Apple's parry and riposte

Aimed squarely at the 300 million dollar price-tag of Microsoft's laboured retort.

Quicker, harsher, cheaper and minus the Dying Polar Bears® and African School Kids®.

Gold star, now get on with your fucking work Mac & PC and stop bitching at each other, we all know PCs are shit.

I'm a PC and it takes me two years to think of an obvious comeback.

Because most people aren't Oscar Wilde they don't often think of perfectly witty, piercing retorts until the day after an argument.

Sometimes it's up to a week later. It will be in a pub or in the shower or somewhere random. They'll be involuntarily re-playing a bit of an argument or difficult conversation then... BAMMFFFGH!

Suddenly there it is, a slow wet fart of inspiration, four days too late.

Maybe they'll subtly weave the remark into a future re-telling of the incident. That way they will appear sharper, wittier and more like Oscar Wilde. More often than not though they'll just slap their thick skulled forehead and curse their porridge brains saying "Durr, I wish I'd said that." or "Hmpfh, yeah that would have shown them."

Clearly to return to the person with whom the original argument took place and shout out the "witty clever comeback" right in their bemused face would be ludicrous. Even to do it a few hours later would be considered borderline care in the community.

The moment has passed, the context is lost and with it the opportunity of a verbal parry and riposte.

So then - how fucked in the head would you have to be to spend two years thinking of a "witty clever comeback" then shout it in someone's face via a 300 million dollar TV and internet campaign?

Well then you'd be Microsoft.

Had this appeared the week after the original Apple adverts then fine, OK. A month, maybe. But two years? Fuck off Bill.

This is the age of web 4.0 or whatever fucking version it's on. People expect a witty, surprising and instantaneous response. On a twittered feed from an GPS tracked google mapped experimental satellite phone-cum-sandwich toaster.

They expect it twice as much when it's a "cutting edge" computer company. Instead they get a postal chess, feel-good, PC friendly equivalent of a four-year-old saying "I know you are but what am I."

Also the inclusion of Dying Polar Bears® and African School Kids® makes me want to sick into my TV.

Taken (2008)

Cue deep menacing  voiceover. They have taken his daughter. He will hunt them. He will find them. And he will kill them. Liam Neeson is… HARD AS FUCK.

What do you get if take Commando put it through the Bourne filter, swap the one liners for xenophobia and replace Arnie with a ruthless and deadly Liam Neeson? TAKEN is what you get and, despite the dubious racial stereotyping and crazy logic, it's a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Neeson is retired CIA "preventer" Bryan Mills.  It's never really elaborated on as to what he prevented at the CIA but for the duration of the movie what he prevents is Filthy Foreign Fucks™ from breathing anymore.

Because in TAKEN every foreigner is filthy and a fuck. So Bryan preventalises them.

Before that happens though there is some exposition in which we find out the following; Bryan Mills is separated from his wife, he doesn't see his daughter Kim very often, this is due to his overprotective paranoid nature - which is a by-product of his job. Bryan has quit his job to try and re-kindle a relationship with Kim and make up for all those lost years.

Poor old Bryan gives Kim a much researched karaoke machine for her 17th birthday. His reward? Being berated by his bitchy ex-wife then trumped seconds later by Kim's new millionaire step-dad. He trots out a thoroughbred race horse. Made of gold. That shits puppies made of rose petals. Who laugh diamonds when you cuddle them. 

Bryan feels small. 

Kim feels nothing because she is spoilt and has a bubble for a head.

When Bryan isn't feeling small, making awkward efforts to reconnect or being bollocked by his ex-wife,  he is having boozy BBQs with other CIA preventers. He chats about how much fun it was back in the good old preventing days. He even moonlights as a bodyguard for Holly Valance a multi-platinum selling pop diva - imaginatively named "Diva". 

All this is just a lead up to Kim asking if she can go to Paris for the summer. Bryan doesn't like that. Bryan is paranoid and over-protective, remember? His job made him that way. 

Paris isn't America. It's Foreign. You know what Foreign places are full of? Huh? Well? Do you? 

Culture? Friends you haven't met yet? Local ethnic "colour"? 

No!

Danger! Danger and Filthy Foreign Fucks™. 

After a few tears and a little strop Bryan sees a chance to get the crumb of affection he craves. He decides to snatch it, which coincidentally  is exactly what some Filthy Foreign Fucks™ do when they see his daughter. 

