The Food of War

The Food of War

Written by Joseph Tringali and James Force

Jim is sitting by himself on the couch watching the news on t.v.  

News Anchor, corresponding pictures are shown above the Anchor’s left shoulder.

“The last of the world’s weapons were destroyed today in the completion of the Cuban Peace Treaty.   This historic peace treaty led to the dismantling and destruction of all weapons, including the assassination of anyone who held the knowledge to produce weapons.”

Joe walks into the apartment wearing a fast food outfit with a hat that has “McGenus” written on it.

Jim

“How was the new job?”

Joe

“Don’t ask.”

Jim, innocently.

“Why?”

Joe, slightly angry.

“Cause it sucked.”

Jim, innocently.

“oh.”

Joe, growing more angry.

“I mean it’s fast food”

Jim, innocently.

“I see.”

Joe, starting to rant, not really paying attention to anything around him.

“What redeeming qualities can a job possibly have when it consists of constantly flipping grade F meat mixed with worm meal while bitchy 300 pound customers ask the carb content of buns made purely out of artificial ingredients that an evil scientist created while trying to make a low grade anthrax that gave businessmen the shits whenever their viagra driven dicks became stimulated.”

Jim, innocently, but bored, not paying attention to Joe.

“I see.”

Joe, now going into full rant mode.

“They may as well pay me in donkey shit that I can fling at every runny-nosed child, Suv soccer mom, and overweight businessman.  It would give me much more satisfaction than free meals and a minimum wage paycheck.”

Jim, perking up and suddenly interested.

“Free meals?”

As Joe starts to talk again, Jim guides him to the door into the car and down the street.  Joe’s rant ends when they are both in line to order food from McGenus’s.

Joe, rant, rant rant.

“Christ, even their new promotion doesn’t make me smile, and I love mindless violence.  I could seriously blow a load of syphilitic cum onto the top of burgers, call it secret sauce, and sell it to the McGenus’s for thousands.  All they would have to do is buy a thousand monkeys, give them syphilis, preferably human syphilis for that extra kick, and then line them up around a bunch of easy squeeze, never-biodegrade plastic bottles for the ornery simians to fill up with their monkey love.  But then those damn soccer moms would be asking me the carb content of syphilitic monkey cum, cause they don’t want fat hips.

Jim and Joe are now at McGenus’s and step up to the counter to order from an overly enthusiastic 16 year old employee.

Jim, talking to kid behind the counter at McGenus’s.

“He’ll have a deluxe Jovial Meal.”

McGenus Employee, happily.

“Would you like to genocide that meal for 45 cents more?”

Jim

“Woah, woah.  He works here he gets his food free.”

McGenus Employee, pleasantly.

“Oh, it’s that new kid. Jew, right?”

Jim

“It’s Joe, not Jew.”

McGenus Employee, pleasantly but stumbles over Joe’s name.

“Right… so did Je-oe want to genocide his meal for free?”

Jim, stressing the correct pronunciation of “Joe.”

Joe… does want too.”

McGenus Employee, pleasantly.  Hands over a cup and a lottery sized card to Jim as he is talking.

“So that’s one Deluxe Jovial Meal genocided and it comes with a free Czech in Da Box card for the McGenus’s cleansed World Promotion.”

Jim, looks down at Czech in Da Box card in his hand.

“Huh?”

McGenus Employee, genuinely confused.

“Haven’t you seen the commercials?”

Jim, thinking hard.

“Hmm, maybe…. I just might have… perhaps…. nope, never seen it.”

Jim and Joe get their food and walk out of the camera shot.  Behind them are a A little girl and her mom.  The two of them step up to the counter to order, taking the place of where Jim and Joe had been.  Film this as if it were a commercial.

Little Girl, happily to employee

“I’ll have a syphilitic simian schplunk special please.”

Mom, genuinely excited.

“Oooh.  make that two.  With such a low carb count, how could I say no?”

McGenus Employee, overly happy, think of a soda shop boy from the fifties.

“You got it ma’am.  Did you want to genocide that order today and receive a Czech in Da Box card for Mcgenus’s cleansed world promotion?”

