The Danger of Delicious: A Gerard Reinstein Story

Danny Vermont has just baked the world's best pie. Its crust is almost imaginary it's so good. It's filling is almost imaginary too. Take the best pie you have ever had and multiply that pie by an almost imaginarily high number. Divide by two. That is the pie that Danny Vermont has just baked. But the pie is more than the world's best pie - it is the most scrumptious and delectable morsel of food that the universe has known throughout its entire long and imaginary history. Such a pie should bring joy to the world. This pie may just well bring the end of humanity.

The pie becomes baked around the world. It's success is beyond imagination.

No one is eating their vegetables. They are eating pie. No one is is taking their medication. They are taking their pie. These people- the world - are pie-dying. For as almost imaginarily good as the pie is, it is not nutritious. It is made with preservatives and empty calories and some of my favorite toppings. But while delicious, it was never, ever, meant to sustain a healthy and balanced diet.

People forgo their health to eat this pie. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner - it is always Danny Vermont's pie. There is no time for aerobics or spinning classes when you have to spend that time in line for yet another succulent piece. Soon, everyone is super fat. Like, total cottage cheese butt fat.

Procreation is wasted pie time. The earth's population takes a nose dive like an imaginary contestant in a pie-eating contest.

One man, Gerard Reinstein, isn't going to take this shit. Gerard Reinstein is a celebrated space hero who lost his sense of taste and smell after trying to drown his space war memories in a 5-year coke binge. But that's all behind him. Gerard Reinstein is now a man who can take in his surroundings and process what is going on. What he has found is this - People are so CRAZY for this pie! The pie is an epidemic, and Gerard Reinstein is the epidemic's pandemic.

On a lonely yet noble mission, Gerard goes into pie factory after pie factory, shooting every pie he can find with an automatic shotgun laser. Pie filling splatters the walls as the greedy fat pie lovers desperately try to lick it off.

Let's get this straight: Gerard Reinstein blows up A LOT of pie factories. And even though he's doing it to save mankind, he becomes #2 on Earth's most wanted list. And #1 is the pie itself, because that's the kind of delusional pie lust the world has.

Soon, word starts to spread that Gerard Reinstein is part vampire, like in those Twilight books. It's not true, but it adds to his Joe Rogan's Fear Factor. Also, as a result, people try to stop Gerard with garlic and bottled sunshine. But Gerard just shoots those fools with his shotgun laser and moves on to shooting the next pie.

At the end of the movie there is just one pie factory left, but man is it a doozy. Maybe it's pie shaped. It is. Security around the pie factory is air tight. Nobody can break through - not without dying with a stake to the heart. Gerard, after feasting on the blood of a security guard, whips out the best and most realistic pie costume you have ever seen. Because why break in, when the pie gluttons can deliver him to their doorstep personally.


Sure enough, Gerard is soon discovered in his pie costume by the pie factory ITSELF. Scientists built the factory using human DNA, and so it's part alive and it sort of poops out the pies. Unnoticed in his pie costume, Gerard is brought to the explosive part of the factory, where he then bursts out of the best pie costume and starts shooting EVERYTHING. The pie factory blows up, but not before Gerard Reinstein gets hit on the head with a mallet by the factory. Gerard gets 4 things from the mallet. A concussion, his sense of taste, his sense of smell, and despair.

The movie ends tragically because sure enough, Gerard LOVES the pie. LOVES it. But he blew it all up. Plus he has no friends because people are mad and still think he's a vampire.

Thine Football Dreams on the Sunrise of Reality

(Scene: High school football field at night. The camera circles around the football field, spending extra time on each pole of the two uprights. Slowly it pans down to reveal Ritchie Jernsen and Tom Newsome alone and passing the football. Ritchie is sparkling with manly sweat. He works hard and he plays hard. Tom Newsome is overweight and predictably jolly.)

Tom: So. State champions, huh?

Ritchie: Yeah, I guess so. I don’t feel any different.

Tom: But you are different, Ritchie. You’re different than all of us. You’ve got this amazing gift and you’re going to go pro. The whole town knows. And woah-boy! when you do, the world had better watch out. Seriously, the NFL will never be the same.

