Mexican Manachan

Ext. - A really cool Mexican/Cuban Restaurant...make up your mind, is it Mexican or Cuban? Tell it to make up its mind then come on back...C'mon!


ACT ONE - Everything looked real cool, except for the annoying sound...that at this point was beginning to piss off everybody that heard it. It just kept getting louder and louder and louder, until you felt like your head was going to explode. The noise was something sraight out of a sci-fi novel. If I had to guess I would say it wasn't human. It was almost like someone down with the syndrome trying to speak Spanish while eating a wet burritto...all the while contending with a rather serious case of irritable bowl syndrome. Just then everyone began to slowly turn to look in the direction of the Mexican Manachan. How do we know the manachan is Mexican? Aw hell...it was just a lucky guess...It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the damn manachan was wearing a sumbrero, and very clearly says made in Mexico on the left but cheek...or was it the right but cheek?...What difference does it make what but cheek its on...Should I go outside and come back in, and we start all over again man? Where are you from Russell. What fucking difference does it make where I'm from man? Stop fucking around Hector and let's do some business. Just then the Peacock pulled out a brand new 50 calibur desert eagle handgun...when you must kill every manachan in the room...DESERT EAGLE...there is no substitute.

ACT TWO - The Peacock has a flashback to when he was in country back in Viet Nam. The Peacock is right at home up to his chin in a swamp next to some frtified rice patties...I mean these son-of-bitches did it right. Anyway, back to the story. So where was I...AHH Yes...the Peacock was hallucinating and thought the Mexican Manachan was a VC commander. Once the

FAT TRICKS

Int. - Russell Peacock is locked inside of a large swine barrell wanting to escape in the worst way...only he can't...you see, the swine barrel is in the dark corner of his mind, better known as Peacock's Corr. ACT ONE - Russell Peacock is a wirey thin athletic individual with nothing but time on hands... enough time to do some serious fat tracking. Fat tracking, you see, is the creation of Russell Peacock himself...and the Peacock is pretty damn proud of it, I must say. Fat tracking is an art more than a learned skill. It incorporates the latest in technology, such as GPS scan sensors, calorie crushers, lard tethers, BIG SHAKE spiked with smart chips, live burger traps, undercover pickel-cam, and glazed dohnuts. Russell Peacock has hired some extra help to manage this special once in a lifetime project from the community of none other than some of the worst stormchasers in the stormchasing business...they even wear t-shirts that say storm chasers on them...In other words they're the real thing or they wouldn't have t-shirts that say storm chasers on them, ACT TWO - The idea behind all of the fun and excitment of tracking these fat bastards is to merely observe them over indulging in mass quantities of carbohydrate consumption while at ease in their natural habitat. Gigantic fat people really scare Russell Peacock...Russell Peacock has balls...but when it comes to fat hunger the Peacock is scared shitless...shitless I tell you...he can't shit because of risking his life just to get a few fat tricks on camera. I love Russell Peacock, and you should too...so when you pray tonight please ask that G...I changed my mind...don't pray for Russell Peacock...The Peacock is a big boy, and knew exactly what he was getting into when he signed up for this stupid adventure. The Peacock begins to set up his Fat Trapper network of ill will. Let the fun begin!!! It's about 7am, and the team of fat trappers are already heading straight for trouble...It's an all you can eat buffet...and the owner and managment are fearing for the future of there little home town family diner. It seems a gang of 300-400 pound bikers rode up on boss hog motorcycles with extra suspension...the extra suspension you see, is because these sons of bitches are very fat. ACT THREE - Yet to be finished.

WOOD DUCK SHMUCK

Int. daytime an old seafood processing plant built back in the 60's located



in Nantuckett. (slow part of town complete with old New



England fisherman that smell of geniune rotting



kelp.








Act One - You probably wonder why Russell Peacock is hanging out in an


old seafood processing plant...Well, it's because he got a damn


good deal on it...besides it's none of your business anyway. Who


do you think you are, judging someone like the Peacock. You ego


maniacs...you make me not even want to tell the damn story! Ok


I am going to tell this story, against my better judgment, but


don't piss me off or I will have security throw you and your face-


book friends off of my web-site never to return. Where was I?...


