doing? This is madness!" Senator Chester tries to stand, realizes his seatbelt's on. He pulls it open, bolts down the aisle. He pauses as the engine can be heard choking. Senator Chester reaches the cockpit door and throws it open.
Pilot and Co-Pilot argue heatedly.
"Parachutes! Where are the parachutes?" He yells, terrified for his life.
"Sir... get back to your seat!" Pilot says, trying to help the Senator back to his seat. "Parachutes, man! We need parachutes!"
The wind-blown Blob is beating the wing. It's bent out of shape. Blob hoots with pleasure as the jet begins to spin. He lets go of the jet, soars away into open sky... As he falls, Blob looks back to the jet, which spirals downward, smoking, out of control. Blob claps like a happy child.
SUBURBAN HOME, LIVING ROOM - DAY
A man is on his couch, watching football on TV. He cheers a play, then picks up a plate and walks out of the room. Suburban Man walks into the Kitchen, and begins cutting another hunk of a submarine sandwich. Suddenly, a loud KA-BOOM is heard from the other room. Suburban Man is thrown to the floor as the kitchen walls shutter around him. Walls crack. Windows break. Shelves dump their contents. The BOOM reverberates. Then, relative quiet returns. Suburban Man looks up, terrified. Suburban Man enters the previously empty Living Room scared, clutching the sandwich in his fist. The living room is ruined. There's a huge hole in the ceiling. Below that, there's a big crater full of debris where the couch used to be. Blob's crawling out from the crater. Blob stands, coughing, trying to dust off. He sees Suburban man and sheepishly tries to straighten his hair, backing away. Blob opens the door, gives one last embarrassed look, and exits. Suburban Man is left dumbfounded.
FOREST, JET CRASH SITE - NIGHT
Wreckage and burnt forest. Lots of investigative activity. A stern man in military-issue glasses and a crew cut named Gyrich stands looking at the jet's severed, Blob-beaten wing. Gyrich turns, walks to meet an arriving Range Rover. He opens the door. Tan Man and Pale Man, in their sunglasses and angry, are inside.
"Get out." Gyrich orders.
"Who's in charge here?" Pale Man asks.
"That'd be me." Gyrich answers.
"Yeah, well, what gives you the right to drag us out here into the boondocks without a word of explanation? Huh? You think you can strong-arm us, tough-guy?" Pale Man asks, pissed.
"Do you realize you're speaking to a superior officer of the National Security Council?"
Pale Man pales, which is strange since he's called Pale Man, answers. "No, actually I didn't, since you haven't even bothered to show us any ID."
Gyrich looks a little annoyed, but smiles, nodding.
"Let me rectify that." Gyrich reaches into his pocket. He takes his hand out, holds it up and turns it to show it's empty and slaps Pale Man's face, hard.
"There's my identification, soldier. And, if I hear another peep out of you before I give you permission to speak, I'm going to knock both your heads together so hard you're each going to end up with the other guy's childhood memories. Got it? Is that clear? Just nod if you understand."
Pale Man and Tan Man, stunned into silence, nod.
"Good. Now, I have some business to finish up, but when I'm done, you're going to tell me about the mutants you ran into at that freak show, and you're going to tell me in such excruciating detail that I'll feel like I was with you. Except, if I had been, I wouldn't have let a bunch of filthy muties beat the crap out of me."
An earnest, young agent comes over with a cellular phone.
"Mister Gyrich. Trask on the line." Agent says, quietly.
"Why don't you two take a seat on that log there and start collecting your thoughts. I I'll get back to you when I feel like it." Gyrich walks away, taking the phone and shouting into it.
Pale Man and Tan Man look at each other. Pause. They walk over to the log and sit down, dejected. Pale Man rubs his red cheek.
If I don't see at least 1 review, I'm stopping. I see 138 people have looked at this. So review? Just 1 and I'll continue.