Ritchie: But I have a secret that nobody can know, Tom.

Tom: Well, whatever it is, nobody in town will care. You’re a god damn saint in this town.

Ritchie: Yes they will care, Tom. They will and I’m SO DAMN SCARED that they’re going to find out.

(Zoom in on Ritchie’s tattoo. It is of a football beating up a baseball, a basketball, and a swimmer. The tattoo shows Ritchie’s love of football. That is the point.)

Tom: Geez, Tom. What is it? What’s the problem? What’s so bad you can’t tell nobody?

(Ritchie is silent and scared)

Tom: Hey. It’s okay, Ritchie. I won’t tell anybody. I swear to Christ I won’t.

Ritchie: (struggling) Okay. Okay. Tom…I have four…I have…Damn it…You know how most people have to buy a jock strap to play football?

Tom: Yeah…Why? What, you don’t wear jock straps?

Ritchie: No. (quietly) No. I’m saying have to wear four, Tom. (begins crying) I have to wear four.

Tom: What? Because your thing is too big?

Ritchie: No...

Tom: Why else would you wear four? Hey... Wait a minute… you’ve got….Oh, I see. You’re pulling my leg. That’s funny, Ritchie, but seriously. You can tell me. Friends till the end, isn’t that what we used to say?

Ritchie: Yeah…yeah. Friends to the end. Yeah I was joking before. So…my real secret is that I had sex with a prostitute once.

Tom: A prostitute? That’s fine, Ritchie! Nobody cares. Hell, after a few drinks, my mom won’t shut up about how my dad once rang up a $1500 tab with a “lady of the evening.” Who cares? You’re not married! If anything, this just makes you more cool.

Ritchie: I guess you’re right. I don’t know what I was so worried about. Hey, it’s getting late. I’m gonna head home.

Tom: See you later, whore-in-ator.

Ritchie: Right. Good one.

(Ritchie walks away)

Ritchie (to himself): Think, Ritchie! I have to be careful. I have to keep this secret forever. (Ritchie throws the football into the end zone. Touchdown.) FOREVER!!

Different Scene: (Ritchie is with his girlfriend Melinda. She is undressing, revealing a tattoo of a volleyball kissing a football. This shows her love, respect, and attraction to football. That is the point)

Melinda: Ritchie? Please. I want to do this.

Ritchie: I do too, Melinda, but I told you when we started dating that I can’t until I get married.

Melinda: Come on, Ritchie! What is with you?! You’re the town hero, the football star. You’re going pro and everybody knows it. You’re getting out of this town, so why can’t you just take me with you, Ritchie? Aren’t I pretty enough?

Ritchie: You’re beautiful, Melinda.

Melinda: What then? You like boys?

Ritchie: No, Damn it! I just have four -- …I just can’t tell you why. I want to fuck you, Melinda. I want to very badly. Please. Can you just trust that I love you and that one day I’ll tell you why? Just – not today. But don’t worry. I promise, if I get out of this town…you’re coming with me.

Melinda: Okay Ritchie. Okay.

Ritchie: ….

Melinda: Ritchie? Ritchie? Hey, are you crying? I didn’t mean to upset you, Ritchie.


Another Scene:

(Ritchie is alone in his room. He’s been drinking and his eyes are red from crying. In his hands he holds a knife.)

Ritchie (to himself): I’ll just…I’ll cut the extras off. Cut them off. There’s no NFL without the physical, and there’s no way I’m going to the physical like this. I’ll just cut them off.

Ritchie’s Mom (from downstairs): Ritchie honey? Are you coming to dinner?

(the camera leaves Ritchie’s room and travels downstairs to meet Ritchie’s mom, who is starting to come upstairs to check on Ritchie. Suddenly we hear Ritchie scream. The camera then follows Ritchie’s mom as she quickly runs up to Ritchie’s room as she knocks on his door. The door is football shaped)

Ritchie’s Mom: Ritchie? You alright?

(no answer)

Ritchie’s Mom: Ritchie? Honey, I’m coming in.

