"Buddy Havoc" Screenplay written by Peter Layton

FADE UP

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Shambling down a city street is BUDDY HAVOC, brain by Tonka Toys,
body by Burger King. Dressed in an ill-fitting security guard’s uniform, he
trundles into a Police Station.


INT. POLICE STATION - DAY

The cop shop is full of shiny uniforms and shady characters. When Buddy walks
in, everybody mumbles and whispers. One COP mutters to another.

COP
That’s Buddy Havoc, used to work here.
He was suspended for shooting more
times last year than the LA Lakers.

Wearing a weak, cake-eating grin, Buddy nods apologetically to several wounded,
bandaged, police officers as he passes by.

BUDDY
Bob, that risky surgery go okay? Fred, oh,
had to amputate it, huh? Hey, Randy, uh,
brain all better? Most of it grow back?

Buddy flicks a glance southward down on JIMBO, a burly, scowling cop.

BUDDY
Jimbo! How’s the...uh...?

JIMBO
(high falsetto)
Gone. They’re doing a transplant.
Care to donate?

Quickly, Buddy strolls up to an OFFICER at the admitting desk, who glances
nervously over to a 4 DAYS TO RETIREMENT sign beside him.

OFFICER
Buddy…you back with us again?

Glumly, Buddy tugs at his brown “Whole Security” guard uniform.

BUDDY
Naw. I’m temping with these guys
for now. Is the Chief in?

The desk officer hesitates, staring at Buddy’s holstered handgun. Rolling his eyes,
Buddy sighs quietly.

BUDDY
No, I'm not disgruntled. Today, I'm just
sort of averagely gruntled. Besides…

Buddy tugs out his gun. Cops dive behind desks, out windows, head-first into
wastepaper baskets. A gang of handcuffed prisoners makes a mass escape out the
front door.

BUDDY
…I'm pretty sure this isn’t loaded.

Pausing, unsure, Buddy suddenly holds the gun to his ear, shakes it, then pulls on
the trigger. CLICK!

BUDDY
Yup, not loaded. Sometimes, you get
one stuck in the chamber, you know?

Buddy's talking to himself. The officer is crouched behind the desk.

INT. CHIEF’S OFFICE - DAY

Flushed with anger, the big, burly CHIEF, waves a sheaf of paper in the face of an
unhappy ASSISTANT.

CHIEF
You call this a report? I could shove
a pen up my butt and crap out a better
report! Look! See that dog out there?

As the bellowing Chief drags his hapless assistant to a window, Buddy quietly
enters the room behind them and sits in a corner chair beside a large potted plant.

CHIEF
Right now that dog is submitting a
smarter report on the grass!

ASSISTANT
But, but, Chief, this report proves that
somebody high up on the force is being
paid off by the Mob. It’s a fact.

The Chief pushes the assistant out of the office and slams the door in his face.

CHIEF
No more flak! Fax me new facts to fix
this flux!

Taking a deep breath, calming down, the red-faced Chief plops down in his chair
and shreds the report into confetti.

CHIEF
All right! Coast is clear!

Buddy starts to rise, then realizes the Chief is facing and calling in the opposite
direction, to the private bathroom. Out of hiding, carrying a briefcase, comes
ANTONIO, a silver-haired, distinguished looking Mob Boss.

ANTONIO
(thick Italian accent)
Chief…I am mentally disturbed by
this report news. We have a bull by the
tail, so we must step carefully.

CHIEF
Ah, don’t worry about it, Antonio.
This report is buried…near that homicide
gun with your fingerprints on it.

ANTONIO
Good. Then I’ll continue overlooking
that bribery video I have of you.

Antonio and the Chief glare at each other, before the Chief looks pointedly at the
briefcase. As Antonio puts it on the desk and snaps it open, Buddy coughs
apologetically.

BUDDY
Uh, Chief?

Startled, Antonio and the Chief whip around to face the uniformed Buddy, stepping
out from behind the potted plant.

CHIEF
Buddy? Buddy Havoc?

An angry Antonio quickly reaches into his coat pocket.

ANTONIO
A security guard! Chief, you make
Antonio double cross?
Leaping to his feet, the Chief restrains Antonio, whispering urgently.

CHIEF
No, no, Antonio! That’s just Buddy!
Look at him… you put his brain in a
mosquito, it’d fly backwards.

