Thursday, May 22, 2014

Godzilla (2014) Leaked Alternate Ending

EXT. STADIUM - DAY

Crowds of people having been evacuated from areas of the city fill the entire arena. We SLOWLY PUSH IN on a large television monitor mounted onto a wall displaying a critical news bulletin --

Under text reading the tag-line 'GODZILLA: PIMP OF THE UNIVERSE?', a shaky camera held from the interior of a news helicopter records live footage of the monstrous GODZILLA, wearing a black leather jacket and a sick wallet chain and throwing up gang signs as he sharply bobs his head to the pounding bass of 'SIMON SAYS' BY PHAROAHE MONCHE blaring from a Godzilla-sized boom box.

The song ends. Godzilla lets out a deafening, pant-wetting roar.

He pulls out an enormous cigarette from his inner jacket pocket, sticks it between his mighty jaws, kneels down and lights the end of it with the flames belching from a devastated children's hospital shrieking with the agonized screams of scalded youth.

He stands upright. Takes a deep drag of his smoke and exhales slowly, savoring it. He pulls out a giant pair of sunglasses hanging from his chest pocket, flicks them open and places them coolly over his eyes. He kneels again slightly to pick up his boom box.

GODZILLA
I guess my work here is done.

Godzilla slowly turns around, smashing his gargantuan tail against the side of a building, crushing dozens of people underneath falling debris in the process. He starts stomping away down the highway, crushing one family-filled car after another.

CRANE SHOT -- a man runs eagerly down the highway in pursuit of Godzilla, struggling to catch his breath; the young, fresh-faced soldier FORD. We PAN DOWN to meet him in a CLOSE-UP --

FORD
Godzilla -- wait!

ANGLE ON Godzilla as he stops in his tracks. He slowly turns his head and tilts it downwards to meet Ford's gaze suavely over the top of the lenses of his glasses.

GODZILLA
What's up, kid?

Ford struggles to find words --

FORD
You saved my ass back there.

Godzilla takes another puff of his cigarette.

GODZILLA
We got lucky.

The injustice of Godzilla's modesty causes Ford's face to clench in disapproval and his eyes to well with tears. He shakes his head.

FORD
Luck didn't have anything to do with it. It was your courage. And your laser beams.

Godzilla and Ford exchange prolonged stares --

Then Godzilla smirks.

GODZILLA
You know what, kid? You're alright.

FORD
You're alright too, Godzilla.

Godzilla sets himself down on one knee and holds his mighty fist out directly in front of Ford.

Ford beams as he curls his own hand into a fist and pounds Godzilla's.

Godzilla withdraws his hand and stands upright again. He turns away.

Ford wipes the tears from his face.

FORD
Where you gonna go?

Godzilla pauses. He tilts his head to one side.

GODZILLA
Wherever I'm needed.

Godzilla then continues stomping his way a little further down the highway and around a corner towards a sick Godzilla-sized motorcycle. He places his boom box on the chopper's rear. Climbs onto the seat. Starts the engine.

Ford, chasing after Godzilla again, turns the same corner --

FORD
Godzilla!

Godzilla pauses again. Looks towards Ford.

Ford gives Godzilla an awkwardly forced thumbs-up.

FORD
Thanks.

Godzilla says nothing for a moment -- then gives a slight nod.

GODZILLA
You got any weed on you?

FORD
No.

GODZILLA
You know where I can get some pussy around here?

FORD
Wouldn't have a clue.

Godzilla scoffs.

GODZILLA
Queer.

He then grabs a hold of the handles of his chopper -- the engine roars to life and the bike obliterates thousands of buildings as Godzilla peels away into a couple of donuts and across the city towards the water. He grinds into the ocean and disappears under its surface with a thundering splash, the sound matched only by the storm of applause from the people of the city.

FADE TO BLACK.

END.

Action Movie in the Year 3000

Synopsis:

It's the year 3000 in the thriving city of Google, its streets buzzing with joyous Google Plus members, as well as armed Twitter mechs blowing the skulls open of anybody who refuses to share a thought as Facebook surveillance drones beep and soar overhead, rapidly downloading and uploading ultra high-definition x-ray images of everybody's genitals. In a grungy apartment, grizzled and profoundly alcoholic ex-Twitter user Twat "Tweetin'" Twitterson, long reputed throughout the world as a master of tweeting, swears away the activity forever after the tragic loss of his now-ex-wife's profile on Twitter in a freak tweeting accident at Twitter's base of operations. Twat is reluctantly dragged into the second act by the rise of an extremely dangerous internet terrorist, wanted by the internet police for broadcasting a threat to begin keeping all of his thoughts to himself -- unless he's granted time off work for a weekend vacation at his cabin, during which he's allowed to turn his iPhone off for a bit. Twat might have a major chip on his shoulder and be suffering from the worst hangover throughout history, but that doesn't stop him from loudly clicking back the hammer of his Magnum revolver for no reason and tweeting like he's never tweeted before in a relentless effort to stop the terrorist. Risking the potential suicide of billions of the terrorist's followers on Twitter as a result of his terrible demands, Twat can't afford to pull any of his punches on this job -- he'll have to make an uneasy alliance with LinkedIn, and go so far as to reactivate his old account on MySpace and face the demons of his past.

"A must-see film. You'll find yourself so connected with Twat that you'll leave the theater feeling like a Twat yourself."
- Cameron Shuttersnap, Amazing Director

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Writer Wanted

WRITER WANTED

Are you a lover of literature and film? Are you creative? Do you have a flair for the written word? Well, we have an open position among our creative team that might be just right for you!

Responsibilities:

- Cleaning the office. We will supply lemon Pledge. Its cost will be deducted from your earnings.

- Scrubbing the toilets. Overtime will be guaranteed following the staff's Mexican dinner nights. You are to supply your own respirator, boots and umbrella.

- Getting rid of that weird squeak in Dave's office door. Seriously, it's really annoying.

- Cleaning the office windows from the outside. The ones on the five hundredth floor and upwards could use a decent wipe in particular. Washing platforms are unavailable. If you are unable to supply your own safety harness, fishing line can be supplied for a small fee. Consider tying your clothing together for a rope.

- Picking toe-nail clippings out from the thick carpet while serving your back as a temporary foot stool. Dave collects them. Don't ask me why.

- Writing four award-winning screenplays per week, although five would be appreciated.

- Feeding the cat. Not that the fat cunt needs it.

Requirements:

- Master's degrees in physics, chemistry, astronomy, biology, computer science, mathematics, engineering, health science, behavioral science and social science from a minimum of ten institutions. Additional degrees are encouraged.

- 45+ years of experience writing award-winning material.

- Having read every book ever written.

Unfortunately, we won't be able to pay you for a period likely lasting several years due to some technical issues, but Dave regularly keeps the kitchen's refrigerator stocked with Mr. Freeze, and he says that you'll be able to take one per day for as long as you like. However, he includes that the ice cream sandwiches are his alone, and strictly off-limits.

To those unimpressed by the benefits of this exciting opportunity, I say, let's face it: writers are a bunch of faggots, really. They sit around on their asses, pretending that they're thinking really hard. The gig is typically just an excuse to slack off. They're hardly actual people, if you think about it. They're all introverted social disasters and idealistic pains in the ass. I'm not quite sure why they haven't all been rounded up and gutted like cattle for being so utterly useless.

Due to the volume of applications we expect, we may not be able to respond to them all.

If interested, please don't hesitate to contact us.

E-mail: 0o_XxX_Pu$y_$lAyEr_239067283907_XxX_o0@yahoo.com

Note: Serious applications only.