(Ritchie’s Mom opens the door, and sees her son lying face-down on the floor, bunched up in a ball. Ritchie’s mom starts towards him, but then he gets up with a grimace on his face.)

Ritchie: I’m…coming mom. Just give me a second.

Ritchie’s Mom: Ritchie? You look like you’re in pain, honey! What happened?

Ritchie: Nothing mom. I just fell. I’m fine. Let’s eat dinner.


Thursday:

(Ritchie is again by himself in his room. He sits on his bed, looking numb.)

Ritchie: I’ve asked God for three things in my life. I wanted to be the best football player the world has ever seen. I’m not. Not yet. But I’m close. I know in my heart that God heard me and he answered me. Then I asked for God to make sure Trichelle never told anybody about what I did to her. I was kind of sorry she got hit by that car, but she’ll never talk again. God made sure. But for my entire life I’ve asked God to make me normal, make me like everybody else. 18 years. It was the one prayer He wouldn’t answer, He couldn’t hear. For 18 years He ignored me and today I finally took them into my own hands and I did what God wouldn’t do.

(Ritchie starts to cry)

Ritchie: God, I know why You didn’t listen. Please. Please. Put them back. Make them grow back.

Different Thursday

Ritchie: I’ve never trusted a sunrise, Melinda. The oranges and reds in the sky, they make it look like it’s on fire, burning away. Like it’ll burn until there’s nothing left but cold and dark and ashes.

Melinda: What are you talking about, Ritchie? Just enjoy it for what it is. Whatever happens for the rest of the day, there was at least one moment of beauty.

Ritchie. You don’t understand.

Melinda: Than teach me. I’m listening. Damn it Ritchie, I’m not just here for you, I’m H-E-A-R for you. You asked me once to trust you. Now trust me.

Ritchie: You know, everybody thinks they know what they want. Everybody’s so goddamn sure about it. People pray and wish and struggle and sacrifice to get whatever it is, and sometimes that’s great. Sometimes it works out. But not always. Sometimes it makes you cry and it makes you change suddenly you’ll never be what made you special again. Sometimes it makes you less than what you were.

Melinda: Are you talking about football, Ritchie? Do you want to stop playing football?

Ritchie: No. No I love football. That’s the only thing that makes me forget about the emptiness.

Melinda: Good. Because we need to get out of this place, Ritchie. There’s nothing here but lost chances. And crime, too. Did you see the paper yesterday? Other than the state championship, it’s the most exciting thing to happen in this town for years. It’s sick though. Cops found a baggie containing, quote, body parts from three human males. They’re looking for the killer, but they’re also trying to figure out who got murdered. So far nobody’s been reported as missing.

Ritchie: What?

Melinda: Yeah, I guess they’re sending in the body parts for a DNA analysis.

Ritchie: I’m doomed.


Later:
(Ritchie is walking by himself by the river)

Ritchie: I’ve been signed by the Colts. This should be the happiest day of my life. But it’s just a matter of time. I was so careful, I did so much to hide my secret, and in a couple of days it won’t matter. Trying to rid myself of the problem just made it 10 times worse. Any day now, they’re going to come to my door and everyone will know. Everyone. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Should I just throw myself in the river and end it all, spare myself the shame?

(Ritchie looks at the rushing river which seems to be calling him, begging for his soul)

Ritchie: No. That river is haunted.

Finny Land

Fin: Hey Gloria. What if I told you that I was the original creator of Mickey Mouse?

Gloria: I’d laugh. Walt Disney created Mickey Mouse. It’s common knowledge. Come on.

Fin: I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

Gloria: Well look at the facts. I mean, yes you are very old, and you’re an EXCEPTIONAL cartoonist, and I know you’ve never been to Disneyland, but really Fin? Mickey Mouse?

Fin: … Gloria? Did I ever tell you about when I first came to America?

Gloria: Why…no Fin, I don’t think you ever have.

Fin: I was, new to this country. I was as poor as I was naïve. Instead of a hand, I had a tentacle.

Gloria: (interrupting) Then why do you have a normal hand now?

Fin: Gloria, please. Close that ignorant mouth of yours. It’s an incredibly ignorant mouth, and whenever you talk, you just reveal your own stupidity.