Antonio sizes up the blankly smiling, harmless Buddy, who abruptly frowns
perplexed at the open briefcase…it’s stacked full of dollar bills.

BUDDY
(to Antonio)
You collecting for charity?

CHIEF
Why…yes, yes he is, Buddy. The…uh…
Italian American Anti-Bad Things Society.
They’re against, oh, silly stereotypes in
bad movies, and other stuff. Right, Antonio?

ANTONIO
Yes-a. Mamma-mia, that’s-a right.

Fumbling in his pocket, Buddy walks up to the bulging briefcase.

BUDDY
Well, geez, I don’t have much, but…

Buddy tosses in some crumpled dollar bills onto the pile, including, accidentally,
an ATM bank card. The Chief picks it up, stares at the number “1000” hand-
printed on masking tape stuck to the card.

CHIEF
This your secret PIN number, Buddy?

Chagrined, Buddy snatches up the card, pockets it. The Chief looks at Antonio.


CHIEF
Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Concerned
Law Abiding Citizen. Any time we can
stop crime in the streets and bring it
into this office, I’m happy.

ANTONIO
Me too. Now, I take my charity case…

Going to leave, Antonio reaches for the briefcase, but the Chief has a death grip
on it. Letting go, Antonio leaves gracefully…out the window to the fire escape.

CHIEF
That Antonio…he just loves the fresh
air and exercise. Now Buddy, how can
I help you?

BUDDY
Well, Chief, my suspension, um, when…?

With a loud grunt, the Chief hauls out a filing cabinet a hefty file marked

"BUDDY HAVOC Civilian Complaints (Ongoing and Posthumous)".

CHIEF
Until we get all these sorted out, sorry,
Buddy, your suspension continues.

BUDDY
Darn it. Well, thanks anyway, Chief.

Sadly shuffling off, Buddy glances back at the money laden briefcase.

BUDDY
Hey, don’t some Italian guys work in
Internal Affairs? Maybe they’d like to--

Halfway out the door, Buddy is frantically yanked back in by the Chief.

CHIEF
Blubby! Bloody! Buddy! Not so fast!
I mean, just because you’re suspended
doesn’t mean I can't use you.

Desperately, the Chief looks between the money and Buddy, then his eyes light up.
Wrapping an arm around Buddy's shoulders, the Chief speaks confidentially.

CHIEF
I need you Buddy. There's this nasty,
vicious rumor...

BUDDY
You and the cream pie? The Christmas
party?

CHIEF
I was pulling on my pants and I tripped!
Why won’t people…ah, never mind that!
Listen! I just found out somebody here,
on the force, is being paid off by the Mob.
Seeing they’re directly facing the briefcase full of cash, the Chief swings Buddy
around the other way.

CHIEF
I want you to go undercover on a top
secret mission to find this bad cop. Don't
tell anyone about this. Now go, I’ll be
calling you very soon to set it up...

The Chief pushes Buddy away, pauses a beat, then rubs his hands in evil glee
and cackles to himself.

CHIEF
...and to frame your big butt like the
Mona Lisa in the Vatican.

BUDDY
What, Chief?
The Chief snaps to attention. Buddy is still in the room, a confused expression on
his Mr. Potato-Head face.

CHIEF
Nothing! Get out! Now!


EXT. OUTSIDE POLICE STATION - DAY

A wiggle in his waddle, the beefy Buddy skips gleefully down the street. INT. CHIEF’S OFFICE - DAY

With narrowed eyes, the Chief looks down on Buddy hopping along.

CHIEF
Like a lamb sent to the butchers to get
some mint jelly for dinner…he’s clueless.

Knock! Knock! There’s a loud rapping on the Chief's door and we hear the
voice of FBI agent SUSAN RIDE from behind the door.

SUSAN'S VOICE
Chief? Susan Ride, for our meeting.

CHIEF
Susan Ride?

SUSAN'S VOICE
Agent Susan Ride of the FBI. I'm here
to investigate local police corruption.
A panicked Chief snatches up the money-laden briefcase, dives to his safe, and
begins frantically spinning the combination lock.

CHIEF
I’ll be right there!

The safe door bursts open, but there’s so much money already jammed inside, the
Chief can’t push any more in.

CHIEF
Just cramming in a little paperwork!

The Chief crams wad after wad of dollar bills into his pants, giving him a manly
bulge up front, serious cellulite on the sides, and a Winnebago-sized ass.

