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I am a Fashion Designer
blue-arson
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Last Visit: 102 weeks ago
Alex
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This is the place where you can personalize your profile!
But, how?
By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.
You can drag and drop to rearrange.
You can edit widgets to customize them.
The left side has widgets you can add!
Some widgets you can only access when you get a premium membership.
Some widgets have options that are only available when you get a premium membership.
We've split the page into zones!
Certain widgets can only be added to certain zones.
"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.
Don't forget, restraints can bring out the creativity in you!
Now go forth and astound us all with your devious profiles!
A club for mazda’s mx5 (miata) car has been created and we invite you if you like to join our new club! Club is open for owners to submit their photos and for mx5 lovers too.. !
1 INT. UNDERGROUND SUBWAY CATACOMBS -- HARLEM/1973 -- NIGHT
Black. Pitch Black.
THE SOUND OF a pickaxe repeatedly slamming against a brick wall, the sound getting closer with every strike.
Finally, a tiny beam of light shatters the darkness as the pickaxe breaks through. The hammer slams again, then again, spraying bricks, dust and smoke everywhere.
MUFFLED VOICE: Move, motherfucker!
The pickaxe hits again. Finally, a hole big enough to reveal MACK DADDY O'NASSES, a bear of a man, and his sidekick, SLUG. THE SOUND OF A SUBWAY MOVING PAST, NEARBY.
They stand backlit and shrouded by smoke and dust. They pause for a long moment as they catch their breaths. The dust finally settles, revealing...
An ancient six-pack of Colt .45 Malt Liquor and a bag of White Castle hamburgers.
MACK DADDY: (disappointed) Shit! (to Slug) That map you bought was bogus, ya dumb-
SLUG: (getting worried) It's got to be here, Mack Daddy--
MACK DADDY: You see any gold here, dumb shit?
Slug looks around, sees only what's there. He swallows, knowing he's fucked up.
SLUG: (as if it's a consolation) I bet them burgers still good.
Mack Daddy grabs Slug by the throat.
MACK DADDY: Yeah? Let's see how good you hold up, buried down here a few years.
SLUG: No, please--
They both become suddenly aware of a new sound. They look down as... A BILLION ROACHES suddenly pour out of the burger bag, covering their feet.
MACK DADDY: Shit! Fuck! Piss! Goddamn, I hate roaches--
Screaming in fear, Mack Daddy backs up, suddenly, tossing Slug against the opposite wall. The wall gives way under the impact, revealing another small room.
As he stomps his feet, Mack looks at the opening Slug's head created. Something shines inside.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Damn...
Mack Daddy shoves Slug aside again, and looks into the small room, in which stand... a mythic Leprechaun encased in stone, standing guard over a pot of gold chains and jewels.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Hello, you midget Midas motherfucker...
A groggy, but excited Slug appears at Mack Daddy's side. Mack Daddy reaches into the small room, and begins rummaging through the gold. He finds a gold ring, puts it on his finger, then sifts some more. Suddenly, he finds what he's really after -- a solid gold flute.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (to Slug, as he moves back into the corridor) Gather the rest of the shit up!
Mack grabs a Colt .45, pops it open, and smiles at his flute.
MACK DADDY (cont'd) (fondling the flute) Jus' made my fortune...
Slug stares at the gold and the Leprechaun, absently grooming his hair with his Afro-pic. He sticks the pic in his hat, and reaches in and removes the gold chain from around the Lep's neck.
Slug examines the necklace, then tosses it out into the cellar. It lands on the bottom of a piece of wood, which rests against a pile of bricks, the top of the wood extending past the top of the bricks -- seesaw-like.
ON SLUG as he bends over to pick up gold.
ON THE LEP'S FACE in shadows -- his eyes blink!
ON SLUG, bent over, gathering gold -- a small hand removes the Afro-pic from Slug's hair.
SLUG: Yo, Mack Daddy --
ON MACK
SLUG'S VOICE: -- what we gon' do wit' all dis--
An odd sound makes Mack look up. HE SEES...
Slug half-in and half-out of the small room. Slug is still for a long moment. Then suddenly, he backs out of the room. He looks at Mack Daddy, and begins to move toward Mack.
SLUG: Ain't this a bitch?
Slug falls to his knees. A shaft of light across him reveals the Afro-pic stuck in his chest. He keels over, dead. The Lep leaps from his room/tomb, snarling, laughing, advancing on Mack Daddy, who stares in disbelief.
LEPRECHAUN: Free at last, free at last, thank gold almighty, I'm free at last!
MACK DADDY: What the fuck--
Mack reaches into his belt, pulls out a pistol, aims it at the oncoming demon. The Lep laughs, waves a finger, and Mack's gun instantly turns red-hot in his hands!
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shit--
Dropping the gun as he backs away, Mack reaches into his huge Afro, and pulls down a big knife.
The Lep waves another finger, the knife flies out of Mack's hand and sticks in the ceiling!
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Fuck!
Mack reaches up, again, and, from his Afro pulls a little, souvenir-sized baseball bat. He rears back to hit the oncoming Lep, but the Lep waves a finger, and Mack begins pounding himself on the head.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Goddamn!
Once more, Mack reaches into his Afro. This time, he can only come up with a bong. He looks at it like, "Oh great..." as the Lep advances on him.
At the last second, Mack throws the bong at the Lep and turns to run. But the little monster just watches him and laughs.
The Lep points a finger, and a portion of the bricked ceiling falls in on Mack, knocking him to the ground.
LEPRECHAUN: (he advances toward the dazed Mack) Takin me gold's a sure way to grow old. Now my little room will become your tomb!
Mack glances around, furiously. On the wall, near him, is a steam-pipe, with an ancient gauge and lever, marked PRESSURE RELIEF VALVE.
Just as the Lep gets even with the valve, Mack dives for it, releasing a shot of steam full-onto the Lep. The Lep falls backwards, and steps on the top end of the seesaw board, where the necklace landed.
The necklace is catapulted up into the air, and WE WATCH, as it flies up, up, up, and finally down, down, down, landing perfectly around the Lep's neck.
The Lep freezes to stone again. It takes Mack a moment to realize the fight's over.
Mack breathes a SIGH of relief. He glances over at Slug, then looks around. After a moment's anxious search, he finds the gold flute.
He holds it up, kisses it.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Motown, here I come!
He starts gathering the rest of the gold as:
SOUTH CENTRAL LA -- 20 YEARS LATER
2 INT. MAMMA JAMMA CLUB -- DAY
Three young, black adult males (roughly 20 years old each) are auditioning for a rap contest. POSTMASTER (POST) P and STRAY BULLET rock the microphones while BUTCH works the turntable and controls the mix. They don't sound bad, but they're no superstars.
Suddenly the mix console malfunctions, causing the tape to play very fast and very high pitched, giving the music a "chipmunk effect". The group panics and Stray and Post jump forward onto two bags placed onstage. There is a rather large EXPLOSION as the boys are hurled from the stage, unhurt, but disoriented.
Butch, something of a geek, runs to their aid as the smoke clears.
BERRY GRADY: (coughing, gagging) What the hell's you boys doin'?! You mo'fo's done broke the goddamn stage!
BUTCH: Damn! Too much ammonia, not enough nitrogen!
POSTMASTER P: (to Berry Grady) So waddup witt the gig, home school? We on the bill?
BERRY GRADY: On the bill? I oughta send you the bill!
POSTMASTER P: (pleading) Why you got to play us, 'G'? This is our only shot out, boy! We win this contest we gonna be in the finals at the Vegas Hard Rock Cafe. We're talkin' record deals, video promo, publishin' rights!
BERRY GRADY: Only record you boys are cuttin, is at the LAPD! You boys clean up this mess and get yo'r act straight, I might let you audition again! Now get the fuck outta here!
3 EXT. CITY STREET -- DAY
Post, Stray and Butch are walking along a downtown sidewalk of inner-city Compton.
STRAY BULLET: (looking at his burned shoes) Shit, Butch -- you fucked up my new Air Rodmans!
POSTMASTER P: Air Rodmans? The shoes made from poker chips and breast implants?
STRAY BULLET: (directed at Butch) Damn! Almost get my ass blown to bits by the unavirgin!
BUTCH: (looking around to make sure no one can hear) Man, shit up wit' that! I shoulda never tol' you!
STRAY BULLET: Butch, you may not know nothin' about no pussy, but I thought you knew what you was doin' with that nitrogen... trimesteride.
BUTCH: Nitrogen triiodide, fool! Triiodide! It's an iodine, ammonia compound--
STRAY BULLET: You gonna wind up in a compound! Hell wit' it! We fucked that up!
POSTMASTER P: See, Stray, you're thinking with a spirit of failure. You need to hook up some Tony Robbins.
STRAY BULLET: That big, white goofy-lookin, mo'fo'?! Always talkin, 'bout "if a tree fall in the bathroom, an' take time to smell the forest an'--"
POSTMASTER P: (interrupting) Man, that ain't even right! See, our unconscious beliefs control our behavior. Only through daily positive affirmation can we overcome!
STRAY BULLET: Yeah? Well, affirmate on this, mo'fo': if we don't get this equipment fixed, we ain't getting no audition, ain't goin to no Vegas -- we ain't ever leavin Compton! Know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: The man said we could audition, again! Butch! What it take to get our shit fixed?
BUTCH: What it take is money for new shit.
STRAY BULLET: See? We fucked! How we s'posed to get money?
Suddenly, Post gets a thought and halts in his tracks.
POSTMASTER P: Got to think positive.
4 EXT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
The boys enter JACKIE DEE'S PAWN SHOPPE
5 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
ON an old, beat-up electric guitar, obviously unusable. On its face, scribbled: "JIMI 1971."
The owner, JACKIE DEE, inspects the guitar, suspiciously.
JACKIE DEE: (to Post) Boy who give you this guitar?
POSTMASTER P: It was my... Uncle Junior's.
BUTCH: And he got it from Jimi Hendrix.
STRAY BULLET: Yeah, when they played together.
JACKIE DEE: Yo' Uncle Junior play wit' Jimi?
POSTMASTER P: (nodding) At... Psychadela-Pallooza in 1971.
STRAY BULLET: Yeah, that's right. This was Jimi's guitar!
JACKIE DEE: Psychadela-Palooza? Hmmm. I never heard 'a that one.
STRAY BULLET: So?
JACKIE DEE: '71? Didn't Jimi die in 1970?
BUTCH: That was Paul McCartney!
JACKIE DEE: (suspicious) This be the same Uncle Junior spent twenty years upstate?
BUTCH: No -- that's his other Uncle Junior.
POSTMASTER P: So what you give fo' this piece o' music history, Jackie?
Jackie makes a show of thinking about it.
JACKIE DEE: Hmmm... I'll give you... bout five seconds to get yo' asses outta my store! Comin in here, tryin to bullshit Jackie Dee with this trash.
STRAY BULLET: Ain't nobody bullshittin you--
JACKIE DEE: Frontin motherfuckers, wit' you' silly-ass names. Stray Bullet. Boy, you ain't no gangsta. And Postmaster P -- what kinda shit is that? You ain't in no military!
POSTMASTER P: It's Postmaster P, 'cause I deliver the positive message, man!
JACKIE DEE: Positive message?! Punk ass mo' like it! an' Butch, you better get yo' self some pussy, 'fore you blow ya dick off wit' them chemicals! Ya'll jus' take yo' cheap-ass hustle somewheres else!
Jackie thrusts the guitar back at them. Stray is about to explode, but Post stops him.
POSTMASTER P: Look'a here, Jackie. Forget the guitar! We can win that rap contest in Vegas -- straight up! But we got to have new equipment. How 'bout this? We play our next gig, we give a big shout out to Jackie Dee's Pawn Shop? Now whaddup?
JACKIE DEE: You next big gig is like Butch's next piece a' ass! You first! Ya'll go on outta here! This ain't no charity!
The Phone rings. Jackie answers it.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Jackie Dee's... How much I give you for what?... Oprah Winfrey's panties? You got Oprah Winfrey's panties?! Fat Oprah or skinny Oprah?!
6 EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
Close-up of a sign, something written in Vietnamese. Below that writing: "Proprietor: Chow Yung Pi."
As the boys enter a convenience store:
STRAY BULLET: If we can't pawn it, we fence it!
7 INT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
The store is filled with security video cameras and mirrors hanging everywhere. Surprisingly, the store's shelves are almost completely bare.
CHOW YUNG PI, the proprietor, is looking at the inscription on the guitar.
STRAY BULLET: So how much, Chow?
CHOW: Dis Jimi sig-na-chuh fo' real?
POSTMASTER P: Who else spell his name like that?
CHOW: I look stupid?! Ev'ybody know, Jimi die in 1970! You get the fuck out!
Chow begins to push them out.
STRAY BULLET: (looking at the empty shelves) Chow, you never have shit up in here! Riots are over, fool. Time to re-stock!
CHOW: You go! You too loud! You too loud!
Stray picks up one of the few items on the shelf. A jar, containing, much to his horror, a dead cat.
Chow reclaims the feline delicacy and ushers the boys out.
CHOW: You leave Chow's store! Hip and hop yo'r black ass home! Make like Michael and beat it!
8 EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
The boys stumble out, pushed by Chow, and look around, helplessly, for their next option.
Post drops the guitar in a trash can.
STRAY BULLET: Damn! What we sposed to do now? Rob somebody?
POSTMASTER P: We ain't robbin nobody!
A black limousine pulls up, nearby and stops.
STRAY BULLET: There's Mack Daddy O'Nasses.
BUTCH: Why do they call him O'Nasses? He don't look Greek to me.
STRAY BULLET: No, boy. Mack Daddy was the primo pimp before he was reppin' talent. Mack Daddy Owned Asses! Now he got it goin' on in hip-hop.
POSTMASTER P: Gangsta hip-hop.
STRAY BULLET: (ignoring Post) Bitches and ho's ain't all my man knows! Come on!