Little Girl, have her childishly mix up the pronunciation of this sentence.

“What’s the McGenus’s cleansed world promotion?”

McGenus Employee

“Well little girl, you pick the ethnicity you dislike the most and McGenus will cleanse them from this world.”

McGenus Employee hands Little Girl a Czech in Da Box card.

Little girl, looking down list on card

“Wow… Canadians, Mexicans, Lichtensteinens, they’re all here.”

Cut to shot of owner of Mcgenus’s.  Written on the screen is his name.  Name is Sol  “Sunny” Goldschtein

Sol “Sunny” Goldschtein, he is obviously reading off of a cue card.

“Hi, as owner of McGenus, I would like to thank you the customer for taking part in cleansing this fine world.  I ensure every one out there, that every ethnicity will be judged simply on the customers votes and not on personal discriminations by our managers or the ethnicity’s obvious besmeachment to our world.  Enjoy our new primate sandwich selection and keep voting, every one counts…”

(stops reading off the cue cards and looks directly at the screen).  Gives a good natured smile and says.

“I hope the Germans get it.”

Sol give a friendly wink into the camera.

Cut back to McGenus restaurant with Little Girl, Mom, and McGenus Employee.

Little Girl, holds up Czech in Da Box card takes a bite of the sandwich

“Mmm, this syphilitic simian schplunk sandwich sure is yummy.  Thanks sandwich for being so delicious and  thanks Mcgenus for cleaning up this dirty earth. “

Checks a box on the card.

“Sorry, France.”

Mom and McGenus Employee give a hearty laugh together and camera cuts to guy pulling up to the drive through window.  A different McGenus Employee walks up to the window carrying a take out bag and cup of soda.

McGenus Employee # 2 through window to guy in car.

“Here’s your syphilitic simian schplunk special sir, enjoy.”

Guy in car, embarrassed and looking around to make sure no one sees him ordering such a sandwich.  

“Yeah, dude.  Not so loud… thanks.”

Guy in car takes the food and begins to drive away, the camera follows Guy in car.  He pulls up to stoplight.  Looks both ways, as soon as light turns green he slowly starts to go, regular speed.

Guy in car  speaks to himself like he is talking to some one who just impressed him, encouragingly.  He is in the car by himself.

“Dude, nice, you were fucking all over that shit, man.  I am fucking impressed.  Seriously. I am fucking impressed.  Nice.”

He pulls into an apartment parking lot, parks and goes into an apartment building carrying the food.  Opens the door and steps inside to a frantic friend pacing.  The friend pacing is white.

Guy, concerned.

“Larry, what’s up, what was so important?”

Larry, stops pacing but stays quiet for a second.  Looks at Guy.  Says in a deadpan voice.

“I got drafted.”

Guy, exclaiming

“What?!”

Larry, as if realizing it himself, dread acceptance.

“I got drafted to fight McGenus’s.”

Guy

“Shit! shit! shit!”

Larry

“I’m being forced into the White American army.”

Guy (Guy is pale white!), tragically says the below in disbelief. comforts friend, maybe end with him giving Larry a hug.

“No, Larry, no. God, why? Oh, why did White America get the most votes in this cursed promotion?  If only I wasn’t half black I could be there to help you, Larry.  To keep you safe.”

Larry, slightly cynical to his friend.

“You look white, join with me.”

Guy, backpedaling a bit, bullshitting.

“Ooh, I wish I could but I mean the half-black thing… and I have really bad… asthma.. and stuff.  I wouldn’t want to have an asthma attack in battle and risk the lives of the whole platoon.”

Larry, non-ironically

“I hate you.”

Guy, nods in acceptance.

“Keep your head down out there, Lar.”

Larry’s t.v. has been on the whole time in the background of the shot.  The t.v. screen now shows breaking news.  The camera zooms in on the t.v. as it switches to a news cast of the war.  A reporter in the field is giving an update on the day’s battles.