SUSAN'S VOICE
I'm in a bit of a hurry, Chief.

Looking about desperately, the Chief spots the open window. Reluctantly,
unhappily, he waddles up to it, and dumps out the cash. A blast of wind blows
it all right back in, showering the Chief and wall-papering the office.

CHIEF
GODDA--!


INT. OUTSIDE OFFICE - DAY
Standing at the door, FBI agent SUSAN RIDE, a busty little pepper pot of hard-
boiled woman, pauses, then shrugs.

SUSAN
“Go in, Madame”? Okay.


INT. OFFICE - DAY

“Caught red-handed” is putting it mildly. When Susan opens the Chief’s door, he’s
on his hands and knees, scooping up and stuffing greenbacks into the briefcase.

SUSAN
Chief? What are you doing?

Like a trapped weasel, the Chief just stares up open-mouthed at Susan.

SUSAN
Oh, is this evidence for some big
counterfeiting job?

The Chief hesitates, then nearly sprains his neck, nodding in agreement so fast.

CHIEF
Counterfeiting? Yes, counterfeiting!
A big counterfeiting job! Yes!


Scooping one of the loose bills, Susan examines it closely.

SUSAN
Six inches long with a big head on it, drives
women crazy...just like the real thing.

CHIEF
Yeah, almost. Help me put it all back
into this…evidence briefcase.

While talking, Susan helps the Chief stuff money into the briefcase.

SUSAN
Chief, I've been walking the streets of this
town, and word is there's a big brass copper
in bed with the Mob…one of your men.

CHIEF
Agent Ride...Susan, I’m on top with a
united front to make a big bust.


Ripping his eyes off of Susan's tight sweater, which holds a Double Masters in
Advanced Cleavage, the Chief shakes his head, clears the cobwebs, tries again.

CHIEF
I mean, relax, I’m going to get to the
heart of the bottom of this. In fact, I
already have a man inserted inside,
probing away, slipping me hard info.

SUSAN
Yeah? Who's the mole in the hole, Chief?
Who’s your ace dealing the dead man’s
hand to the sharks?

CHIEF
Can't say. It’s a hush-hush tush-tush.
On the QT, you cutie. It’s--mmph!

The Chief bites his own hand to stop talking.

CHIEF
Sorry. I suffer from a type of Tourettes
Syndrome called Torture-rettes. I
compulsively rhyme words with sexual
underwear tones. Fortunately, it only
occurs during sexual arousal so my wife
knows nothing about it.

SUSAN
I see. There’s no cure?

CHIEF
Yes, an experimental brain surgery,
but it's risky...it'll either cure me or
turn me into Eminem.

SUSAN
Well, Chief, you can relax and not worry
so much now. Because I'm going to finger
and nail this bad cop.


Gulping, the Chief sits down quickly, begins nervously shuffling the ripped
up papers of the report. Like a cat cornering a mouse, Susan eases slowly up
to the Chief.

SUSAN
We’ll bury him so deep in prison, they'll
have to carry sunlight in a bucket to him.
Sweating, the Chief twists and turns the paper shred into little origami shapes.

SUSAN
At his next wedding, he'll be both
the best man and the bride.


Little bits of confetti fly out from between the Chief's shaking fingers.

SUSAN
If he ever comes out, he’ll be a
little old woman in diapers.

CHIEF
All right! Enough!

Leaping to his feet, the Chief hurriedly escorts Susan to the door, babbling away.

CHIEF
I have a lot of work to screw, uh,
a lot to deep doo-doo to do too.


Biting his tongue, the Chief closes the door behind Susan and leans on it, exhaling
heavily. But he nearly falls through when Susan suddenly opens the door again.

SUSAN
Nearly forgot, Chief. I'm going to HQ,
so I'll take this evidence for you.


The Chief lets out a strangled whimper of a scream as Susan scoops up the cash-
jammed briefcase and strides out. Ashen-faced, the Chief grabs his hat and coat.

CHIEF
The Feds have sent Madame Saddam
after me.


The Chief bolts out of the room.

EXT. LARGE MANSION - DAY

Behind a huge brick wall, security video cameras point in every direction,
including straight up, as armed guards patrol the grounds of a stately home.

INT. LIBRARY ROOM - DAY
In a plush library room, Antonio sits at his oak desk under a framed picture of a
horse’s head in bed. He’s scowling down at several blown up photos when there
is a knock on the door.

