The Darwin Awards

---

The peaceful moment.

It doesn't really exist.

By the time I finish this sentence...

about seven people around the

world will make a huge mistake.

They call them the Darwin Awards.

In the late '70s, they started

giving out an award each year...

for the person who died

in the most idiotic way.

The idea being, these people's

actions are so moronic...

they're actually improving the gene

pool by removing themselves from it.

For instance, Trip Hansen, an ad executive...

was showing off his new penthouse office.

Oh, man. Instant f*** pad.

You lucky bastard.

That glass? Four-ply.

- Bulletproof.

- Bullshit.

All right.

What are you doing?

Walkin' the talk.

- No, no, no, no!

- He runs at the window.

You know, to prove it was shatterproof.

Holy sh*t!

Turns out it wasn't.

Everybody's gotta have a hobby.

For me, it was the Darwin Awards.

There we are.

Okay, I guess you could say it

was actually more of an obsession.

But I just couldn't help trying to imagine...

what type of personality it would

take to meet such strange fates.

Why am I so obsessed with

analyzing personalities?

Well, that's my dayjob.

I'm a criminal profiler

for the S.F.P.D., Homicide.

Hey. Hey. Hey. Stay on

the other side of the tape.

Oh, you got it. You got it.

Behind this tape. Perfect.

That numb-nuts have

clearance to be here?

The chief said I'd been selected to be

followed around by this documentary filmmaker.

Said it would be good for P.R.

Truthfully, hejust seems

like some kid out of college.

You know, originally when

you asked about filming me...

I thought you meant a couple of hours.

It's been two days.

Just keep going about your

job as if I'm not here.

Just pretend I'm invisible.

This guy was starting to get on my nerves.

What are you eating?

- You still here?

- What were you dreaming about?

Why liquid soap?

I'm considered the best profiler on the force.

It's a talent that began back in fourth grade.

I see a couple problems with your story.

What problem?

First, you had to have been

in the liquor store alone.

Second, he was a Seventh-day Adventist...

so why would he be in the liquor store?

It's not fair we have to do recess

inside all year 'cause of you.

- Who says I did it?

- You have a problem with authority.

Miss Fong flunked you in math.

And... the wood chips on the strongbox

matches your Louisville Slugger exactly.

You tell Miss Fong, and

it's your ass, Burrows!

Fourth grade was also the beginning

of another lifelong condition.

- Hematophobia. Fainting

response to the sight ofblood.

My ability to connect the facts...

never really helped my popularity...

but at least it provided a job.

- We got plenty of Polaroids.

- These are digital.

I'm takin' a extra set. You know, for Burrows.

If that little sh*t wants to help

out with this investigation...

let him get his ass down

here just like everybody else.

He did. He's outside.

So...

what made you choose me

for this project anyway?

You were the only one on the

force who agreed to do it.

Oh.

Five dead in four weeks.

It seemed like a serial case,

and no one could solve it.

That meant it fell in my lap.

- Hi, Bill.

- Okay.

Give me perps under six

feet with size 14 shoes.

Check the clothing records

at Quentin and Folsom.

S.F.P.D. here. Working overtime.

Just ignore the camera.

- It's not all doughnuts and broads.

- Oh, please. Don't encourage him.

Nobody under six feet's gonna have size 14...

Whoa! Look at this.

At least 378 people do.

Those footprints were

half as deep as the others.

Guy couldn't have weighed more than 140.

- Isolate for guys with some college. Lit majors.

- Why?

Locations of the attacks...

Hughes Laundromat...

Gates Apartments, Eliot Business College...

They're all names of poets.

Here's your short lit

major cons with big feet.

I'd suggest you bring all five of'em in.

This perp's gonna be in deep hiding.

Criminology 101. Serial killers always

follow the investigation of their crime.

"Hematophobia. Debilitating

disorder, unresponsive to treatment."

Another f***in' useless book.

You should leave. Now. Leave.

Police! Follow my command!

Move down here nice and slow.

Nice and slow. That's it.

- What is this? Cops?

- Get down on your knees!

Get on your knees! Interlace

your fingers behind your head!

- Call 911.

- I can't interfere. I have to keep filming.

- What?

- It's part of the documentary process, man.

- You have to remain an objective observer.

- You're f***ing useless.

Yeah. This is Officer Burrows.

I need immediate backup on

Columbus and Kerouac. Yeah.

Am I gonna have to sign a release?

Shut the f*** up!

- Oh!

- Oh, my God.

"This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang but a whimper."

That is the most over-quoted

poem in modern lit.

What? Did you have to memorize that

for your 11 th grade English class?

F*** off.

Well, then.

Oh, my God.

- Turn it off. Turn it the f*** off!

- Please don't. No, please don't.

Isn't this over? I'm not a cop anymore.

- There's nothing left to film.

- A documentary is like a river.

You follow its natural course until it's...

Oh, just shut up and give

me back the apartment keys.

What are you doin'?

- If I tell you, will you go away?

- For tonight.

I'm looking at all the bills I can't pay...

Rent, Visa, electricity, insurance.

Okay, what's goin'on?

What's that?

What are you doin'? What's that?

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