Despite finding out at the last minute Kim is not staying in Paris but gallivanting around Europe following U2 (reason enough not to let her go anywhere ever again) Bryan lets her go, mainly because his ex-wife has another go at him "Let her live Bryan or you'll lose her".

Fine, fine. She can go. She can go to deadly Europe. If you think Foreign places are so fucking safe she can go. So off she goes with her jabbering, blonde friend Amanda. 

Fresh out of Charles de Gaulle airport the pert young yanks are approached by Peter the Friendly Foreigner™. 

"Eeeyyy bonjour pretty lay-deez, eet eez so ex-pon-seeve for the taxi 'ere. Maybe we can, ow you say, share eet."

Idiots. There is no such thing as a Friendly Foreigner™. 

Friendly Foreigners™ are just Filthy Foreign Fucks™ in disguise. Soon Blondie McGullible-Easy-Lay is giving away their address and the fact they are all alone and pretty much everything else except her ass - which she plans on giving to Peter at a party later that night.

Of course the party never happens because, on Peter's orders, a whole bunch of FFFs barge into Amanda's luxury pad and snatch her. Kim hides under a bed and gets a last desperate call to Dad, who records it with his super-spy-kit. Then, as the title suggests, she is TAKEN.

Bryan briefly talks to the kidnappers - give her back or I'll find you and I'll kill you. "Good luck" they say. 

But Bryan doesn't need luck because he's an American. According to his CIA mates he has 96 hours before Kim becomes an untraceable drug addled cum sock for the FFFs. Goddam it he'll find her, even if he has to kill every foreigner in Paris.

You can't help being a hundred percent behind Bryan. He seems so be so starved of affection that he'd probably take out half an army  just have lunch with his daughter. At last he finally has a way to prove his love and win some affection by doing what he does best. 

Killing dirty, evil, twisted, dangerous, perverted foreigners.

The next 80 minutes is a non-stop barrage of fist meets foreigner as Bryan goes above the law and obliterates everything and everyone who is even vaguely non-American. He's every foreigners worst nightmare.

Neeson is strangely compelling, no matter how ridiculous the dialouge or situation, no matter how warped the logic Neeson approaches the whole thing if his life depended on it. Because of this you believe him, he hypnotises you into ignoring the ludicrous plot progression and xenophobia.

It helps that he's also unexpectedly hard. He gouges eyes, throttles and chops windpipes, kicks knees out, snaps arms and necks and legs, he stabs foreigners, he electrocutes foreigners, he makes foreigners jump off bridges and get hit by trucks, he shoots a shitload of foreigners, he makes foreigners explode, he makes foreigners crash into diggers and crush their heads, he pushes foreigners through windows.

He kills a lot of foreigners.  And they deserve it. 

He only pauses to catch his breath while torturing foreigners to figure out which foreigner to kill next. Or to occasionally shoot foreign family members of ex-foreign friends who turn out to be untrustworthy FFFs after all.

Incidentally despite the overwhelming calls to "FEAR THE FOREIGNER" this film isn't even an American film. It's French written and directed by Luc Besson and Pierre Morel, making it a masterpiece of cynical marketing. However Besson did have some help form Karate Kid writer Robert Mark Kamen. Which probably explains why it feels like an 80's actioner wearing the serious "I'm real-world" muted tones and quick edits of 2008. 

It's wrong but it feels so right and  Neeson absolutely kicks arse in no uncertain terms. 

WARNING INVISI-TEXT ENDING SPOILER:

Considering that Kim has been kidnapped, kept sedated with heroin for three days, "examined" by FFF "doctors" to confirm her virginity, had her friend choke on death on her own vomit due to an overdose and been sold to a yet another Filthy Foreigner (this time an Arabian Jabba) for virgin white girl fuck fun - aboard the good ship Islamic Jihad Martyrs Paradise - you'd think she'd act a teensy bit more subdued on arriving home. 

Instead she runs about like a giggly Scarecrow back from a day at Alton Towers. Though frankly that's the least of your worries as far believability goes. 

If your ex-husband had been on a three day foreign kill-a-thon to save your daughters life and mimsy would you make him get a cab home? 