Reporter

“Reports are spotty, but at this point, it looks like White American Rapper, Eminem, has managed to keep the East Coast and West Coast rappers at bay using a series of devastating rap battles, though it has come at a cost.  According to an informer, Snow was lost in the conflict.  Thankfully though, the east coast and west coast rappers have finally united ending years of a bloody feud that has claimed many a talented, young lyricist.”

Cut to “battle” footage. It is footage of a white guy stumbling around fighting latin, asian, and black guys who are also stumbling around.  In the background you see similarly dressed crowds of “soldiers” in the background. They appear to be drunkenly screaming, but not much is comprehensible from the distance of the camera.  The image is shrunk to a box above the News Anchors left shoulder.  The News Anchor gives a sad shake of his head.

News Anchor, sympathetic tone.

“That was some disturbing footage from the battle of Chronic Hill.  This has been the third major offensive the McGenus’s have made this month.  Their early victories in New York and Miami led Iraq, Canada, and France to send additional troops to their cause to help finish off the White American Republic.  The battles for Vermont and Idaho proved not so easy for the McGenus Army.  The victories by the White American Republic and France’s entrance into the war prompted Germany’s number one Bratwurst Fast Food Chain and long time corporate rival, SchlachtHof, to offer a one day only promotion.  The one day promotion, dubbed the Tastiest, Friendliest, and Fastest Military Aid Meal, stated that if any White American military leader bought a Wunderdresden Crispy Meal, they would receive immediate military support from SchlachtHof and a free refill of their favorite beverage at all participating SchlachtHof restaurants.  Here, general John Smith of the White American Republic addressed new recruits shortly after purchasing a Wunderdresden Crispy meal, but before he received the free refill.  These new recruits begin their 6 week training period this Tuesday in Salt Lake City.”

The news cuts to footage of a General addressing troops.

General, addressing troops.

“You men stand on the brink of a brand new day in your lives.  This is the day you are made into men.  Your lumpy bodies fine tuned then unleashed into battle. Hand to hand combat, a real test of man’s mettle, being able to squeeze a man’s life out of him, hearing him cry for his mother and father, his sister, yes squeezing till those beady eyes  roll back into his head.  That’s what a real man’s about.  That is mankind at its proudest, it’s finest.  I remember my first like it was yesterday.  That look in his eyes, the nails scratching.  You never feel so alive as you are that moment. You men are lucky to be able to face this war.  To stare at those beady eyes across a hazy meadow and know that in a few seconds you will be in a combat for life with this man.  Nothing else matters, the only thing that exists in this universe is his hands grabbing at your face, beating your chest, crying out in pain.  Yes, you men are lucky.  I envy you.  If it wasn’t for this damned asthma, I’d be right next to you.  Now, meet your sister’s nephew’s cousin’s friend for the next 6 goddamn weeks of your worthless lives, Drill Sergeant Jones.  Attention!”

General leaves stage and takes a puff of an inhaler.  A Hippie dressed in fatigues comes on stage and walks up to the microphone.  This is Drill Sergeant Jones.

Drill Sergeant Jones, in stereotypical hippy drawl and laid back speech patterns.

“Hey everyone, what’s up?  I’ll be your drill sergeant for the next couple of weeks.  You may wonder what makes me qualified to train you.  Fair enough, man.  Fair enough.  I served three tours in Vietnam and was was senior supervisor of the frylators at SchlachtHof store 2013.  So, they made me a drill sergeant in W.A.R.,  the White American Republic.  I like to keep things informal, so, let’s start this off with a question.  How many of you want to kill charlie?  Don’t be shy, it’s cool, seriously, who wants to fuck charlie up?”

At this point have the camera focus on one of the recruits in the audience.  The recruit makes a really sad face and the picture freezes on it.  Underneath his face the word “Charlie” appears, then more words appear forming the phrase “The Sad Story of Charlie.”

Cut to old family footage of Charlie as a kid, the type found on an old projector.  The Parents of Charlie are talking over the family footage.  Have corresponding family footage that goes along with Parent’s dialogue. 

Father, warm re-assuring voice.  Think of Quaker oatmeal spokesman.

“Charlie was such a bright, young lad.  Always fit in with the rest of the kids, and was pretty productive in school.”