Stray starts to run over to the limo. Post grabs his arm.
POSTMASTER P: Wait up! Mack Daddy only reppin' groups singin bout bangin and drive-bys and shit. That ain't what we about.
The window of the limo rolls down, revealing Mack Daddy O'Nasses, now twenty-five years later, a Suge Knight-style hip-hop impresario, decked out in athletic gear and shades, and the Mr. T gold chain collection around his neck. Around his wrist, on a short chain, is the golden flute.
He's on the phone in the back of his car. He glances over at the boys.
STRAY BULLET: What we about then, bro? We bout getting new equipment? We bout getting some gigs, getting that audition, getting to Vegas? Mack Daddy the ticket -- less you got something else we can sell...
MACK DADDY: (calling to them) If it ain't the Milli Vanilli of Compton hip-hop. Is it true you boys is samplin' Chipmunk tracks?
Mack laughs.
POSTMASTER P: That wasn't no Chipmunks! The tape machine broke!
MACK DADDY: Be cool, Post. Be cool. Ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang.
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Mack. We got a new sound! You should hear it.
MACK DADDY: What's in it for me?
STRAY BULLET: You could be reppin' us, man. We win that contest in Vegas, we gonna be the hottest act around.
Mack is curious. He thinks a moment.
MACK DADDY: Alright! Get in! This better not be a waste of my time!
He opens the door. Stray looks at Post and shrugs, like "Well?". Post sighs and shakes his head, but he and the boys get in.
9 INT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB -- DAY
Mack sits behind his large desk. His muscle-bound bodyguard stand by him, in a show of intimidation. His office adorned with cheap velvet paintings. Gold albums line the walls as well. Post sits in a low chair in front of Mack's desk. Stray stands behind him. Butch looks around the office.
The boys' demo is blasting away.
POSTMASTER P: See, we trying to send out a positive message with our music. (on Mack's bored look) This shit is sellin, now!
Mack looks them over.
MACK DADDY: (Re: the music) Ain't much. But ain't as bad as mos'. An y'all seem hungry 'nuff... Maybe I can do somethin' wit' you boys.
The boys all begin celebrating -- high-fives, etc.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) 'Course we gon' have to make a few changes.
POSTMASTER P: Like what?
MACK DADDY: Like this here.
He takes their music tape and drops it in the trash can.
POSTMASTER P: But that's our music!
MACK DADDY: Not if you with me, it ain't. None o' that be-kind-to-yo-bitch, get-a-job-and-clean-up-the-hood bullshit round here, y'understand. We all about Uzi's, and ho's, an' shootin motherfuckers in the head -- we bout keepin it real! Dig?
POSTMASTER P: But tha's not what we do--
STRAY BULLET: Post! This is our dream! The man says we got to change, we got to change!
Mack puts his hand over the receiver and speaks quietly and apologetically to the boys.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Sorry, I'll just be a sec.
STRAY BULLET: (to Post, while Mack listens to the phone) Whassa matta wit' you, man?
POSTMASTER P: You wanna jus, change eve'ything?
STRAY BULLET: Man, who gives a shit, if we makin it?
Butch stares at a stone Leprechaun idol, a gold chain around its neck, in a locked glass and metal case.
MACK DADDY: (into the phone) You listen up, you ungrateful little skanky-ass piece o' shit motherfucker! I hope you got laid last night -- cause I'm comin over and cutting yo' dick with dull, rusty scissors, feedin to my dog, then burnin his dick turd when he shits it out! You hear me, bitch?
Mack slams down the phone -- he's clearly pissed. No one speaks for a moment, then Butch tries to break the tension.
He stares at a roach, crossing his desk. His bodyguard springs into action, pounding the roach to smithereens with his fist.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) I hate fuckin' roaches!
No one speaks for a moment, then Butch tries to break the tension.
BUTCH: (re: the Lep) Yo, Mack, shouldn't this be out on your front lawn, man?
MACK DADDY: (upset, jumping up) Get away from that!! Don't ever go near Leprechaun, goddamnit! (to Post and Stray) Well?
POSTMASTER P: (still not convinced) I don' know...
MACK DADDY: Don' know?! don' know?! Y'all get the fuck outta here!
STRAY BULLET: (panicking) No, Mack Daddy! Just let me talk to my boy--
MACK DADDY (interrupting) Up in here, wastin my time! I got chumps lines up around the block. You don' get no second chance! Go on!
STRAY BULLET: Please, Mack! Just give us a minute--
MACK DADDY: Motherfucker, you deaf? Or you just stupid, like yo' Mama? I got to bitch-slap you like I used to do her? Get the fuck out!
Stray stares at him dumbfounded.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (to his boy) Throw these losers out on they ass!
The bodyguard man-handles the boys out.
10 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- DAY
The boys walk angrily, resolutely and quickly to Butch's, a building with loft-type apartments.
11 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT/ROOF -- DAY
They sit on the roof, right outside Butch's top-floor loft, the window into the apartment behind them. Butch is trying to fix the mixing console.
STRAY BULLET: Motherfucker! Who he callin' a loser?
BUTCH: (sighs, throws the console down) This shit is broker than we is. Unless someone wins the lotto we can forgit the contest.
STRAY BULLET: Now you talkin', mo'fo'. The lotto hangin' around that lawn jockey's neck at Mack's. I been thinkin'! Everybody know Mack be partying every night! Let's bust in there and grab that gold necklace off that little yard jockey!
BUTCH: Ha! Bus' into Mack's...
POSTMASTER P: (high-fives Butch, laughing) Yeah, why don't we just bus' up in there?
BUTCH: (laughing) Stick 'em up, motherfucker!
STRAY BULLET: I'm serious, goddamnit! That necklace got to be hot! No way he gon' report it! We pawn that shit, get some new gear!
The others are sobered by Stray's outburst.
POSTMASTER P: Damn, Stray! We can't do that!
STRAY BULLET: Why not?
BUTCH: He kill us, for one thing...
STRAY BULLET: Fuck him! He ain't gon' find out!
POSTMASTER P: We do that, we ain't no better'n him!
STRAY BULLET: Oh -- it's O.K. to play yo' little bullshit scam on Jackie Dee an' Chow. But now you all high and mighty when it come down to the real deal, huh? Where you draw the line, Post?
Post has no answer.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) How you think that motherfucker got where he is? He done a lot worse than us. And he been keeping brothers like us down too long, controlling who gets out and who don't. Time somebody took somethin' back! Took some action!
BUTCH: Kinda like Robin Hood.
STRAY BULLET: Only with Uzis an' AKs!
POSTMASTER P: Guns?!
STRAY BULLET: You tell me, Post -- what else we gon' do?
POSTMASTER P: (pause) I'll see ya'll on Judge Judy.
He begins to leave.
STRAY BULLET: We meet tomorrow at MacKenzie Park. Six-thirty. Yo' Post!
Post turns back.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) We just playin' the cards we dealt! Like Mack said, "ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang." Business in the hood!
Post shakes his head and leaves.
12 INT. LONNIE COCHRAN'S OFFICE -- DAY
Lonnie Cochran, attorney-to-the-hood, is staring directly into the camera. He is smartly dressed.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Were you erroneously injured in a drive-by? Has someone busted a cap in your ass? Were you unlawfully detained while driving in Beverly Hills? Then you need to call the law offices of Lonnie Cochran, attorney to the hood. That's right friends, pick up your phones and call 1-900-555-2121. It's only ninety-nine cents a minute and you don't need to be eighteen to call. Or come down to 451 Martin Muhammed Abdul Luther Rahid Elijah King Blvd., above Roscoe's rib joint. Ladies, don't know who your baby's daddy is? Then come down to receive your in-house DNA paternity test. It's only $99.95 when you order a large bucket of Roscoe's Southern fried ribs. And remember, you don't need a case, to win based on race. Because at Lonnie's, you're not just a friend, you're a defendant. Assalam Alaikum! (pause) Cut!
Behind the camera is MATTY, his beautiful, black receptionist.
MATTY: That was great, Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (smiling broadly) Yeah, I was wasn't I? Now you edit that and get it to B-E-T.
Matty looks at her watch.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (cont'd) You expectin that little hood to show up on time? Better let me give you a ride home.
MATTY: He's not a hood, Lonnie. He's my boyfriend.
The DOOR OPENS and Postmaster P comes walking in.
POSTMASTER P: Hey, baby.
He gives Matty a kiss.
Postmaster P: (cont'd) Am I late?
MATTY: You're right on time, sweetheart.
She shoots a look at Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (under his breath) Probably had someone chasin' his little ass.
MATTY: I'll see you tomorrow, Lonnie. The commercial looks great.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Wait. Tell me what you think of this. (pause) Concerned about Y2K? Then inquire about Lonnie Cochran's millenium insurance policy. Remember, if it does not boot, I will file suit!
13 EXT. STREET -- DAY
Post and Matty are walking along.
MATTY: So how did the job search go?
POSTMASTER P: Job search. Yeah, job search.
MATTY: Don't even start, Post. You didn't look for a job, did you?
He sighs.
POSTMASTER P: Matty... We been through this. I just ain't no nine to five brotha'. You know that.
MATTY: Nine to five? I'd settle for nine to one, Post. You gotta start somewhere.
POSTMASTER P: I got dreams, Matty. Big dreams!
MATTY: (interrupting) Post, positive thinking is good, but it only works if it's followed with action.
POSTMASTER P: Action... yeah.
MATTY: I graduate from paralegal school in two months. We had plans, Post. Plans we can't keep if you don't contribute.
They walk along quietly.
MATTY: (cont'd) Why are we going this way?
POSTMASTER P: Ain't we goin' back to my place? I ain't seen you in two days, baby.
MATTY: Post, what are we going to do at your place? What about your grandmother?
POSTMASTER P: She be fallin' asleep early now. Now that I put Nytol in her Ensure.
MATTY: Post!
14 INT. POST'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT
The bedroom door is closed, and the room is largely bare except for some rap and sports posters on the wall, and a small dresser. Matty is checking out the posters. Post lays on the bed, which is just a mattress that sits bare on the floor.
Matty turns to him.
MATTY: So is your grandmother asleep?
POSTMASTER P: Yeah, I think so. Bring y'or fine self on over here. I'm gonna put in on you real good, girl.
She turns, smiles, and unbuttons her shirt, seductively slipping out of it and letting it fall to the floor. Her bra is barely able to contain her heaving breasts. Then she un-does and slips out of her jeans, revealing a beautiful ass, framed in thong panties.
Matty gets down on her hands and knees and crawls seductively to one side of the bed. She reaches the head of the bed, still on her hands and knees, and just as they are about to kiss, the door opens!
In walks Post's grandmother with a cold beverage in one hand and a plate, which she holds with an oven mitt, in the other. She wears shades. She is blind.
GRANDMOTHER: Baby, you awake? I thought I heard you talkin' to someone.
POSTMASTER P: Yeah, grandma, I'm up. Ah, I was just rappin' to myself.
His grandmother starts coming towards the side of the bed with Matty. Post motions for her to stay quiet and don't move, but his mom is moving closer.
GRANDMOTHER: I brought you some dinner. It ain't much, but I know it be more'n you ate today.
She comes closer and now bumps into Matty, still on her hands and knees.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) What's 'dat, baby?
POSTMASTER P: Ah, ah, I bought a night-stand, grandma. From the Salvation Army.
GRANDMOTHER: Oh, you coulda' had the one in my room. Let me put this food down on here.
Matty's face says it all. Post doesn't know what to do except watch his grandmother put the ice-cold glass on Matty's back. Matty makes faces, putting her hand over her mouth to avoid crying out.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) This plate is a little warm so you be careful.
Now Matty's eyes are reall bugging, and when the hot plate is placed on her back it is unbearable. Still covering her mouth with her hand, she can't help but buck the plate from her back, sending it to the floor and causing a commotion.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) Lordy, what is goin' here?
Post gets up to steer his grandmother out, while Matty writhes on the floor from the pain.
POSTMASTER P: That table done busted already! You know you can't get quality from the Salvation Army like you used to!
Matty still writhing, hand over her mouth.
GRANDMOTHER: What? Baby, you okay? You actin' mighty funny. You sure 'dere ain't nothin' wrong?
But he hustles her out of the room.
POSTMASTER P: It's cool, grandma. It's cool. I'll cleanup. You go to bed, grandma. Goodnight!
He closes the door and locks it.
MATTY: Post, why didn't you do something? My God, I'm branded for life!
She jumps up and begins dressing.
POSTMASTER P: Aw baby, don't go! She'll be asleep in a few minutes.
MATTY: That's it, Post. We're finished.
As she dresses up.
POSTMASTER P: Finished? We never got started.
MATTY: I mean, we're finished as a couple, Post. I can't do this anymore. I don't want a boyfriend who lives off his grandmother -- who can't take care of himself. I'm not a nightstand, Post.
She finishes dressing and walks out.
Postmaster is left alone in his room, the setting sun casting shadows over the empty room. He watches a roach climb the wall, the SOUND OF A HELICOPTER circling somewhere nearby.
15 EXT. MACKENZIE PARK -- DUSK
Stray and Butch are huddled in the park. Each carries a gun.
STRAY BULLET: Take whatever's valuable and can't be traced. And make sure we get that fuckin jockey's necklace! Who's that, coming up in here?
They look off to see a figure approaching. It's Postmaster P, silhouetted against the setting sun.
BUTCH: Post?
He stops, and they anxiously await his decision.
POSTMASTER P: We gon' do this thing, or what?
16 INT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB -- NIGHT
KABOOM!! The door implodes, kicked by Stray.
The boys rush in. They start to go through his stuff. Stray finds a few gold pieces.
STRAY BULLET: Check this! Cha-ching!
Stray begins to gleefully wreck the place, knocking shit over, smashing things.
POSTMASTER P: Careful, Stray!