Nevermind the sell-out here's a hypocritical fuckwit

I've always thought John Lydon's brand of boggle-eyed faintly campy accented 'anarchy' was fucking shit. It might have been shocking once to say bastard and piss on telly but more often than not he comes off as a Viz character that didn't make the cut.

Oooh he's so mental what will he say next? Well probably something about the monarchy being cunts or wanting to spit on pensioners. Or some other predictably piss-poor attempt to shock the five people who still buy The Express and think about the monarchy more than once a year.

But this? Yes for the first time he's genuinely shocked me by sinking to hitherto unplumbed depths of hypocrisy. Well done you pointless shitbasket.

Proof if ever proof was needed that sooner or later "anarchy" becomes "cup o' tea" for all of us.

As for the ad in general, selling a product on the strength of a subjective opinion from a laughable washed-up hypocrite sell-out is surely grounds for dismissal.

You think "It tastes the best?" So fucking what? Why would I value your opinion on anything? You may as well have an anonymous drunk tramp advertising your product "I like jaffa cakes coz dey… er dey… tastes BESTUST. Yeah?".

Killer strategy you wankers. Read this, take a step back and fuck yourselves right in the face.

The best adverts ever?

Yes, these are easily the best adverts ever. In the world.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008)

Lock up your childhoods because everyone's favourite no-neck memory molester is at it again.

Georgie's back to sign away his dignity on the latest subtraction from the STAR WARS saga - a flashing fuck-brained ker-ching factory for kids called The Clone Wars.

Frankly I'm at a loss where to begin so I'll start at the beginnning. Actually first I'll start twenty five years before the beginning.

It's 1983, I'm six years old, my school friend are I are staring at a penny sitting motionless on our desk. We are taking it in turns to move the penny across the desk using only 'the force'. So far no luck.

To us 'the force' seemed like something magical but obtainable. As long as you tried hard enough and try we did, often till were blue in the face.

The Clone Wars were a still mysterious period in Star Wars history, the scale and scope of which was defined only by our imagination. General Kenobi fought in them alongside a young Anakin Skywalker, the best star-pilot in the galaxy and a cunning warrior.

Maybe they were so mental you couldn't even show it in a film. Whatever they were they sounded weird and fucking amazing.

The Force, The Jedi, The Sith even the Senate - they were all nebulous notions that our fevered little imaginations could populate for ourselves. Meanwhile the last Star Wars film 'Return of the Jedi' was coming out soon and we had yet to discover the coolness of speederbike troopers and Leia's slave girl outfit. Life and Star Wars was pretty cool.

Flash forward to 2008 where many of lifes illusions have been shattered including the following: The force has nothing to do with effort, you're either born with a load of midichlorians or you're not. The Jedi are actually a bit boring, the Sith are just plain confusing, Darth Vader is an annoying moppet called Annie or a wooden mumbling sulk and the Clone Wars are a kid friendly cgi adventure sandwiched pointlessly between two disappointing films.

Still at the very least we have the concrete reliable aspects of Star Wars. The anchor points. The things that you'd never change.

Never. No matter what.

Things like the 20th century Fox logo and the silent anticipation that accompanies the blue words "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...." followed by a blast of the theme music and the iconic yellow text crawl over a starscape.

You'd never, ever change that right?

We've still got that. Right George?

No. No we fucking don't because he's even fucked that up the stupid quiffed cunt. So what do we have instead?

Well first a Warner Brothers logo, which felt odd but not much you can do about that. Then the pause, the blue text and... a wet fart 'remix' of the fucking theme music.

The Star Wars fucking theme music. One of the most recognised themes of all time - which George owns the fucking rights to has been replaced by a shitty sub-bontempi organ version which doesn't even play over an opening crawl of text.

The crawl has inexplicably been replaced by a montage of scenes narrated by an incongruous fast-talking 1930's newscaster.

I know this will sound ridiculous because there are so many other bigger problems here (so, so many) but that pause with the blue text followed by the theme blast IS Star Wars for me.

It's the switch that flips me from real world into the Star Wars universe. It's like a release lever on your imagination, just the right amount of anticipation before a floodgate of memories opens.

But instead I got this, and all it did was open the shit pipe.

It's like expecting an orgasm but doing a shit instead. Out of your mouth.

