Prostitution of Dignity

It's hard to post scripts on here..... This is the opening to a script that I REALLY need to finish. It's called "Prostitution of Dignity"

INT. – HENRY’S BEDROOM- EARLY MORNING

An alarm clock is heard, and HENRY slowly wakes up. He mumbles under his breath, and has a disgruntled look on his face. He slowly climbs out of bed, and crosses his small and dirty apartment, to the small bathroom. On his way to the bathroom, he turns off the alarm clock. Henry is at the sink, he washes under his arms, and brushes his teeth. He puts on his uniform, and crosses back to his bed.

VERONICA- his girlfriend, is still sleeping. Henry leans in and gives her a kiss.

HENRY
I love you.

Henry leaves the apartment.

EXT. – STREET – MORNING

Henry is riding his bike to work. He is wearing an extremely loud, multi-colored bike helmet. His uniform makes him look equally pathetic. His eyes are half closed, and he is not paying attention to where he is going. He smacks into a fire hydrant, and falls off his bike. Due to the accident, the bike is no longer rideable.

EXT. – TOLLBOOTH – MORNING

Henry pulls up the broken bike up to the tollbooth. As he reaches the tollbooth, he tries to chain the bike in front of it. He fumbles with the chains, and fights to chain his broken bike. He gets frustrated and throws the bike on the floor. He aggressively throws the chain into the street. He realizes the chain shouldn’t be there, and goes out and gets it.

INT.- TOLLBOOTH – AFTERNOON

Henry is sits in the tollbooth looking extremely bored. He is holding a sharpie, and writing a haiku into a small spiral notebook. Henry begins to read his haiku out loud.

HENRY
Somewhere there is life.
It’s constantly pulled from me.
Somewhere there is hope.

A car filled with teenagers pulls into the tollbooth. Henry puts away his spiral notebook, and goes to attend to the car. The TEENAGE GIRL driving the car hands him the toll money. Henry turns to his register, and counts out her change.

TEENAGE GIRL
Now, that has to be the worst fucking job on the planet.

Henry hears what she says, but doesn’t react. He goes about his business. He hands her the change, and the teenagers laugh at him. They speed away, and Henry pulls out his little spiral notebook, and continues to write.

EXT. – STREET – NIGHT

Henry walks home alone. It is dark, and it begins to rain. He is holding his obnoxious bike helmet in his hand and walking, slowly down the street. Henry’s eyes keep opening and closing. Suddenly, the rain becomes a downpour. While Henry is walking, a car speeds by him, rolling over a giant puddle, and splashes water all over him. Henry sighs, and continues walking soaked and miserable.

INT. – HENRY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Veronica is sitting on the couch, eating a TV dinner. The television can be heard. Henry opens the door, and, slowly, makes his way to the kitchen. He drops his helmet on the floor, and kicks it out of the way. He opens the refrigerator, pulls out another TV dinner, and places it into the microwave. Henry slowly makes his way to the couch, and sits next to Veronica.

TELEVISION (OFF-SCREEN)
So, why didn’t you just sell the damn thing?
(canned laughter)

VERONICA
You’re wet.

HENRY
Yeah, it happens.

They hold hands, and closely watch the television. They laugh, as the television shines off of their faces.


INT. – HENRY’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

Veronica and Henry are making love. It is aggressive, yet loving. Once they are done, Henry rolls over and tries to catch his breath. Veronica and Henry lie there looking at the ceiling, and breathing heavily.

HENRY
What time is it?

VERONICA
Almost one-thirty.

HENRY
I should go to bed. I have to get up in four hours.

VERONICA
Yeah. I have things to do tomorrow, too.

HENRY
I love you.

They kiss, roll over, and go to sleep.

INT. – HENRY’S BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING

The sound of the alarm clock is heard, and Henry slowly wakes up. He mumbles under his breath, and has a disgruntled look on his face. He slowly climbs out of bed, and makes his way to the small bathroom in his apartment. On his way to the bathroom he turns off the alarm. He washes under his arms, and begins to brush his teeth. He puts on his uniform, and crosses back to his bed.

Veronica is still sleeping. Henry gives her a kiss.

HENRY
I love you.

Henry leaves the apartment.

EXT. – STREET – MORNING

Henry is walking to work, but he is carrying a closed umbrella.