STRAY BULLET: Post! Grab that gold necklace off that lawn jockey!
Post takes the necklace from the statue and puts it in his pocket.
Butch affixes an explosive to the Lep's case.
BUTCH: Post, check the desk.
Post reluctantly begins rummaging through Mack's desk drawers. He finds a gun. Picks it up. Suddenly:
MACK DADDY: (O.S.) What the fuck?
Post looks up.
Butch's explosive blows the case, causing a startled Post to accidentally shoot Mack directly in the chest. Mack stumbles forward, and Post, shocked by his own actions, squeezes another round. Mack's huge girth falls to the floor.
POSTMASTER P: Shit! Shit! Oh, shit!
STRAY BULLET: You killed that motha-fucker, Post! You killed Mack Daddy!
Post is too stunned to do anything. He just stands there, horrified. He drops the gun.
STRAY BULLET: Take all his shit! (re: Mack's chains and necklaces) Post -- grab the gold off that bastard!
Stray and Butch continue to ransack the place. Butch finds the pot of gold in a drawer.
Post looks down at Mack's body. In a daze, he reaches down and pulls the gold flute from its chain around Mack's wrist. He looks at it, then slips it in his other pocket, just as:
The LEP comes to life. The boys are about to leave with the booty.
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S) Un-hand me gold you thieving hoods! You've got more loot than Tiger Woods!
The boys stop dead in their tracks. They turn to see the little green varmint advancing on them.
POSTMASTER P: What is it?
STRAY BULLET: It's Chuckie on crack! Shoot that mutha-fucker!
They empty their guns on the Leprechaun, cutting him to shreds. Pieces everywhere.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) Shit! Let's go man! Let's go man!
17 EXT. MACK'S CRIB -- NIGHT
The boys run like hell to Stray's clunker car, and pile in.
18 EXT. MACK'S CRIB -- NIGHT
Smoke and dust fill the wretched office.
Seemingly miraculously, Mack Daddy is slowly stirring his way back to consciousness. As he regains his senses.
MACK DADDY: (rubbing his chest) Damn...
He looks down at his chest. He pulls on a chain with a gold piece, and looks at it. Embedded in the gold piece are two bullets.
Still lying on his back, he looks around to survey the damage.
MACK DADDY: Damn!
He hears an ODD SOUND. Suddenly, a disembodied, gnarled little hand scampers across the floor, disappearing into the dust. Then an arm. More SCAMPERING SOUNDS from the dust and smoke.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) What the fuck--
Mack sits up, looks around. Across the room, out of the dust and smoke, the fully-reassembled Leprechaun steps towards, stretching and leering.
LEPRECHAUN: A lot of time has come and passed. I see you're still a big, fat ass! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
MACK DADDY: Oh, shit!
He pounces on Mack and they struggle mightily. Mack, in great pain, throws the Leprechaun against the wall, stunning him momentarily.
Mack stumbles to his feet, and out the door, terrified of the Lep's powers. The Lep shakes his head, getting his bearings. He moves to the window, where he sees Mack Daddy running off in the distance.
LEPRECHAUN: You can run, but you can't hide! You stole me gold -- I'll not let that slide! Hee-heeee-hee!
19 EXT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
The Golden Parrot. Over the entrance is an old, large, wrought-iron cage. In the cage is a dead rat, spray-painted yellow, with feathers glued to it. The cage is held in place by old clothesline, tied off to a light pole.
People go in and out of this neighborhood dive. Hookers hang out front, drunks stumble down the sidewalk.
20 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
In a small hallway in back, leading to the bathrooms, Mack Daddy talks frantically on a pay phone. He keeps one eye on the crowd in the bar.
MACK DADDY: (into phone) Set yo' ass down here, now, mo'fo'! Brings the car! And bring guns! Lotsa guns!
He pauses, peering out into the crowd, he thinks he sees... A FLASH OF GREEN AND TWO SHINING EYES! Mack Daddy freezes, looks again.
The crowd parts, more this time, and there's nothing there. Mack breathes a sigh, and shudders.
A couple are stand-up-fucking behind the door, as a panicked Mack Daddy flings the door open, smashing the couple against the wall.
MACK DADDY: Everybody out now!
Instantly, a toilet flushes and one of the stall doors opens and a guy runs out, pulling pants up as he goes. The fucking couple hurry out, stuck together, her legs around his waist.
Mack hurries into the just-vacated stall, and locks the door. He notices the gold ring on his trigger finger.
MACK DADDY: Shit!
He tugs at the ring, repeatedly, but it won't come off. Finally he sits on the toilet, spent.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Got to be cool...
Just then, from the other stall: THE LONGEST, GROSSEST, WETTEST, FART SOUNDS in history. With a couple of little squirts at the end, for good measure.
Mack is instantly suspicious. The smell hits him, and he nearly pukes, but leans over and tries to see under the stall wall. There's nothing there.
He quietly opens the stall door. WE SEE the Lep hanging on the outside of the door, but Mack doesn't see him.
Mack sees nothing, closes the stall door, sits on the toilet, and lights a doobie.
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S.) Looking for someone, laddie?
Mack looks up to see the Leprechaun peering over the stall door. The Lep somersaults over the door.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
The Leprechaun looks at the glowing blunt, curious. Mack sees his interest and offers him a toke. The Leprechaun accepts. He inhales. He likes it. He inhales again.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) A friend with weed is a friend indeed!
Another toke and the blunt is completely gone.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) But a friend with gold is the best I'm told. (pause) Knock, knock.
MACK DADDY: Who's there?
LEPRECHAUN: Gold.
MACK DADDY: Gold who?
LEPRECHAUN: Goldfinger.
He suddenly reaches out, grabbing Mack's hand, twisting Mack's digit until it breaks off.
MACK DADDY: Aaaaaggggghhhhh!!
As he falls to the floor in excruciating pain, the Lep goes through his pockets, delighted to find even more joints, and a wad of cash.
LEPRECHAUN: You'll find me gold in record time, or suffer a bloody, heinous crime.
Mack runs out, holding his bloody hand.
22 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
The Lep comes back into the bar, stoned, a little wobbly. He has a lit joint. He inhales once, and the whole thing is gone.
LEPRECHAUN: The blunt is dope, this place is hype--
HIS POV: A little out of focus, he watches the perfect ass of a WAITRESS approach.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) (to the ass) ...Bring the booty right here, and I'll lay me some pipe!
And the waitress passes, ignoring him. Another WAITRESS'S fine stuff goes by.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) By my height, don't be fooled. I pack plenty of tool.
Ignored, again.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Hmmm.
He pulls out the wad of Mack Daddy's cash, and fans it. Suddenly, the faces of three fine waitresses appear in front of him.
LEPRECHAUN: I hate to resort so soon to magic, but I haven't been laid in so long, it's tragic!
Through the following, he touches each waitress's forehead.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) (to a waitress) I've got a tip, it's long and green, ask me nice, I'll be your love machine!
Their eyes begin to glow, and they fawn over the Lep, their new master. They are zombies.
The Lep saunters over the bar, The Zombie Flygirls following, their jobs forgotten.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Four babes for every gnome -- I like this place -- I'll make it my home. (to the bartender) An Irish coffee to stir me cockles!
The BARTENDER looks at him like he's crazy.
BARTENDER: We got three drinks. Colt 45 in the bottle, Colt 45 on tap, Colt 45 in the can. Which one you want?
LEPRECHAUN: One of each to quench me thirst. (to the ZFG's) Y'know, lassies -- A night with a Leprechaun'll bring you luck, 'specially if it's spent in a four-way f-- Ah, well. No need to be crude, then, is there?
He laughs as the ZFG's envelop him.
EXT. STREET -- NIGHT
The boys talk near Stray's parked car. Emotions in the car are very high. Post paces, very upset.
STRAY BULLET: That little Pixie mutha-fucker came right at us! What the fuck was it?
BUTCH: That stone Leprechaun... it came to life! Soon as Post took that necklace from around his neck, he came to life!
STRAY BULLET: Man, you trippin or what?
BUTCH: I've read about such strange happenings. There's the physical, and there's metaphysical!
POSTMASTER P: (he can't take it, anymore) Both o' ya -- shut the fuck up!
STRAY BULLET: Post! Be cool, man!
POSTMASTER P: Be cool?! We in some shit!
STRAY BULLET: Man, nobody got to know nothin'!
POSTMASTER P: We jus' killed some motherfuckers, Stray!
STRAY BULLET: Damn right we did! And we might slide, if you calm the fuck down!
POSTMASTER P: (moves into Stray) Man, is that all you about? Getting away wit' it?
STRAY BULLET: Boy, you best get outta my face!
BUTCH: (interrupting) Hey y'all -- chill! We all in this shit.
Post and Stray stand down.
STRAY BULLET: Nobody be missin' Mack Daddy. And that little Leprechaun... no mutha' fuckin' harm, no mutha' fuckin' foul. You know what I'm sayin'?
Post shakes his head, and walks off.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) (as he gets into the car) We meet at Jackie Dee's tomorrow! Straighten all our shit out!
SOUND OF STRAY'S CAR PEELING AWAY.
Post stops after a moment, adjacent to a vacant lot. He pulls the gold necklace from his pocket, looks at it, and throws it into the lot.
24 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- DAY
The party's been going on all night. The place is empty, except for the Lep and the girls, partying at a table in the rear, near a small stage, set with microphones.
The Bartender, who's been asleep on the bar, is waking up.
BARTENDER: Hey! You ain't 'xactly prompt on the tab! An' you done chased my customers away! Why don't you pay, an' then leave?!
LEPRECHAUN: I never welches on me debt, but when I drink I tend to forget.
BARTENDER: Then pay up, 'fore I whup you like a stepchil'!
LEPRECHAUN: (offended) A man of your sorts giving me a whipping? On the ghost of Jack Sprat, you must be trippin'!
BARTENDER: We'll see who's trippin'!
The bartender jumps down and grabs a chair. He moves quickly toward the Lep, to hit him with it. As he raises it:
LEPRECHAUN: I guess we will!
The Lep waves a finger, and the chair immediately falls to the floor right in front of the oncoming bartender, causing him to trip, flying over the chair. He lands near the stage, in a heap.
The Lep and the ZFG's laugh, as the bartender pulls himself up.
BARTENDER: Ugly little pissant!
He grabs a bottle from a nearby table. He raises it, to use as a weapon, but then brings his hand down and looks at it -- the bottle is gone.
LEPRECHAUN: If you're confused, my little pup -- why not ask yourself, 'Whassup?"
BARTENDER: Huh?
The bottle falls from above, smashing on his head, drenching and cutting him. Dazed, he stumbles to the stage. He picks up a microphone on a stand, to use as a club.
BARTENDER: (cont'd) Kill you, shithead!
LEPRECHAUN: (to the girls) Sometimes a really nasty chap...
He waves a finger. The microphone cord stretches and plugs itself into an outlet, as the bartender approaches.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Just needs a tiny little zap!
The bartender gets an electric shock, which sends him reeling around the bar. Finally, he manages to let go of the mike, and he falls onto a table, on his back, whipped.
BARTENDER: (cont'd) (to the Lep) What are you?!
LEPRECHAUN: He-he-he-he! I'm glad you asked!
He grabs the mike and begins to do a little dance. The zombie girls fall in line behind him as the Lep train leaves the station, and MUSIC begins.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) I come from the land of Irish Spring.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: In Dublin is where I learned me thing.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: wit' your green self! wit' your little green self!
LEPRECHAUN: A cobbler by trade, and a drunk by choice!
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Can anyone here stand Bono's voice?
TRAIN: Wit' your green self! Wit' your little green self!
LEPRECHAUN: I like a joke and a song well sung!
He jumps onto the bar, points to the ceiling over the bartender, where a chandelier with spikes hangs.
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: But sometimes it's best to hold one's tongue!
He waves a finger and the chandelier falls onto the screaming bartender.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: wit' your green self! wit' your little green self!
He jumps down and continues dancing.
LEPRECHAUN: Do you know what I say? Do you know what I mean?
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: (to the hooker) 'Cause once you go green you never get clean!
The bartender struggles to yank the chandelier off his body.
TRAIN: Get jiggy with it! Get jiggy with it!
The bartender screams as he pulls the chandelier off, leaving bleeding spike marks all over him.
LEPRECHAUN: (still rapping) Will you lighten up for goodness sakes?
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: And give the little guy a break?!
TRAIN: With you green self! With your little green self!
The bartender struggles to get up. He's had enough, and heads toward the door.
LEPRECHAUN: (holding up the watch) Have you got the time for another rhyme?
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Can you lend an ear, while I drink a beer?
The Lep points to a neon sign, shaped like an arrow, hanging over the bar. It begins to tremble.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: With you bad self! With you little bad self!
LEPRECHAUN: Is it cause for alarm if I twist your arm?
The neon arrow sign breaks free from its perch. The bartender, stumbling, is nearly to the door.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Then stick around while the Lep gets down!
The Lep waves his finger, and the arrow sign flies straight at the bartender, impaling him.
As he dies, the arrow sign lights up the spike holes in the bartender's body.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Get jiggy with it! Get jiggy with it!
25 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Jackie Dee is running around the pawn shop, straightening things up a bit. Jackie isn't wearing any pants, just boxer shorts. The boys enter, Stray carrying a garbage bag filled with gold. Post just mopes and follows the others around.
JACKIE DEE: Uh-oh. What you boys got now? Stevie Wonder's drivers license?
His joke cracks him up.
STRAY BULLET: You may as well start draggin' out the best audio gear you got in this sorry mutha-fucker. You hear?
BUTCH: Where y'or pants, Jackie?
JACKIE DEE: Everything's for sale at Jackie Dee's! Now how you gon' pay for this audio gear?
Stray opens the bag of gold under Jackie's nose.
STRAY BULLET: Let's negotiate home biscuit.
MOMENTS LATER:
The boys are checking out some audio gear in new boxes.