You're thinking "Oh no, oh God no! What's happening?" But you just keep curling out a big mouth log and frantically wondering why the person you were having sex with is morphing into a big dummy made of shit. On a stinking runny shit bed. In a house made of melting shit.

Less than two minutes in, I was already feeling a bit disappointed, it was mostly downhill from there.

The animation style works well for the wide variety of robots and vehicles, making them look impressively weighty and mechanical. Unfortunately it has the same effect for all the characters. And despite thinking George couldn't get any more wooden than the prequels he continues to amaze - this time developing an aesthetic whereby the characters heads actually appear to be carved from tree stumps.

The soundtrack continues to disappoint ranging from sound library 'moody atmospheric' to some kind of 'funk-fusion' as George replaces Jar-Jar with Wah-Wah.

It's shocking how much John Williams is missed.

But what is more shocking is the decision to replace him with Kevin fucking Kiner who provided the scores for Walker Texas Ranger, 97 episodes of CSI Miami and the unforgettable Excessive Force II: Force on Force.

Even more ludicrous is the plot, revolving mostly around the kidnap and rescue of Jabba the Hutt's son, wait for it, Rotta the Huttlet. He must be retrieved by the Jedi to allow them access to the Hutt run trade routes to the outer rim... ahem.

Anyways before everything really kicks off we open with a big battle scene and the introduction of a new character in the shape of Anakins padawan Ashoka.

Even that collection of words sounds painful, like a Taiwanese 4x4, the Padawan Ashoka just £3,995 on the road.

Ashoka is one sassy teen Torgruta, oh boy. She's all street smarts, quick quips and nicknames. None of which seem to gel with the Star Wars Universe. She proceeds to call Anakin 'Sky-Guy' for the rest of the film.

'Sky-Guy'?

No wonder he flipped out and started killing everyone - Annie? Fucking Sky-Guy? The real young Vader would have pulled a force-choke faster than you can say "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Instead he resorts to calling her 'Snips'.

I half expected him to snap his fingers and say "Mhummmm Girrrrrl-freeeeeeend, you got it goin' oooowwwww-nnaaahhh" after they dispatched some separatist droids.

On the subject of droids, the 'comedy' talking variety make a comeback here, another case of George removing any mystery or indeed logic.

In the originals some droids spoke English others in bleeps and some even in alien dialects. Like the eyeball thing at Jabbas Palace gate that says what sounds like "Bechoo a-blinkee" in Huttese - you know he is saying "Who are you?" because of the response he gets.

Imagine how shit it would have been if that eyeball had popped out and said "OOoooh, whoooOoo are yoooOOOoo?" in a kind of camp disneyfied robot voice. It wouldn't have stuck in my mind for 25 years. Well maybe it would have but for all the wrong reasons.

Why the fuck would battle droids talk? Shouldn't they be wirelessly connected and co-ordinated? Isn't that the point of a robot army? I'd accept some bleeps and stuff for effect or even a special robot language that we come to understand throughout the films but why would they vocally give each other orders and then say "Roger Roger!" to confirm it?

At one point two robots are sharing one set of binoculars, come on George they're fucking robots they should have binoculars for eyes you stupid beardy bastard.

After a little fight over the binoculars (honestly), one of them gets the co-ordinates wrong "Enemy approaching from sector 44.73.02, no erm 44.73 erm 12, 05 I dunno".

What?! For fucks sake the point of robots is that they make stuff easier not fucking harder.

Hey, hey guys! I've made a confused short sighted battle droid that you can knock out with one punch. Look he's got matchstick arms and matchstick legs and no controls or connectivity - hahah he's great - although if there was more than one all the orders would have to be given vocally and independently to each robot.

Shit wow! Roll out a couple of thou and we'll take over the galaxy, not.

Anyway once we're saddled with Ashoka and the opening battle scene is done it's time to start the story proper, get off into space and head on over to... another battle scene. Having said that, it is the films only genuinely inventive segment.

Sky-Guy and Snips lead an assault on an occupied monastery perched atop of a gargantuan pillar of rock. Starting on the horizontal plane the action soon switches to vertical as the proto-AT-ATs slowly climb the pillar toward their goal. This is where the animation style really shines and at least this scene holds your attention, but it's scant reward for what awaits at the top.


Our heroes discover Rotta who basically looks like a fist sized bowel movement with googgly muppet eyes. He gurgles and farts and Snips drops another head-smackingly shit nickname - 'Stinky'.