Gloria: …

Fin: It’s sad.

(Gloria nods her head)

Fin: I lived on the streets. I had only two friends and they were both as poor as I was. One of them was a mouse. The other one…was Walt Disney. Instead of a hand, Walt Disney had a tentacle.

Gloria: But you said –

Fin: -We BOTH had a tentacle hand, Gloria. Could you please just try and follow along here?

Gloria: …

Fin: Because I don’t want to TALK about the tentacles, Gloria. What I WANT is to tell you about how I was the original creator of Mickey Mouse. But is that too much to ask? Is that going to be a problem for you?

Gloria: No.

Fin: It was Walt Disney who taught me how to draw. He had so much talent and a tentacle hand, but still, he lacked creativity and he needed a partner. Every day, Walt would attempt to teach me how to draw. Unfortunately, I was a slow learner. Slow like you’re slow, Gloria, and Walt had no patience for me. But I took his beatings; I understood. His genius was unmatched, and with genius comes eccentricity.

Gloria: …

Fin: Have I mentioned Walt had a tentacle hand?

Gloria: Yes.

Fin: Go to hell, Gloria. I hope you go to hell and they turn up the heat.

Gloria: You go to hell.

Fin: Baby, I’m already there.

Gloria: So…what happened?

Fin: One night while I was doodling I drew Mickey Mouse. Walt saw it, immediately recognized its commercial viability, stole it, and then sewed the drawing into his skin so I couldn’t get it back.

Gloria: He sewed it? How could he thread a needle if one of his hands was a tentacle?

Fin: DAMN IT GLORIA! I….I…Actually, that’s an excellent question. I don’t know why it never occurred to me.

Gloria: He must have had an accomplice, Fin.

Fin: But who? We didn’t have any friends.

Gloria: You had the mouse.

Fin: Gloria, you should have quit while you were ahead. You’re back to sounding like you’ve got feces slathered around your brain.

Gloria: Well he must have had somebody.

Fin: Yes….yes he must have. So it’s not too late then.

Gloria: To late for what?

Fin: Vengance, Gloria. I’m going to track down whoever helped Walt Disney, and then I’m going to kill him.

Gloria: Fin, it’s against the law to kill someone.

Fin: It’s against the law for a human to kill another human, Gloria. That’s not a problem for me.

Gloria: What are you saying, Fin?

Fin: Haven’t you figured it out by now, Gloria? I’m from Atlantis. I’m part octopus.

Gloria: All these years….it all makes sense now. Those ink stains...

Fin: Yes. I’m sorry I had to lie about those. I’ll explain more later. Right now I need to track down the mysterious villain who sewed my Mickey Mouse drawing into Walt Disney’s skin.

Gloria: But until today you didn’t know this person existed! How will you find him?

Fin: Gloria, I’m going to give you one more chance. Shut your fucking face. You don’t know shit about shit, and I’m really getting tired of you vomiting out whatever random idiocy your broken brain manages to churn up. I swear to God, if you keep this up, I will rip you apart with my part Octopus strength.

Gloria: …

Fin: …

Gloria: I’ll make you some coffee.

Fin: Smart.

Gloria: …

Fin: Now, as I was about to explain, Walt loved the Mickey Mouse sketch I drew so much that he never had it removed. He guarded it with his life, as it was the only thing in existence proving that he didn’t create Mickey Mouse. If we can get to the corpse of Walt Disney, we can examine the drawing sewn into his skin. And, if we can examine the drawing, we can examine the needlework. Needlework is like a fingerprint, Gloria. No two sewers seam or stitch the same way.

Gloria: Oh.

Fin: The needlework will tell us who Walt’s accomplice was. We just need to get access to the body.

Gloria: So we just need to find out where Walt Disney is buried?

Fin: I already know where he’s buried, Gloria. He’s in the Haunted Mansion’s graveyard in Disneyland.

Gloria: But Disneyland is notorious for its brutal security! Not to mention it’s always busy! How are we going to dig up a grave that’s right smack in the middle of Disneyland?

Fin: With a fucking shovel, you halfwit. We’re going to Disneyland - part octopus style.