Mother, a bit more of a frantic/worried voice, the type of voice that tries to find a rain cloud on a sunny day.

“Oh yes, but then he met that old man Russell.  I told him it was trouble from the start but he didn’t believe me.  He told us old man Russell taught him a new way to play and none of the children would hang out him anymore.”

Show Charlie the boy hanging out with an old man Russell. Russell has a Lenin goatee, is smiling, and holding a bottle of Vodka.

Mother  

“Oh, heavens, then there was the Francine incident.”

Father

“Well, yes, there was Francine.  She always played with charlie’s toys.  Charlie usually didn’t act up this way.  And I’m sure not proud of what he did.”

Mother

“Of course not, Charlie was a nice boy.”

Father

“Martha, I’m trying to tell this.”

Mother

“I’m sorry, George.”

Father

“Well Francine was playing with toys and charlie, well he up and punched her in the boob-”

Mother, interrupting.

“Say breast, George, or mammary.  Not boob.  Boob is so vulgar.”

Father

“All right, all right, Charlie punched Francine right in the mammary.  Well Francine ran and told her friend, Erica.  A real bully of a friend too.  You know the type, the one who seeks out the week kids and then beats them into being someone they aren’t.  Well this Erica, she was.. well, a real bitch.”

Motherinterrupting Father.

“Oh, George don’t use such language.  That’s horrible.”

Father

“Well, Martha, it’s the truth.  You know I don’t like to use the female canine word too often, but she deserves it.”

Mother

“Well, I just don’t like you using it around the children.”

Father

“Fine, fine.  Well this Erica started pushing Charlie around demanding lunch money and random possessions in his backpack.  He came home with skinned knees a couple of times crying.  I still swear Erica is the reason Charlie’s leg was broken.  Charlie swore it wasn’t her, but I just couldn’t believe that.”

Mother

“We tried to talk to this Erica, but she wouldn’t listen to us. So, I just told Charlie to be proud around Erica, ignore her, and she would leave him alone.”

Father

“Not me, I told him to stand up to this Erica.  Bullies pick the easy targets.”

Mother

“Oh George, there’s better ways to solve a problem than fighting.”

Father

“Well, of course, Martha.  Charlie could have gone with the peaceful solution being kicked into his asshole by Erica.”

Mother

“George!  Don’t use that language with me.”

Father 

“Honestly, don’t you think you’re being a little optimistic about all this?  You… you, your such a …a .. dreamer.  I married a goddamn optimist.  All the pessimists in the damn world and I choose a true believer in puppy love.”

Mother

“Oh, shut up, George.  You’re no catch yourself.  That damn hypocritical life style you lead.  Mr. polite, Mr. helpful, you’re a conniving asshole.”

Father and Mother, together and as if they hadn’t been bickering moments before.

“Love you, John, wish you were home safe instead of on the front lines. Go W.A.R.”

The camera pulls back as this last line is delivered to show a W.A.R. recruit in fatigues sitting on a bunk watching a t.v. showing this video sent to him by his parents.

A fellow recruit takes a seat next to him on the bunk.

Sympathetic Recruit

“That video from your folks?”

John Recruit

“Yeah, that’s my folks.  I miss’em.”

Sympathetic Recruit

“I know what you mean.  It’s all the little things.  The smell of a cup of coffee early in the morning.  The pitter patter of my grandparent’s footsteps before bed time.”

Another Recruit sits next to John, the opposite side of where Sympathetic Recruit sat.  Start to have multiple recruits crowd around the bunk commiserating with each other.

Another Recruit

“I miss the way my mom always made fresh blueberry muffins every Sunday morning before church.”

3rd Recruit

“I miss the way my dog used to curl at the foot of my bed every night, licking my toes until I fell asleep.  I miss him… I miss you, Denny.”

4th Recruit

“I miss the late night talks with mine.  They were always up waiting for me to come home.  Then when I did, they would just jump up to greet me and ask, ‘where the hell you’ve been all night?!  Are you drunk? Are you drunk! Goddamnit Bob, are you drinking and driving, again?!  I miss those times with them.”