HENRY (V.O.)
And so, this is how my life goes. Every day, it’s the same stupid thing. Same stupid walk.

INT. – TOLLBOOTH - DAY

Henry is sitting in his tollbooth and writing in his spiral notebook.

HENRY (V.O.) (CONT.)
Same stupid job. Same stupid life.

A car pulls up to Henry’s window. The car has a mother, with a three-year-old in the back seat. The three-year-old laughs at Henry.

HENRY (V.O.) (CONT.)
Sometimes, I just want to jump in front of one of those cars that drive by my window. Or tell the little kid in the back seat, laughing at me, to shut the fuck up. But I won’t. I just go about my life, being as pathetic as anyone could be.

Henry takes the money from the mother, and puts it in his register. The car drives away.

EXT. – STREET – NIGHT

Henry is walking with his umbrella. It begins to rain. Henry goes to open his umbrella, but it opens inside out. He is, again, left standing in the rain.

HENRY (V.O.)
See, I told you my life is pathetic.

October Memories

Monsterfest is playing on AMC, there are jack-o-lanterns on every doorstep, and girls are walking around dressed as schoolgirls, Playboy bunnies, and prostitutes. Yes, it’s my favorite time of the year: Halloween. Every Halloween I bask in the glory of gore, death and anything that goes bump in the night. Who knew?

So, I will admit that my infatuation with Halloween has gotten me in trouble many times. My neighbors don’t always approve of my decoration choices for my front lawn, for instance. Whether it is bloody tombstones, hands crawling out of the ground, or a life-sized Michael Jackson holding a baby.... people just can’t seem to grasp the spirit of my Halloween decor. Once, I hung (fake) severed limbs from the tree in my front yard. Now, personally, I thought they looked beautiful. My neighbors, on the other hand, didn’t think it was very pretty. Apparently, hanging arms and legs from a tree could be “traumatizing” or “make children cry,” so I had to take them down. Fucking kids....

Some of my favorite Halloween costumes that I’ve used over the years include the classic Goth Girl, Britney Spears (a la schoolgirl uniform) with a slashed throat, and the crowd pleaser: a zombie. Sometimes, I’d answer my door to trick-or-treaters and they’d be the ripe age of three or four. It was always very entertaining to watch the kids scream and run away, or turn to their parents and ask what I was. The parents then tried to explain my costumes in the most child friendly/awkward way. In other words, Britney Spears cut herself shaving.... and I would chime in with "cause she's really a man." Oh, how I loved it.

The thing that would always annoy me on Halloween was those jerks that would turn off all the lights in their house, as if to say, “We’re not home. Sorry, no candy here!” How smart are you? If I turn my lights off no one will come and get candy! Whoo hoo! I'm a trickster! Well, I was one of those kids that would get very angry if my candy demand was not met. Let’s just say that old lady McFinigan won’t be turning her lights off on me anymore.

Embrace the Halloween spirit. Watch a horror movie or two, put on a scary mask and play creepy music/Rob Zombie throughout your neighborhood, because we only get this experience once a year. Cherish it. Before you know it, B101 will be playing Christmas music, and you’ll want to drive your car off of a cliff.

Happy Halloween!

Don't take my Pluto away

Oh, dear, sweet Pluto. You are no longer just Pluto; now, you are 134340 Pluto, the largest dwarf planet in the Solar System. It pains my heart to hear this. I love you, Pluto, and if there was something I could do for you, believe me I would. You were my favorite planet. No one knew much about you, and that’s why I liked you. I will hunt down the man that did this to you, and carve the number 134340 into his forehead......if that's what you want me to do.....

I know all of you are laughing at me, thinking,“Why do you care so much about Pluto? He's small, insignificant, and hides away in the back of the solar system.” Well, I do! I do care about Pluto! Whenever there was a science project involving planets I would always chose Pluto. Yes, it was hard to find all the information on the planet. Yes, he wasn't as close as Mars, or as extravagantly blinged out as Saturn. And yes, my mother would yell at me asking why I chose such an arbitrary planet that no one cared about, and she wished I was never born (she actually did that a lot). I didn’t care though. I still did every project on dear, sweet Pluto. I didn’t care that it was smaller than several moons in our system, or that its moon – Charon – was as big as the planet itself. It didn’t bother me that Pluto didn’t completely follow a simple orbit. Pluto was different; Pluto was special! So are you scientists going to sit there and tell me that all of my projects went to waste, and that all of those hours of research have amounted to nothing? Huh? NOTHING! Is that what you’re saying to me?!!?