JACKIE DEE: Now here is my prime stock.
STRAY BULLET: Uh-huh. How much for this prime equipment? We need the gear and operatin' funds.
JACKIE DEE: Hmmmmm. You drive a hard bargain, junior. I give ya' all this here, and five dollars for everything in that bag.
The boys look at each other, look at the boxes of equipment, look at each other, and nod their approval.
STRAY BULLET: What about the warranty?
JACKIE DEE: Warranty?! You ain't gettin' no warranty! You be lucky if you don't get a warrant -- as in arrest!
MOMENTS LATER:
The boys are holding their new gear. About five or six other folks are milling around the shop. Behind the counter, Stray is dishing out the gold to Jackie Dee. The boys' music plays on a boom box on the counter. No one's paying attention.
Post pulls out the flute he stole from Mack and starts playing. One-by-one, the other patrons become mesmerized. Even Jackie Dee and the other guys look up, not quite sure what they hear, but wanting to hear more of it.
Post stops playing, unaware of the others' reaction. He examines the flute for a moment, then puts it to his mouth, again.
26 INT GOLDEN PARROT -- DAY
The place is wrecked, the bartender lays dead. The ZFG's sit in three chairs, next to each other, the Lep lying across them. The girls wear shades to shield their zombie eyes from the light. They massage the Lep, and pour beer down his throat.
Suddenly the Lep gets an image of Post playing the flute at Jackie Dee's. He sits up.
LEPRECHAUN: He-he-he-he! In a matter of time, the flute will be mine!
27 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Post finishes playing the flute.
POSTMASTER P: Too bad this flute don't work. I'm gonna keep it, anyway.
He turns to see everyone in the place staring at him, as if they'd been enjoying the music.
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) What--? (no answer, as the other boys come out of their reverie) We done here?
28 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- DAY
The boys, in Stray's clunker car, pull up in front of Butch's place. Stray is counting the money they got from Jackie Dee.
STRAY BULLET: Check it out, my brothers! Hey -- you know what we need to do -- we need to take some of this extra money and par-tay!
BUTCH: Yeah! Gotta hook up! Poontang!
STRAY BULLET: Whatchoo know about some poontang?
BUTCH: I know I better finally be getting me some, now we got some bread...
POSTMASTER P: Yo, now we ain't big-time yet! Ya'll done forget all about the dream! We oughta' be gettin' our mix straight!
STRAY BULLET: Mixin' is 'xactly what I'm talkin' 'bout. Party like a big dog! You know what I'm sayin?
Butch and Stray high-five. Party it is.
29 INT. MACK DADDY'S CRIB -- DAY
Mack, hand bandaged and bloodied, opens his front door. His bodyguard followed him in.
MACK DADDY: Party's over for them stealin motherfuckers! I'll kill 'em all -- slow and painful. Then I'm 'o' take care a' that little green freak for good!
He looks around the messed up place, searching frantically for a moment.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Damn! They got the flute! We got to get it back, or this party's over too! (looking at his boys) Don't stand there like a retard! Get back out there, an' find them cocksuckers!
30 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Jackie Dee is entertaining another offer from someone on the phone.
JACKIE DEE: (into the phone) M.C. Hammer's food stamps?! "Can't touch this" Hammer?!... He dropped 'em in the Piggly-Wiggly?... Tell ya' what -- you still got that piece o' Holyfield's ear in yo' fridge?
The Lep enters the store.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) ... I give ya fo' dolla's fo' the ear and the stamps... Take it or leave it -- gotta go bro.
Jackie hangs up. The Leprechaun moves to the counter. Jackie isn't quite sure what he's looking at.
JACKIE DEE: I ain't payin' nothin' for Halloween costumes, so you can just trick or treat y'or little ass on outta' here!
LEPRECHAUN: I'm here to claim me gold and shillings. Now hand it over or there'll be killings!
JACKIE DEE: Boy don' make me laugh! Try to rob Jackie Dee? (reaching under the counter) What gang you with -- (pulling up a gun) The Shrimps?
The Lep grabs a samurai sword hanging on the wall. He does a quick Bruce Lee-like kata with the sword. winding up with its tip at Jackie's throat.
LEPRECHAUN: A little trick from old Hong Kong. Now, give back my gold, you might live long.
He nudges the sword tip, and a drop of blood appears at Jackie's throat.
JACKIE DEE: Oh -- you wantin' gold! Why'nt you say so, brother?
MOMENTS LATER:
A SACK ON THE COUNTER, as Jackie finishes putting the gold in it.
LEPRECHAUN: (agitated) The flute! My magic flute!
He puts the sword to Jackie's throat, again.
JACKIE DEE: I'm tellin' ya -- there ain't no goddamn flute!
The Lep snarls. He rears back to kill Jackie. Jackie cringes. Suddenly, the Lep stops, his attention drawn to a photo of a woman on the wall.
LEPRECHAUN: Mmmmmmmm. And who might this choice morsel be? The lovely wife of Jackie Dee?
JACKIE DEE: (offended) What about her?
The Lep thinks a moment.
LEPRECHAUN: There is one way to spare your life -- give me a night with your bo-dacious wife.
JACKIE DEE: An' let you kill her too? Kiss my ass!
LEPRECHAUN: On this I pledge my Leprechaun's oath -- for a romp with that fox, I'll spare you both!
Jackie Dee thinks quickly.
JACKIE DEE: Yeah? You won' kill either one of us?
LEPRECHAUN: (waving the sword in Jackie's face) Cross my heart an hope to die, pull a sword out of your eye. Where can I find her?
JACKIE DEE: Here -- I write the address.
He hands it to the Lep. It says, "Compton Cemetery."
The Lep looks at the paper, frowning. Jackie bursts out laughing.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Ha! You as dumb as you is tiny! My wife died fi'teen years ago! Ha ha ha! You want a piece o' that -- he'p yo'self, brother!
The Lep flashes anger.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) You swore!
The Lep picks up his sack. He looks at something behind Jackie Dee. Jackie turns.
There, in the doorway to the back-room, stands his wife -- young, beautiful, smiling.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Baby!
He turns back to the Lep, but the Lep is gone. His wife holds out her arms to Jackie. He can't resist -- he moves to her.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) You look so beautiful! Wha's goin' on?
She puts her arms around his neck. She pulls him to her. She kisses him, tenderly at first, then with growing passion.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) I've missed you so much!
Lost in her, he squeezes her, kissing back.
FROM BEHIND HIM, we see him move for her face, and down her neck with kisses, REVEALING the decayed, disfigured, skeletal remains of someone long dead.
He moves back up to her and sees her for what she really is.
Jackie Dee screams in fear and revulsion. He backs quickly away. He turns to run out, and trips. He falls onto the samurai sword, left by the Lep, impaling himself.
31 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT/ROOF -- NIGHT
From the roof, WE CAN SEE that a party is raging at Butch's. About twenty people crowd the apartment, music blaring.
BY THE WINDOW, out on the roof, Post is on a cordless phone, listening anxiously.
POSTMASTER P: Matty, pick up! (as if the phone has been answered) Yo, Matty, I -- who this? (listening) Lonnie Cochran? Lonnie Cochran?! What the fuck you doin' there? (listening) This is Postmaster P, motherfuck-- Hello? Hello? (slamming the phone down) Damn!!!
32 EXT. BUTCH'S ROOF -- NIGHT
SIRENS IN THE DISTANCE. A HELICOPTER NEARBY.
Post sits on the far end of the roof, quietly contemplating.
STRAY'S VOICE: (OS) Post...
Post looks up to see Stray and Butch coming toward him. They each have a beer -- Stray has an extra one he hands to Post.
STRAY BULLET: Ya vanished, man.
POSTMASTER P: (interrupting) Ya'll -- this ain't right! (they look at him) None o' this! We partying wit money we robbed from a motherfucker we killed! I killed!
STRAY BULLET: Ain't nobody sorry Mack Daddy dead.
Butch moves off, stands at the roof edge, watching the city streets below.
POSTMASTER P: We was gon' be different -- rappers wit a positive message! Gon' be role models for younger brothers!
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Post. We can still put out the message--
POSTMASTER P: How, Stray? What kinda message we be puttin out now? Do the right thing -- but if you wanna dust a brother and steal his shit, it's cool, long as he a bad motherfucker nobody likes?
STRAY BULLET: He was a bad motherfucker, Post! I'm glad Mack Daddy dead!
POSTMASTER P: So what -- we just thugs now? Got to take it to make it? Bi'ness in the hood?
Stray has no answer.
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) If that's all we about I don' wan' do this shit no more. I just go be some burger-flipper, like Matty wanted...
Post starts for the door.
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Post -- ain't like we planned that shit at Macks. It jus' got crazy in there. But it's over. Things be different now -- you'll see.
Post stops, looks at Stray.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) (crossing his heart) I swear!
Post turns for the door, just as it bursts open! Mack is there, gun in his bandaged hand, with his bodyguard behind him, also packing.
BUTCH: Oh, shit!!!
Mack advances on the boys as they back up.
MACK DADDY: Yo'r asses is mine!
He aims the gun straight at Post.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shoot me with my own goddamn gun! Steal my shit! Bus' up my place!
The boys reach the edge of the roof -- there's nowhere else to go. Mack raises his gun, preparing to fire. The boys step onto the roof ledge, balancing precariously.
BOYS: No, man!... Please don't!... We sorry!
MACK DADDY: (stops) You can jump or you can die right here, motherfuckers! But firs', you gon' tell me one thing. Where's my flute?
The boys freeze -- that's not the question they were expecting. They look at each other.
BUTCH: Huh?
MACK DADDY: My flute, goddammit!! My gold fuckin' flute!!
The boys are at a loss. They just stare at him. Then Post realizes... He touches his pants pocket, instinctively -- where he put the flute.
STRAY BULLET: Man, we don' know nothin' bout no flute!
MACK DADDY: You think I'm fuckin' around here?
Mack aims the gun.
Oops -- he forgets he has no trigger finger. Nothing happens when he should be squirting lead.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shit!!
He painfully adjusts his hand, so his third finger is on the trigger.
The guys look at each other, making a quick decision.
BOYS: Jump!!!!
They do -- right off the edge.
33 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- NIGHT
BOYS: (as they fall) SHIIIIIIIIT!!!!
They land in a dumpster full of trash. Garbage explodes everywhere.
As they scramble out, Mack and his bodyguard appear at the roof's edge above.
MACK DADDY: (screaming at the boys) Goddamn!!!!!
The boys run down the street toward Stray's car.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) I'll find you, motherfuckers! Ain' no place you can hide!!!!
34 EXT. EMPTY BUILDING PARKING LOT -- NIGHT
The boys, in Stray's car, pull into an abandoned building's lot, and screech to a halt. Pandemonium in the car. Even from a distance. WE HEAR THEM HOLLERING INSIDE THE CAR.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: Shit!! Fuck!! He almost clipped our asses!!
POSTMASTER P'S VOICE: (a mixture of fear and relief) Mack ain't dead! Motherfucker's 'live!
BUTCH: He ain't 'live! That was Mack's ghost! Done come back to haunt our ass!
STRAY BULLET: Aw shut up boy! How someone smart as you be b'lievin in ghost?!
BUTCH: I told you, there be the physical, and there be the metaphysical. An that was some meta-mutha-fucking physical shit back there.
POSTMASTER P: Y'all shut the fuck up!! I got to think! (to Stray) Drive, man!
The car takes off.
35 EXT. PAWN SHOP -- NIGHT
An ambulance sits in front of Jackie Dee's, its lights flashing. A small crowd has gathered.
INSIDE STRAY'S CAR: The boys see the lights and the crowd. They slow to a stop, across the street, and watch quietly from their car, as Jackie is carried on a gurney from their car, his face is exposed.
INSIDE THE CAR:
POSTMASTER P: Damn! Somebody killed Jackie Dee!
BUTCH: This is some fucked-up night. Evil forces loose in the hood.
STRAY BULLET: Shut up wit' that bullshit, man! We gotta go someplace quiet, spend the night. Figure this shit out.
POSTMASTER P: MacKenzie Park.
Stray puts the car into drive.
36 EXT./INT. STRAY'S CAR -- NIGHT
They pull up to the park.
STRAY BULLET: Now, that rap audition's a few days off. We just got to stay alive and win that semifinal, we gon' be in Vegas for the big payoff! One day we in Compton, next we in Vegas. Problems solved! You know what I'm sayin'?
BUTCH: Yeah! We keep our gear wit' us and keep movin'! We stay a different place each night.
Post has the flute in his hand.
POSTMASTER P: I wish I never heard about that audition. An' who we gon' stay with?! Mack know everybody in this town!
They think a moment.
STRAY BULLET: Fontaine Rivera! You know Mr. Funny Boy ain't gon' mind some male company! You know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: I hope we live that long...
STRAY BULLET: (looking around) We safe here... for now...
It's very quiet and very dark.
Suddenly, a big mangy tomcat jumps on the hood of the car and hisses at them, scaring them shitless!
POSTMASTER P/STRAY BULLET/BUTCH: FUCK!!!!!
The cat jumps off. The boys begin to breathe again.
STRAY BULLET: Just a cat, man. Damn, y'all jumpy!
AS WE PULL BACK FROM THE CAR, the boys continue to talk.
POSTMASTER P'S VOICE: Yo' ass jump 'bout a mile.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: Mo'fo' didn't scare me -- ain' 'fraid no cat...
BUTCH'S VOICE: Y'all hungry? I'm hungry.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: We stop at Chow's in the morning -- hook up wit' some food.
The only thing that would make takedown live look better is if I deflagrated it with gasoline, because THEN I would be looking at nothing, and nothing is better than this magnum opus.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!" -dad
Black. Pitch Black.
THE SOUND OF a pickaxe repeatedly slamming against a brick wall, the sound getting closer with every strike.