5th Recruit

“I miss the way my dad would always surprise my mom with a love poke when she was least suspecting it, in the living room, the kitchen, the driveway.  Like the time on the stairs. God, he got her good that time, two broken ribs and a miscarriage later, they separated.  But I know true love will persevere.   They’ll get back together.”

Drill Sergeant Jones (he hippie) comes up, perhaps he is tucking something white and cylindrical behind his ear.

Drill Sergeant Jones

“Ok, boys, I know what you’re all thinking.  You really miss home and are totally like ‘what the fuck am I doing here.  I have to kill.  Oh fuck I have to kill…’ and shit, but chill.  It’s not that bad. Seriously, it’s kind of liberating in a way.  But right now, not one of you has to even worry about that.”

Recruits, general huh, not together.

“huh?”

Drill Sergeant Jones

“Look do you honestly think you can run into a battle screaming ‘I heard you’re a queer”? Seriously, it’s the 2000’s, there is a good chance they are queer, ya know, and further, there’s nothing wrong with that.  You need insults.  You need to provoke the enemy.  I haven’t heard any of you say a single insult that would make me kick you in the junk.  You need better than ‘I heard your mother is a bitch.’  Come on, this is war.”

Sympathetic Recruit

“How about ‘I fucked your mother’?  It’s meaner, and all.  Maybe it’d piss em off.”

Drill Sergeant Jones

“Good, good.  We’re thinking, that’s good.  All right.  Marshall, give me an insult, quick.”

3rd Recruit, makes a thoughtful face, trying hard to think of something.

“I heard your mother fucked a horse.”

Drill Sergeant Jones

“Ok, we’re stuck on the ‘mother’ and ‘fucking’ thing but that’s ok.  We’re still thinking, and that is the important part.  Rogers, give me an insult”

4th Recruit

“You have no dick motherfucker.”

Drill Sergeant Jones uncharacteristically flips out and punches 4th Recruit in the face, knocking him out cold.

Drill Sergeant Jones, angrily standing over the unconscious recruit and shouting.

“You, motherfucker. You, fucker.  Never say that. You don’t know what it’s like.  Never say that to me. Fucker.”

Camera pulls back to show a reporter is in the foreground reporting.  

Reporter

“Here we are in W.A.R.’s think tank.  This is where the battle really begins.  For as we know the new rules of war constitute an appropriate insult must be administered before fighting can occur.”

Have it cut to Reporter walking on a battlefield with two war groups on either side.

Reporter

“Here we see the W.A.R’s troops prepare for battle.”

Camera focuses on a bunch of white guys chugging beer. They are overtly drunk.  The W.A.R. troops are screaming unintelligible things at the McGenus (multi-ethnic) group across the field from them.

The McGenus troops are screaming similarly, right back at the W.A.R. troops.  Reporter walks back into shot just as a McGenus troop pukes on the ground (drunken puke).

Reporter

“Here the McGenus troops mustered shortly after two o’clock, many of them still bruised from yesterday’s offensive in Vermont.  The McGenus troops were heavily outnumbered by W.A.R. in the…(holds hand to ear then turns to face the troops behind him)… I’m getting word the first offensive is being launched.”

In the background, one of the McGenus troops is shouting.  He puts a hand to his ear as if he is having trouble making out what the W.A.R. troops are yelling.

McGenus Troop, shouting at W.A.R. troops on other side of field.

“What did you say? You talking about my mother?  You think that’s funny, huh?” (starts to run and turns to look at the other troops and yells back) “Sol, you and Ramirez got my back. Let’s go fuck em up.”

 Sol is a hasidic Jew in traditional attire.  Ramirez is a pale, white guy in a poncho.

The McGenus troop starts running towards the middle of the field. A guy from W.A.R. starts running into the middle.  Have them collide in a drunken stumble.  The McGenus troop lands on the ground and rolls around in pain. The W.A.R. troop falls to his knees, leans over, and vomits.

Reporter

“The casualties just keep climbing in this horrible war.”

Camera cuts to the W.A.R. troops clustered around a keg. One of the W.A.R. troops looks to the center of the field where the two people are on the ground in drunken agony.