ANTONIO
Step in.


HANDSOME PAULO and UGLY ROCCO walk in. Paulo is square-jawed with a
model’s chiseled good looks, while Rocco is sallow, pock-marked, and balding.

ANTONIO
Ah, Handsome Paulo, Ugly Rocco…
boys, this is Chuck the Meat Grinder.

Antonio holds a photo of an obese man in blood-stained butcher coveralls.

ANTONIO
Chuck has been poking his snout up my
business. I wanted Knuckles Malone to
talk to him, but Chuck just sent me this.

Antonio points to a plastic wrapped cardboard tray of red meat. Paulo picks it up.

PAULO
This for Knuckles?

ANTONIO
This is Knuckles.

Immediately, Paulo drops the meat tray.

ANTONIO
Boys, Chuck has a very annoying breathing
habit. When fresh air goes in and out of his
lungs, it makes an irritating whistling sound.
I want it stopped. Right now! Go!

INT. BUDDY’S APARTMENT -DAY
A miserable Buddy sits in his land-fill toxic waste dump of an apartment. There’s
no real furniture, just crates and old mattresses. On his TV screen is an old video
of Buddy’s wedding day, showing him standing alone, waiting, at the altar.

BUDDY
Ahh, Belinda, my Belinda…

Buddy glances down at a crumpled hand-written letter on the floor.

BUDDY
Leaving me on our wedding day...

The video shows a man handing Buddy that same letter, the camera zooming in
on his shocked face. Buddy sighs loudly, as does ALPO, Buddy’s potbellied
dog, mimicking his master’s whine perfectly.

BUDDY
Yeah…c’mere, Alpo.

Putting down a can of beer, Buddy holds out his arms for a hug. Tail wagging,
Alpo comes over…then suddenly grabs the beer in his mouth and runs off.

INT. BUDDY'S BATHROOM - DAY

Alpo trots into the bathroom and Splash! drops the beer can into the open toilet.

INT. BUDDY'S APARTMENT - DAY
Tail wagging, Alpo returns triumphantly. Buddy groans, then shrugs.

BUDDY
Ahhh...it was a Coors lite.

Getting up from his mattress/couch, Buddy scoops up the TV remote beside his
cell phone without looking and pockets it. EXT. LARGE MANSION - DAY
Hat pulled low, collar tugged up, the Chief scuttles quickly out of a taxi and up to
the front door of a large mansion.

INT. LIBRARY ROOM - DAY
Antonio looks gravely at the agitated Chief and indicates a plush chair.

ANTONIO
You are too tight. Have a sit.

The tightly wound Chief continues pacing about the book-filled room.

CHIEF
I’ve got to stop this FBI she-devil…
a crucifix, garlic, a stake through her
cold black heart…anything!

Smoothly, Antonio gets up, drapes a calming arm over the Chief’s shoulder,
deftly lifting a wallet from out of his breast pocket.

ANTONIO
Now, now, Chief, you have a mess
that you are straining to eliminate…
just relax, and soon it’ll be behind you.
For I will flush out my cleansing agents.
They have just finished dissolving a problem
in my end. Boys!

At Antonio’s call, Handsome Paulo and Ugly Rocco walk in.

ANTONIO
Chief…Handsome Paulo, Ugly Rocco.

Handsome Paulo gives off a dazzling, sparkling smile.

PAULO
I am Handsome Paulo…lady killer.
Ugly Rocco grimaces, showing yellow-stained, missing teeth.

ROCCO
And I am Ugly Rocco…man killer.

BRING! The phone rings on Antonio’s desk. He answers it.

ANTONIO
Hello, Antonio here, honest citizen,
with no living witnesses to any Mob
activity of any kin--…what? What?
Chuck the Meat Grinder was just shot
19 times?

Antonio beams over to Paulo and Rocco, who both grin and wink cockily…
“I’m the man”, “Who’s bad?” type expressions.

ANTONIO
Send some dead flowers to the widow
and…what? He was shot AT 19 times
and every bullet missed?

Wilting under Antonio’s murderous stare, Paulo and Rocco start fearfully pointing
fingers of blame, “It was his fault”, “No, it was his fault” at each other.