Finally, a tiny beam of light shatters the darkness as the pickaxe breaks through. The hammer slams again, then again, spraying bricks, dust and smoke everywhere.
MUFFLED VOICE: Move, motherfucker!
The pickaxe hits again. Finally, a hole big enough to reveal MACK DADDY O'NASSES, a bear of a man, and his sidekick, SLUG. THE SOUND OF A SUBWAY MOVING PAST, NEARBY.
They stand backlit and shrouded by smoke and dust. They pause for a long moment as they catch their breaths. The dust finally settles, revealing...
An ancient six-pack of Colt .45 Malt Liquor and a bag of White Castle hamburgers.
MACK DADDY: (disappointed) Shit! (to Slug) That map you bought was bogus, ya dumb-
SLUG: (getting worried) It's got to be here, Mack Daddy--
MACK DADDY: You see any gold here, dumb shit?
Slug looks around, sees only what's there. He swallows, knowing he's fucked up.
SLUG: (as if it's a consolation) I bet them burgers still good.
Mack Daddy grabs Slug by the throat.
MACK DADDY: Yeah? Let's see how good you hold up, buried down here a few years.
SLUG: No, please--
They both become suddenly aware of a new sound. They look down as... A BILLION ROACHES suddenly pour out of the burger bag, covering their feet.
MACK DADDY: Shit! Fuck! Piss! Goddamn, I hate roaches--
Screaming in fear, Mack Daddy backs up, suddenly, tossing Slug against the opposite wall. The wall gives way under the impact, revealing another small room.
As he stomps his feet, Mack looks at the opening Slug's head created. Something shines inside.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Damn...
Mack Daddy shoves Slug aside again, and looks into the small room, in which stand... a mythic Leprechaun encased in stone, standing guard over a pot of gold chains and jewels.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Hello, you midget Midas motherfucker...
A groggy, but excited Slug appears at Mack Daddy's side. Mack Daddy reaches into the small room, and begins rummaging through the gold. He finds a gold ring, puts it on his finger, then sifts some more. Suddenly, he finds what he's really after -- a solid gold flute.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (to Slug, as he moves back into the corridor) Gather the rest of the shit up!
Mack grabs a Colt .45, pops it open, and smiles at his flute.
MACK DADDY (cont'd) (fondling the flute) Jus' made my fortune...
Slug stares at the gold and the Leprechaun, absently grooming his hair with his Afro-pic. He sticks the pic in his hat, and reaches in and removes the gold chain from around the Lep's neck.
Slug examines the necklace, then tosses it out into the cellar. It lands on the bottom of a piece of wood, which rests against a pile of bricks, the top of the wood extending past the top of the bricks -- seesaw-like.
ON SLUG as he bends over to pick up gold.
ON THE LEP'S FACE in shadows -- his eyes blink!
ON SLUG, bent over, gathering gold -- a small hand removes the Afro-pic from Slug's hair.
SLUG: Yo, Mack Daddy --
ON MACK
SLUG'S VOICE: -- what we gon' do wit' all dis--
An odd sound makes Mack look up. HE SEES...
Slug half-in and half-out of the small room. Slug is still for a long moment. Then suddenly, he backs out of the room. He looks at Mack Daddy, and begins to move toward Mack.
SLUG: Ain't this a bitch?
Slug falls to his knees. A shaft of light across him reveals the Afro-pic stuck in his chest. He keels over, dead. The Lep leaps from his room/tomb, snarling, laughing, advancing on Mack Daddy, who stares in disbelief.
LEPRECHAUN: Free at last, free at last, thank gold almighty, I'm free at last!
MACK DADDY: What the fuck--
Mack reaches into his belt, pulls out a pistol, aims it at the oncoming demon. The Lep laughs, waves a finger, and Mack's gun instantly turns red-hot in his hands!
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shit--
Dropping the gun as he backs away, Mack reaches into his huge Afro, and pulls down a big knife.
The Lep waves another finger, the knife flies out of Mack's hand and sticks in the ceiling!
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Fuck!
Mack reaches up, again, and, from his Afro pulls a little, souvenir-sized baseball bat. He rears back to hit the oncoming Lep, but the Lep waves a finger, and Mack begins pounding himself on the head.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Goddamn!
Once more, Mack reaches into his Afro. This time, he can only come up with a bong. He looks at it like, "Oh great..." as the Lep advances on him.
At the last second, Mack throws the bong at the Lep and turns to run. But the little monster just watches him and laughs.
The Lep points a finger, and a portion of the bricked ceiling falls in on Mack, knocking him to the ground.
LEPRECHAUN: (he advances toward the dazed Mack) Takin me gold's a sure way to grow old. Now my little room will become your tomb!
Mack glances around, furiously. On the wall, near him, is a steam-pipe, with an ancient gauge and lever, marked PRESSURE RELIEF VALVE.
Just as the Lep gets even with the valve, Mack dives for it, releasing a shot of steam full-onto the Lep. The Lep falls backwards, and steps on the top end of the seesaw board, where the necklace landed.
The necklace is catapulted up into the air, and WE WATCH, as it flies up, up, up, and finally down, down, down, landing perfectly around the Lep's neck.
The Lep freezes to stone again. It takes Mack a moment to realize the fight's over.
Mack breathes a SIGH of relief. He glances over at Slug, then looks around. After a moment's anxious search, he finds the gold flute.
He holds it up, kisses it.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Motown, here I come!
He starts gathering the rest of the gold as:
SOUTH CENTRAL LA -- 20 YEARS LATER
2 INT. MAMMA JAMMA CLUB -- DAY
Three young, black adult males (roughly 20 years old each) are auditioning for a rap contest. POSTMASTER (POST) P and STRAY BULLET rock the microphones while BUTCH works the turntable and controls the mix. They don't sound bad, but they're no superstars.
Suddenly the mix console malfunctions, causing the tape to play very fast and very high pitched, giving the music a "chipmunk effect". The group panics and Stray and Post jump forward onto two bags placed onstage. There is a rather large EXPLOSION as the boys are hurled from the stage, unhurt, but disoriented.
Butch, something of a geek, runs to their aid as the smoke clears.
BERRY GRADY: (coughing, gagging) What the hell's you boys doin'?! You mo'fo's done broke the goddamn stage!
BUTCH: Damn! Too much ammonia, not enough nitrogen!
POSTMASTER P: (to Berry Grady) So waddup witt the gig, home school? We on the bill?
BERRY GRADY: On the bill? I oughta send you the bill!
POSTMASTER P: (pleading) Why you got to play us, 'G'? This is our only shot out, boy! We win this contest we gonna be in the finals at the Vegas Hard Rock Cafe. We're talkin' record deals, video promo, publishin' rights!
BERRY GRADY: Only record you boys are cuttin, is at the LAPD! You boys clean up this mess and get yo'r act straight, I might let you audition again! Now get the fuck outta here!
3 EXT. CITY STREET -- DAY
Post, Stray and Butch are walking along a downtown sidewalk of inner-city Compton.
STRAY BULLET: (looking at his burned shoes) Shit, Butch -- you fucked up my new Air Rodmans!
POSTMASTER P: Air Rodmans? The shoes made from poker chips and breast implants?
STRAY BULLET: (directed at Butch) Damn! Almost get my ass blown to bits by the unavirgin!
BUTCH: (looking around to make sure no one can hear) Man, shit up wit' that! I shoulda never tol' you!
STRAY BULLET: Butch, you may not know nothin' about no pussy, but I thought you knew what you was doin' with that nitrogen... trimesteride.
BUTCH: Nitrogen triiodide, fool! Triiodide! It's an iodine, ammonia compound--
STRAY BULLET: You gonna wind up in a compound! Hell wit' it! We fucked that up!
POSTMASTER P: See, Stray, you're thinking with a spirit of failure. You need to hook up some Tony Robbins.
STRAY BULLET: That big, white goofy-lookin, mo'fo'?! Always talkin, 'bout "if a tree fall in the bathroom, an' take time to smell the forest an'--"
POSTMASTER P: (interrupting) Man, that ain't even right! See, our unconscious beliefs control our behavior. Only through daily positive affirmation can we overcome!
STRAY BULLET: Yeah? Well, affirmate on this, mo'fo': if we don't get this equipment fixed, we ain't getting no audition, ain't goin to no Vegas -- we ain't ever leavin Compton! Know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: The man said we could audition, again! Butch! What it take to get our shit fixed?
BUTCH: What it take is money for new shit.
STRAY BULLET: See? We fucked! How we s'posed to get money?
Suddenly, Post gets a thought and halts in his tracks.
POSTMASTER P: Got to think positive.
4 EXT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
The boys enter JACKIE DEE'S PAWN SHOPPE
5 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
ON an old, beat-up electric guitar, obviously unusable. On its face, scribbled: "JIMI 1971."
The owner, JACKIE DEE, inspects the guitar, suspiciously.
JACKIE DEE: (to Post) Boy who give you this guitar?
POSTMASTER P: It was my... Uncle Junior's.
BUTCH: And he got it from Jimi Hendrix.
STRAY BULLET: Yeah, when they played together.
JACKIE DEE: Yo' Uncle Junior play wit' Jimi?
POSTMASTER P: (nodding) At... Psychadela-Pallooza in 1971.
STRAY BULLET: Yeah, that's right. This was Jimi's guitar!
JACKIE DEE: Psychadela-Palooza? Hmmm. I never heard 'a that one.
STRAY BULLET: So?
JACKIE DEE: '71? Didn't Jimi die in 1970?
BUTCH: That was Paul McCartney!
JACKIE DEE: (suspicious) This be the same Uncle Junior spent twenty years upstate?
BUTCH: No -- that's his other Uncle Junior.
POSTMASTER P: So what you give fo' this piece o' music history, Jackie?
Jackie makes a show of thinking about it.
JACKIE DEE: Hmmm... I'll give you... bout five seconds to get yo' asses outta my store! Comin in here, tryin to bullshit Jackie Dee with this trash.
STRAY BULLET: Ain't nobody bullshittin you--
JACKIE DEE: Frontin motherfuckers, wit' you' silly-ass names. Stray Bullet. Boy, you ain't no gangsta. And Postmaster P -- what kinda shit is that? You ain't in no military!
POSTMASTER P: It's Postmaster P, 'cause I deliver the positive message, man!
JACKIE DEE: Positive message?! Punk ass mo' like it! an' Butch, you better get yo' self some pussy, 'fore you blow ya dick off wit' them chemicals! Ya'll jus' take yo' cheap-ass hustle somewheres else!
Jackie thrusts the guitar back at them. Stray is about to explode, but Post stops him.
POSTMASTER P: Look'a here, Jackie. Forget the guitar! We can win that rap contest in Vegas -- straight up! But we got to have new equipment. How 'bout this? We play our next gig, we give a big shout out to Jackie Dee's Pawn Shop? Now whaddup?
JACKIE DEE: You next big gig is like Butch's next piece a' ass! You first! Ya'll go on outta here! This ain't no charity!
The Phone rings. Jackie answers it.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Jackie Dee's... How much I give you for what?... Oprah Winfrey's panties? You got Oprah Winfrey's panties?! Fat Oprah or skinny Oprah?!
6 EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
Close-up of a sign, something written in Vietnamese. Below that writing: "Proprietor: Chow Yung Pi."
As the boys enter a convenience store:
STRAY BULLET: If we can't pawn it, we fence it!
7 INT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
The store is filled with security video cameras and mirrors hanging everywhere. Surprisingly, the store's shelves are almost completely bare.
CHOW YUNG PI, the proprietor, is looking at the inscription on the guitar.
STRAY BULLET: So how much, Chow?
CHOW: Dis Jimi sig-na-chuh fo' real?
POSTMASTER P: Who else spell his name like that?
CHOW: I look stupid?! Ev'ybody know, Jimi die in 1970! You get the fuck out!
Chow begins to push them out.
STRAY BULLET: (looking at the empty shelves) Chow, you never have shit up in here! Riots are over, fool. Time to re-stock!
CHOW: You go! You too loud! You too loud!
Stray picks up one of the few items on the shelf. A jar, containing, much to his horror, a dead cat.
CHOW: (cont'd) Fresh cat! Fresh cat! Today's special! Killed 'dis morning!
STRAY BULLET: Hell no! I ain't eatin' no pussy.
Chow reclaims the feline delicacy and ushers the boys out.
CHOW: You leave Chow's store! Hip and hop yo'r black ass home! Make like Michael and beat it!
8 EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE -- DAY
The boys stumble out, pushed by Chow, and look around, helplessly, for their next option.
Post drops the guitar in a trash can.
STRAY BULLET: Damn! What we sposed to do now? Rob somebody?
POSTMASTER P: We ain't robbin nobody!
A black limousine pulls up, nearby and stops.
STRAY BULLET: There's Mack Daddy O'Nasses.
BUTCH: Why do they call him O'Nasses? He don't look Greek to me.
STRAY BULLET: No, boy. Mack Daddy was the primo pimp before he was reppin' talent. Mack Daddy Owned Asses! Now he got it goin' on in hip-hop.
POSTMASTER P: Gangsta hip-hop.
STRAY BULLET: (ignoring Post) Bitches and ho's ain't all my man knows! Come on!
Stray starts to run over to the limo. Post grabs his arm.
POSTMASTER P: Wait up! Mack Daddy only reppin' groups singin bout bangin and drive-bys and shit. That ain't what we about.
The window of the limo rolls down, revealing Mack Daddy O'Nasses, now twenty-five years later, a Suge Knight-style hip-hop impresario, decked out in athletic gear and shades, and the Mr. T gold chain collection around his neck. Around his wrist, on a short chain, is the golden flute.
He's on the phone in the back of his car. He glances over at the boys.
STRAY BULLET: What we about then, bro? We bout getting new equipment? We bout getting some gigs, getting that audition, getting to Vegas? Mack Daddy the ticket -- less you got something else we can sell...