So now all these scientists are demoting you. Spitting on your name and calling you a “dwarf” planet: an ice dwarf. Now you’re listed with the likes of Ceres, Xena, Orcus, Sedna, Easterbunny and Santa (yes, there are dwarf planets named that.) It's like Pluto has been forced into the worst drag show in San Francisco. How dare the so-called “intelligent” people of the scientific community categorize my favorite planet with these freaks!

Pluto, they’re even saying that Charon isn’t your moon, but another dwarf planet! They want to take away your moon too? What did you do, Pluto? What did you do to deserve this horrible treatment? Was Hitler born there? Is that where Scientology came from? You can tell me!

So, what’s next? What else is science going to ruin for me? Are they going to categorize Johnny Depp as an android or David Hasselhoff as a gnome? I swear to God science, you’re being a total fucking asshole. Leave Pluto alone! Let him be a planet. You know, just because he’s different and mysterious doesn’t mean you have to shun him. I mean, if he’s walking around the solar system listening to his iPod, carrying his MacBook Pro, wearing aviators, and playing with his black fingernails it doesn’t give you the right to put a label on him. Douchebags.

Measure of a Man

I wrote a number of articles for The Collegian, and I found them whilst googling myself (don't judge me). I decided to try and spruce them up a bit, and post them on here. So enjoy.

What exactly is it that measures a man? Would he walk on water? Would he run through fire? Or would he have spikey hair, and little cute mouse ears? I think he would. It takes a lot to turn this pop culture-hating girl into a swooning sing-a-longer. What could possibly turn me into a quivering 13-year-old again? Nothing but the angelic voice of the American Idol runner-up, Clay Aiken.

When people go through my iPod, they often find great musical variety equal to that of a musical genius (or maybe even a god). One might come across a Pink Floyd album or two, all of Muse’s ultimate god-like-ness, Eliot Smith, Eminem, Ours, and Radiohead. People are often confused when they run across Clay Aiken’s Measure of a Man staring them straight in the face. “But, Jo Anna... Clay Aiken sucks. Why would you put him in here with all of this greatness?”

“Silence!” I tell them while shoving my hand straight into their face. Clay Aiken is an amazing talent with a magnificent voice that could make your own mother divorce your father and fall to his whim.

So what is it exactly that drew me to the dark side? Well, I guess you could first and foremost blame television, and FOX's wholesome programming. American Idol took the most talented (and untalented) youth of America, and plastered them onto my screen for me to cheer for (and laugh at). This was a reality television show that would kick off or ultimately kill their career. The second season of the show was when I fell in love with Clay and his homoness. The finale was a heated competition, and Clay Aiken was robbed of the American Idol title by Ruben "I'm a fat ass" Studdard.

I was furious, devastated even. How could Ruben be victorious over the amazing voice of Clay? He was to fat and to black for America to love. I think that the competition was rigged, and I'm still waiting in the wings for an Asian to win American Idol in order to support my race influenced theory. But the joke is on Ruben Studdard now! Clay Aiken has sold millions of records, and has every womanin their 40s grabbing at his sexy lanky body. When he sings “The Way” at his concerts granny panties form a pile at his feet. Hey Studdard, what have you done lately? Nothing! I hate you!

Once Clay came out with the single “Invisible,” I didn’t care how creepy the words “...if I were invisible, I could just watch you in your room,” sounded on the radio. His hypnotic voice sent me right to the record store to pick up Measure of a Man, and I’ve been cooing to it ever since.

I will continue to be moved by such awesome songs like “No More Sad Songs,” “This is the Night” and “I Survived You.” No matter what you think, Clay will always have a place in my heart, regardless of how much of a guilty pleasure he is.

But yes, I think he's a fag.

Life

Life

“To the silence of forgotten years!”
The reaper did toast and chime;
“To friends and foes and dreams and tears!
Those years pass by; sneak with time,
Towards that long unknown rhyme!”
He sneered and mocked my frightened ghost.
My body still and lifeless, he cheered.
Towards my floating subconscious he'd toast,
And proclaim my afterlife’s journey an unknown coast.
“Formed through sacrifice and true love”
The reaper began to brag and boast,
“For your deeds you will be rewarded above,
So forget your life, and pain and agony
For now, my friend, your life will be in paradise.”