The remaining plot basically involves Count Dooku (awooga! fucking stupid name alert) trying to convince Jabba that it was the Jedi who kidnapped his son. Meanwhile the Jedi, with the aid of Padmé, try to convince Jabba that it was in fact separatists.

Sam Jackson crops up as Mace Windu at one point but he's so bland and bald that my eyes and ears slid off him, Yoda says some backward bullshit, Anakin and Dooku have an ineffectual half-duel and the conclusion is inconclusive because the whole thing is just a pilot for a TV show.

Which leads to another massive problem with sandwiching the whole ill conceived proceedings between two prequels. You know exactly who is going to live and die, which pretty much robs the film and the upcoming series of any threat or tension. New characters will presumably die or disappear and nothing serious will happen to anyone else so what's the point?

Will SkyGuy, Snips and Stinky will get back to Tatooine and sort it all out? Does it matter? Does anyone care?

Going in I finally realised what the my major problem is with the prequels. It's that George has taken away all the mystery that I had sub-conciously coloured in over the last 25 years. He took it away and replaced it with disappointing bland bullshit.

Prior to this everyone had their own ideas of how things worked in the blurry historical edges of Star Wars and that let them have ownership to some extent.

I can't help thinking of the saying 'magic is only magic till you know how it's done' George keeps showing us what's behind the original magic and each time he does it all gets a lot less magical.

Everyone has their own Star Wars but it turns out that the one Star Wars nobody really wants is George's Star Wars. The only mystery remaining is why George bothers churning out this lazy lacklustre shit anymore.

The most dissapointing Star Wars yet. Disappointing is too small a word really.

Three words George.

Do. Something. New.

Football + Ballet = Shit²

With "The Beautiful Game" English National Ballet and the New Football Pools have decided it's a good idea to recreate ten great footballing moments through the medium of dance.

They are wrong.

In the video above Jenna Lee says "At first we weren't sure it would work because, football and ballet, you don't put them in the same sentance"

Wrong again.

Shostokovitch said "Football is the ballet of the masses".

Back in 1930 the 23-year-old Dimitri Shostokovitch composed music for a football based ballet "The Golden Age". The story revolved around a Russian football team visiting the imaginary 'U-Town' in Europe for an Olympic style event. The story eventually demonstrated pure, young Soviets overcoming the temptations of the decadent West.

Amusingly despite being a rabid football fan Shostokovitch was also a pessimist and would regularly bet against his own team.

So Jenna, you would put football and ballet in the same sentence if you were talking about a famous ballet featuring football that's been around for over 70 years. Or alternatively you could put them in a sentence like this:

That new ENB football ballet looks fucking shit.

Apart from the fact that they are both shit and involve effeminate men feigning distress I don't know much about ballet or football. But isn't ballet supposed to be synchronised to some extent? They look all over the place, the keepy-uppy and never walk alone clips are especially cringeworthy.

Matthew Mctwattyhey.

I was in HMV on the weekend buying the first two seasons of THE WIRE when I saw this double pack...


Does he have it in his contract that he has to lean at thirty fucking degrees in everything? Why is he always leaning on blondes? Why has he always got his hands in his pockets?

Why is he such a casual, carefree,  confuddling twat? I bet the stylist got fired for fastening his jacket in the second one.

"I'm casual - you've fastened my fucking jacket you r-tard, thirty degrees doesn't look casual with a fastened fucking jacket DOES IT?!! Well?! You're fucking fired."

In the Failure to Launch poster he's rocking on his heels which makes him look some kind of novelty crate trolley. 

Maybe SJP should hammer some wheels through his ankles and use him to carry wheel around heavy objects, like her saddle and horse shoes for when she needs to be rode in a gymkhana....

Travellin' Troubles

What with all the excitement of batday I never got round to writing this little incident up, however a close friend of mine has demanded it following my colourful description, so here goes.

First a bit of context. This all happened on the same day as batday, after watching it on IMAX in the afternoon I was heading back to my parents home for the wedding of an old friend.

The train journey is about three hours, but since I was still in shock from batday I wasn't that bothered. Plus I was also starting a week long holiday which made for an unusually tolerant mood.

Now this tale probably works best if you imagine it as an early Laurel & Hardy silent two-reeler.

