Scene One: Open
Darkness. We hear heavy labored breathing and the sound of stalking. Some leaves move. We realize we see the killer’s POV: we are the killer. Strange music is heard. We come upon the open window to a house. We hear women's voices.
GIRL #2Hurry up, we don’t want to be late.
We see into a girl’s bed room on the second floor. GIRL#1 in her bra is struggling into really tight stretchy pants. Her butt is really enormous. Really. She’s like a queen bee. The author objects to the objectification of women and other human beings, particularly in cinema and is really not a “butt man” but this is all part of the genre. This is important.
The killer is excited. We hear this from his breathing.
He looks around and finds a door. He gently tries it. It is locked. We hear more voices and movement; his glance darts around and he scuttles to cover. He finds another door. He tries it. It is unlocked.
He is inside. He skulks around. Looking both ways down corridors, his breathing rapid, but stilfed. He listens. He hears a door open and footsteps. He shoots upstairs.
We come into the girl’s bedroom. Clothes lie on the floor. There is the sound of returning footsteps. The killer retreats into the closet, closing the door, peering through the slats. The girl returns with more stretch pants. She is about to put her top on, when she drops an earring. It falls into the bright yellow shag rug that is deep as a mod prairie. She bends over looking for her earring. Her butt fills the screen like a H-bomb cloud. By the killer’s breathing we can hear he is excited by this. Unlike the scriptwriter, he is obsessed with butts. He has other problems, too, this much has already been established.
GIRL #2 enters.
GIRL #2What is taking you so long?
GIRL #1I dropped an earring.
GIRL #2(Sighs in irritation) I’ll help you find it.
GIRL #2 bends over with GIRL #1; her butt is even more enormous. It’s like twin beanbags pregnant with beach balls. Again, that’s no reflection on her as a person, or people with large behinds because there is a great deal of normal human variation. But if you’re really into this sort of thing, well, it’s incredible. It's a big day for our voyeur. His excitement increases terrifically, as both GIRLs root around in the shag rug that comes up to their ankles and wrists.
GIRL #3(Offscreen) Hey, where is everybody?
We’re in here.
GIRLs #1 & #2
GIRLs #1 & #2
GIRL #3 enters. Explanations are made. Soon all three are bent over rooting in the shag rug. GIRL #3 behind is bigger than the other two put together. There’s no way she can sit down unless someone stretches out a fishing net, or topples over a soccer goal. She bends over. The screen is filled with three enormous suns bobbing and stretching: the killer’s breathing reaches a violent, surely audible pitch.
GIRL #1Maybe this would go more quickly if we took these constricting pants off.
MR. SEACREST, THE BUS DRIVER enters.
MR. SEACREST, THE BUS DRIVERHey girls, I thought everyone was ready to go. What’s everyone doing in here?
GIRL #2Oh hi, Mr. Seacrest. Girl number one here lost an earring.
MR. SEACREST, THE BUS DRIVERHmm, I’m actually pretty good a finding these sorts of things. Let me have a look.
Mr. Seacrest, the Bus Driver bends over. His butt is ten times the size of any of the girl’s butt’s. It’s not even clear how he entered the room. There isn’t even room enough on the screen to show all of Mr. Seacrest, the Bus Driver’s butt; you have to access it under special features in the the DVD.
At the appearance of this fourth butt, the killer’s excited breathing climaxes into a groan of fury. The screen cuts to black and the sound of the closet door breaking and shouts of alarm are heard.
Scene 2: The Next Day
It is daytime. We fade in on the same door the killer came in. We hear the sound of police radio; police enter the shot, coming and going. The police have been over the scene all morning. We follow LT. JACK PETERS in.
We see GIRL#1’s bedroom again. It’s wrecked. The bodies of all four are strewn about. There is no blood.
DET. LT. JACK PETERSThis is goddamn masac-cree, like that, uh, Al Bundy guy.
FORENSIC EXAMINERThere’s no blood.
LT. JACK PETERSSo they were strangled?
FORENSIC EXAMINERNo, there’s no blood at all in the bodies. They’re totally exsanguinated.
A horrible familiarity dawns upon Lieutenant Detective Jack Peters.