ANTONIO
How could two men…
(glancing over at Chief)
Uh, I mean, maybe two men, I don’t know,
of course, I’m just thinking out of my
mind…but, two men missed 19 shots?
In a fury, Antonio grabs a small statue of some Saint, hurls it at Paulo and Rocco.
Handsome Paulo grabs Ugly Rocco, shoves him in front as a shield. THWONK!
The flying statue slams poor Rocco right in the kisser.

ANTONIO
So now that butcher will be after my
meat!

Antonio scoops up another statue, yet another Saint. The woozy Ugly Rocco grabs
Handsome Paulo, holds him in front as a shield as Antonio lets fly. At the last
second, Paulo ducks, and SPLAT!, Rocco gets nailed in his ugly mug again.

ANTONIO
Idiots! Get out! Go kill some time,
although you’d both probably miss!

Noble features intact, Paulo leaves the room, followed by the staggering Rocco.
Cautiously, The Chief approaches the furious Antonio.

CHIEF
Antonio, you want to punish Paulo and
Rocco? Well, I want to set up a patsy
called Buddy to get the FBI off my case.
So, why don't we sez biz buzz baz buzz…

We FADE OUT on the Chief explaining his devious plan, his voice slowly
becoming indistinct. Antonio suddenly looks around the darkened room.

ANTONIO
Why is it getting dark in here? And speak
upwards, Chief, you're hard of hearing.

The FADE OUT stops immediately. The lights brighten instantly, and now we
hear the Chief clearly.

CHIEF
Sorry. Tonight, midnight, on the docks,
we’ll set up a payoff between your two
boys and Buddy Havoc. He’ll think he’s
part of an undercover operation.

We CUT to an imagined meeting in the fog on the docks, where Paulo and Rocco
hand Buddy a sack full of money.

CHIEF
But I’ll tip off Susan Ride of the FBI.
They’ll bust in and catch Paulo, Rocco,
and Buddy red-handed.

In the Chief’s scenario, the FBI, led by Susan, charge in and nab Buddy, Paulo,
and Rocco, holding and counting the dirty money.

CHIEF
And I will be totally shocked and stunned
to learn that it was Buddy who was the
bad cop on the take to the Mob.

A shocked and stunned Chief shakes his head in disbelief as the protesting Buddy,
yelling "No, I'm undercover! Ask the Chief!" is led off in handcuffs.

CHIEF
The FBI get their corrupt law man,
you get rid of Paulo and Rocco, and
we’re back to abnormal.
We FADE back to the library room, where a nodding, smiling Antonio is offering
the Chief a huge, fat, “Viva Castro” cigar.

ANTONIO
I like it. I like it a lot. Done.

CHIEF
Good...I’ll be glad to get Susan Ride off
my back. She’s a hard-boiled, steel-coiled,
wild cat with a sabre tooth tongue.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY
Lying on a hotel bed, Susan purrs seductively into a phone.

SUSAN
Rowwrrr…hello, Big Boy. Are you
in bed, licking yourself? Wish I was there.

INT. SUSAN’S APT. - DAY
Beside a framed picture of Susan and a Siamese cat, Big Boy the cat sniffs the
answering machine that Susan’s voice comes out of.

SUSAN
Now Big Boy, I’ll be coming home
very soon, with special treats and toys
that’ll make you purr and raise your fur.
First thing we'll do…

INT. HOTEL RECEPTION DESK - DAY
Huddled around a phone are a group of uniformed bellboys and reception desk
men, listening in with salacious grins.

SUSAN’S VOICE
…is take a big bath together and then
I’m going to stroke you out with a
hair brush, top to bottom. After that,
I’ll take care of your big fur balls.

The eavesdropping men all react with closed eyes and silent “Oooooh” groans.

INT. LIBRARY ROOM - DAY
A last puff of cigar smoke hangs in the air as the door closes behind the Chief.
Watching the Chief leave with hooded eyes, the solitary Antonio mutters darkly to
himself.

ANTONIO
Yes, Chief, I like your plan…except that
Paulo, Rocco, and Buddy will talk to the
FBI…but not if Chuck is down there
first, waiting for them.

We FADE to Antonio's imagined scenario...bound and gagged, Buddy, Paulo, and
Rocco are on a conveyor belt rumbling towards a giant munching meat grinder. A
watching Chuck rubs his hands in sadistic glee.

ANTONIO
And Chuck won’t know the FBI will be
coming in. They’ll catch him in the act.

In Antonio's vision, the FBI haul off a blood-spattered Chuck. We FADE back to
a grinning Antonio taking a victorious puff on his cigar.