MACK DADDY: (calling to them) If it ain't the Milli Vanilli of Compton hip-hop. Is it true you boys is samplin' Chipmunk tracks?
Mack laughs.
POSTMASTER P: That wasn't no Chipmunks! The tape machine broke!
MACK DADDY: Be cool, Post. Be cool. Ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang.
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Mack. We got a new sound! You should hear it.
MACK DADDY: What's in it for me?
STRAY BULLET: You could be reppin' us, man. We win that contest in Vegas, we gonna be the hottest act around.
Mack is curious. He thinks a moment.
MACK DADDY: Alright! Get in! This better not be a waste of my time!
He opens the door. Stray looks at Post and shrugs, like "Well?". Post sighs and shakes his head, but he and the boys get in.
9 INT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB -- DAY
Mack sits behind his large desk. His muscle-bound bodyguard stand by him, in a show of intimidation. His office adorned with cheap velvet paintings. Gold albums line the walls as well. Post sits in a low chair in front of Mack's desk. Stray stands behind him. Butch looks around the office.
The boys' demo is blasting away.
POSTMASTER P: See, we trying to send out a positive message with our music. (on Mack's bored look) This shit is sellin, now!
Mack looks them over.
MACK DADDY: (Re: the music) Ain't much. But ain't as bad as mos'. An y'all seem hungry 'nuff... Maybe I can do somethin' wit' you boys.
The boys all begin celebrating -- high-fives, etc.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) 'Course we gon' have to make a few changes.
POSTMASTER P: Like what?
MACK DADDY: Like this here.
He takes their music tape and drops it in the trash can.
POSTMASTER P: But that's our music!
MACK DADDY: Not if you with me, it ain't. None o' that be-kind-to-yo-bitch, get-a-job-and-clean-up-the-hood bullshit round here, y'understand. We all about Uzi's, and ho's, an' shootin motherfuckers in the head -- we bout keepin it real! Dig?
POSTMASTER P: But tha's not what we do--
STRAY BULLET: Post! This is our dream! The man says we got to change, we got to change!
The phone rings. Mack picks it up.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (into phone) Whaddup?... Uh-huh... Uh-huh...
Mack puts his hand over the receiver and speaks quietly and apologetically to the boys.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Sorry, I'll just be a sec.
STRAY BULLET: (to Post, while Mack listens to the phone) Whassa matta wit' you, man?
POSTMASTER P: You wanna jus, change eve'ything?
STRAY BULLET: Man, who gives a shit, if we makin it?
Butch stares at a stone Leprechaun idol, a gold chain around its neck, in a locked glass and metal case.
MACK DADDY: (into the phone) You listen up, you ungrateful little skanky-ass piece o' shit motherfucker! I hope you got laid last night -- cause I'm comin over and cutting yo' dick with dull, rusty scissors, feedin to my dog, then burnin his dick turd when he shits it out! You hear me, bitch?
Mack slams down the phone -- he's clearly pissed. No one speaks for a moment, then Butch tries to break the tension.
He stares at a roach, crossing his desk. His bodyguard springs into action, pounding the roach to smithereens with his fist.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) I hate fuckin' roaches!
No one speaks for a moment, then Butch tries to break the tension.
BUTCH: (re: the Lep) Yo, Mack, shouldn't this be out on your front lawn, man?
MACK DADDY: (upset, jumping up) Get away from that!! Don't ever go near Leprechaun, goddamnit! (to Post and Stray) Well?
POSTMASTER P: (still not convinced) I don' know...
MACK DADDY: Don' know?! don' know?! Y'all get the fuck outta here!
STRAY BULLET: (panicking) No, Mack Daddy! Just let me talk to my boy--
MACK DADDY (interrupting) Up in here, wastin my time! I got chumps lines up around the block. You don' get no second chance! Go on!
STRAY BULLET: Please, Mack! Just give us a minute--
MACK DADDY: Motherfucker, you deaf? Or you just stupid, like yo' Mama? I got to bitch-slap you like I used to do her? Get the fuck out!
Stray stares at him dumbfounded.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (to his boy) Throw these losers out on they ass!
The bodyguard man-handles the boys out.
10 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- DAY
The boys walk angrily, resolutely and quickly to Butch's, a building with loft-type apartments.
11 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT/ROOF -- DAY
They sit on the roof, right outside Butch's top-floor loft, the window into the apartment behind them. Butch is trying to fix the mixing console.
STRAY BULLET: Motherfucker! Who he callin' a loser?
BUTCH: (sighs, throws the console down) This shit is broker than we is. Unless someone wins the lotto we can forgit the contest.
STRAY BULLET: Now you talkin', mo'fo'. The lotto hangin' around that lawn jockey's neck at Mack's. I been thinkin'! Everybody know Mack be partying every night! Let's bust in there and grab that gold necklace off that little yard jockey!
BUTCH: Ha! Bus' into Mack's...
POSTMASTER P: (high-fives Butch, laughing) Yeah, why don't we just bus' up in there?
BUTCH: (laughing) Stick 'em up, motherfucker!
STRAY BULLET: I'm serious, goddamnit! That necklace got to be hot! No way he gon' report it! We pawn that shit, get some new gear!
The others are sobered by Stray's outburst.
POSTMASTER P: Damn, Stray! We can't do that!
STRAY BULLET: Why not?
BUTCH: He kill us, for one thing...
STRAY BULLET: Fuck him! He ain't gon' find out!
POSTMASTER P: We do that, we ain't no better'n him!
STRAY BULLET: Oh -- it's O.K. to play yo' little bullshit scam on Jackie Dee an' Chow. But now you all high and mighty when it come down to the real deal, huh? Where you draw the line, Post?
Post has no answer.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) How you think that motherfucker got where he is? He done a lot worse than us. And he been keeping brothers like us down too long, controlling who gets out and who don't. Time somebody took somethin' back! Took some action!
BUTCH: Kinda like Robin Hood.
STRAY BULLET: Only with Uzis an' AKs!
POSTMASTER P: Guns?!
STRAY BULLET: You tell me, Post -- what else we gon' do?
POSTMASTER P: (pause) I'll see ya'll on Judge Judy.
He begins to leave.
STRAY BULLET: We meet tomorrow at MacKenzie Park. Six-thirty. Yo' Post!
Post turns back.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) We just playin' the cards we dealt! Like Mack said, "ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang." Business in the hood!
Post shakes his head and leaves.
12 INT. LONNIE COCHRAN'S OFFICE -- DAY
Lonnie Cochran, attorney-to-the-hood, is staring directly into the camera. He is smartly dressed.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Were you erroneously injured in a drive-by? Has someone busted a cap in your ass? Were you unlawfully detained while driving in Beverly Hills? Then you need to call the law offices of Lonnie Cochran, attorney to the hood. That's right friends, pick up your phones and call 1-900-555-2121. It's only ninety-nine cents a minute and you don't need to be eighteen to call. Or come down to 451 Martin Muhammed Abdul Luther Rahid Elijah King Blvd., above Roscoe's rib joint. Ladies, don't know who your baby's daddy is? Then come down to receive your in-house DNA paternity test. It's only $99.95 when you order a large bucket of Roscoe's Southern fried ribs. And remember, you don't need a case, to win based on race. Because at Lonnie's, you're not just a friend, you're a defendant. Assalam Alaikum! (pause) Cut!
Behind the camera is MATTY, his beautiful, black receptionist.
MATTY: That was great, Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (smiling broadly) Yeah, I was wasn't I? Now you edit that and get it to B-E-T.
Matty looks at her watch.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (cont'd) You expectin that little hood to show up on time? Better let me give you a ride home.
MATTY: He's not a hood, Lonnie. He's my boyfriend.
The DOOR OPENS and Postmaster P comes walking in.
POSTMASTER P: Hey, baby.
He gives Matty a kiss.
Postmaster P: (cont'd) Am I late?
MATTY: You're right on time, sweetheart.
She shoots a look at Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (under his breath) Probably had someone chasin' his little ass.
MATTY: I'll see you tomorrow, Lonnie. The commercial looks great.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Wait. Tell me what you think of this. (pause) Concerned about Y2K? Then inquire about Lonnie Cochran's millenium insurance policy. Remember, if it does not boot, I will file suit!
13 EXT. STREET -- DAY
Post and Matty are walking along.
MATTY: So how did the job search go?
POSTMASTER P: Job search. Yeah, job search.
MATTY: Don't even start, Post. You didn't look for a job, did you?
He sighs.
POSTMASTER P: Matty... We been through this. I just ain't no nine to five brotha'. You know that.
MATTY: Nine to five? I'd settle for nine to one, Post. You gotta start somewhere.
POSTMASTER P: I got dreams, Matty. Big dreams!
MATTY: (interrupting) Post, positive thinking is good, but it only works if it's followed with action.
POSTMASTER P: Action... yeah.
MATTY: I graduate from paralegal school in two months. We had plans, Post. Plans we can't keep if you don't contribute.
They walk along quietly.
MATTY: (cont'd) Why are we going this way?
POSTMASTER P: Ain't we goin' back to my place? I ain't seen you in two days, baby.
MATTY: Post, what are we going to do at your place? What about your grandmother?
POSTMASTER P: She be fallin' asleep early now. Now that I put Nytol in her Ensure.
MATTY: Post!
14 INT. POST'S BEDROOM -- NIGHT
The bedroom door is closed, and the room is largely bare except for some rap and sports posters on the wall, and a small dresser. Matty is checking out the posters. Post lays on the bed, which is just a mattress that sits bare on the floor.
Matty turns to him.
MATTY: So is your grandmother asleep?
POSTMASTER P: Yeah, I think so. Bring y'or fine self on over here. I'm gonna put in on you real good, girl.
She turns, smiles, and unbuttons her shirt, seductively slipping out of it and letting it fall to the floor. Her bra is barely able to contain her heaving breasts. Then she un-does and slips out of her jeans, revealing a beautiful ass, framed in thong panties.
Matty gets down on her hands and knees and crawls seductively to one side of the bed. She reaches the head of the bed, still on her hands and knees, and just as they are about to kiss, the door opens!
In walks Post's grandmother with a cold beverage in one hand and a plate, which she holds with an oven mitt, in the other. She wears shades. She is blind.
GRANDMOTHER: Baby, you awake? I thought I heard you talkin' to someone.
POSTMASTER P: Yeah, grandma, I'm up. Ah, I was just rappin' to myself.
His grandmother starts coming towards the side of the bed with Matty. Post motions for her to stay quiet and don't move, but his mom is moving closer.
GRANDMOTHER: I brought you some dinner. It ain't much, but I know it be more'n you ate today.
She comes closer and now bumps into Matty, still on her hands and knees.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) What's 'dat, baby?
POSTMASTER P: Ah, ah, I bought a night-stand, grandma. From the Salvation Army.
GRANDMOTHER: Oh, you coulda' had the one in my room. Let me put this food down on here.
Matty's face says it all. Post doesn't know what to do except watch his grandmother put the ice-cold glass on Matty's back. Matty makes faces, putting her hand over her mouth to avoid crying out.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) This plate is a little warm so you be careful.
Now Matty's eyes are reall bugging, and when the hot plate is placed on her back it is unbearable. Still covering her mouth with her hand, she can't help but buck the plate from her back, sending it to the floor and causing a commotion.
GRANDMOTHER: (cont'd) Lordy, what is goin' here?
Post gets up to steer his grandmother out, while Matty writhes on the floor from the pain.
POSTMASTER P: That table done busted already! You know you can't get quality from the Salvation Army like you used to!
Matty still writhing, hand over her mouth.
GRANDMOTHER: What? Baby, you okay? You actin' mighty funny. You sure 'dere ain't nothin' wrong?
But he hustles her out of the room.
POSTMASTER P: It's cool, grandma. It's cool. I'll cleanup. You go to bed, grandma. Goodnight!
He closes the door and locks it.
MATTY: Post, why didn't you do something? My God, I'm branded for life!
She jumps up and begins dressing.
POSTMASTER P: Aw baby, don't go! She'll be asleep in a few minutes.
MATTY: That's it, Post. We're finished.
As she dresses up.
POSTMASTER P: Finished? We never got started.
MATTY: I mean, we're finished as a couple, Post. I can't do this anymore. I don't want a boyfriend who lives off his grandmother -- who can't take care of himself. I'm not a nightstand, Post.
She finishes dressing and walks out.
Postmaster is left alone in his room, the setting sun casting shadows over the empty room. He watches a roach climb the wall, the SOUND OF A HELICOPTER circling somewhere nearby.
15 EXT. MACKENZIE PARK -- DUSK
Stray and Butch are huddled in the park. Each carries a gun.
STRAY BULLET: Take whatever's valuable and can't be traced. And make sure we get that fuckin jockey's necklace! Who's that, coming up in here?
They look off to see a figure approaching. It's Postmaster P, silhouetted against the setting sun.
BUTCH: Post?
He stops, and they anxiously await his decision.
POSTMASTER P: We gon' do this thing, or what?
16 INT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB -- NIGHT
KABOOM!! The door implodes, kicked by Stray.
The boys rush in. They start to go through his stuff. Stray finds a few gold pieces.
STRAY BULLET: Check this! Cha-ching!
Stray begins to gleefully wreck the place, knocking shit over, smashing things.
POSTMASTER P: Careful, Stray!
STRAY BULLET: Post! Grab that gold necklace off that lawn jockey!
Post takes the necklace from the statue and puts it in his pocket.
Butch affixes an explosive to the Lep's case.
BUTCH: Post, check the desk.
Post reluctantly begins rummaging through Mack's desk drawers. He finds a gun. Picks it up. Suddenly:
MACK DADDY: (O.S.) What the fuck?
Post looks up.
Butch's explosive blows the case, causing a startled Post to accidentally shoot Mack directly in the chest. Mack stumbles forward, and Post, shocked by his own actions, squeezes another round. Mack's huge girth falls to the floor.