But with no Stan Laurel and me playing Oliver Hardy.

So... I get on the train to find a bloke in my seat at the table. But no problem, even though his mate is also sitting opposite , there was still two free seats at the table so I stowed my bag in the rack.

From now on imagine I'm Oliver Hardy complete with bowler hat and tie, everything is black and white, looks a bit crackly and any dialouge is communicated via elaborate black screen cards bearing white script - like a silent movie.

I promise, all of this happened...

IRIS IN:

1. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

Bag safely stowed, OLLIE sits down in the aisle seat placing a book on the table. Opposite him sits a guy with a shaved head. In the window seat next to OLLIE is the sruffy looking friend of the bald guy.

As he smoothes down his jacket the fellow opposite says…

BALDY

"Hello."

OLLIE gives a nod and a smile…

OLLIE

"Hello."

The guy next to OLLIE turns to address him…

SCRUFFY

"Hello.”

OLLIE raises his hat and we get another cheery…

OLLIE

"Hello."

As the train begins to pull out of the station OLLIE settles back and opens his book.

2. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFFY

The guy next to OLLIE says…

SCRUFFY

"We're returning from India."

OLLIE responds with raised eyebrows and a silent "oh".

The guy continues by wiggling two fingers…

SCRUFFY

"We've been travelling for two days.”

3. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

The fellow opposite starts to stretch and settle back…

4. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – BALD FELLOW/EMPTY SEAT

…he yawns dramatically and says…

BALDY

"We'll probably be asleep before the next stop"

5. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

OLLIE couldn't give a fuck what they do but he gives them a jovial smile and points to his book saying…

OLLIE

"Don’t worry, I brought a book"

They all laugh.

A watch face is superimposed over the scene and we see 30 minutes tick by at high speed.

Scenery whips past the windows, OLLIE reads his book and gradually the travellers fall asleep.

6. INT: VIEW DOWN THE AISLE

A builder enters the carriage and stows his work bag above the table before taking the remaining seat.

7. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFFY

OLLIE is engrossed in his book running the gamut of facial expressions. He finishes with a satisfied little chuckle that wobbles his hat. 

He continues to read becoming increasingly absorbed in the book until… 

SCRUFFY

"Zzzzzz."

OLLIE bunches up his shoulders as if someone is drilling next to his head.

He slowly swivels to look at the guy next to him.

SCRUFFY pantomimes another loud snore against the window.

8. INT: TRAIN – CLOSE UP - OLLIE

OLLIE looks to camera briefly then back down to continue reading his book.

Almost as soon as he does SCRUFFY's head flops into frame and onto OLLIE’s shoulder – he is still fast asleep.

OLLIE’s eyes slowly roll back up to look straight into camera, we get two or three blinks.

OLLIE glances at the traveller, sighs and then turns back to his book.

Pause just long enough for OLLIE to look like he’s enjoying his book again before cutting to…

SCRUFFY

"Zzzzzzzz."

Cut back to OLLIE looking miserably straight into camera.

He is drumming his fingers on the table; the traveller is snoring directly into his left ear.

9. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

OLLIE looks at the BUILDER opposite and says… 

OLLIE

“What next?"

The BUILDER chuckles.

7. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFFY

SCRUFFY stirs, sitting up slightly, he yawns and stretches his arms wide.

OLLIE leans forward with relief, fiddles with his jacket lapels and re-opens his book with a smile.

Just as he settles back - the travellers head flops back to OLLIE’s shoulder, his right arm in mid-stretch is now around OLLIE’s back.

He has a sleepy, dopey grin.

8. INT: TRAIN – CLOSE UP – BUILDER

The BUILDER is laughing.

9. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFFY

OLLIE looks at the traveller’s hand hugging his right shoulder - emits a theatrical sigh, slumps his shoulders and looks exasperated.

He turns to the traveller and gently tries to move away by very slowly leaning toward the aisle.

The traveller responds by sleepily bringing his other arm up to fully hug OLLIE.

10. INT: TRAIN – CLOSE UP – BUILDER

The BUILDER is pissing himself laughing by now.

11. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFF

OLLIE freezes, momentarily in a bizarre clinch with the grinning, snoozing traveller resting on his chest. He’s looking desperately 3/4 off camera with eyebrows raised.