Whst the judges thought.

''Trigger Finger Itch'' by Jo Anna Van Thuyne - WHAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - ...The first scene at the locker is perfect. The author stretches the moment out just right, getting us in the killer's head..........The first-person narration of this story is consistently believable as that of a teenaged killer. The story is sparse and unnerving.....................

.....................Some really interesting perspectives, ie. the notion Charlie is sharing a very romantic and important moment with the woman he loves as he kills her boyfriend, as well as, Charlie finally finding happiness in school...................... WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - ...Reminds me of a movie I watched but I can't recall the name. Basically about the Columbine shootings. So it has been done. However, this guy does it well..........This story is a vignette, rather than a full narrative. It is a surface account of a brutal act, without exploring the deeper motivations of circumstances surrounding its climax. There is little suspense, as the story is so straightfoward and generic in its characterization. .................................…......Maybe a bit too predictable. Perhaps the reasoning behind Charlie’s actions could be flushed out a bit more – not much is known except he was teased about something or other. The descriptions are repetitive and not very creative......

Meh... I wasn't very happy with the final product, but I think the positive has outweighed the negative.

Trigger Finger Itch

It pays to have a large schoolbag. Walking to school with an AK47 digging into your back is so much easier when you’re schoolbag is three time larger than the average student’s. My high tops scuffed along the pavement, while my rifle nudged my spine, hitting my vertebra with every step I took.
It pays to have an alcoholic father whose idea of a hero is Charlton Hesston wielding his favorite firearm. When your father is more interested in protecting his massive gun collection, than taking his son out to play catch, you kind of realize where you stand in the world.
It pays to have a locker located in the far corner of the richest and most pretentious private school in Beaver Meadows, PA. That way you can carry a small piece of arsenal in your very large schoolbag every day for exactly 31 days. That way you can plan something that hasn’t been done in your own backyard. That way you can get back at every sorry sack of shit that ever made you cry.