W.A.R. Troop #1

“They got Rob.”

W.A.R. Troop # 2

“Yeah, but he gave as much as he took.”

Cut to shot of Rob on hands and knees vomiting.

W.A.R. Troop #3

“He sure did.  Poor Rob, he was a good guy.  I’ll miss him.  I really will.”

W.A.R. Troop #1

“And here’s hoping I never have the image of his mangled body flash across my eyes when I am in bed with a woman twenty years from now.”

All of the W.A.R. Troops

“Here, here.”

Drill Sergeant Jones walks into the shot with a clipboard.  He scans down a list then looks up at the troops.

Drill Sergeant Jones

“Private Force, you’re up.  You’re the next one to fight.  I think that skinny, italian McGenus soldier over there was shouting about your sister’s nephew’s cousin’s friend.”

Jim (a.k.a Private Force), thoroughly incensed, and outrageously drunk.

“That fucker would dare to say anything about Janine.  I’m gonna make him pay for that one.”

Drill Sergeant Jones, nodding empathetically.

“I know, kid, those McGenus troops are ruthless. Remember, stick with W.A.R. and W.A.R. will get you through this.”

Drill Sergeant Jones hands Jim a red solo cup of beer.  Jim sloppily drains it and gives a war whoop.

Jim, gives an appropriate drunken insult to start his battle.  Make sure the speech is slurred.

“You’re horse masturbated a mother!”

 Jim runs toward the center of the field fists flailing.  The McGenus troop faces off with Jim, about twenty feet apart.  It is foggy, so you can’t see the McGenus troop’s face, this is important his face is not seen until the end of the battle.  Camera angle fixed to their backs, they run toward each other.  They must be shouting out insults, really, really bad insults, and drunken stumbling the whole way.  Jim falls down in a tumble. The McGenus troop swings a wild haymaker and misses.  McGenus trips over Jim and falls to the ground.  Both struggle to their feet.  McGenus troops is faster.  With a triumphant war cry he kicks Jim in the crotch.  Jim stumbles back, grabbing his nether regions, he falls to the ground.  Jim takes a shallow breath and stares into sky, the camera follows his gaze, emulating a war movie death.

Jim

“Ohgodohgod, I want to die.Oh god. is that blood?oh god.”

The camera that is fixed behind Jim’s head, pans down as Jim brings his gaze from the sky to the person who kicked him in the junk.  It is Joe dressed in his McGenus outfit.  Joe is horrified at what he has done. 

Jim, have blood around the edge of his mouth.

“Oh god, Joe.  Joe, you did this.”

Joe, horrified.

“God, what have I done?!  I’ve betrayed him.  I am Judas.  What have I done?!”

Jim, blood coming out os his mouth and nose excessively. 

“Shit, that hurt.”

Joe, drops to his knees next to Jim.

“Jim, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean what I said about Janine. I was just being drunk and stupid.  I’m sorry.”

Jim, blood continues to accrue.

“It’s cool, dude.  It’s cool.  It just hurts for me to talk right now” 

Jim leans over and vomits.

Joe, frantic.?

“Jim, stay with me.  I’ll get you fixed.  Medic! Medic! Where the fuck is the medic?”

Joe swings his head in search of a medic.  The camera sways looking for him too, you see a guy leaning against a tree drunk, taking a piss.  He is wearing a red cross on t he back of his shirt.  He is holding a red plastic keg cup and shouting out war whoops nearly falling over and laughing and being generally hammered.

Joe, realizing no help is coming.

”Oh shit.”

Jim, getting weaker.

“It hurts right now, Joe, like deep in my stomach, and my legs, and my face.  all of it, everything… it hurts.”

Joe jumps down and embraces Jim in a frantic hug.  Joe holds Jim at arms length yelling “Hold on.”  The camera pans out until the two are just silhouettes on a hill.  Joe’s head sags.  At this point the camera has panned out far enough to show a small boy standing in the foreground holding a camera watching this dramatic “death” scene.  The little boy takes a picture.  Have the screen flash to the picture of a “dying” Jim and a crying Joe, holding each other on the hill.  Then cut back to the little boy in real time.  The little boy turns around holding his camera.

