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Published April 26, 2012 More Info »
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Published April 26, 2012

 

FADE IN:

 

INT. HOSPITAL MORGUE ROOM - NIGHT

 

CLOSE ON: Eddie, a bearded overweight guy in his early 30's, tucked snugly in a bed. He's covered by just a white sheet, staring at the ceiling.

 

EDDIE

You'll never believe who I met at work today! This dietician who advises people how to lose belly fat. You must know her. She often guests on breakfast television programs.

 

The CAMERA slowly begins to PULL BACK to reveal that he is talking to a dead woman, Liz, in her 30's, lying next to him. They both occupy two gurneys placed side by side. Then, acting like a ventriloquist, Eddie puts his words into the dead woman's mouth, perfectly mimicking a female voice.

 

LIZ/EDDIE

Sure, I know her. It's Betty Bone. Her belly is as flat as a billiard table, almost as her breasts.

 

EDDIE

You are jealous...

 

LIZ/EDDIE

Jealous?! Of this bag of bones? I'll bet you one hundred bucks that she died because she was testing on herself some fat burner.

 

CLOSE ON: The dead woman's toe tagged with her name: LIZ MARTIN.

 

EDDIE

The cause of his death has yet to be determined by a post-mortem. But you got a bet!

(beat)

By the way, do you know some effective fat burners?

 

LIZ/EDDIE

Chilli pepper is good.

 

EDDIE

Really? I'm feeding on Doritos Chilli Heatwave and I got so heavy that my car takes twice as much time to accelerate from 0 to 60.

 

LIZ/EDDIE

Always look on the bright side of obesity – at least it makes it harder for you to get a speeding ticket.

 

EDDIE

Let's end the day on this positive note.

 

LIZ/EDDIE

I should get my beauty sleep 'cause tomorrow I must look good at the fat burning session.

 

EDDIE

Oh yes, you are having a cremation. Sleep tight.

 

Eddie gets up from the gurney and now we see that he is in white overalls. He leans over Liz and gently pulls the white sheet over her head. Then, Eddie rolls the gurney carrying Liz to a fridge and ceremoniously, with respect she deserves, he carefully slides the body into the drawer, waving her goodbye.

 

EXT. HOSPITAL MORGUE/PARKING LOT – NIGHT

 

Eddie, now in blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled over his head, comes out of the hospital morgue and walks across the parking lot to his car, an old Nissan Micra. He goes to open the car door but the key does not turn properly and the door won't open. Eddie looks inside the lock to sees that someone crammed chewing gum into the keyhole.

As Eddie struggles with the jammed door, a police cruiser passes in the background, then a moment later backs into frame and stops next to Eddie.

The two police officers look on at Eddie suspiciously from their car. The one in the passenger seat, mid-30's, with big ears that stick out, has jerk written all over him. His partner at the wheel, mid-40's, sports Ray-Ban glasses that frame his poker face. He buzzes down the window and calls out:

 

WISE COP

Hey, buddy! We can open the door for you!

 

The stupid cop squints, in a vain attempt to figure out what his partner means.

Eddie turns to see the cops, looking half awkward, half relieved.

 

EDDIE

Really?! Thanks...

 

The wise police officer climbs out of the driver's side and steps over to open the passenger door. The stupid cop follows suit.

 

WISE COP

This door!

 

The stupid cop nods at this, his look saying “I got it!” and cracks a smile.

 

WISE COP (CONT'D)

Pack your fat ass in here or I'm gonna see if your fat layer is bulletproof.

 

Then, he unholsters his gun and cocks it. The stupid cop does the same, like a shadow. They both take aim at Eddie who starts gesticulating wildly with his hands raised.

 

EDDIE

You kidding? I'm not... I'm not trying to steal this car. What kind of idiot would like to steal a 15-year-old Nissan Micra?

 

WISE COP

You, for example, 'cause you don't look like a wise guy!

 

STUPID COP

Definitely! You moron!

 

EDDIE

I can show you the log book! It's inside.

 

Eddie desperately resumes his efforts to get the car door open.

 

STUPID COP

Put your hands over your ears!