Ka-Boom-Boom My Heart

KA-BOOM!

Johnny: They just blew it up!

Yvette: What?

Johnny: EVERYTHING! Run for it!

Yvette: But my house!

Johnny: Your house was part of everything! …So was mine.

Yvette: No!

KA-BOOM!

Yvette: That means…my car was blown up too?

Johnny: Yes. I’m sorry.

Yvette: Who ARE you?

Johnny: Until 15 minutes ago, I was part of the problem. Now I’m part of the solution. Name’s Johnny.

Yvette: I’m Yvette.

Johnny: RUN, YVETTE! RUNNNNNN!

KA-BOOM!

Yvette: Oh Johnny! Can’t we stop running? I’m so tired!

Johnny: Bombs don’t get tired, Yvette. So no.

Yvette: Johnny? You said you were part of the problem. What did you mean?

Johnny: I mean that before I wasn’t blowing stuff up to make you fall in love with me and now I am.

Yvette: Johnny you’re the bad guy? What?!

Johnny: I’m the only guy left. Everyone else is exploded. You HAVE to love me.

KA-BOOM!!

Johnny: I…DIE?!

Yvette: Now you are dead!

Johnny: But I did not make that bomb that killed me!

Yvette: Here is another bomb I drop: I never loved you!

Johnny: And here is the final bomb I drop: Maybe I was dead before the bomb, like my soul was dead if it thought it was okay to kill people.

Yvette: Now I love you but it is too late.

Johnny: ….

Yvette: Johnny? JOHNNY!!!

KA-BOOM!

Pick Your Poison II: Where No Roads Go

Yule: Hey Jay? Remember when you broke your arm?

Jay: Yeah. That was a while ago. Why?

Yule: It scared me. I was worried your arm would never heal.

Jay: It's fine.

Yule: Good. You know, when that happened I was also kind of scared that I'd break my own arm.

Jay: Well I hope you never do.

Yule: Thanks, Jay.

Jay: No problem.

Yule: So...Christmas is coming up pretty fast.

Jay: Yes it is. You see they're already selling Christmas lights in stores.

Yule: Consumerism, huh?

Jay: Yep. Everybody's buy buy buy.

Yule: Anything you want for Christmas?

Jay: Nah. I'm good.

Yule: I'll figure something out.

Jay: Well just so you know, you don't have to.

Yule: I know. You don't either.

Jay: You know what I don't want, right?

Yule: What?

Jay: Another broken arm.

Yule: (laughs) No! Who'd want that?

Jay: Not me.

Yule: Maybe I would...Sometimes I think that maybe subconsciously I like pain.

Jay: What makes you say that?

Yule: Well, I don't know. I guess the life decisions I make. Sometimes I do things I know aren't in my best interest.

Jay: Like what, for example?

Yule: Like I poison myself a little each day.

Jay: You poison yourself? No you don't.

Yule: I do.

Jay: Well I do to. There you go; we're both poisoning ourselves. What do you use?

Yule: My poisons are meat and dairy products.

Jay: And my poisons are non-organic foods.

Yule: Your poison slowly kills your body.

Jay: Your poison slowly kills your soul.

Both: Together, we are dead. Mind, body, soul.

Yule: I want a cheeseburger.

Jay: I want a store-bought apple.

Both: What do we do? How many nooses will we tie around our necks? Lali-ho! Two strangers approach.

Calf: I'm an orphan, but it smells like my mom. It smells like my mom in your belly!

Organic Apple Tree: Why has everyone turned their back on me? Can't you see that I provide safe and healthy food?

Calf: I'm all alone. I'm alone and hungry.

Organic Apple Tree: Come, young cow, Take nourishment in the fruit that I bear.

Yule: I wish we could be like them.

Jay: Why? They're so sad!

Yule: Jay, if we were like them, then we wouldn't be like us. That means We never would have eaten the Calf's mom. We never would have forgotten about Organic Apple Trees.

Jay: So then -

Yule: Right. They'd have nothing to be sad about.

Jay: I wish we could change it. I wish we could undo what we have done.