POSTMASTER P: Shit! Shit! Oh, shit!
STRAY BULLET: You killed that motha-fucker, Post! You killed Mack Daddy!
Post is too stunned to do anything. He just stands there, horrified. He drops the gun.
STRAY BULLET: Take all his shit! (re: Mack's chains and necklaces) Post -- grab the gold off that bastard!
Stray and Butch continue to ransack the place. Butch finds the pot of gold in a drawer.
Post looks down at Mack's body. In a daze, he reaches down and pulls the gold flute from its chain around Mack's wrist. He looks at it, then slips it in his other pocket, just as:
The LEP comes to life. The boys are about to leave with the booty.
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S) Un-hand me gold you thieving hoods! You've got more loot than Tiger Woods!
The boys stop dead in their tracks. They turn to see the little green varmint advancing on them.
POSTMASTER P: What is it?
STRAY BULLET: It's Chuckie on crack! Shoot that mutha-fucker!
They empty their guns on the Leprechaun, cutting him to shreds. Pieces everywhere.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) Shit! Let's go man! Let's go man!
17 EXT. MACK'S CRIB -- NIGHT
The boys run like hell to Stray's clunker car, and pile in.
18 EXT. MACK'S CRIB -- NIGHT
Smoke and dust fill the wretched office.
Seemingly miraculously, Mack Daddy is slowly stirring his way back to consciousness. As he regains his senses.
MACK DADDY: (rubbing his chest) Damn...
He looks down at his chest. He pulls on a chain with a gold piece, and looks at it. Embedded in the gold piece are two bullets.
Still lying on his back, he looks around to survey the damage.
MACK DADDY: Damn!
He hears an ODD SOUND. Suddenly, a disembodied, gnarled little hand scampers across the floor, disappearing into the dust. Then an arm. More SCAMPERING SOUNDS from the dust and smoke.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) What the fuck--
Mack sits up, looks around. Across the room, out of the dust and smoke, the fully-reassembled Leprechaun steps towards, stretching and leering.
LEPRECHAUN: A lot of time has come and passed. I see you're still a big, fat ass! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
MACK DADDY: Oh, shit!
He pounces on Mack and they struggle mightily. Mack, in great pain, throws the Leprechaun against the wall, stunning him momentarily.
Mack stumbles to his feet, and out the door, terrified of the Lep's powers. The Lep shakes his head, getting his bearings. He moves to the window, where he sees Mack Daddy running off in the distance.
LEPRECHAUN: You can run, but you can't hide! You stole me gold -- I'll not let that slide! Hee-heeee-hee!
19 EXT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
The Golden Parrot. Over the entrance is an old, large, wrought-iron cage. In the cage is a dead rat, spray-painted yellow, with feathers glued to it. The cage is held in place by old clothesline, tied off to a light pole.
People go in and out of this neighborhood dive. Hookers hang out front, drunks stumble down the sidewalk.
20 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
In a small hallway in back, leading to the bathrooms, Mack Daddy talks frantically on a pay phone. He keeps one eye on the crowd in the bar.
MACK DADDY: (into phone) Set yo' ass down here, now, mo'fo'! Brings the car! And bring guns! Lotsa guns!
He pauses, peering out into the crowd, he thinks he sees... A FLASH OF GREEN AND TWO SHINING EYES! Mack Daddy freezes, looks again.
The crowd parts, more this time, and there's nothing there. Mack breathes a sigh, and shudders.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) (into phone) Big, giant, ugly guns! Hurry the fuck up!
21 INT. MEN'S ROOM/GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
A couple are stand-up-fucking behind the door, as a panicked Mack Daddy flings the door open, smashing the couple against the wall.
MACK DADDY: Everybody out now!
Instantly, a toilet flushes and one of the stall doors opens and a guy runs out, pulling pants up as he goes. The fucking couple hurry out, stuck together, her legs around his waist.
Mack hurries into the just-vacated stall, and locks the door. He notices the gold ring on his trigger finger.
MACK DADDY: Shit!
He tugs at the ring, repeatedly, but it won't come off. Finally he sits on the toilet, spent.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Got to be cool...
Just then, from the other stall: THE LONGEST, GROSSEST, WETTEST, FART SOUNDS in history. With a couple of little squirts at the end, for good measure.
Mack is instantly suspicious. The smell hits him, and he nearly pukes, but leans over and tries to see under the stall wall. There's nothing there.
He quietly opens the stall door. WE SEE the Lep hanging on the outside of the door, but Mack doesn't see him.
Mack sees nothing, closes the stall door, sits on the toilet, and lights a doobie.
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S.) Looking for someone, laddie?
Mack looks up to see the Leprechaun peering over the stall door. The Lep somersaults over the door.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
The Leprechaun looks at the glowing blunt, curious. Mack sees his interest and offers him a toke. The Leprechaun accepts. He inhales. He likes it. He inhales again.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) A friend with weed is a friend indeed!
Another toke and the blunt is completely gone.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) But a friend with gold is the best I'm told. (pause) Knock, knock.
MACK DADDY: Who's there?
LEPRECHAUN: Gold.
MACK DADDY: Gold who?
LEPRECHAUN: Goldfinger.
He suddenly reaches out, grabbing Mack's hand, twisting Mack's digit until it breaks off.
MACK DADDY: Aaaaaggggghhhhh!!
As he falls to the floor in excruciating pain, the Lep goes through his pockets, delighted to find even more joints, and a wad of cash.
LEPRECHAUN: You'll find me gold in record time, or suffer a bloody, heinous crime.
Mack runs out, holding his bloody hand.
22 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- NIGHT
The Lep comes back into the bar, stoned, a little wobbly. He has a lit joint. He inhales once, and the whole thing is gone.
LEPRECHAUN: The blunt is dope, this place is hype--
HIS POV: A little out of focus, he watches the perfect ass of a WAITRESS approach.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) (to the ass) ...Bring the booty right here, and I'll lay me some pipe!
And the waitress passes, ignoring him. Another WAITRESS'S fine stuff goes by.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) By my height, don't be fooled. I pack plenty of tool.
Ignored, again.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Hmmm.
He pulls out the wad of Mack Daddy's cash, and fans it. Suddenly, the faces of three fine waitresses appear in front of him.
LEPRECHAUN: I hate to resort so soon to magic, but I haven't been laid in so long, it's tragic!
Through the following, he touches each waitress's forehead.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) (to a waitress) I've got a tip, it's long and green, ask me nice, I'll be your love machine!
Their eyes begin to glow, and they fawn over the Lep, their new master. They are zombies.
The Lep saunters over the bar, The Zombie Flygirls following, their jobs forgotten.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Four babes for every gnome -- I like this place -- I'll make it my home. (to the bartender) An Irish coffee to stir me cockles!
The BARTENDER looks at him like he's crazy.
BARTENDER: We got three drinks. Colt 45 in the bottle, Colt 45 on tap, Colt 45 in the can. Which one you want?
LEPRECHAUN: One of each to quench me thirst. (to the ZFG's) Y'know, lassies -- A night with a Leprechaun'll bring you luck, 'specially if it's spent in a four-way f-- Ah, well. No need to be crude, then, is there?
He laughs as the ZFG's envelop him.
EXT. STREET -- NIGHT
The boys talk near Stray's parked car. Emotions in the car are very high. Post paces, very upset.
STRAY BULLET: That little Pixie mutha-fucker came right at us! What the fuck was it?
BUTCH: That stone Leprechaun... it came to life! Soon as Post took that necklace from around his neck, he came to life!
STRAY BULLET: Man, you trippin or what?
BUTCH: I've read about such strange happenings. There's the physical, and there's metaphysical!
POSTMASTER P: (he can't take it, anymore) Both o' ya -- shut the fuck up!
STRAY BULLET: Post! Be cool, man!
POSTMASTER P: Be cool?! We in some shit!
STRAY BULLET: Man, nobody got to know nothin'!
POSTMASTER P: We jus' killed some motherfuckers, Stray!
STRAY BULLET: Damn right we did! And we might slide, if you calm the fuck down!
POSTMASTER P: (moves into Stray) Man, is that all you about? Getting away wit' it?
STRAY BULLET: Boy, you best get outta my face!
BUTCH: (interrupting) Hey y'all -- chill! We all in this shit.
Post and Stray stand down.
STRAY BULLET: Nobody be missin' Mack Daddy. And that little Leprechaun... no mutha' fuckin' harm, no mutha' fuckin' foul. You know what I'm sayin'?
Post shakes his head, and walks off.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) (as he gets into the car) We meet at Jackie Dee's tomorrow! Straighten all our shit out!
SOUND OF STRAY'S CAR PEELING AWAY.
Post stops after a moment, adjacent to a vacant lot. He pulls the gold necklace from his pocket, looks at it, and throws it into the lot.
24 INT. GOLDEN PARROT -- DAY
The party's been going on all night. The place is empty, except for the Lep and the girls, partying at a table in the rear, near a small stage, set with microphones.
The Bartender, who's been asleep on the bar, is waking up.
BARTENDER: Hey! You ain't 'xactly prompt on the tab! An' you done chased my customers away! Why don't you pay, an' then leave?!
LEPRECHAUN: I never welches on me debt, but when I drink I tend to forget.
BARTENDER: Then pay up, 'fore I whup you like a stepchil'!
LEPRECHAUN: (offended) A man of your sorts giving me a whipping? On the ghost of Jack Sprat, you must be trippin'!
BARTENDER: We'll see who's trippin'!
The bartender jumps down and grabs a chair. He moves quickly toward the Lep, to hit him with it. As he raises it:
LEPRECHAUN: I guess we will!
The Lep waves a finger, and the chair immediately falls to the floor right in front of the oncoming bartender, causing him to trip, flying over the chair. He lands near the stage, in a heap.
The Lep and the ZFG's laugh, as the bartender pulls himself up.
BARTENDER: Ugly little pissant!
He grabs a bottle from a nearby table. He raises it, to use as a weapon, but then brings his hand down and looks at it -- the bottle is gone.
LEPRECHAUN: If you're confused, my little pup -- why not ask yourself, 'Whassup?"
BARTENDER: Huh?
The bottle falls from above, smashing on his head, drenching and cutting him. Dazed, he stumbles to the stage. He picks up a microphone on a stand, to use as a club.
BARTENDER: (cont'd) Kill you, shithead!
LEPRECHAUN: (to the girls) Sometimes a really nasty chap...
He waves a finger. The microphone cord stretches and plugs itself into an outlet, as the bartender approaches.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Just needs a tiny little zap!
The bartender gets an electric shock, which sends him reeling around the bar. Finally, he manages to let go of the mike, and he falls onto a table, on his back, whipped.
BARTENDER: (cont'd) (to the Lep) What are you?!
LEPRECHAUN: He-he-he-he! I'm glad you asked!
He grabs the mike and begins to do a little dance. The zombie girls fall in line behind him as the Lep train leaves the station, and MUSIC begins.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) I come from the land of Irish Spring.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: In Dublin is where I learned me thing.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: wit' your green self! wit' your little green self!
LEPRECHAUN: A cobbler by trade, and a drunk by choice!
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Can anyone here stand Bono's voice?
TRAIN: Wit' your green self! Wit' your little green self!
LEPRECHAUN: I like a joke and a song well sung!
He jumps onto the bar, points to the ceiling over the bartender, where a chandelier with spikes hangs.
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: But sometimes it's best to hold one's tongue!
He waves a finger and the chandelier falls onto the screaming bartender.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: wit' your green self! wit' your little green self!
He jumps down and continues dancing.
LEPRECHAUN: Do you know what I say? Do you know what I mean?
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: (to the hooker) 'Cause once you go green you never get clean!
The bartender struggles to yank the chandelier off his body.
TRAIN: Get jiggy with it! Get jiggy with it!
The bartender screams as he pulls the chandelier off, leaving bleeding spike marks all over him.
LEPRECHAUN: (still rapping) Will you lighten up for goodness sakes?
TRAIN: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: And give the little guy a break?!
TRAIN: With you green self! With your little green self!
The bartender struggles to get up. He's had enough, and heads toward the door.
LEPRECHAUN: (holding up the watch) Have you got the time for another rhyme?
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Can you lend an ear, while I drink a beer?
The Lep points to a neon sign, shaped like an arrow, hanging over the bar. It begins to tremble.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: With you bad self! With you little bad self!
LEPRECHAUN: Is it cause for alarm if I twist your arm?
The neon arrow sign breaks free from its perch. The bartender, stumbling, is nearly to the door.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Go Lep! Go Lep!
LEPRECHAUN: Then stick around while the Lep gets down!
The Lep waves his finger, and the arrow sign flies straight at the bartender, impaling him.
As he dies, the arrow sign lights up the spike holes in the bartender's body.
ZOMBIE GIRLS: Get jiggy with it! Get jiggy with it!
25 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Jackie Dee is running around the pawn shop, straightening things up a bit. Jackie isn't wearing any pants, just boxer shorts. The boys enter, Stray carrying a garbage bag filled with gold. Post just mopes and follows the others around.
JACKIE DEE: Uh-oh. What you boys got now? Stevie Wonder's drivers license?
His joke cracks him up.
STRAY BULLET: You may as well start draggin' out the best audio gear you got in this sorry mutha-fucker. You hear?
BUTCH: Where y'or pants, Jackie?
JACKIE DEE: Everything's for sale at Jackie Dee's! Now how you gon' pay for this audio gear?
Stray opens the bag of gold under Jackie's nose.
STRAY BULLET: Let's negotiate home biscuit.
MOMENTS LATER:
The boys are checking out some audio gear in new boxes.
JACKIE DEE: Now here is my prime stock.
STRAY BULLET: Uh-huh. How much for this prime equipment? We need the gear and operatin' funds.
JACKIE DEE: Hmmmmm. You drive a hard bargain, junior. I give ya' all this here, and five dollars for everything in that bag.