 

Eddie obeys – he puts both hands to his ears and wiggles them making fun of the big-eared stupid cop. He can't stand it and fires his gun, keeping it trained above Eddie's head. Eddie freezes in shock. He turns away to look at the apartment blocks looming in the distance. What he sees has given him an idea. We can hear a woman screaming in the neighborhood but in fact, it's Eddie using his ventriloquist skills.

 

WOMAN/EDDIE (O.S.)

Ouch! I got shot! Help me! I think I'm dying! It's a really deep wound! Somebody help me, please!

 

The police officers trade panicked looks. Then, the police radio squawks, but it's Eddie too, covering his mouth.

 

DISPATCHER/EDDIE (O.S.)

All units in the vicinity of General Hospital, shooting in progress, one victim down...

 

Again, the cops stare at each other in alarm. The stupid cop zeroes his ears in on Eddie, but just for a brief moment. He doesn't know what to do... so he hops in the car, copying the wise cop. As the police cruiser peels away from the scene, Eddie waves goodbye to the cops and sighs a breath of relief.

 

EXT. SEEDY APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT

 

The old Nissan Micra pulls up in front of something that looks like a squat but it's Eddie's run down apartment building. Eddie hops out of his car carrying a bucket of KFC. A hungry cat comes to Eddie and begs for food, crying plaintively. Eddie stops to talk to the cat/himself.

 

EDDIE

No, my little furry friend. These are unfit for feline consumption.

 

Eddie holds out the bucket to the cat which starts pawing at it.

 

EDDIE (CONT'D)

You see the nutrition facts? Each serving shortens human life by three days... not to mention cats' life. I don't wanna kill you...

 

CAT/EDDIE

Really? Have you ever tried a zombie rat?

 

EDDIE

A zombie rat?!

 

CAT/EDDIE

Yeah. They eat rat poison which is supposed to kill them but in fact it turns them into the walking dead. The zombie rats are so stuffed with chemicals they glow and you don't need to be a cat to spot them in the dark. So try and catch one and get the taste of my staple food.

 

EDDIE

Jesus! I think it's better to die of KFC chicken than a zombie rat. Have some chicken...

 

The lucky cat gets two drumsticks. Eddie watches the cat devour the chicken for a while and then he makes for the apartment building.

 

INT. ELEVATOR CORRIDOR/SEEDY APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT

 

On his way to elevator, Eddie passes a janitor cleaning graffiti that says: SUBJECT TO DEMOLITION, EDDIE THE BULLDOZER IS COMING.

An old skinny lady with cane comes and stands beside Eddie. She fixes her gaze on Eddie who grows increasingly uncomfortable. The elevator arrives and we follow them in.

 

INT. OLD ELEVATOR – CONTINUOUS

 

The old lady (Mrs. Slack) moves in closer to Eddie. He is cornered.

 

MRS. SLACK

Which floor, my fattie?...

 

EDDIE

Ninth please...

 

Mrs. Slack presses the ninth floor button.

MRS. SLACK

I can take you much higher... to heaven...

 

Mrs. Slack licks her cane with lust in her eyes.

 

EDDIE

What?! What do you mean, Mrs. Slack?!

 

Mouth agape, bug-eyed in horror, Lenny watches Mrs. Slack's advances.

 

MRS. SLACK

I know you are a virgin... Saw your dating profile.

 

She goes to unbuckle his belt but he stops her.

 

EDDIE

Mrs. Slack! Stop it! At your age you shouldn't overtax yourself!

 

MRS. SLACK

Bullshit! Sex is my pacemaker...

 

Mrs. Slack jams her cane between the elevator and elevator shaft. The elevator grinds to a halt in-between two floors.

 

EDDIE

What are you doing??!!

 

MRS. SLACK

You get to make up for lost years without sex.

 

Mrs. Sclack throws herself on Eddie, straddling him. Her long high gloss red fingernails dig into Eddie's arms. Eddie notices the claws and starts thrashing around violently. He drops the KFC bucket and tramples it.

 

EDDIE

Velociraptor!!! Velociraptor!!! Velociraptor!!!

 

MRS. SLACK

Oh yeah! Let's have sex like animals! Be my brontosaurus...

 

In the heat of the struggle, Eddie jerks out the cane and the elevator starts up again. It reaches the ninth floor and the doors open. With a sudden twist, Eddie wrenches himself away from Mrs. Slack and bolts out into the hall. Mr's. Slack steps out of the elevator and calls after him.

