UNTITLED LEXG PILOT FOR PILOT SEASON IT IS A PILOT

CHINESE WIZARD

EXT. DAY. GENERIC SITCOM STREET SHOT.

Open on a standard sitcom establishing shot, of a pleasant suburban street in L.A., in the sun-scorched Valley. Cars pass lazily as we observe the sign WOO’S CHINESE BONANZA.  Atop the Chinese restaurant are a couple floors of probably-cheap apartments.

The sound of a GONG resounds.

INT. DAY. WOO’S RESTAURANT.

Only a few wooden tables are occupied by patrons as we pan across, hearing the clattering of cutlery in the bag and the sounds of cooks arguing in Spanish with a ballgame playing on the radio.  There are 10, 12 tables in all and a small bar in front of the kitchen with barstools.  The END CREDIT MUSIC to YEAR OF THE DRAGON is droning on to the delight of no one.

Bustling about busily are CHANG WOO, patriarch and owner, and his wife LADY JADE in a stereotypical Asian print dress for the customers’ benefit.  CHANG is chopping a DUCK on the bar counter as LADY JADE swooshes out of the kitchen to serve the tables.

                                                CHANG (in a thick Chinese accent)

                                    Duck ready for table FOUR!

LADY JADE hurries back for the entrée and delivers it, then moves on to an adjacent table where a bland WHITE COUPLE is looking at menus.

                                                WHITE MAN

                                    Say, do you serve SUSHI here?

LADY JADE goes apoplectic, bugging her eyes like 1931 vaudeville…

                                   

                                                LADY JADE

                                    Sushi Japanese, this Chinese!  You get out!

                                    Get out now!

LADY JADE whips out a FLYING SWORD OF THE GUILLOTINE as chases the TERRIFIED WHITE COUPLE OUT THE DOOR.

A GONG resounds as she saunters back to the kitchen, as a man enters, passing the fleeing couple.

ENTER LEX, 40 years old, balding, tubby, wearing a selection from the Monty Capuletti Regular Guy look but with a fooling-no-one WALLET CHAIN.

SOUNDTRACK:  FONZIE-AL BUNDY-LEVEL CHEERS AND APPLAUSE.

                                                            LEX

                                    Another lousy day.

He sidles up to the bar and already CHANG’S busting his balls.

                                                `           CHANG

                                    Why you here so EARLY?  You work today!

                                                            LEX

                                    Yeah, amazingly there wasn’t a huge

                                    rush of dudes who wanted to rent 1999 VHS

                                    bush porn on a Tuesday afternoon.

                                                            CHANG

                                    Early? You home EARLY!  You owe me

                                    rent two months!  You get other job, you

                                    pay me now!

                                               

                                                            LEX

                                    All right, easy there, Tai Pan, you’ll get

                                    your rent check, cool your spring rolls.

(BIG LAUGH from laugh track)

                                                            CHANG

                                    You give me check ON FIRST this month,

                                    not FIFTH!  You PAY ON TIME!

                                                            LEX

                                    Yeah, I’ll give it to you on Day of the Rabbit,

                                    Chang.  Do you accept real money or just Yen?

                                                            CHANG

                                    You not funny! You never funny!  That’s why

                                    you not make it!  You idiot!  No wonder my daughter

                                    leave you for black man!

                                                            LEX

                                    Don’t you have a Golden Child to imprison, or…?

Exasperated but used to this, LEX shines him on and sidles up to the BAR.  He puts a COFFEE STIRRER in his mouth.

He dings a BELL.and to his surprise JAMIE, a PIPING-HOT 18-year-old BLONDE GIRL in DAISY DUKES, TIED AT THE BELLY FARMGIRL SHIRT, pigtails, and WHITE FLIP-FLOPS.

CLOSE UP: The COFFEE STIRRER RISES UP IN HIS MOUTH LIKE A BONER, and on the soundtrack there is a RULER SLAPPING sound.

                                                            LEX (to camera)

                                    Looks my day’s looking up!

JAMIE is EARNEST AND EAGER and speaks in a CORNPONE ACCENT.

                                                            JAMIE

                                    Howdy, y’all?  My name is Jamie, how can I

                                    help you?

CUT TO:  LEX SWEATING PROFUSELY AND MUGGING like Jefferson D’Arcy with GOLD FEVER, breaking out like VAUDEVILLE LEVEL faces.

                                                            LEX (babbling)

Blub-blub-blub….

                                                           

                                                            JAMIE

                                    Oh, you must be Lex, Chang’s son-in-law.

