The CP "Film Noir" Script - Page 4

The Music Game and the Movie Line Game have taken on a life of their own, so I now I propose that the talented harangeurs of the Planet take on the responsibility of writing a Film Noir Tough Guy Detective script, like those grainy flicks of the 40's and 50's.

You guys use these lines every day...

An example or two..

Why not borrow detective Walter Brown's line from The Narrow Margin: "What kind of a dish was she? The sixty-cent special--cheap, flashy, strictly poison under the gravy."

Or you can simply emulate the classics with Follow Me Quietly's immortal "Follow that car!" Life may be a crooked game of blackjack with no more chips left to play. "The next person that says Merry Christmas to me, I'll kill them."

We have so many wanna be Mickey Spillane on this board, this could be fun.

First line in the next post.
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I slowly picked up.

"Uh... hello?" I nervously mumbled

"Hello, Eddie?" said the voice.

"Eddie? There's no Eddie here."

"Is this 555-2993?" the voice replied.

"No, 555-2933." I shot back.

"Oh, sorry. I have the wrong number." the mysterious man said. He then hung up.

I put down the phone and looked and Miss Davis.

"Where were we? Oh yes, bull testicles."
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The phone rang again.

I glared at it, but it didn't give up.

I picked it up.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello, Eddie?" said the voice.

"You have the wrong number again."

"Is this 555-2993?" the voice replied.

"No, 555-2933. Just like last time."

"Man, I did it again."

I hung up.
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I turned back to the dame.

The phone rang again.

"HELLO!" I barked.

It was the same voice. "Well, now I'm just screwing with you."

I slammed the phone down on the receiver, pulled out my snub-nose .38, and shot it. Twice.
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Unfortunately I took some shrapnel from the telephone right to the gut and was rushed to the hospital.

Miss Davis was still thinkin' of herself, the broad.

"But Lamar, how will I ever retrieve my bull testicles?" she sobbed to me as I lay in my hospital bed, intestinal juice pouring out of me.

I laughed. A lot.

"Why are you laughing?" she sniffed, quite perplexed.

"Ha ha ha... oh... you just said 'how will I get MY testicles back!' HAHAHA! Oh man!!" I just couldn't stop lauging.

She shot a mean, mean look at me.

I shut up.

Just then Doc Jensen came in.

"How long am I gonna live doc??" I wailed.

Doc solemnly said "Well, I have good news and bad news..."
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"The good news is you're going to live. The bad news is you're going to have a piece of telephone in your body for the rest of your life."

I could live with that. But wait!...

"Can I still take showers?"

The moment I said it, I knew it was a stupid question. Being as nice as this particular doctor was, he flashed me a smile.

"No. I'm sorry. Only baths."

I didn't understand, but maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. In my life, there are many things you just don't understand.

The doctor came near me. "Hey," he said. "If you have any questions, just call me."

I looked at the card he gave me.

Doctor Jensen. 555-2993

Was this merely a coincidence? I didn't have to find out though, soon I was getting on a plane, headed for...
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Mexico City.

I had heard a brand new fedora store had opened there. The hats were cheap, like everything in Mexico. So I grabbed three and took them up to the counter...

"Tasdfkjhsdh sldjhfsdh tihslh t aljhft ttasdhf?"

Damn. I'd forgotten my spanish translator in the hotel. So, I said the only words I knew.

"Si. Gracias."

Just then, 6 men dressed in black came at me.
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They shot me fifteen times, just as I had requested. They rushed me to the hospital.

"Dr. Sanchez should be right in. Would you like some water?" the nurse asked.

"Umm.... no thanks..." I mumbled, knowing the risks of such an action.

Just then the Doctor walked in. But I recognized him... Wait a second, he's just al Davis with a funny mustache and a white coat on!

"Al! Al, what are you doing here I thought I killed you years ago!" I stammered.

"Ha ha ha... now it is I who shall do the killing..."
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