 

MRS. SLACK

Don't deny yourself this pleasure! You can't even imagine the wonders I can do! I have 70 years of sex experience and know 579 positions. I remember them all despite Alzheimer's!

 

Eddie just runs flat out along the corridor to disappear in the darkness.

 

INT. EDDIE'S APARTMENT – MOMENTS LATER

 

Eddie frantically barricades the door, hyperventilating in terror: he drags a heavy cupboard across the floor, setting it in front of the door.

It's a one-room, shabby apartment, a chaos of CDs and stacks of Playboys. The cramped interior is grimy and depressing, under-furnished in a bachelor pad kind of way. The walls are plastered with posters featuring Michael Jackson and Amy Whiskeyhouse, the singer.

Eddie wipes his forehead with a sleeve, regaining his composure. He then crosses to the fridge and sticks his face in, looking for something to eat. There is only one thing – a bulging can of baked beans. Eddie hesitates but finally manages to pluck up courage to reach for the can. As he opens the can of baked beans, there is a hiss of gas escaping and a tongue of fire erupts from the can. Eddie balks at the smell. He peeks inside the can and gives a wince.

He flips on his old TV set. It's on a real gastroporn cooking channel “EROTASTY”. A naked busty hottie conjures up an amazing dish of Italian cuisine.

Eddie is devouring her and the dish with his eyes. A slack-jawed Eddie seats himself at the table, drooling at the TV screen.

With his gaze glued to the television, Eddie wolfs the baked beans down as if it was the tastiest dish he's ever tried.

Eddie has finished his meal and flicks the TV off. He leans back in the rickety chair and is suddenly hit by a wave of nausea. He springs to the sink to puke.

 

LATER

 

Eddie pops Amy Whiskeyhouse CD into a mini-stereo. When the “Rehab” song starts – he sings along with it. Eddie sounds just like Amy Whiskeyhousehe and is pausing from time to time.

Eddie turns on his computer, he waits impatiently as it boots up. His dating profile pops up on the screen. There is only one date request – it's from Mrs. Slack. Eddie rolls his eyes just as the song comes to “They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'”

 

EDDIE

(in sync with song)

No! No! No!

 

Eddie decides to edit his profile photo. He awkwardly uses a Photoshop-like program, trying to reshape his face but the result is almost grotesque.

Eddie returns to his original photo. Next, he downloads a high-resolution photo of Robert Pattinson and selects his neck and chin. He copies them and pastes in the place of his own neck and chin. He does the same with Robert Pattinson's cheeks, nose, ears, eyes, hair, everything. Select. Copy. Paste. Select. Copy. Paste. These are like a surgeon's incisions - precise, unemotional.

Eddie wipes a cold sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. After a while he sits back and proudly puts his feet up on the desk: he admires his new face which is the spitting image of Robert Pattinson's face. He sets it as his dating profile photo.

Eddie shuts down the computer, switches off the music, flicks the light off, pretends to flick himself off by pressing on his solar plexus and goes to sleep.

 

EXT. HOSPITAL MORGUE/PARKING LOT – MORNING

 

The old Nissan Micra pulls up in front of the morgue and Eddie hops out.

 

INT. HOSPITAL MORGUE/CORRIDOR – MOMENTS LATER

 

Eddie, now in his white overalls, walks down a corridor. As he turns a corner, he almost bumps into his workmate, Fred, a nerdy, mid-40's, bald lean guy in oversized glasses. Fred is carrying a coffee cup. They stop to talk.

 

EDDIE

Hi Fred!

 

FRED

Hi...

 

EDDIE

Got a sneak peek at Betty Bone’s post-mortem report?

 

FRED

Sure...

 

EDDIE

Did she die from some new fat burner she had been testing on herself?

 

FRED

Well... This tasty piece of information is gonna cost you... Let's say... 5 grand.

 

EDDIE

5 Grand Slam Burgers? OK!

 

FRED

Very funny...

 

EDDIE

What?

 

FRED

I meant 5 thousand dollars.

 

EDDIE

What?! 5 thousand bucks for just one nod or shake of your bald head? You think you are selling me a clump of Elvis' pubic hair?