LEX cocks his brow trying to be 007 or Robbie Williams, flashes the lack of ring on his finger…

                                                            LEX

                                    EX-son-in-law. 

With a WHOOSH, LADY JADE is behind LEX and over his shoulder in his ear…

                                                            LADY JANE

                                    If you think twice about it, I cut your baby carrot

                                    into rittle tiny pieeeeeeeces…..

With a WHOOSH she floats backwards like a ZU WARRIOR out of frame.

                                                            JAMIE

                                    So, y’all, what can I get y’all?

                                                           

LEX

                                    Gimme a bottle of ANYTHING.  And a glazed

                                    doughnut.

JAMIE BENDS OVER to reach for a bottle.

                                               

                                                            LEX

                                    I’d like to glaze YOUR doughnut, honey.

She returns with her finest 40oz of MILLER HIGH LIFE.  LEX downs it one pull like Bluto from “Animal House.”

                                                            LEX

                                    Keep ‘em comin’, sweet thing.  When did you start

                                    working here?

                                                            JAMIE

                                    I just moved to Los Angeles on Saturday.  I’m

                                    gonna be an ACTRESS!  Yesterday I got an agent

                                    and tomorrow I have an interview with a producer!

                                    They say all I have to do is let them deep-dick all

                                    3 of my holes and I have the lead in a new movie!

                                    Y’all wanna help me PRAAAACTICE?

LEX SPIT-TAKES the CHAMPAGNE OF BEERS like a master fucking Catskillsman.

                                                            LEX

                                    With the deep-dicking your holes?

                                                            JAMIE

                                    No, silly, with my LINES!

                                                            LEX

                                    I can go over some LINES with you.

He pulls a vial of COCAINE from his breast pocket and LEX and JAMIE are suddenly snorting coke like JEKYLL AND HYDE TOGETHER AGAIN.

Then, a SHRILL FEMALE VOICE

                                                            FEMALE VOICE

                                    Whaaaaa you doooooooing?

CUT TO: A GLOWERING 29-YEAR-OLD CHINESE WOMAN named MYLEE.

CUT TO:  A CLOSE UP OF LEX AND JAMIE IN BLACK AND WHITE IN A POLICE LINEUP WITH POWDER ALL OVER THEIR FACE and superimpose the word “BUSTED” in red RUBBER STAMP.

                                                            MYLEE

                                    You DO COCAINE with AMERICAN WHORE?!

                                                            LEX (flippant)

                                    Yeah, and later I might butt-fuck her, too.

MYLEE whacks him over the head with an OUT OF NOWHERE FRYING PAN.  The sound RESOUNDS.

                                                            MYLEEE

                                    You stupid man!  I OWN YOU!  You have NO FREEDOM!

                                    You MINE or I tell my father!

`                                                           LEX

                                    But I don’t even get to fuck you anymore, how am

                                    I yours?

                                                            MYLEE

                                    YOU call THAT FUCKING?  Your dick SMALL!

                                    You can’t fuck!  You can’t PROVIDE LIFESTYLE

                                    FOR ME!  You STUPID!  You SUCK!  That’s why

                                    I fuck Raheem now!  HE REAL MAN!

                                                            JAMIE (in fish-eye lens)

                                    Who’s RAHEEM, Y’ALL?

Then a RECORD NEEDLE SCRATCHES and RUN DMC ROCK BOX BLASTS on the soundtrack as the door opens with the RESOUND OF A GONG, and it’s RAHEEM, black guy in 1986 RED LL COOL J HAT and a COSBY SWEATER with two WHITE VIDEO HOS ON EACH ARM.

CHANG, LADY JADE, and MYLEE in tight shot all BEAM with excitement:

                                   

                                                            CHANG/JADE/MYLEE

                                    Raheeeeeeeeem!

CLOSE UP of JAMIE with a RULER SOUND for her LADY BONER.  She suddenly has a CHOCOLATE POPSICLE STUFFED IN HER MOUTH, the juices dripping.

                                                            JAMIE

                                    Wow, y’all, a black guy!

CARRIE TRAILER REVIEW

If everyone didn't have such a stick up their ass about REMAKES-- and really, by now, this has been remade for TV, as RAGE CARRIE 2, and as a stage musical, so it's not like this one is some DESECRATION of your childhood (and the '76 movie is one of my all-time favorites, and conceding that NO ONE could top GOD TRAVOLTA as BILLY NOLAN)...