Yule: Jay, I once had the power to go back in time. I could have changed this. But I lost that power when I ate my first cheeseburger.

Jay: If you'd never eaten that first cheeseburger, we wouldn't need to go back in time anyway.

Yule: That's technically true.

Jay: Hey Yule?

Yule: Yeah.

Jay: I know what I want for Christmas now.

Yule: What's that?

Jay: A new car.

Yule: A new car? Why?

Jay: So we can drive away from all of this poison. So we can drive away from all the sadness we've caused.

Yule: Ain't no roads that go that far, Jay. Ain't no roads.

Praint

Yvonne: Hey Ronald? Want to go to a party?

Ronald: Damn it! No! Get the F out of my way! I'm going to paint this house! Hey…where'd all my paint go?

Elsewhere…

Barnaby: Hey Mike. You know, if we didn't paint these yellow lines on the road I bet cars would drive right the F into each other. You ever think about that?

Mike: I do think about that, Barnaby. I think about that all the time. I think about it and I think about it but now matter how much I think and no matter how much I worry, the danger is still there. It's real and it's there. Like old bastard time himself, it is relentless. Because if we don't do our jobs… people die. I cannot think away the danger; it is immortal. I cannot ignore it either. It is in-your-face. And so…I must accept it. I must face the danger and conquer it with dash-after-dash of painted yellow line. And so must you. Now stop jerking me around, Barnaby and hand it over. How are we going to conquer this danger if you keep hiding all the paint?

Barnaby: (whispering in a scared tone) Um…Mike?... Mike… I…I didn't hide any paint.

And on the visual TV...

Reporter: We have some breaking news. Where'd all the paint go?

At a High School:

Corbin Mantruck: And so class, if you look outside, you'll see rain clouds. Rain clouds are part of our weather system.

Madison Street: Oooh! They're so pretty!

Corbin Mantruck: For today's lab on weather, I'd like you all to paint the clouds outside, using the materials provided.

Tommy Johnson: Ain't no paint, Mr. Mantruck.

Corbin Mantruck: But that's… impossible! Unless…. Class, you're dismissed. Read pages of the book for your homework tonight.

(the class leaves)

Corbin Mantruck: (mumbling to himself) When I theorized about this…nobody believed…..thought I was crazy….I thought I was crazy…

(Corbin Mantruck does some equations on the dry-erase board, using both hands to write, just like Leonardo Da Vinci used to)

Corbin Mantruck: Weather…has evolved.

Four Hours Later

(Corbin is on the phone)

Corbin Mantruck: No! It is not okay to put me on hold! I've been on hold for 3 hours! You've got to listen! Weather has evolved! It's not just water that evaporates anymore! Don't you see? Paint is evaporating too!

(Corbin is put on hold)

Corbin Mantruck: G DAMN it!

(Corbin slams down the phone. Just then, a doorbell rings. Corbin answers the door)

Walt Van Shorn: Mr. Mantruck? Hi. It's Walt Van Shorn? I called last week about doing a teacher profile on you for the school paper?

Corbin Mantruck: Right. Get the F inside, Walt. I've got something to tell you.

Walt Van Shorn: Alright. So…my first question-

Corbin Mantruck: No no no. Forget the questions. I like your jacket. I've got something urgent, Walt. I've got the biggest story since ever.

Walt Van Shorn: EVER?!?!

Corbin Mantruck: You watch the news, Walt? You hear about the disappearing paint?

Walt Van Shorn: Yeah, I heard about it. Why?

Corbin Mantruck: The sky.

Walt Van Shorn: Ummm…

Corbin Mantruck: I know. You think I'm crazy, right? But look outside. See those rain clouds? I was just talking about them in my class today. See how with the sunset, they look so beautiful with the oranges and reds and purples?

Walt Van Shorn: Yes….

Corbin Mantruck: Well tell me how the F that's possible, Walt, since the sun set FIVE F'ING HOURS AGO!!!

Walt Van Shorn: !!!! But…But it's supposed to rain tomorrow!

Corbin Mantruck: Bring your paint thinner!

Walt Van Shorn: But what do we do?

Corbin Mantruck: We die.