 

Fred takes one last gulp of his coffee and dumps the coffee cup into a trash can. Then, he stuffs a piece of sugarfree gum into his mouth and starts chewing.

 

FRED

5 thousand dollars is a greatly reduced price. I'm offering you this amazing discount only because you are my best workmate.

 

Fred taps Eddie's shoulder with a grin.

 

EDDIE

A discount?! Then what was the regular price?

 

FRED

15 thousand dollars. That's what I got from some large television company. But don't tell anybody.

 

EDDIE

Sure... On condition that you tell me...

 

Fred, rubbing his cheek, seems angry at himself. Then he nods yes.

 

EDDIE

Thanks, Fred. Shit! I just lost 100 bucks!

 

FRED

I don't understand...

 

EDDIE

I lost a bet with Liz Martin.

 

FRED

Liz Martin?! She's just being taken out for cremation.

 

Fred motions to the other end of the corridor where two morticians - shaggy-haired stoner types - wheel a gurney toward us. The two guys nibble from their McDonald's takeouts lying on the gurney.

 

EDDIE

Hey, guys! What do you think you are doing?! This is not a room service cart and this woman is not a platter! It's almost as disgusting as cannibalism! Have some respect for the dead!

 

MORTICIAN 1

We do have respect. It's this person's final holy meal - The Last Breakfast.

 

EDDIE

What?!

 

The second mortician pulls out his iPhone and speaks to Siri.

 

MORTICIAN 2

(into phone)

The Last Breakfast.

(reading)

As Wikipedia says, The Last Breakfast is the final meal that, according to Christian belief, Jesus shared with his Apostles in Jerusalem before his crucifixion. The Last Breakfast became a ritual among the Christian community which has been recounting that meal.

 

MORTICIAN 1

So I'm afraid you have offended our religious feelings. There is a fixed fine for blasphemy.

(to his partner)

Paul, check the fine.

 

The two morticians exchange knowing glances. Fred is trying real hard not to burst out laughing. He jams his old gum into the keyhole in a locker.

 

MORTICIAN 2

(into phone)

A fixed fine for blasphemy.

(reading)

As Wikipedia says, the fixed fine for blasphemy amounts to at least... two hundred dollars.

 

EDDIE

Jesus! I'm so sorry! Have a mercy on me... like Jesus! I've just lost a bet with this woman and owe her 100 bucks. By the way, can you burn this together with her?

 

Eddie digs into his pocket and produces a hundred dollar bill, offering it to one mortician 1. The mortician immediately grabs the bill.

 

MORTICIAN 1

Sure! You can count on us.

 

MORTICIAN 2

We are gonna buy a hundred dollars worth of pot and burn it!

 

EDDIE

Get out of here you fucking stoners! Get out!

 

Eddie goes ballistic and gestures to the exit.

 

MORTICIAN 1

Please, don't rush us. It's gonna take some time! We have to take a very long detour around you.

 

Eddie deflates as the two morticians go past him with the gurney and leave the building. Fred seems to feel pity for Eddie and steps over to tap him on the shoulder.

 

FRED

You're a fighter for the rights of dead people! The Martin Luther King of the dead!

 

They start to slowly walk down the corridor and stop by a coffee machine.

 

EDDIE

I was attached to that woman...

(beat)

The new fridges can keep bodies in mint condition for months! It's more than enough time to develop a serious relationship. Fucking burials spoil everything!

 

FRED

Eddie. Get a live girlfriend! She could stay with you a bit longer than Liz did.

 

EDDIE

But when I approach live girls I feel like Gargamel approaching Smurfs. Live girls are terribly hard to get. The government should do something about it.

 

FRED

You need a stimulus package.

 

EDDIE

The girls need the stimulus! They are so cold toward me... just like frozen bodies!

 

Fred's smartphone goes off with Darth Vader breathing. He answers the call.

 

FRED

(into phone)

Yes.

(beat)

 

Listen, bro, I don't need any almost free tickets to Disneyland!

And my life isn't as boring as a morgue! Wait a minute... Do you know where I work?!

(beat)

No, I was just curious. So go fuck yourself. Bye.

 

Fred clicks off the phone and pockets it.

 

FRED (CONT'D)

(to himself)

Fucking telemarketers.

 

EDDIE

If you want them to leave you alone you should fake your death. I tried it and it works. You just have to...