But this is a FANTASTIC TRAILER, maybe thanks mostly to that warped version of the Shirelles "Will You Still Love Me," but OBJECTIVELY this trailer has a queasy, sickly, pervy, unsettling vibe that if this was an original film, most of you might find the teaser quite striking. Peirce is a real director and a real artist, and give or take the burnished sepia honeyed sheen that I'm not huge on, it IS more than possible she'll come at this from a harder-edged, less-objectifying place (King and DePalma are nothing if not consummate, sly exploitation oglers steeped in Boomer white male Americana)...

Then again, KATT SHEA kinda beat her to the punch with THE RAGE, which I remember being kind of entertaining, but in 1999 I worked with this THRIFT STORE DOUCHE from Ohio (who I indirectly based some of online shtick on at one point), this complete smartass contrarian prototype who in the BANNER FILM YEAR OF 1999 proclaimed that THE RAGE CARRIE 2 was not only the best movie of the year, but it was the ONLY good movie, as all the other heavy hitters were poseur auteur bullshit, AB, Fight Club, Magnolia, Three Kings, Malkovich-- you name 'em, he hated them all. Just THE RAGE CARRIE 2, better than every other 1999 films. Obviously the dude was a crackpot, but kinda surprising NOBODY, not even Armond, has ever been seen launching some epic defense of it online. Again, I remember it being pretty above the call and Shea bringing something primal to it....But it seems like it's 1000% forgotten by even horror geeks.

SMALL

SMALL

Fuck, another goddamn piss.  When you have a small dick, every trip to the bathroom is a goddamn fucking bundle of nerves like you wouldn’t imagine.  Will I piss in it?  Will I piss over it?  Will it piss back at me?  Will that one one-inch circumference yellow blob lay atop the porcelain for all to see, a mark of shame?

Dick all tangled up in a fucking Malick forest of fucking pubes, small-dickin’ it like a fucking champ.  Embarrassed.  Ashamed.  Small.

Like you watch movies or you watch porn or see other motherfuckers sidle up to that urinal and whip that shit out with the pride of John T. Chance drawin’ a Remington rifle, that Boss Hog swingin’ low like a fucking champ a quarter-inch off the pink puck and laying out a Backdraft hose of perfect piss right down the tubes….

But flashback, 1979, Mom all buying me some SKIN-TIGHT as all motherfucker JC Penney under-drawers that she called “guchies,” whatever the Sam Fuck that meant, these three-striper elastic motherfuckers stanglin’ my young nutsack like a fucking serial killer, too young to be any the wiser but probably shutting off all blood flow and John Merricking that fucking junior wang into a crumpet….  Year after year, the same pair like a fucking chastity belt, reeling in any ambition, any dreams, any arousal, crushing that limp fucking dick like a girl in 1800 Taipei getting her feet bound.

Rest of body growing, brain thinking of sex, fucking pussy, fucking hot chicks, fucking the fucking V.O. girl on some magazine cover and wanting the SI issue because it showed long legs and sandy feet and just wanted to be a normal human being…

But starting to sense from other media and from jokes around school, around wherever, that other motherfuckers were talking about deep deep deep-dicking a fucking chick, 8 inch limp, 12 inch hard, got some copy of VIDEO REVIEW magazine where they’d SEALED THE PORNO PAGES but one time on a family vacay to Toronto at 16 worked up the nerve to go in the bathroom and break the seal, found not just a bunch of blurry porn covers but some black dude with a dick so big it looked like the fucking sausage links from FOR LOVE OF BENJI, giant-ass DONG wrapped around like a goddamn firehouse, three-circle swirl, like it was 40 fucking inches or some shit.

Stood in the mirror, noticing again and again the G-man wang such as it was was like a fucking 2-inch shrimp limp, 4 inch hard tops.  More like fucking 3.5, and again, when it was LIMP it was LIMP and I mean it was so fucking small it was like a nub-sized HEAD peeking out GROOVE TUBE-style from amidst pubic shrubbery, every night’s sleep a fucking fever-dream panic terror hoping I didn’t blow a wet dream and wake up with that CHILLY cold stain and WHOOSH against the side of my GRAY SWEATS, then have to do RECON like Platoon Leader, triple-wrapping a Kleenex tourniquet and falling back to sleep somehow in that sticky fucking mess….

Flash forward, years later, decades later, dick even smaller if that’s possible, ain’t grown an inch since 12^th grade where some chick named Amy went fogging up the K-Car windows making out and making a hopeless grab for it, asking in all earnestness “Where is it?” and having to follow the fucking GLAZE of pre-jizz down into the My Lai bush to find that half a fucking dick and pump it to a pathetic finish.