ANTONIO
I'll be rid of Chuck...as well as Paulo
and Rocco. And this Buddy...ah, well,
he's a bug on the windshield of life.

INT. CAR - AFTERNOON
Buddy’s driving the Buddymobile, his mobile car wreck. He throws it into
neutral, jerks up the emergency brake, and turns off the ignition… makes no
difference, the car rambles on, sputtering and back-firing. Buddy opens the
door and jumps out of the moving Buddymobile.

EXT. SECURITY SHACK - AFTERNOON
Buddy waddles quickly up to a parking spot outside of a run-down building, turns
around, and braces himself. Engine hacking and coughing, the Buddymobile rolls
up to Buddy, who physically blocks and slows the car.

BUDDY
Die, you mechanical beast!

Finally, the high-revving motor chokes out and dies. The Buddymobile is parked.
Buddy looks up at a building sign saying “Not _, not _…A Whole Security”.

BUDDY
A hole security...got that right. Wish
I was back on the police force…but they
still think I have a probl--

BANG! The Buddymobile gives off one last back-fire. Instantly, Buddy whips
out his handgun and pulls the trigger repeatedly in unthinking reflex. Click, click,
click! Fortunately for the Buddymobile, the gun’s empty.

INT. SECURITY OFFICE - AFTERNOON
Several guards nudge each other as Buddy walks in. The head of security, a little
weasel called NICK, gives him a rented smile.

NICK
Hey, Buddy. Congratulations!

BUDDY
Hi, Nick. Uh…congratulations?

NICK
Yeah, you’ve won the, uh, Employee
Award of the Day. And today's prize is
from the Body Shop.

BUDDY
Oh great, my car really needs…

Buddy stops as Nick hands him an obviously hastily arranged cheap basket of used
deodorant, half empty mouth-wash, unwrapped soap, and shampoo samples.

NICK
Hey, everybody, the B.O. award for
Best Officer…Buddy Havoc.

Sarcastic applause and smirks greet this presentation.

BUDDY
Uh, thanks, Nick. But, funny, I don’t
ever remember this award being given
before…

NICK
All right guys, I need a volunteer for
the late night junk yard shift.

The room falls dead quiet. Nobody moves a muscle.

NICK
Nobody? Then the only fair way is...
everybody pick a number between one
and ten. Ready?

Nick walks up to two GUARDS beside Buddy, looks expectantly at them.

GUARD #1
Two?

NICK
Nope.

GUARD #2
Eight?

NICK
Nope. Close, though. Buddy?

BUDDY
Two?

Nick stops dead in shock, jaw dropping.

NICK
My God! What are you, psychic?

BUDDY
Aw, geez, Nick…not again…

NICK
It’s 5:30 now. You better grab some
shut-eye in the lounge. Set the alarm
clock in there for 11:00.

Buddy trudges off to the lounge, leaving a trail of broad grins and stifled snickers.

INT. LIBRARY ROOM - AFTERNOON
Holding the phone from his ear, Antonio cringes away from a torrent of abuse.
He has to speak over and above the frenzied yelling coming over the line.

ANTONIO
Chuck…listen…Chuck, I deal with you.
I’ll give you the two shooters, okay? As
punishment for missing…misunderstanding
my orders to leave you alone. You get them,
plus a police informer, and much money.
How does that sound in your ear, Chuck?


INT. MEAT-PACKING PLANT - AFTERNOON

PLOP! A steaming pile of raw sausage meat splats out onto a conveyor belt
beside CHUCK the Meat Grinder. Gross and sweaty, a vegetarian’s worst
nightmare, Chuck licks his rubbery lips, growls menacingly into the phone.

CHUCK
Any tricks and you’re liverwurst.

ANTONIO’S VOICE
Chuck, I swear on your grave, this is a
square meal. My two boys are paying off a
stool pigeon midnight tonight on the docks.
If you get there first, waiting for them…

CHUCK
…squish, squish, squish! Ground round
stool pigeon and shish kebab shooters!

Staring at his meat-mashing equipment, Chuck’s obese body jiggles in delight.

CHUCK
Okay, it’s a deal. And relax…
Chuck scoops up a handful of raw meat, squeezing it hard so it oozes out of
his fat hand.

CHUCK
…they won’t slip through my fingers,
least, not until later, when they’ll be over
for dinner...in 500 homes! Ah ha, ha, ha!