Walt Van Shorn: There's got to be something we can do.

Corbin Mantruck: Did you know, Walt, that humans are almost 62% water? Water. Not paint, Walt. Water.

Walt: So…so what's going to happen?

Corbin Mantruck: Paint rain. Paint rivers and lakes. Diluted paint oceans. Lead poisoning. Ruined houses. Drinking water becomes paint water. Huffing becomes yet a greater epidemic. An entire color spectrum of destruction.

Walt Van Shorn: Well we can't just give up!

Corbin Mantruck: Then don't. Me? I think I gave up a long time ago. Walt, I'm not a perfect man. I've struggled with drugs, extreme sports, alcohol, violence... I've fought all of those demons, and I've won. I'm still here. But I don't have another fight left in me, Walt. I'm tired. This raining paint thing is going to kill me. I just want to warn the public, sit back, and let the paint color me away.

Walt Van Shorn: With all due respect, Mr. Mantruck: Go to hell.

Corbin Mantruck: Goodbye, Walt. Please, make sure people know. Give them a fighting chance.

Walt Van Shorn: Goodbye, Mr. Mantruck.

Later:

Eve: My umbrella! It's ruined!

Ian: Paint fumes?! We're getting high on paint fumes! Quick run to the house!

Eve: I don't like this! I don't do drugs!

Ian: I said get to the house!

Later:

Walt (voiceover): On September 15^th, 2008, weather evolved. We weren't ready. Nobody was. Around the world, paint began to evaporate. In response, the world made more - more of the same poison that would soon change the face of this world forever, more of the wet, liquid killer. But the first praint storm didn't kill everyone. Like me, some found shelter. Now, we live our lives searching for streams and indoor pools with a fresh water supply. Water is our God now. But there are others, too. Those that couldn't find shelter quickly grew intoxicated by the praint fumes. Now, these paint-stained savages stumble and stagger throughout the streets, living in the daze of praint, they are hungry and violent. With a lazy and methodical rage, they attack anyone that gets near them. So we hide. We hide from the praint, hide from the Huffers, hide from the grim reality that comes in every thick and sticky color. Sometimes I think that maybe Corbin Mantruck was right to give up. He wasn't alone. People give up every day, walking into the praint and embracing its fumes. Me? Most days I still have hope. That hope keeps me fighting. One day, maybe we can analyze the DNA of weather. And maybe, if there are enough scientists left, scientists that haven't given in to the praint or the huffers, maybe we can find a way to take that DNA and take out the paint evaporating gene. I live for that day

O Positive

LARS VONSON: I've always been different.

(INTENSE Flashback. 3-year-old LARS cuts himself on a piece of glass. A black substance oozes out from his injury.)

LARS' DAD: Are you okay, son? Wait… what is this? What kind of blood is this?! You're a freak, Lars! My kid is a freak! Lars, you get the hell out of my sight! I can be poor and abusive without you! I ain't never wanna see you again!

(Cut to PRESENT TIME. LARS is in a WHEELCHAIR)

LARS: But people don't like it when you're different.

(Cut to LARS in high school. He gets punched in the mouth from a bully)

LARS: Pfffha! My mouth!

Bully: I ain't never punched nobody with blood like this! What a loser! Take his freak wallet!

(Cut to PRESENT TIME. LARS gets up from the WHEELCHAIR. He was just PLAYING with it and DOESN'T NEED it.)

LARS: But some people…some people, when they find out you're different…some people try and steal what makes ya special.

(BULLETS rip through the walls and LARS DUCKS behind a couch.)

LARS: Never let them take it.

(Quickly, LARS takes out a POCKETKNIFE and cuts his hand. Instead of blood, BLACK DROPLETS fall to the floor. LARS makes a trail of his black blood that leads to a stack of FIREWORKS. BULLETS whiz by him. LARS JUMPS back behind the couch and pulls out his ZIPPO LIGHTER.)

LARS: Happy 4^th of July, dickweeds.

(LARS lights the trail of black droplets on fire, which easily ignite and quickly set the fireworks aflame. LARS uses the distraction and ESCAPES out the BACK DOOR)

LARS: My name is Lars Vonson. I bleed oil.