LT. JACK PETERS
LT. JACK PETERS
FORENSIC EXAMINERNo: they’re totally exsanguinated. Which means there’s no blood at all in the bodies.
Creepy recollection music plays.
LT. JACK PETERSNo blood, no blood.
FORENSIC EXAMINERYes, there’s no blood at all in the bodies. In other words they’re totally exsanguinated.
LT. JACK PETERSSucked dry.
FORENSIC EXAMINERThere’s only two wounds on any of the bodies.
LT. JACK PETERSYeah. I know.
(Creepy revelation music plays. LT. JACK PETERS bends down to turn down the collar of one of the victims to reveal –nothing, unblemished skin.)
FORENSIC EXAMINERNot there, Lieutenant.
(LT. JACK PETERS is surprised)
FORENSIC EXAMINERDown there.
The FORENSIC EXAMINER points to the lower part of the victim.
(LT. JACK PETERS bends down to examine the crotch of one of the victims)
FORENSIC EXAMINERNot down there, Lieutenant.
The FORENSIC EXAMINER points to the victim’s butt.
We cut to a shot of LT. JACK PETER’s horrified face.
Scene 3: The Secret Satanic Police Headquarters.
It is a meeting of the LAPD’s Secret Satanic Order of Satanic Satan Police (SSOSSP); all the police wear dress uniforms with ceremonial inverted pentagrams and executioner’s hoods, beneath a Satanic LAPD shield where Baphomet weighs the scales; in other words, a typical departmental meeting.
LT. JACK PETERSThe Dark Prince, the Father of Lies, the Arch-Fiend has broken the covenant and his promise.
In the name of his Satanic Majesty and his Eternal Servant Samuel L. Williams, Death to Blacula!
ALLIn the Name of Satan and the LAPD: Death to Blacula!
Scene 4: Assault on Blacula’s Funky Pad
On a daylight assault, a SWAT team repels into Blacula’s high-rise condo, smashing through the great blacked out glass walls. They shotgun and then stake several guest coffins. Blacula’s boudoir is a purple canopied circular spinning bed –the cops slash it and the lining of graveyard earth spills out. They trash Blacula’s record collection and collection of bongs. They shoot up his collection of funky shoes. But Blacula is nowhere to be found.
Suddenly, there is the sound of a motorcycle revving: it is a helmeted Blacula on his black motorbike, Bikula.
Blacula charges at the SWAT team with his Zulu spear, taking several out. He swings around and runs at them again, and many crash out the groovy pad's windows to plummet to the street below.
They try and surround Blacula on the pulsating disco dance floor, but he rides up to a dance pole, grabs onto it and swings Bikula in a big circle into the air right into them .
Blacula is everywhere, with his blow gun and nunchucks.
A team storms the room Blacula is in –but he has vanished. Or has he? Above their heads, Blacula holds himself aloft, pressing against the walls with Bikula strapped beneath his legs. He swings Bikula down catching a SWAT team member in the face. They try and return fire, but Blacula is away, swinging back up and riding Bikula upside down on the ceiling. He rides upside down on the ceiling through the entire apartment, slaying them from above.
Finally there is only LT. JACK PETERS left. Blacula swings Bikula in front of him and stops. At the press of a button on Bikula, armored metal plates slide down to block the sunlight. Blacula flips up his visor. Bikula idles. The room fills with Bikula’s hellish exhaust. Blacula says nothing. He takes off his helmet. We see his terrible fangs.
LT. JACK PETERS(backing away) You broke the rules, Prince, you crossed the river. You killed a city employee.
LT. JACK PETERS fires his gun at BLACULA. It is, of course, quite useless. LT. JACK PETERS reaches for a crucifix, which BLACULA simply twists out of his hand. LT. JACK PETERS reaches for something, but BLACULA’s hands are ahead of him: garlic, vials of holy water and stakes spill out of LT. JACK PETERS’ coat onto the ground.
LT. JACK PETERSWhy Mamuwalde, why? Look at his photo. He was only 47. He was a good bus driver. You sucked his ass dry.
BLACULA looks surprised, grabs the photos out of LT. JACK PETERS’ coat and throws him on the ground.
BLACULA looks at the photos.
BLACULABlacula don’t suck that, fool.
BLACULA throws down the photos in disgust.