College—didn’t get used, didn’t dare whip it out, not like anyone was asking, went into a “Caveman” type coma for half my twenties, and the rare times that 1/3-of-a-foot wonder ever saw air in the presence of a woman, they were greeted by the sight of a dick the size of one of those WAX TUBES they had candy juice in circa 1988, always a polite “…Oh,” nothing like any real girl would ever want or be satisfied by or not mock, not that it ever saw anything but the inside of a palm and the dismissive, “Well, it’s a cute wiener.”  It’s fucking small. SMALL SMALL SMALL.

And it’s been goddamn years since even those glory days and it’ll probably never see the light in front of a woman again, so now the only “action” that fucking 4-inch tip ever sees is o solo mio, but it’s so fucking small that it can’t really reach full “Moonraker” liftoff and I gotta a tug a rope-limp half-a-wang until a semi-jizz that backs up back into my dick so bad I’ll all but surely need the black guy from “Green Mile” to cranberry juice that tract infection before I hit 45, never accomplishing either a real “boner” or a real Evan Stone power blast.  Handful of times I’ve had cause to put on a condom—and let’s face it, it was just practice 4 of those 5—the dong was so small it unraveled like a ¼ of the way then there was a fucking LOTR RING strangling my cock at the base that left an indentation for about 72 hours.

Thus every trip to the workplace bathroom is a waking living nightmare, strolling in under those septic-tank florescents like a fucked-up Tony Manero trying to be all COCKSURE (ZING ZANG) but knowing the Clint Mansell will crank and MY fucking crank will peek out of the zipper like a terrified mark, the head barely clearing JAWS-level metal and me worrying I’ll catch tetanus from my own zipper, said zipper clasping the underside of my foreskin as it peeps out., peep peep peep, will I piss, will I do it? How do other men do it?  How does their dick just STROLL THE FUCK OUT with UTTER CONFIDENCE, fuck yeah I’M A DICK, FUCKING BOW, rolling out like goddamn fucking RAW DEAL laying out the piss like a laser beam, precise, LOOKER WHOOSH and tucked back in with nary a post-piss drip.

Meanwhile I’m sidling up more nervous than Don Knotts, knowing that yellow whizz is flying back right onto my dick like a machine gun, piss flying everywhere, look down, look down, see that SPATTER on the sticky floor right between my shoes, feeling that gust of SPLASHBACK on my mushroom fucking head, piss coming out at a perfect straight fucking line and basically coming right back as such, knowing when I tuck it back into my drawers and zip up, I’ll feel that ONE MYSTIFYING DRIP OF PISS right on my ZIPPER that will necessitate about a 7-minute handwash, dick leaking for the next 45 minutes and the FOAMY EFFECTS swirling in the urinal, bubbling away like SUPER FUZZ even after 17 flushes and the cleaning lady showing up wondering what the FUCK is wrong with the guy whose mere urine creates the bubble consistency of fucking yellow Palmolive.

1981 MEMORIES

INT. DAY.  A suburban split-entry living room.  1982.  Hazy dusty Spielberg-style sun filters in through some ancient blinds.  A 9-year-old boy, BEAU, is wearing a horizontally striped blue-and-gray skin-tight shirt in a beige suburban living room in front of a giant Poltergeist-ass wood-paneled console television.  His mom, MARTHA, is sitting on a yellow recliner as BEAU’s cartoons lazily play on the tube, slightly snowy.  MARTHA is meek, pale, curly hair in rollers, wearing a bad powder-blue robe.

                                                            BEAU

                                    You want to watch something, Mommy?

                                                           

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Put on one of my movies.

BEAU scoots across the mustard-gold carpet on his knees, exited, goes to a TOP-LOADING VCR with a stack of movies alongside it…

                                                            BEAU

                                    Which one, Mommy?

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Oh, I don’t know… You choose.  Something I like.

BEAU shuffles through some gems like THE ROSE, GOODBYE GIRL, and CHAPTER TWO, all in ANCIENT-ASS VHS cases before settling on a hand-scribbled home-taped VHS that reads ON GOLDEN POND/JULIA/9 TO 5.  All recorded on SLP.

                                                            BEAU

                                    How about “9 TO 5,” Mom?

                                                            MARTHA (giggling)

                                    Okay, I could go for some Dabney Coleman.

                                                            BEAU

                                    Lily Tomlin’s the best!

BEAU carefully places the cassette in the top-loader and presses it down, fast-forwarding through some pay TV “previews” until the movie begins, the theme song BLARING THROUGHOUT THE LIVING ROOM and echoing throughout the house.