 

FRED

OK. You'll tell me later. Now I have to do some paperwork and if I remember well you are supposed to clean the fridge.

 

EDDIE

I'd like to do some paperwork too...

 

FRED

You can clean the fridge with paper towels.

 

Eddie suppresses his irritation, looking dull daggers at Fred from under his brows.

He goes to open his locker but the keyhole is jammed with chewing gum. Fred watches Eddie from around the corner as he shakes the lock forcefully.

 

INT. HOSPITAL MORGUE ROOM – MOMENTS LATER

 

Detergents and paper towels in hands, Eddie waltzes into the morgue room and opens a steel locker. He takes out a suitcase-sized boom box, sets it down on the floor, hits the button, and MICHAEL JACKSON'S 'THRILLER' blasts from the stereo.

Eddie goes to the fridge drawers and opens them, one by one. The cold air starts to flow out onto the floor as if from a massive fog machine. Eddie picks up a detergent spray, and uses it like a microphone.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

Hello everybody! We have a nice morning. It's 9 o'clock. The weather is wonderfully foggy and the temperature is a pleasant -13°F. So it's time for aerobics!

 

Eddie starts singing in Michael Jackson's voice, bursting into an amazing Michael Jackson's dance routine. Dancing in the fog, Eddie faithfully recreates all the different kinds of Michael Jackson's dance moves: moon walk, robot and everything. The song is interspersed with Eddie's monologues.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

And it looks like we have a caller right now. Hey, what's up?

 

EDDIE/OLD MAN

(filtered through phone)

Hi! I want to warn all the dead people driving down the highway to heaven that there is an enormous traffic jam in the tunnel. Some spirit's fat ass got stuck inside blocking traffic.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

Let's hope the space-time tunnel will be unclogged soon. Next caller...

 

EDDIE/JESUS

(filtered through phone)

Hi! It's Jesus.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

Yeah... And I'm the Virgin Mary.

 

EDDIE/JESUS

(filtered through phone)

You are not Mary but you are a virgin!

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

Ha. Ha Ha. Does our omniscient Jesus know if there are any detours on the highway?

 

EDDIE/JESUS

(filtered through phone)

Sure! You should head for the nearest black hole. They act as a shortcut to my kingdom.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

But the black holes are dangerous. They can suck in an destroy stars, not to mention human beings.

 

EDDIE/JESUS

(filtered through phone)

Oh, c'mon. Nothing can kill dead people. On the contrary, fat people can deactivate a black hole by completely filling it. So do aerobics for Christ's sake!

 

Once again, Eddie transforms into Michael Jackson, singing and dancing for a good while.

Suddenly we hear an O.S. applause.

 

EDDIE

(like radio DJ)

Yeah! Clap your hands!

 

Eddie claps his hands but suddenly he catches himself and stops clapping – “Who the hell is clapping with him?!” He looks around around the room until he sees Fred standing in the doorway, still applauding slowly...

 

FRED

Turn the music down, or you will wake our zombies up.

 

Fred nods to the bodies in the open drawers. Eddie shuts off the boom box, scowling at Fred.

 

EDDIE

You... You've been watching all this...

 

FRED

show? Yeah. I also made a little documentary. Do you think it has a commercial potential?

 

Fred plunges his hand into his breast pocket to come out with his smartphone. He taps the screen and the video of Eddie dancing in the fog plays on it. Fred flashes the phone at Eddie.

 

EDDIE

A commercial...

 

FRED

A commercial potential. In other words, how much would you pay me to not show this little documentary to some people...

 

EDDIE

My best friend is in need of money? How I couldn't help my best friend? He just got 15 grand from some large television company so he probably needs some bucks for a new suitcase to carry 15 grand in.

(beat)

I don't think you are my best friend...

 

FRED

I am. Your best friend someone who knows everything about you and you know everything about them. I know everything about you...

 

Fred quickly passes the phone before Eddie's eyes.

 

EDDIE

And I know that you sold the info on Betty Bone.

 

FRED

You are again bringing out a heavy artillery against your best friend? OK. Let's forget about everything. But if you want to be one hundred percent sure that nobody will ever see your show, you must do me a little favor.

 

EDDIE

OK. If you ever are too tired to do it with your wife, I'll do it for you.

 

 

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