Little boy with camera (Clement), overdub with a narrator’s voice that does not match the look of the boy, think Ralph Fiennes over a young Macauley Culkin.

“It was that image that ended the war and it was I, Clement, who brought it to the world.  Two men, as close as brothers, brought to vicious battle over a fast food sweepstake.  The fallen soldier and broken man covered newspapers and magazines with the true cost of war.”

Cut to the front page of a newspaper, the cover is the aforementioned picture with the headline “War is over: Mc’s and Wop’s unite.

Camera pulls back from the newspaper to reveal it is just one of many stacked on a street next to a small boy hocking the papers. It is Charlie from the sad story of Charlie. He is dressed as a 19th century Newsie and is leaning on a crutch, think of Tiny Tim.  Joe walks by the pile of newspapers, throws Charlie a quarter. 

Charlie, excited.

“The whole quarter, sir?”

Joe, a little too nice, in a sinister way.

“That’s right, Charlie, all twenty-five cents.  And if you want a quarter every day, you might want to look a block south of here.”

Charlie, confused.

“What do you mean, sir?”

Joe, sugary sweet, sketchy.

“Just some friendly advice is all. Just throwing out ideas on how to make the money you need to fix that leg Erica broke.”

Charlie

“But, sir, I do well enough here. There’s more competition in Southie and the old leg gets us by.”

Joe, disappointed and pompous

“Too bad.  good money, I could make sure you got some good money.”

Charlie, pitifully.

“But, sir, I can barely walk here… I can’t… I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Joe, casually.

“Hey, no problem, Charlie.  You have yourself a real, nice day.”

Joe takes a step, casually kicking out the crutch Charlie is propped up on.  Charlie crumples to the ground.  Joe just walks on down the street into a coffee shop.  Jim is sitting down  at a table sipping a coffee.  Joe tosses the paper onto the table.

Jim

“Well, thank god that’s over.  I don’t think I could stand one more minute of war.  Why did this happen?”

Joe

“What the war?”

Jim

“Yeah, I mean I walk down the streets and all I see are the wounded, the broken noses, the missing teeth, the wide legged strides.  The ones who made it out in one piece walking around with this look in their eye.  You never know the look unless you been in hell too, which in this case turned out to be Missouri.”

Joe

“I know what you mean.  All those good men we lost out there.  Friends on both sides, both sides.”

Jim

“What caused this, ya know?  I mean all those drunk kids who went out there to fight.  I want to know why they were lying face down on the ground puking.  This waste, what was it for?

Joe

“Well I guess in the end, it was just a profitability idea.”

Jim 

“But how do you make money off of screwing people over?”

Joe

“Simple.  You have to get more customers.  You get more people to buy the syphilitic simian spunk specials.  Give them a check card that tells their xenophobic fears to go wild and boom, those people have one more reason to eat at Mcgenus’s.”

Joe sits and thinks for a second before saying this.

Even though the war is over, those customers will keep buying those syphilitic simian schlpunk specials as if nothing ever happened.  As if the war never happened, as if they didn’t have children laying in hospitals with bloody noses, black eyes and seeping testicles.  Everybody just eager for the next promotion.”

Jim

“And the employees of McGenus need the paychecks, so, they’re forced to fight to cover their rent.

Jim shakes his head.

“War the business, I guess.”

Joe, thinks for a second then gives a slight smile

“War the business, that would be a good script for something.”

Jim stands up, his crotch his bandaged heavily over his pants.

“Well, at least the minorities weren’t picked. We never would have heard the last of it.”

Joe

“Let’s get moving. No reason to stay put.  It’s a bright new world out there and I want to explore.”

Play cheesy marching military music as the screen slowly fades to black, have credits rolling as screen is extremely slowly going to black.  Keep military marching music on the whole time.

Jim and Joe walk out of the coffee shop onto the street.  Jim limping, Joe striding. Jim and Joe, uncharacteristically, jump up and high five. Then they continue on their way.

Joe, blase.

“Man, working at McGenus’s sucked.”

The screen goes black.

Fin.

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