SCENE 1. INT. COUNCIL CCTV OFFICES. DAY.
AN ENORMOUSLY FAT MAN (DEREK) SQUEEZES HIS VAST ARSE INTO THE CHAIR IN FRONT OF THE DESK. IN ONE HAND HE HAS A BACON AND EGG BUTTIE, AND WITH THE OTHER HE TAKES HOLD OF THE JOYSTICK THAT MOVES THE CCTV CAMERAS. HE PANS ALONG A STREET AS HE MUNCHES HIS GREASY SARNIE.
ON THE SMALL BLACK AND WHITE MONITOR WE SEE AN OLD WOMAN AND TWO THUGS. ONE THUG IS HOLDING HER HANDS BEHIND HER BACK, WHILE THE OTHER CASUALLY BUT RAPIDLY PUNCHES HER IN THE FACE IN THE MANNER OF A BOXING SPEED-BALL, HER LITTLE GREY HEAD VIOLENTLY SHAKING BACK AND FORTH.
AN OLD MAN IN A WHEELCHAIR WHIZZES PAST WITH TWO CACKLING THUGS JOYRIDING HIM.
DISINTERESTED, DEREK TAKES ANOTHER BITE OF HIS SARNIE, AND CARRIES ON PANNING.
WE SEE AN EVIL DRUG DEALER IN AN ICE CREAM VAN "MR CRACKY" SELLING DRUG-LACED ICES TO CHILDREN. INSTEAD OF HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS, HE'S SPRINKLING THE ICE CREAM WITH BRIGHTLY-COLOURED PILLS, AND INSTEAD OF '99' FLAKES, HE'S PUTTING IN YUMMY RUSTY SYRINGES. DEREK CARES NOT A JOT, BURPS, AND CONTINUES PANNING.
WE SEE A TERRORIST WITH DYNAMITE STRAPPED TO HIS BODY AND CARRYING A FULL-SIZE CARDBOARD CUTOUT OF THE QUEEN. PLAYING UP TO THE CCTV CAMERA, HE STARTS SIMULATING SEX WITH HER MAJESTY FROM BEHIND, EVEN REACHING ROUND TWEAKING HER ROYAL NIPPLES. HE THEN FLICKS THE V's AND MAKES "WANKER" GESTURES AT THE CCTV CAMERA BEFORE SHOUTING SOMETHING IN ARABIC, PRESSING A BUTTON, AND EXPLODING.
DEREK SPITS HIS SARNIE OUT. FINALLY GALVANISED INTO ACTION, HE GRABS HIS PHONE, JABBING A NUMBER WITH HIS GREASY FINGERS.
DRAMATIC, BOURNE ULTIMATUM - STYLE MUSIC BEGINS PULSING DRAMATICALLY. FROM NOW ON, THIS SCENE MUST BE BORDERLINE CHAOTIC, SUSPENSEFUL AND FAST - PACED.
DEREK: (INTO PHONE)
We've got a Code Red sir. You need to get in here right now.
THE OFFICE DOOR BURSTS OPEN AND ANOTHER FAT BASTARD (THE SUPERVISOR) HURRIES IN, MUNCHING A PIE.
SUPERVISOR:
Code Red? Are you absolutely sure, Derek?
DEREK:
Yes sir. Look.
HE MOVES THE CAMERA AWAY FROM THE TERRORIST'S SMOKING REMAINS AND ZOOMS INTO A GUY WALKING ALONG THE STREET.
DEREK:
There. He's chewing gum.
SUPERVISOR:
Well I'll be a monkey's paedophile uncle. Triangulate gum co-ordinates and analyze flavouring at molecular level.
DEREK:
Sir.
THE CAMERA SWITCHES TO PREDATOR-STYLE VISION AND ZOOMS INTO THE GUY'S HEAD, GIVING US AN X-RAY PROFILE AND SHOWING THE GUM IN HIS MOUTH. A MESSAGE FLASHES UP ONSCREEN. "FLAVOUR: 12.5243 %"
DEREK:
Only twelve percent flavour left sir. He's gonna spit it. (GRINNING) We've got him.
SUPERVISOR:
Well let's not start heavy petting in the shower just yet. (HE CHEWS HIS FINGERNAIL FOR A SECOND) Okay. Get the Manager.
CUT TO THE MANAGER, BURSTING THROUGH THE DOOR. HE'S THE FATTEST OF THEM ALL, AND MUNCHING ON AN ENORMOUS PRET A MANGER SANDWICH. HE WADDLES PURPOSEFULLY TOWARDS THE MONITOR, FOLLOWED BY ANOTHER FAT MAN (FRANK DERENGER) WHO'S EATING SOME CRISPS.
MANAGER:
Status?
SUPERVISOR:
Gum still in mouth sir. We've definitely got him though.
MANAGER:
Well, let's not start licking each other's dusky thighs just yet. Gentlemen, this is Frank Derenger, he's a Hazardous Waste Litter Expert and he'll be quarterbacking this investigation.
FRANK DERENGER:
(THROUGH MOUTHFUL OF CRISPS, SPITTING CRUMBS) Okay people, what's the perp's last fixed position?
DEREK:
Just passing Halford's on Gypsy Lane sir.
SUPERVISOR:
The flavour's FUBAR. He's gonna spit it on the floor, I'd stake this pie on it. And it's good pie.
FRANK DERENGER:
Well, let's not start fingering each other's buttery cornholes just yet.
FRANK HESITATES, AS IF HE'S WEIGHING SOMETHING UP IN HIS MIND.
MANAGER:
(GRAVELY) It's your call Frank. Whatever your decision, Payne City Council will be right behind you.
FRANK NODS.
FRANK DERENGER:
Scramble Armed Response. It's time we took back the streets.
THEY ALL GO "WOO!" AND HIGH FIVE, SMASHING THEIR PIES AND SARNIES TOGETHER.
FRANK:
Shit.
END SKETCH
Title Edited By Paul W
