Dirty Movie Page #2

So how would this work?

Look, hey, guys, it's simple.

A guy walks into a bar,

sees the bartender-

a beautiful woman-

says to her,

"Give me five shots of whisky. "

She pulls up the glasses,

lays them down on the bar,

starts pouring-

one, two, three, four, five.

He's slamming them back

as fast as he can.

The bartender says,

"Celebrating something?"

He goes,

"My first blowj*b. "

The bartender says,

"In that case, let me buy you a beer. "

He goes, "No thanks.

If this doesn't kill

the taste, nothing will. "

Ba-dump-bump-crash!

There's your movie.

But that's not a movie.

Uh! Uh!

Yes! Yes!

Yes.

Uh!

Oh baby.

Oh, that was good.

Oh, I really-

I really gotta go now.

Oh no, don't go

to work, baby.

Let's go again, huh?

No, I've really gotta go to work.

Oh please?

One more time.

Oh, that's them. Hold on.

Shh, be quiet.

Hello.

This is Donovan.

Where the f*** are you?

Im sorry.

I can't come in to work today.

Im sick.

You're sick? You don't sound sick.

How sick are you?

Well, right now

Im f***ing my sister.

Hey.

I'd love to get in your pants.

That's disgusting.

Why would you say that?

'Cause I just took

a big sh*t in mine.

Oh, this guy is f***ed.

Emergency room.

Doctor, doctor,

I don't know what to do.

My wife is going into labor

and her contractions

are coming really fast.

Okay, is this

her first child?

No, this is her husband.

I wish that was

Britney Spears's ass.

I wish that was

Paris Hilton's ass.

I just wish it was dark.

Good meeting, boys. Hey listen, kid,

you go work on those storyboards.

- You come with me.

- Okay.

That guy doesn't really

seem to get it.

Are you sure he's the right person

to direct this thing?

He's non-union.

Oh, say no more.

He's perfect.

All right, so we'll set you up

in a production office

- down near the receptionist.

- I didn't see the receptionist.

She died in

the World Trade Center.

- Oh, on 9/11?

- No.

We're gonna need

some real comedy chops on this.

And you know who

we should get to write it?

- No.

- My son.

Oh sure, a trained monkey

could write this script.

And not ask for residuals.

Your only obstacle is

getting it past this board.

- Leave it to me.

- Hey!

Save your attitude, okay?

These people have been

running the comedy business

since Richard Pryor

was in short pants.

And you don't get

in that kind of position

unless you're a bunch of ruthless,

cantankerous sons of b*tches.

If they smell fear,

they'll rip off your balls

and sh*t on your children.

I don't have children.

Just watch yourself.

I-17.

Give me my smokes,

you f***ing bandit.

B-2.

Wow.

You said it.

Don't make any sudden moves.

Rate this script:4.0 / 1 vote