Making A Point (Or Several... Hundred)
Oct 8, 2015 4:58:00 GMT
ISM Office, Buck U Productions, and 1 more like this
Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2015 4:58:00 GMT
The Grin is looking directly into the camera. All we can see is his eyeless face.
"Let's get down to brass tacks, jackass..."
The camera pans out. We can now see that Grin is walking through the aisles of a Home Depot, accompanied by a man in an orange smock. They approach a section labeled "Brass Tacks". The associate speaks:
"Here you go, sir. Brass tacks. Have to say though I don't appreciate being called a jackass."
"Hey, c'mon man! I was just reading your name tag!"
"It's pronounced 'Jaques', sir."
"Ah. My bad. Thanks for the assist."
Jaques nods and walks away. Grin starts grabbing huge handfuls of brass tacks and putting them in his basket. He looks towards the camera.
“Hey Jenga-Butts! I’m talking to you, pyro! Woody and I are officially sick of your flaming shit! So guess what? C’MON, GUESS!!!”
Grin stares intently into the camera for a few seconds, then seems to get the jist that this isn’t a two-way conversation. He then holds up a big fistful of brass tacks and speaks:
“It doesn’t take a lot of heat to get brass good and hot, but it DOES take a lot of heat to melt! An interesting science fact, and I’m sure I just doubled the total number of things Holly knows with her thinky-brain by bringing it up, but whatever could that mean for YOU, huh?”
Grin slowly pours the tacks into his basket, tilting his head to one side menacingly. His hand slowly reaches for another handful as he whispers:
“It means, after TWO too many Close Encounters Of The Burned Kind with you, I now have a clever retort… The MICROSECOND I see you getting ready to flick your Bic, I’m going to reach for a bag of THESE little dandies, spread them aaaaaaaaaaallllll over whatever you just set on fire... “
Grin then clenches his fist, still full of brass tacks. A little blood trickles out. Grin doesn’t seem to notice. He points one huge, bloody, sausage-like finger at the camera, and shouts:
“And SLAM YOU DEAD CENTER INTO THE MIDDLE OF THEM!”
Grin opens his fist. The bloody tacks cascade into the basket. Well, most of them; a few are still stuck to the inside of his hand. Grin motions with his bloody hand in a very matter-of-fact kind of way as he murmurs:
“You have tried, time and again, to exile my smile with extreme prejudice... You have systematically scorched the Elysian Fields of my dream job... week after week... event after event... and I am BEYOND sick of seeing you get rewarded for it! So, on October 21st in San Antonio, Texas, getting Gravied Alive will be the LEAST of your worries!”
Grin slams one more handful of tacks into the basket. Blood splatters everywhere.
“Hell IS coming to Pollomania... and it’s coming for YOUR ASS.”
Grin slowly recoils to a standing position and looks around.
“Now, where do they keep the Old English…?”
(final count: 496 words, 5 pounds of brass tacks, and a cleanup on Aisle 7)
"Let's get down to brass tacks, jackass..."
The camera pans out. We can now see that Grin is walking through the aisles of a Home Depot, accompanied by a man in an orange smock. They approach a section labeled "Brass Tacks". The associate speaks:
"Here you go, sir. Brass tacks. Have to say though I don't appreciate being called a jackass."
"Hey, c'mon man! I was just reading your name tag!"
"It's pronounced 'Jaques', sir."
"Ah. My bad. Thanks for the assist."
Jaques nods and walks away. Grin starts grabbing huge handfuls of brass tacks and putting them in his basket. He looks towards the camera.
“Hey Jenga-Butts! I’m talking to you, pyro! Woody and I are officially sick of your flaming shit! So guess what? C’MON, GUESS!!!”
Grin stares intently into the camera for a few seconds, then seems to get the jist that this isn’t a two-way conversation. He then holds up a big fistful of brass tacks and speaks:
“It doesn’t take a lot of heat to get brass good and hot, but it DOES take a lot of heat to melt! An interesting science fact, and I’m sure I just doubled the total number of things Holly knows with her thinky-brain by bringing it up, but whatever could that mean for YOU, huh?”
Grin slowly pours the tacks into his basket, tilting his head to one side menacingly. His hand slowly reaches for another handful as he whispers:
“It means, after TWO too many Close Encounters Of The Burned Kind with you, I now have a clever retort… The MICROSECOND I see you getting ready to flick your Bic, I’m going to reach for a bag of THESE little dandies, spread them aaaaaaaaaaallllll over whatever you just set on fire... “
Grin then clenches his fist, still full of brass tacks. A little blood trickles out. Grin doesn’t seem to notice. He points one huge, bloody, sausage-like finger at the camera, and shouts:
“And SLAM YOU DEAD CENTER INTO THE MIDDLE OF THEM!”
Grin opens his fist. The bloody tacks cascade into the basket. Well, most of them; a few are still stuck to the inside of his hand. Grin motions with his bloody hand in a very matter-of-fact kind of way as he murmurs:
“You have tried, time and again, to exile my smile with extreme prejudice... You have systematically scorched the Elysian Fields of my dream job... week after week... event after event... and I am BEYOND sick of seeing you get rewarded for it! So, on October 21st in San Antonio, Texas, getting Gravied Alive will be the LEAST of your worries!”
Grin slams one more handful of tacks into the basket. Blood splatters everywhere.
“Hell IS coming to Pollomania... and it’s coming for YOUR ASS.”
Grin slowly recoils to a standing position and looks around.
“Now, where do they keep the Old English…?”
(final count: 496 words, 5 pounds of brass tacks, and a cleanup on Aisle 7)