OLLIE slams his book shut.

In a flurry the traveller wakes up, realises who he’s cuddling and quickly tips back the other way before falling asleep against the window.

12. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

OLLIE shakes his head, fiddles with his tie and says to the builder…

OLLIE

“I need a drink.”

IRIS OUT:

IRIS IN:

13. INT: VIEW DOWN THE AISLE

OLLIE returns to the table, he carries a large paper bag containing a hot sandwich, two beers and a bottle of water.

11. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFF

OLLIE puts the bag on the table.

As he sits back down, he takes out a can of beer and cracks it open with a satisfied smile.

The sound wakes SCRUFFY up. He drowsily nods to OLLIE – who nods back.

OLLIE takes a swig of beer.

Meanwhile the sleepy traveller continues nodding, slowly moving his attention toward the bag.

OLLIE smiles back at SCRUFFY, mirroring his nodding as the traveller moves ever closer to the bag.

As he looks away for another sip of his beer OLLIE does a double take. The traveller has opened OLLIE's sandwich and is cheerfully munching away.

OLLIE watches in disbelief as he eats the whole thing.

SCRUFFY offers him another sleepy smile in return and slumps back to sleep against the window.

OLLIE looks from the traveller to his beer then shakes his head and chugs what is left of the can.

12. INT: TRAIN – MEDIUM SHOT - FROM OPPOSITE TABLE

The builder is slapping his leg and roaring with laughter.

OLLIE reaches into the bag.

11. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFF

Giving the sleepy SCRUFFY a dirty look he opens his second can of beer.

Again this wakes up SCUFFY who slowly makes his way back to the bag.

OLLIE watches in disbelief as he starts to rifle through it again, this time picking out the water.

OLLIE looks even more baffled than before but this time he grabs the bottom of the water and says…

OLLIE

“That’s mine.”

SCRUFFY smiles sleepily. He releases the water and falls back to sleep against the window.

OLLIE shakes his head and puts the water back on the table. No sooner does he take another swig of beer than SCRUFFY is up and making for the water again. OLLIE grabs it before he can get there and says…

OLLIE

“Yeah, it’s still mine!”

SCRUFFY stares at OLLIE for a while before dreamily asking…

SCRUFFY

“Can I have it?”

OLLIE stares at him and emphatically says…

OLLIE

“No! You can't have it.”

SCRUFFY sulkily flops back to sleep and OLLIE puts the water on the opposite side of the table, out of reach.

11. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – BALDY/BUILDER

The BUILDER is wiping tears away from his cheeks he’s laughing so much.

8. INT: TRAIN – CLOSE UP – OLLIE

OLLIE looks exasperated.

OLLIE

“What is with this guy?”

10. INT: TRAIN – CLOSE UP – BUILDER

The BUILDER is shaking his head and laughing even more than ever, he points to SCRUFFY.

11. INT: TRAIN – TWO SHOT ACROSS TABLE – OLLIE/SCRUFF

SCRUFFY is heading toward the empty bag again.

OLLIE

“Jesus, what are you…

OLLIE doesn’t finish his sentence because SCRUFFY pulls the bag toward him and proceeds to vomit into it relentlessy. He vomits for a good 3 or 4 minutes.

OLLIE looks on in horror, gradually edging out of his seat and into the aisle. When he’s done the large paper bag is full to the brim with stinking bile.

SCRUFFY looks at OLLIE, he looks a dog that has been whipped and left out in the rain.

SCRUFFY

“Sorry.”

OLLIE sighs and even though it clearly isn’t he says…

OLLIE

“That’s OK.”

SCRUFFY looks at his bag full of bubbling sick and says…

SCRUFFY

“I’ll… er… clean this up.”

He stands up and before anyone can stop him he lifts up the bag of sick by its handles.

The wet bag immediately splits along the bottom and two litres of fresh hot stinking puke spills over the table, the chairs and all along the floor.

OLLIE

“For fucks sake.”

Soon everyone in the carriage is desperately looking for things to be sick in as the appalling stench travels through the carriage starting a chain reaction of puke, like in Chunk’s story from Goonies.

13. INT: VIEW DOWN THE AISLE

OLLIE makes a dash for the next carriage before the smell reaches him. We see him comically run away from camera down the aisle, holding his hat onto his head.

IRIS OUT:

THE END