Cerebral Contents:

Update for 05.13.08:

Male Model by Phil Doran

Set to Replay by Willie Smith

Backsliding by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Tree by G. David Schwartz

05.05.08:

Disintegration by Don Hucks

Five Feet and Building by Joel Van Noord

Grocery Aisle by Richard Lighthouse

Cross the Road by Ashok Niyogi

04.29.08:

Lookalikes by Phil Doran

Dinner by Brandi Wells

The Modern Covenant by Daniel E. Wilcox

Death by Onions by Michael Frissore

04.21.08:

Future's Children by Kimberly Raiser

Identity Theft by George Anderson

The Datists by Adam Engel

A Great Deal of Money by Justin Hyde

04.14.08:

Mr. Papaya and Dale by Eric Suhem

California by Caroline Imreibe

Aftermath of Vehement Argument #1,068 by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Trip-Hammer Vitality by Lisa Nickerson

04.07.08:

The Florence of Basel, or Why Readers of Nietzsche Need to Read Burckhardt by Jeff Crouch

Slideshow by Miles J. Bell

Friends of the Poet by Sean C. Bowen

Picture Perfect by Leah Baldwin

03.24.08:

The Streak by Jeremy Hendrix

Grab Your Butts by Emme Hor

Far Away by Ashok Niyogi

Staring Down a White-Tailed Doe by Aleathia Drehmer

03.17.08:

The Hairbrush by Vernard Kennedy

Dog Days of Winter by Niall Berkeley

Poem From My Grave by Michael Lee Johnson

Mashed Potatoes and Hamburgers by Matt Finney

03.10.08:

Hard Work by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Jetty Cake Pigs by J.D. Nelson

I'm Quiet in Bed by Moctezuma Johnson

Tequila Shakes by Richard Lighthouse

The Coriolis Effect

by Mickey Z.

 

FADE IN

On a flickering white screen, emblazoned with the following black words:

Coriolis Effect: The apparent acceleration of a body in motion with respect to the Earth, as seen by an observer on Earth.

An ominous HUM is heard in the distance — something like a strong wind turning quickly into a monsoon-level gale. The black words begin to show the effects of the wind as they flutter and tilt and lean way back from the effect of the approaching right-to-left gust. The HUM increases in volume and, in a flash, the words are blown from the screen as we

FADE TO BLACK

DISS TO

A woman named ENOLA, running down an empty L.A. street. Seen from above, she is dressed sort of like Rita Hayworth in one of her 1940s bitch goddess roles. It is very windy.

With a nervous glance upwards, Enola dashes into a five-story building just a nano-second before an immense disembodied white male fist, at least ten feet in diameter, comes crashing down from the sky too late to smash Enola into the pavement. The wind picks up speed as the fist vanishes — sucked down into the concrete.

CUT TO

Enola, frantically running up the stairs. She is literally HOWLING in fear.

GATT
(V/O)

The first time I met Enola Fallout, she came howling into my life on an unusually windy L.A. morning.

Enola continues her mad dash up the stairs, still SCREAMING in horror. We get a better look at her now: slim, brunette, about 25 or 26, long legs, curves in all the right places; a real "dish" in her designer suit and store-bought tan.

GATT
(V/O)

Enola was the kind of dame that after thirty seconds of meeting her, you came (beat) to expect the unexpected.

Enola glances back and lets out a SHRIEK of terror that echoes throughout the filthy stairwell. Yes, we literally SEE the sound waves emitted from her mouth and watch them bounce off the walls, the stairs, and the ceiling before dissipating.

CUT TO

ENOLA'S POV: Gazing down her legs — which aren't mere legs, these are "gams" — we can't help but notice that both of her very shapely calves are slowly splitting down the middle as if they've been sliced by a renegade Ginsu knife. From each of the deep incisions, blood does not flow. Instead, a rush of angry small "creatures" appear.

These creatures are somewhat tool-like in form except for their faces which resemble pigs operating under the influence of some mind-altering, controlled substance.

GATT
(V/O)

Even if her legs split open on their own to release thousands of miniature medical instruments with pig faces, you would not be surprised. That's just Fallout for ya. (beat) Trust me.

The pig/instruments go bouncing down the stairs, some splattering on the walls and exploding in the spectacular fashion of a big-time fireworks display; others taking hold in the rotting wooden steps with their razor-sharp teeth.

CUT TO

The fifth floor. Enola has arrived at her destination. Her calves close up without a scar as she slows to femme fatale strut. When she reaches a door marked: U. S. GATT, PRIVATE DICK, Enola pulls out a small mirror and checks her make-up.

She is just about to knock but first decides to unbutton another button on her tight blouse. Cleavage always helps.