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Too loud, Beau, you’ll wake him!

Before BEAU can even rush to turn down the volume on the CHANNEL SWITCHER on the actual TV, we hear a gravelly, booming voice from another room….

                                                            LOU                           

                                    What the fuck is going on?!

BEAU and MARTHA both brace, willing it away, but sure enough a bedroom down the hall flies open with a CLATTER and within seconds LOU WINSHIP is standing in the living room, 43 years old, pissed, hungover, thinning hair, a cross between OFFICER Robert Loggia and Burt Young in “Amityville II: The Possession,” arms hairier ‘n a motherfucker, wife-beater, thinning hair a morning wreck….

                                                            LOU               

                                    What the fuck are you goddamn hens fuckin’

watching?

BEAU quickly shuts off the movie and snaps to.

                                                            BEAU

                                    I’m sorry, Daddy!  We were just gonna watch

                                    a movie…. You remember “9 TO 5,” right?

                                                            LOU (seething)

                                    “9 to 5”?

                                                            BEAU

                                    Yeah, with Dabney Coleman.

           

                                                           

LOU (growling)

                                    Dabney Coleman?! I don’t know who the fuck

                                    that is.

                                                            BEAU (motormouthed, excited)

                                    You know, Daddy, the husband from “On Golden

                                    Pond.”

                                                            LOU

                                    What the fuck is that?

                                                            BEAU

                                    You know, with Henry Fonda and Jane Fonda?

LOU hits the fucking wall, glowers at his wife.

                                                            LOU

                                    Jane Fonda?  What the fuck are you showing him

in here?  If it’s all the fuckin’ same to you, I wouldn’t

                                    entirely hate if my kid liked pussy at some point

                                    in his life.

MARTHA is taken aback but used to this…

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Oh, Lou, it’s just a movie.  We’re just trying to—

                                                            LOU

                                    Look, I didn’t buy this goddamn arcade machine

                                    so you could turn my son into Captain Showtune

                                    and turn my living room into the fucking Love Boat.

                                    I bought it so you could tape my ballgames

                                    when I’m at work.  Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

LOU goes over to the tub and clicks the channel til he finds some dated-ass early Reagan era local sports coverage.

                                                            LOU

                                    Now this is more fuckin’ like it.

LOU stomps into the kitchen accidentally kicking some Tonka truck on the floor and exclaims profanely.... BEAU and MARTA look at each other knowingly and soon LOU returns with a can of beer, cracking the old-school tab and harrumphing down on the sofa….

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Little early for that, isn’t it, Lou?

LOU looks over and just fuckin’ scowls, Eastwood style, not giving a fuck, downing the whole beer like Captain Quint and flashing her a jerkoff smile.

                                                            LOU

                                    Beau, go fetch me another beer.

Dejected, BEAU rushes off to the kitchen.  LOU zeroes in on MARTHA…

                                                            LOU

                                    Fuck’s with these goddamn movies?  Why’s he

                                    watching this fuckin’ bullshit anyway?

                                                            MARTHA

                                    Oh, Lou, he just likes movies, it’s not a big

                                    deal, he’s 9, for cryin’ out loud.

 LOU growls as BEAU brings him his second can of cheap American beer, time on the clock 9:41am.

                                                            LOU

                                    Hey, Slugger, long as I’m awake, you wanna

                                    go to the park and practice your batting?  Season’s

                                    coming up and Tom says he can get you in

                                    right field this year.

BEAU legitimately lights up.

                                                            BEAU

                                    Yeah, Daddy!

                       

LOU downs his beer.

                                                            LOU

                                    Good. Grab your glove and bat.  And load

                                    up my cooler.  Let’s get the fuck out of here.

CUT TO:

EXT. DAY. FRONT OF HOUSE.

LOU and BEAU file out of the house, BEAU in an ill-fitting MESH ball cap and skin-tight as motherfuck baseball uniform except he has on like BLUE JOX SHOES, and LOU’s rockin’ workout pants and a three-quarter-lengther and a popped cap that says .38 SPECIAL.  He’s making BEAU carries his COOLER OF BEER, class all the way, and he whips out a BIC and lights up a WINSTON.

They load up the giant-ass 1974 MONTE CARLO and back out of the driveway in REAL TIME.

CUT TO:

INT. CAR. DAY.  Some obvious knockoff Tarantino back-and-forth angles inside a big ‘70s car.

LOU is swiggin’ from a FLASK.