(Opening Credits)

LARS: They found me again, Todd. They found me. Don't call it a safe house if it isn't safe! Who knew I was there?

TODD: Nobody knew!

LARS: Somebody knew, Todd. Somebody knew and it almost killed me. Listen. You know how you have blood that keeps you alive?

TODD: Yes, yes. We've been through this! –

LARS: – Well I have oil! I have an unending supply of a precious fuel resource, and it flows through my veins like it was the most natural thing in the world!

TODD: But it isn't the most natura–

LARS: I KNOW IT ISN'T! That's why the government wants me! That's why they'll stop at nothing to catch me! I'm worth untold billions to them, Todd, and it doesn't matter if they catch me dead or if they catch me alive. They're going to clone the hell out of me either way.

TODD: Wow. Well maybe I told my girlfriend.

LARS: Then your girlfriend is a spy.

TODD: Don't say that!

LARS: It's true!

TODD: Nobody says that about my girlfriend!

(TODD pulls out a GUN like he's going to shoot LARS. LARS PUNCHES HIMSELF hard in the face and quickly HOLDS his lighted ZIPPO LIGHTER to his mouth.)

TODD: I don't care how much you're worth. Nobody calls my girlfriend a spy and lives!

(Before Todd can pull the trigger, LARS uses the OIL-BLOOD that has been accumulating in his MOUTH and by SPITTING it through the ZIPPO LIGHTER. LARS becomes a human FLAME THROWER and he lights TODD on FIRE. TODD screams and fires wildly into the air.)

LARS: Happy 4^th of July, Dickweed.

(LARS looks at a CALANDER and it is STILL the 4^th of JULY)

TODD: I'm….I'm sorry.

(TODD DIES)

LARS: No, I'm sorry Todd. I'm sorry she's a spy and I'm sorry it broke your heart. And I'm sorry I burned you to death. Please know that even if your spirit can forgive what I've done, know that I can never forgive myself.

(Cut to: A Government OFFICE at nighttime. LARS is breaking in. He HEARS two SECURITY GAURDS talking and LARS HIDES in the SHADOWS)

SECURITY GUARD 1: I feel like our job is too easy. With doors this squeaky, we can hear intruders coming from a mile away.

SECURITY GUARD 2: I know! It's enough to wake up a sleeping security guard!

BOTH: LAUGH!!

SECURITY GUARD 1: Let's go sleep.

(LARS, from the shadows, thinks for a minute and then looks at the DOOR HINGES and then looks at his HANDS and then looks at his POCKETKNIFE and then looks at the DOOR HINGES again.)

(Cut to: THE RAIN FOREST. LARS has smeared his own Oil-blood all over his body, and he is perfectly camouflaged against a muddy cliff)

FRANK: I know you're out there, LARS! Do us all a favor and either turn yourself in or shoot yourself! There's no way out of here! Freaks don't win, Lars! Freaks never win! You're nothing more than a human oil factory!

(LARS steps away from the muddy cliff and it turns out he's RIGHT BEHIND FRANK. But FRANK HEARS LARS and he turns and puts LARS in a CHOKE-HOLD. FRANK gets OIL all over his NEW SUIT. It is RUINED.)

LARS: ARGH! But… there's one thing… about oil factories.

FRANK: What's that?

LARS: They're extremely flammable.

(LARS lights himself on FIRE. The pain is unbearable, but FRANK also catches on FIRE.)

FRANK: I'm on fire! The burning! The burning!

(LARS pours BAKING SODA all over himself, dousing the oil fire. FRANK Continues to burn to death.)

LARS: Blood type "O" Positive. "O" for Oil.

(Cut to: A NURSERY HOME. An OLD MAN is in a wheelchair)

OLD MAN: And that's the story of Lars, the man whose blood was made of oil.

NURSE: Where do you come up with these stories? Come on. It's time for your bath. Your skin is looking dirty and oily.

OLD MAN: Yes. It does that.

(The OLD MAN WINKS at the camera and then gets up from his WHEELCHAIR. He was just PLAYING with it and DOESN'T NEED it.)

CREDITS.