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Zombentino:

Rouge Immortal

An observation and a total aside: how come, in zombie movies, there are always millions of zombies? It's so cliche.

Why not have a rebel zombie, LONE ZOMBIE? I can see it in lights: Zombentino: Rogue Immortal. Basically B-movie lovin' Quentin Tarantino shuffling around in pasty make up, being beaten in innovative, technicolor ways. He wants to be an actor but always gets killed in Resivoir Dogs, Deperado, Itchy & Scratchy, anything he appears in...

Scene One

(Shotgun-cam, from titles: Yuppies leap for safety as a gleaming Classic Harley swerves through the queue outside yet another Starbucks opening. Soundtrack: obscure but overlooked funk/blues explosion. The bike swiftly, spectacularly collides with a 1973 Ford Interceptor ala the original Mad Max. Off sails a leather-clad Quentin Tarantino.)

Dustin Hoffman:

Well, Golly! I ain't seen a cowpoke tumble like that since the 1980 rodeo-showdown hell that was Malta, Oklahoma! You alright there, pardner?

Quentin Tarantino:

Brrraaaainssss... brrraaainnnss....

Dustin Hoffman:

Git them varmit hands offa my Stetson! Old Cheffie made me promise never to kiss no more rodeo clown!

(Whips an enormous branding iron from Starbuck's java roaster)

(they fight)

(Dustin the cowboy kicks the shambling biker's ass so seriously, that a. the audience must sympathize with this pained, defiant, inept rebel...)

(...and b. it's clear, Tarantino's a zombie!)

Scene Two

(Factory canteen, cheap but clean.)

(Natalie Portman serves coffee to a stylish, aged-well fellow that viewers will suddenly realize is Jim Kelly, star of Black Belt Jones!)

(In walks- shit! Is that-? It's Monica Lewinsky!)

Monica Lewinsky:

(with surprising talent) That boat you dreamed of, Mr. Quaff?

Jim Kelly:

Hell yeah! The Priscilla Maru! Fourteen more months, I leave the goddammed steel press behind, and we sail into the sun.

Monica Lewinsky:

Your boat just turned into a three years of diapers, Quaff. I'm pregnant.

Jim Kelly:

Farm off, you Jenny Craig fat girl!

Monica Lewinsky:

You can still name her Priscilla.

Jim Kelly:

Farm off!

(A fat tear races down Monica's cheek, plops onto the crust of the the Monte Cristo that Jim Kelly shoved away)

(Screams, factory hands and canteen skivies bolt in all directions except one. Stage left: in lurches Quentin Tarrentino! That is, Zombentino, lone zombie.)

Monica Lewinsky:

Quaff, you bastard! May this undead avenger take you... to hell!

(Funky music pumps, the ichor-spewing Zombentino charges, Jim Kelly rises to the challenge, they fight)

(Jim Kelly delivers lethal, thrilling blows with fists, elbows, knees, feet, and forearms.)

(Quentin Tarantino keeps coming, re-enforced with the armament of a wingtip loafer)

(Jim Kelly massages his bruised chin, darts of fiery rage lighting his eye)

(Tarantino has the calves whacked nearly clean off him with a golden tennis racket)

Jim Kelly:

Ha! You want more? You want more, my bitch?

Quentin Tarantino:

Brrraaaainssss...

(Jim whips Zombentino's decaying hide)

Monica Lewinsky:

Christ!

(Lots more bloodshed)

Natalie Portman:

Coffee's still hot, sugar. Cuppa?

Monica Lewinsky:

Farm yeah. Fill it.

Scene Three

(Morgue. Midnight. Bluegrass music.)

Richard Kiel:

(My God! Audience reacts: is that Jaws from those two James Bond films? And, in a completely different role, still so deft with the instruments of death!)

(Kiel sips espresso, smiles, then cuts into the decrepid heap of humanity on the slab)

Critical Mick:

Yowch! That stings!

Richard Kiel:

(lurches, drops testicles)

Critical Mick:

Port Salut! Never have I seen a mortician-figure more creepy! And with such unadorned knashers! What, no chrome dentures? You twerp!

(ad lib more hyper-critical bullshit)

Quentin Tarantino:

(arises from a nearby slab)

Brrraaaainssss...?

Richard Kiel:

(lurches anew. No testicles this time.)

Critical Mick:

Brains? Sure, mister, I've got aplenty! If that's a compliment, I can tell you've read an advance copy of my next masterpiece, The Dickety-Do.

Quentin Tarantino:

(sniffs Critical Mick, then:)

(with longing neglect) Braainnnss. A few fresh brrainnsss, that's not too much to farming ask.

Critical Mick:

(bloofs with great veracity) Unconvincing, Quentin! I'm glad you got killed in every film-

(they fight)

(delighted to meet an opponent of inferior skill, Zombentino stomps all the crap attempts at criticism out of Mick the fat bastard, transforming the brain-dead crook into unwholesome paste)

(fifteen Oscar-winning minutes)

Richard Kiel:

Righteous!

-Many thanks to my fellow authors! their suggestions and feedback practically wrote Zombentino's Scene Three!

Hey! I warned you it was crap!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yo! This review and all content on the DFA Guide site are copyright 2005 Mick Halpin. All links to other sites and documents are copyright to whatever source wrote something cool enough for Mick to give it a referral. Try to claim them as your own work and bad karma will catch up with you, baby. Believe it.

Irate, huh? Managed to piss off another one? Direct your hatemail to mick @ mickhalpin dot com.

This Page Was Last Updated On 15 September, 2005.