The boys look at each other, look at the boxes of equipment, look at each other, and nod their approval.
STRAY BULLET: What about the warranty?
JACKIE DEE: Warranty?! You ain't gettin' no warranty! You be lucky if you don't get a warrant -- as in arrest!
MOMENTS LATER:
The boys are holding their new gear. About five or six other folks are milling around the shop. Behind the counter, Stray is dishing out the gold to Jackie Dee. The boys' music plays on a boom box on the counter. No one's paying attention.
Post pulls out the flute he stole from Mack and starts playing. One-by-one, the other patrons become mesmerized. Even Jackie Dee and the other guys look up, not quite sure what they hear, but wanting to hear more of it.
Post stops playing, unaware of the others' reaction. He examines the flute for a moment, then puts it to his mouth, again.
26 INT GOLDEN PARROT -- DAY
The place is wrecked, the bartender lays dead. The ZFG's sit in three chairs, next to each other, the Lep lying across them. The girls wear shades to shield their zombie eyes from the light. They massage the Lep, and pour beer down his throat.
Suddenly the Lep gets an image of Post playing the flute at Jackie Dee's. He sits up.
LEPRECHAUN: He-he-he-he! In a matter of time, the flute will be mine!
27 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Post finishes playing the flute.
POSTMASTER P: Too bad this flute don't work. I'm gonna keep it, anyway.
He turns to see everyone in the place staring at him, as if they'd been enjoying the music.
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) What--? (no answer, as the other boys come out of their reverie) We done here?
28 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- DAY
The boys, in Stray's clunker car, pull up in front of Butch's place. Stray is counting the money they got from Jackie Dee.
STRAY BULLET: Check it out, my brothers! Hey -- you know what we need to do -- we need to take some of this extra money and par-tay!
BUTCH: Yeah! Gotta hook up! Poontang!
STRAY BULLET: Whatchoo know about some poontang?
BUTCH: I know I better finally be getting me some, now we got some bread...
POSTMASTER P: Yo, now we ain't big-time yet! Ya'll done forget all about the dream! We oughta' be gettin' our mix straight!
STRAY BULLET: Mixin' is 'xactly what I'm talkin' 'bout. Party like a big dog! You know what I'm sayin?
Butch and Stray high-five. Party it is.
29 INT. MACK DADDY'S CRIB -- DAY
Mack, hand bandaged and bloodied, opens his front door. His bodyguard followed him in.
MACK DADDY: Party's over for them stealin motherfuckers! I'll kill 'em all -- slow and painful. Then I'm 'o' take care a' that little green freak for good!
He looks around the messed up place, searching frantically for a moment.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Damn! They got the flute! We got to get it back, or this party's over too! (looking at his boys) Don't stand there like a retard! Get back out there, an' find them cocksuckers!
30 INT. PAWN SHOP -- DAY
Jackie Dee is entertaining another offer from someone on the phone.
JACKIE DEE: (into the phone) M.C. Hammer's food stamps?! "Can't touch this" Hammer?!... He dropped 'em in the Piggly-Wiggly?... Tell ya' what -- you still got that piece o' Holyfield's ear in yo' fridge?
The Lep enters the store.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) ... I give ya fo' dolla's fo' the ear and the stamps... Take it or leave it -- gotta go bro.
Jackie hangs up. The Leprechaun moves to the counter. Jackie isn't quite sure what he's looking at.
JACKIE DEE: I ain't payin' nothin' for Halloween costumes, so you can just trick or treat y'or little ass on outta' here!
LEPRECHAUN: I'm here to claim me gold and shillings. Now hand it over or there'll be killings!
JACKIE DEE: Boy don' make me laugh! Try to rob Jackie Dee? (reaching under the counter) What gang you with -- (pulling up a gun) The Shrimps?
The Lep grabs a samurai sword hanging on the wall. He does a quick Bruce Lee-like kata with the sword. winding up with its tip at Jackie's throat.
LEPRECHAUN: A little trick from old Hong Kong. Now, give back my gold, you might live long.
He nudges the sword tip, and a drop of blood appears at Jackie's throat.
JACKIE DEE: Oh -- you wantin' gold! Why'nt you say so, brother?
MOMENTS LATER:
A SACK ON THE COUNTER, as Jackie finishes putting the gold in it.
LEPRECHAUN: (agitated) The flute! My magic flute!
He puts the sword to Jackie's throat, again.
JACKIE DEE: I'm tellin' ya -- there ain't no goddamn flute!
The Lep snarls. He rears back to kill Jackie. Jackie cringes. Suddenly, the Lep stops, his attention drawn to a photo of a woman on the wall.
LEPRECHAUN: Mmmmmmmm. And who might this choice morsel be? The lovely wife of Jackie Dee?
JACKIE DEE: (offended) What about her?
The Lep thinks a moment.
LEPRECHAUN: There is one way to spare your life -- give me a night with your bo-dacious wife.
JACKIE DEE: An' let you kill her too? Kiss my ass!
LEPRECHAUN: On this I pledge my Leprechaun's oath -- for a romp with that fox, I'll spare you both!
Jackie Dee thinks quickly.
JACKIE DEE: Yeah? You won' kill either one of us?
LEPRECHAUN: (waving the sword in Jackie's face) Cross my heart an hope to die, pull a sword out of your eye. Where can I find her?
JACKIE DEE: Here -- I write the address.
He hands it to the Lep. It says, "Compton Cemetery."
The Lep looks at the paper, frowning. Jackie bursts out laughing.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Ha! You as dumb as you is tiny! My wife died fi'teen years ago! Ha ha ha! You want a piece o' that -- he'p yo'self, brother!
The Lep flashes anger.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) You swore!
The Lep picks up his sack. He looks at something behind Jackie Dee. Jackie turns.
There, in the doorway to the back-room, stands his wife -- young, beautiful, smiling.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) Baby!
He turns back to the Lep, but the Lep is gone. His wife holds out her arms to Jackie. He can't resist -- he moves to her.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) You look so beautiful! Wha's goin' on?
She puts her arms around his neck. She pulls him to her. She kisses him, tenderly at first, then with growing passion.
JACKIE DEE: (cont'd) I've missed you so much!
Lost in her, he squeezes her, kissing back.
FROM BEHIND HIM, we see him move for her face, and down her neck with kisses, REVEALING the decayed, disfigured, skeletal remains of someone long dead.
He moves back up to her and sees her for what she really is.
Jackie Dee screams in fear and revulsion. He backs quickly away. He turns to run out, and trips. He falls onto the samurai sword, left by the Lep, impaling himself.
31 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT/ROOF -- NIGHT
From the roof, WE CAN SEE that a party is raging at Butch's. About twenty people crowd the apartment, music blaring.
BY THE WINDOW, out on the roof, Post is on a cordless phone, listening anxiously.
POSTMASTER P: Matty, pick up! (as if the phone has been answered) Yo, Matty, I -- who this? (listening) Lonnie Cochran? Lonnie Cochran?! What the fuck you doin' there? (listening) This is Postmaster P, motherfuck-- Hello? Hello? (slamming the phone down) Damn!!!
32 EXT. BUTCH'S ROOF -- NIGHT
SIRENS IN THE DISTANCE. A HELICOPTER NEARBY.
Post sits on the far end of the roof, quietly contemplating.
STRAY'S VOICE: (OS) Post...
Post looks up to see Stray and Butch coming toward him. They each have a beer -- Stray has an extra one he hands to Post.
STRAY BULLET: Ya vanished, man.
POSTMASTER P: (interrupting) Ya'll -- this ain't right! (they look at him) None o' this! We partying wit money we robbed from a motherfucker we killed! I killed!
STRAY BULLET: Ain't nobody sorry Mack Daddy dead.
Butch moves off, stands at the roof edge, watching the city streets below.
POSTMASTER P: We was gon' be different -- rappers wit a positive message! Gon' be role models for younger brothers!
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Post. We can still put out the message--
POSTMASTER P: How, Stray? What kinda message we be puttin out now? Do the right thing -- but if you wanna dust a brother and steal his shit, it's cool, long as he a bad motherfucker nobody likes?
STRAY BULLET: He was a bad motherfucker, Post! I'm glad Mack Daddy dead!
POSTMASTER P: So what -- we just thugs now? Got to take it to make it? Bi'ness in the hood?
Stray has no answer.
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) If that's all we about I don' wan' do this shit no more. I just go be some burger-flipper, like Matty wanted...
Post starts for the door.
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Post -- ain't like we planned that shit at Macks. It jus' got crazy in there. But it's over. Things be different now -- you'll see.
Post stops, looks at Stray.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) (crossing his heart) I swear!
Post turns for the door, just as it bursts open! Mack is there, gun in his bandaged hand, with his bodyguard behind him, also packing.
BUTCH: Oh, shit!!!
Mack advances on the boys as they back up.
MACK DADDY: Yo'r asses is mine!
He aims the gun straight at Post.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shoot me with my own goddamn gun! Steal my shit! Bus' up my place!
The boys reach the edge of the roof -- there's nowhere else to go. Mack raises his gun, preparing to fire. The boys step onto the roof ledge, balancing precariously.
BOYS: No, man!... Please don't!... We sorry!
MACK DADDY: (stops) You can jump or you can die right here, motherfuckers! But firs', you gon' tell me one thing. Where's my flute?
The boys freeze -- that's not the question they were expecting. They look at each other.
BUTCH: Huh?
MACK DADDY: My flute, goddammit!! My gold fuckin' flute!!
The boys are at a loss. They just stare at him. Then Post realizes... He touches his pants pocket, instinctively -- where he put the flute.
STRAY BULLET: Man, we don' know nothin' bout no flute!
MACK DADDY: You think I'm fuckin' around here?
Mack aims the gun.
Oops -- he forgets he has no trigger finger. Nothing happens when he should be squirting lead.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) Shit!!
He painfully adjusts his hand, so his third finger is on the trigger.
The guys look at each other, making a quick decision.
BOYS: Jump!!!!
They do -- right off the edge.
33 EXT. BUTCH'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT -- NIGHT
BOYS: (as they fall) SHIIIIIIIIT!!!!
They land in a dumpster full of trash. Garbage explodes everywhere.
As they scramble out, Mack and his bodyguard appear at the roof's edge above.
MACK DADDY: (screaming at the boys) Goddamn!!!!!
The boys run down the street toward Stray's car.
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) I'll find you, motherfuckers! Ain' no place you can hide!!!!
34 EXT. EMPTY BUILDING PARKING LOT -- NIGHT
The boys, in Stray's car, pull into an abandoned building's lot, and screech to a halt. Pandemonium in the car. Even from a distance. WE HEAR THEM HOLLERING INSIDE THE CAR.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: Shit!! Fuck!! He almost clipped our asses!!
POSTMASTER P'S VOICE: (a mixture of fear and relief) Mack ain't dead! Motherfucker's 'live!
BUTCH: He ain't 'live! That was Mack's ghost! Done come back to haunt our ass!
STRAY BULLET: Aw shut up boy! How someone smart as you be b'lievin in ghost?!
BUTCH: I told you, there be the physical, and there be the metaphysical. An that was some meta-mutha-fucking physical shit back there.
POSTMASTER P: Y'all shut the fuck up!! I got to think! (to Stray) Drive, man!
The car takes off.
35 EXT. PAWN SHOP -- NIGHT
An ambulance sits in front of Jackie Dee's, its lights flashing. A small crowd has gathered.
INSIDE STRAY'S CAR: The boys see the lights and the crowd. They slow to a stop, across the street, and watch quietly from their car, as Jackie is carried on a gurney from their car, his face is exposed.
INSIDE THE CAR:
POSTMASTER P: Damn! Somebody killed Jackie Dee!
BUTCH: This is some fucked-up night. Evil forces loose in the hood.
STRAY BULLET: Shut up wit' that bullshit, man! We gotta go someplace quiet, spend the night. Figure this shit out.
POSTMASTER P: MacKenzie Park.
Stray puts the car into drive.
36 EXT./INT. STRAY'S CAR -- NIGHT
They pull up to the park.
STRAY BULLET: Now, that rap audition's a few days off. We just got to stay alive and win that semifinal, we gon' be in Vegas for the big payoff! One day we in Compton, next we in Vegas. Problems solved! You know what I'm sayin'?
BUTCH: Yeah! We keep our gear wit' us and keep movin'! We stay a different place each night.
Post has the flute in his hand.
POSTMASTER P: I wish I never heard about that audition. An' who we gon' stay with?! Mack know everybody in this town!
They think a moment.
STRAY BULLET: Fontaine Rivera! You know Mr. Funny Boy ain't gon' mind some male company! You know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: I hope we live that long...
STRAY BULLET: (looking around) We safe here... for now...
It's very quiet and very dark.
Suddenly, a big mangy tomcat jumps on the hood of the car and hisses at them, scaring them shitless!
POSTMASTER P/STRAY BULLET/BUTCH: FUCK!!!!!
The cat jumps off. The boys begin to breathe again.
STRAY BULLET: Just a cat, man. Damn, y'all jumpy!
AS WE PULL BACK FROM THE CAR, the boys continue to talk.
POSTMASTER P'S VOICE: Yo' ass jump 'bout a mile.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: Mo'fo' didn't scare me -- ain' 'fraid no cat...
BUTCH'S VOICE: Y'all hungry? I'm hungry.
STRAY BULLET'S VOICE: We stop at Chow's in the morning -- hook up wit' some food.
POSTMASTER P'S VOIC
--
Why ask me? There's a possibility that I'd say you're wrong.
happy 18th birthday .. in a couple hours..
i hope your life treats you well.. and takes me with you.
-- Sarajane --
--
Why ask me? There's a possibility that I'd say you're wrong.
bestwishs
Your friend,
The Scatman
stay outta trouble, the eyes of TEXAS are upon you.
<3 -- Your little cowgirl
--
Why ask me? There's a possibility that I'd say you're wrong.
--
I have problems with authority
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