Oh yeah Russell Peacock is hanging out...Nooooo...The Pecock is


working in a broken down old seafood processing plant. Russell


is in the business of wholeselling adult penguins to large zoos


around the world, and today is a very special day because he is


waiting on some jackass that is supposed to be stopping by with a


gross of fresh penguins for half price. Russell Peacock has already


been making plans for the HUGE profit he is about to make. The


Peacock's mumbling to himself..."I can't wait...I am going to


purchase a ferrari, a bass boat, a new kitchen, a foot massager, a


Russian supermodel, and a brand new BIG house for my mama,


because Elvis bought his mama a brand new house...and I refuse


to let Elvis screw me up by making me look like a cheap bastard



in front of my mama. (Just as Russell Peacock is day-dreaming he hears



a knock on the giant rusty weather-torn door) He knows it's the penguin



shipment...because he can smell these well dressed little bastards. Let's face



it, penguins always look like they're headed somewhere...somewhere



formal...the oscars perhaps, or maybe even an exclusive dinner with the



world's elite...nevertheless our very own Russell Peacock is never invited,



and that pisses him off. He opens the door with great excitement, yet



reluctant that these strange birds of well dressed wonder have a more



fullfilling social life than he...and it pisses him off. (Yes it's true...the



Peacock is a manic depressive individual, yet very talented, even genius,



some maintain).





Act Two - Russell Peacock opens the door, and to his amazement, there

were five trucks literally packed to capacity with screaming

"penguins"...not screaming because they were being harmed in

some fashion, but rather screaming because they were just plain

pissed off because they were captured like mere...hey wait a

minute Russell mumbles to himself, "There's something rotten

in Denmark, or Detroit, or Delaware...However that saying goes.

There is a giant 7 foot delivery man with what appears to be

cranberry stains on his...hey wait a minute those aren't cranberry

stains...those are fake blood stains, made with karro syrup...

which is what we used to create blood for the filming of "Karate

Joe"...It was a lot of fun observing those lone wolves as they tried

kicking the Peacock's ass. Why would these delivery yoyo's

want to just drop these poor penguins off without their penguin

chow, penguin treats, and last but not least penguin toys...Let's

face it...no self respecting penguin is going venture out without

their favorite toys.



Act Three - The penguins got real quiet all of the sudden...it was as though

the furry well dressed little funny guys could sense that they

were in the presence of greatness...the pressence of Russell

Peacock. He motions to have the trucks just drive right in to his

rusty old broken down seafood processing plant. Russell

hooked up a real old conveyor belt to the opening at the lower

right side of the first truck. The penguins lined up like just

like people used to line up for the E-TICKET rides at old school

Walt Disney World. The suspense is building and so is the

Peacock's blood pressure...if he could just have a nice big

Chiquitta Banana...It's the best in the business...Chiquitta...

there is no substitute. The penguins begin to march off the

truck and down the conveyor belt right into the loving arms of

Russell Peacock. The Peacock is all smiles and happy as hell,

when all of the sudden the happiness gives way to the loudest

QUACK you would ever want to hear...It wasn't just any quack,

it was the unmistakable quack of the illusive yet somewhat

entertaining New Hampshire Wood Duck. The Peacock collapsed...

ok he didn't collapse, he merely tripped over an old coffee pot, but

he's ok. Russell grabs a couple of the ducks that are now running

rampid all over the Peacock complex literally scared to death because

the jig is up, and the Peacock is pissed. He inspects the ducks...and

close up he can see that the supplier is a lieing fraudulant individual...

he took a gross of friendly unsuspecting New Hampshire Wood Ducks,

manipulated their spines so they would stand at attention just like

real penguins, then proceeded to spray paint them black and white,

so the poor water foul would also look like real penguins, then this

goofball shoved chewing gum in their mouths so they would be unable

to make a sound while he played sound of real penguins through loud

speakers hidden in the bed of the trucks, QUACK, QUACK,

and the adventure continues...