Thursday, February 20, 2003

FADE IN:

INT. AN APARTMENT - NIGHT

It’s 1985: The place is decorated in hot pink and turquoise. A Garfield telephone is on the desk, beside an unsolved Rubik’s cube. The TV is on mute, and Duran Duran plays on the stereo.

TIFFANY (22, sexy little thing) is naked. She snorts cocaine off a Hello Kitty mirror.

CHAD (22, rugged good looks) walks in. He wears a sports jacket over a T-shirt and no socks.

CHAD
Hey, is that Scarface you’re watching? Turn it up!

He picks up the remote and un-mutes the TV.

AL PACINO (ON TV)
Fuck you!

Tiffany grabs a gun from behind the Garfield telephone and shoots Chad in the face.

FADE OUT.

THE END.

Ray Stillman once killed a man with his bare hands, although he is not one to brag about such things. He is an aspiring screenwriter, an inspiring poet, and a perspiring photographer. Mr. Stillman is an ex-New Yorker who now lives in scenic, sunny, star-saturated Los Angeles, in an apartment building between a bowling alley and a tattoo parlor. He often finds it difficult to resist the urge to ink “Gutter balls” across the knuckles of his left hand. He has made sweet, sweet love with supermodel Heidi Klum many, many times but, again, is not one to brag.

Fiction
That One Time I (an American) Called England (a Country in Europe) [Following is a transcription of a telephone call in which I, a fat, lazy American, had to speak with a business associate in England (a country in Europe). The transcription is as honest and accurate as memory serves.] Englishman: (speaking...
Fiction
From the Producers of "24" Episode 1: "Urine, You're Out" -- 12:00 a.m. to 1:00 a.m. The telephone rings and it's the call of nature. Our hero stumbles out of bed toward the bathroom, but does he make it? Or does the potted plant get...
Fiction
Advance Publicity for My Unwritten Masterpiece, in Case I'm Dead I may be dead by the time you read this, my faithful, loving audience. Be fortunate for my foresight, as I have thought to provide this glimpse into the very thing that may or may not have killed me by...

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Syndicate

RSD | RSS I | RSS II | Atøm | Spanish

Shop
Bea!
Support Submit
Submit
From the Y.P.aRchives
Fun, Fickle Fiction (for Free!)
Fact, Opinion, Essay, & Review
Spectacular Features, Calendrical Happenings, Media Gadflies
Poetry & Lyric
Advice, How To, & Self-Help
Listicles
Semi-Frequent Columns
Letter from the Editors
Disquieting Modern Trends
Interviews
Interviews with Interviewers
One-Question Interviews
The Book Club
Media Gadflies
Calendrical Happenings
Roasts
Correspondence (Letters To and Letters From) Letters from Y.P.R. Letters to Y.P.R. Birthday Cards to Celebrities Pop Stars in Hotel Rooms Shreek of the Week of the Day Polish Facts: An Antidote to the Polish Joke The Y.P.aRt Gallery Illustrious Illustration Photography Photomontage Graphic Design Logo Gallery What's Up with That? Fuit Salad Nick's Guff Vermont Girl The M_methicist Daily Garfield Digest New & Noteworthy Contributors' Notes Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera The Y.P.aRchives

This journal is powered by Movable Typo 4.01.

Crockpot!
© MMIII—MMVIII,
Y.P.R. & Co.