When you hardly say a word you might as well be invisible to the 300 students that populate these halls. You wish you were invisible, but you’re not as invisible as you feel. All the bruises on your arms and legs remind you of exactly how visible you are, and how invisible your feelings are. For two years, this school has replaced its daily schedule from learning and molding young minds, to torturing and emotionally scarring … me.
I decided to keep the AK47 tucked away in my sizeable bag. No use shoving it into a locker while being surrounded by the 300 strangers that judge you every second. I wondered what it would feel like to put a hole in someone’s head. After 31 days of hiding what I was going to do, I was ready to enter each classroom with all the rage that had bottled up over the years.
I stood by my locker as stranger upon stranger shoved pass me. I didn’t want anyone to notice the massive firearm I was carrying, so I pretended to fumble through textbooks and trapper keepers. My eyes scanned through the crowd. I saw the people laugh at me, point at me, snicker, and stare. Everyone in this school had a personal agenda to make my life a living hell. As I ran my finger across the cover of my Geometry textbook, I imagined what it would feel like to throw my home made pipe bomb into the gymnasium, or spray the hallway with hundreds of bullets.
Then I heard her. I could recognize her voice anywhere. I didn’t even have to turn around but I could still picture her long golden hair. I could smell her perfume. Her perfume was the only thing that keeps me semi-conscious in 4th period. I looked up from my locker to take a look at the goddess that I adored. She was talking to her usual circle. The perfect little prisses that didn’t give a shit about anyone but themselves, all laughing and acting as fake as they always do.
She was different. She always smiled, and I mean always. She would say hello to me, even if I hadn’t said a word. She was perfect. She was everything that I wanted and more. If someone pushed me, she would ask if I was alright. If someone made fun of me, she would tell them to stop. It was like she was using her powers of social status for good instead of evil. My hero. My savior. My Goddess.
I loved her so much it hurt. It didn’t matter how nice she was to me, or how much she meant to me. I wanted her. I wanted her to be mine, but the social circles just wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t even try. I didn’t stand a chance. It killed me, because she was so perfect for me, and I wasn’t allowed to have her.
I folded back into my locker. My safe haven where all my insecurities were going to be avenged. No one was watching, and I brought my bag closer to the fresh blue paint that was smeared across the locker. I ran my fingers across my History book and straight to the back of my haven. My fingers found the cold familiar steel that I used to craft my own homemade weapon. I held my hand there. Touching and loving the thing that was going to silence all of the bastards in this school. I started to feel this unbelievable power rush over me. My trigger finger began to itch. I wasn’t willing to wait much longer, but I wasn’t about to just start taking off heads just yet. I needed to bide my time. I had the entire day. What was another hour or so?
The bell began to ring, and one by one students made their way into a classroom. I stood at my locker. All I had to do was get through a few classes and I could finally start shooting. I opened my bag and began to place my weapons one by one inside. With every little thing I took out of my locker, my excitement and lust for blood began to rise. Then I heard her again. I heard her voice… and someone else’s.
They were standing by the Men’s room. She was smiling and tossing her hair back. She looked so beautiful, and I dreamed of her smiling and laughing with me every night. She was standing with the same polished boy that I’ve seen her with. He was a superficial piece of shit that made it his personal mission to rule this school. Then it happened. She leaned in, and I knew what was going to happen. I don’t know why I didn’t stop it before she did it, but she kissed him. Those lips that were supposed to be mine. That action that was only supposed to happen to me was happening to someone else.
My trigger finger began to itch again. All of the blood drained from my face, and was replaced with my lust for blood. It began pulsing through my veins. I wasn’t about to wait any longer. There they were, standing right in front of me. Mocking me. My legs began to quiver and I could hardly stand anymore. I ran my fingers to the back of my locker. I could hear all of them laughing. I could hear her laughing. I could see her hair. I could see him stealing her from me. I could feel the cold metal that was going to free me from all this pain.
My trigger finger took its righteous place gripped around my 9mm. I didn’t bother to place it in my bag. Why would I hide it now? Why would I wait any longer? I drifted towards the young couple. I couldn’t feel my feet hitting the floor. With every step that I took my trigger finger began to itch more and more. Her hands were around his waist. His fingers were running through her golden hair. I wanted her to be mine. I was tired of everything being taken from me.
Then I heard her voice.
“Charlie!”
She was smiling. She was looking right at me. I guess since Charlie is my name, she was talking to me. Her man just looked at me, and they both didn’t notice the gun that was in my hand. So I raised it to the level of his eyes. Her smile faded, and my trigger finger pulled back slightly to release a bullet directly into his brain.
I didn’t hear her voice anymore, but the shrieking of her vocal chords. The shattered fragment of brains and skull splattered across her face and mine. In some sick way it seemed very romantic. The two of us were sharing a very important moment in my life. This is how I wanted to remember her.
Tears were running down her beautiful face, and her hands were furiously tugging at her golden hair. She kept saying my name, like we were in the middle of some beautiful lovemaking. Saying my name over and over again. She dropped to her knees and was paralyzed from the fear she felt. I looked down on her lovingly and turned my firearm towards her. I placed the barrel gently on the side of her head. Her vocal chords began to screech again, but the speed of the bullet into her brain quickly put the sound on mute.
Her body dropped to the floor, and her blood covered the front of my uniform. Fragments of her skull and brain were smudged across my face; and I could taste her blood on my lips. This was the closest I would ever be to her. This was the only time I would be in contact with any of her body fluids, and I loved it.
Students began to flood from their prospective classrooms. Calling for my name, her name, and the boy’s name. I reached into my bag and pulled out the AK47. I just started shooting anything that moved. Once one body fell, the herd started to run the other way. Bang. Down went another, and another, and another. Some heroes tried to rise from the masses, but I quickly brought them down with a small piece of metal.
Eventually the police started to show up. The local news was broadcasting this disaster to every corner of the United States. But I was happy. I was smiling for the first time in that school. I was having fun. Then I realized… that it wasn’t going to get any better. I looked down the hallway, and didn’t find any more victims. There were a few bodies sprawled out on the floor, but nothing worth shooting again. This was the happiest moment of my life, and this is where my life needed to end.
So amongst the bodies, decay, screaming, and flashing red and blue lights I found happiness. My life was over and I was going to end it at the highest point possible. So I brought the barrel of a gun up to my crooked grin. Took one more look around at the disaster that I caused… and painted the lockers with fragments of my brain and skull.