CUT TO

U. S. Gatt, in his office. Everything seems to be on a slight tilt. Confident, handsome, and a little rough around the edges, Gatt sits behind an unimpressive desk and in front of a massive window. The shades are up and we can see the effects of the powerful wind.

At semi-regular intervals, large objects sail by behind Gatt's head: an exercise bike, a black man quickly followed by ten white cops, a billboard for a current movie, and so on.

GATT
(responding to the knock)

You better come in, doll, the hallway's full of germs.

Enola enters. Cue the seductive MUSIC as she sashays closer to Gatt's desk.

ENOLA

Are you the private dick?

GATT

I've been called worse.

Behind him, a set of McDonald's arches floats by.

ENOLA

What does the U. S. stand for?

GATT

Maybe I'm just patriotic.

ENOLA

And maybe you're not. (takes out a cigarette) Mind if I...?

GATT

Not in here, sweetcakes. The globe is warm enough as it is.

ENOLA

Suit yourself, Mr. Gatt. (beat) By the way, the name is Enola. Enola Fallout.

With that, Enola turns and walks back towards the door, giving Gatt a good long look at her assets. A condom dispenser sails by the window; it bumps against the glass with a THUD.

GATT
(V/O)

Enola Fallout was the sort of bird that could make a man's eyes suddenly bulge out like a mutant reptile's, complete with lids that close from both top and bottom, as his snake-like tongue slithered towards her voluptuous frame.

This is precisely what happens as Enola stands with her back to Gatt. His tongue, now forked and about 15 feet long, inches towards her vulnerable body.

Suddenly, she turns. Gatt's tongue snaps back like one of those automatic measuring tapes and his eyes return to normal. Behind him, two cars float by. The first one is rear-ended by the second one, sending shattered glass out in all directions.

ENOLA

Can you help me, Mr. Gatt?

GATT

Call me Upeter. (he pronounces it like "Peter")

ENOLA

But, your initials?

GATT

It's a silent "u." (beat) Tell me, what is it that you need, Ms. Fallout?

Enola drops her bag — well, not so much "drops" it, it seems to have been swept from her hand by some unseen force. Gatt leans over to pick it up and Enola's eyes bulge.

CUT TO

ENOLA'S POV: Rushing towards the giant picture window are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We hear Enola GASP as Gatt straightens up to hand her the bag. His grinning face blocks her view and when he moves, the four horsemen have vanished.

CUT TO

Enola, as she moves towards the window. Suddenly, we become aware that her movements appear strained — as if she were walking against the wind in a hurricane. The tilt seen earlier is now more pronounced.

Enola struggles to the window and draws the blinds. Gatt makes his way over to her; he also is on an angle now and is clearly finding it difficult to get across the room.

GATT
(goes to open the blinds)

Now why did you go and do that? It's bad manners to touch something that's not yours. Didn't your mother teach you that?

From the top of his head, two horns appear.

ENOLA

My mother taught me about a lot of things, (doesn't let him open the blinds) anyway, I do my best work in the dark.

Gatt smiles and the horns retract. Although Enola is about three feet away from him, her breasts appear to have swelled to the point where they have stretched her blouse to the point of tearing and are nearly touching his chest. Besides his obvious struggle against gravity, Gatt is breathing heavily as Enola's immense breasts heave against him.

ENOLA

Something on your mind, (beat) Upeter?

Enola's breasts quickly revert back to normal size as both she and Gatt are now standing on a 45° angle. Objects are beginning to slide from Gatt's desk and a framed picture of Bill Gates falls from the wall with a CRASH.


GATT

I hope you don't mind, Ms. Fallout, but I gotta take a look outside. There's something screwy going on here.

ENOLA
(grabs him, breathless)

Hold me, Mr. Gatt. I mean, (beat) Upeter.

Gatt tries his best to embrace Enola, but her body keeps tilting further and further away until her hair is hanging down to touch the floor beneath her. They are still on their feet, but are face-to-face and nearly parallel to the floor.

Enola's breasts begin to swell and unswell as if to mimic her thumping heartbeat. This alternately pushes Gatt away and then lets him drop ever closer.

GATT
(V/O)

I knew I shoulda smelled trouble when Fallout first seeped into my office, but I had no idea how far this would take me. All I knew is that I just had to see what was going on.

After a rather Herculean effort, Gatt finally gets his left hand high enough to open the blinds. Enola SCREAMS.

CUT TO

ENOLA'S POV: A 747 is headed directly for Gatt's office. She SCREAMS.

CUT TO

Gatt, as he closes the blinds and plants a slow, wet kiss on Enola's ruby red lips.

Their lips suction together like two plungers. We FREEZE on this image as we hear Gatt's voice-over:


GATT
(V/O)

The last thing I remember hearing was a distant voice reminding me to return something or other to its regular upright position...

 

______________________________________
Mickey Z. can be found on the Web at mickeyz.net.

posted 03.19.07.

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