The CP "Film Noir" Script - Page 3

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 opened the door very slowly.

It was Miss Davis.

"I... I thought you were dead!" I stammered through unbelieving teeth.

"So did I..." said the lovely undead broad.

"Wha... what are you doing here?"

"We have unfinished business..."

I scanned my mind, my pop culture database and came to the chilling realization that I saw dead people.

I immediately called M. Night Shalyman.
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While dialing the phone, I absently waved Miss Davis in the door. As she sat down I noted that she was still in the same get up as before.

Damn those gams just went on forever didn't they?

My eyes continued to cruise up and down those silky stalks with visions of the honeypot between them.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

The gal was getting me so worked up, I was hearing voices now.

I suddenly realized that the voices were coming from the phone I was holding to my ear.
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Who it was I would have never expected.

It was A. Davis.

"Hello, Lamar. Are the Chiefs still crying, Lamar?" said Davis in a creepy serial killer voice.

"H-h-how did you get this number?!?" I stammered (memo to self: see speech therapist).

"You called me..." Davis growled polietly, however polite a growl can be.

"Oh. I must have the wrong number. Sorry." I absent-midedly hung up.

"Can we get back to ME now?" screeched the adorable Miss Davis.

I didn't hear her. I realized what a big mistake I had just made.
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She tried to kick me in the groin, but my quick reflexes allowed me to judo flip her over my desk.

"One second, lady. I'm about to make a phone call that could break your case wide open, and I don't mean that in a double entendre sort of way."

Ring, ring...

"Yes, is this the M. Night Shyamalamhamorother residence?"

"Sir, this is Fifth Third Bank, 1366 Union Street."

"Oh. Is M. Night What'shisname there?"

"Let me check. 'I'm not a player, I just **** a lot...'"

I hate being put on hold, so I decided to hang up the phone and hunt down this Somalian guy myself.
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While trying to make a quick exit, I realized the undead former Mrs. Davis was still there. "Where the hell are you going, " she asked, " I jumped out of a ****ing window for you and you can't show me the common courtesy of listening to my problems???"

gams, gams, gams.......

"How bout a road trip???" I inquired??? "Me, you, and BJ can go for a ride and you can tell me all about your problems!"

Little did she know that BJ was a character that would be created with her scotch glistened lips in an hour or two if I had my druthers.
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So we packed into the car and headed for Somalia, because I was pretty sure that's where M. Night Shalyman was from.

I knew he'd know something about Miss. Davis' deadness.
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Turns out he wasn't home, so we went back to the office.
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Whoever created the saying "Being dead sucks" sure knew what the hell he was talking about. Although I didn't have a golf ball or a garden hose, I'm pretty sure this little philly wouldn't have any trouble passing that test.

Hopefully the trip to Midnight Samalamadingdong's house will take awhile.... the pipes are pretty clean now, but I prefer glistening.
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Originally Posted by Psicosis:
Turns out he wasn't home and we all died of old age.

The End

Or was it?

I woke up somewhere in Thailand. I had to get back to KC, so I hitched a ride with a rice farmer and headed for the airport.
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He wasn't in Somalia. M. Night had taken residence in, where else but - Mexico City. It was all starting to come together.

I knew it would be a treacherous journey. There was that damn poision water, and of course the bulls. The bulls struck like the power of Zeus's lightning. You could never escape them, only hope to hide from them day after day. At times, the sewers would be your only home. In them, the hours stretched on for what seemed like days. The only thing I had to keep me going was Ms. Davis.

I felt the vibrations of a Nokia cell phone tucked deep into my pants pocket. I took it out, but unfortunately dropped it into the sewage. Didn't matter. I really didn't know how to answer my cell phone anyway.

At night, the bulls slept, and the homeless wandered. That's where I met Chico Valdinez.
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I woke up in a cold sweat. None of it happened, none of it happened, I to myself.

It was all a blur. One moment I'm in thailand, the next I'm in Somalia. I turned on the light.

I screamed like a little girl when I saw laying beside me...
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MISS DAVIS!

"Wha... what are you doing here?" I shouted quite loudly.

"I'm here for help. You must help me find my husband and kill him."

Gladly, I thought. A. Davis had been a dirty bastard to me for a long time and I wanted revenge. I just couldn't tell her that he was indeed the owner of her beloved Raiders.

"Doll, I don't know how to say this... but..."

"But what?"
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"Before I say anything more, I just have to know."

"You have to know what," she simpered while batting those big baby blues.

"Oh my God," I thought, "how the hell did ol' Al ever let this one get away to begin with?"

"Why do you want your ex wiped out?" Surely there was a horrible story behind all of this animosity from such a lovely dame. And knowing what I did about Mr Davis I was ready to believe anything.
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Originally Posted by Hydrae:
"Before I say anything more, I just have to know."

"You have to know what," she simpered while batting those big baby blues.

"Oh my God," I thought, "how the hell did ol' Al ever let this one get away to begin with?"

"Why do you want your ex wiped out?" Surely there was a horrible story behind all of this animosity from such a lovely dame. And knowing what I did about Mr Davis I was ready to believe anything.

"Well..." she pondered for a bit. "Ever since Al left L.A., I felt abandoned..."

"Go on," I said. I was a bit distracted at the time.

"We drifted apart and eventually divorced. In the settlement, he got the one thing I wanted."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's ... it's..." her sparkling blue eyes watered up and a stream of sorrow flowed out.

"What's the matter?"

She calmed down a bit, gained her composure, and told me what it was she wanted.
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"My bull testicles. My...friend. He bought them for me as a gift when he was in Mexico City."

I looked at her. "And this, friend, Ms. Davis?"

She wiped away a tear. It was almost to much for her to bear.

"We had a...an affair, Mr. Hunt." She sobbed, the tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and disappearing into her blue dress like a ghost in the night.

"What was his name, Ms. Davis."

"What does it matter! He's dead now! Dead!" She flew herself on to my shoulder.

I figured it to be so. Affair, jealous husband, madman...it would all come down to a murder.

But that didn't explain why Al had wanted the souvenior. Evidence? A tasty mid-night snack? Conversational piece on his living room coffee table?

I stroked her deep black hair. "It'll be alright," I assured her.

The phone rang, startling us both.
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