Baby Woncha Please Come Home

[DWoods]

“Yer muther's such a f*ckin' whurre, Billy, but I lovez `er fer it.”
- BILL JUDO SR, 1978 ... Life Lessons​

(CUT-TO: The outside of a Joe Camel High, named after the cigarette company in 1988 for a handsome sum of money that went to purchasing a new furness, as the school had been without heat for the better part of a decade, and several children were lost to hypothermia every winter.

“BIG” BILL JUDO steps onscreen, wearing a Trooper tank top, ripped blue jeans, and a pair of cheap shades. He flexes his massive arms -- the “pythons” as he calls them.)

BBJ: “How’s it hangin’, boys? Lemme guess: the ED’s causin' ya grief… the ol’ lady’s pissed `cause she wants her daily dose-a’ cock, but you - can’t - give - it - to - her – CAN YA?

“Too bad you ain’t half the man Judo is.”

(More flexing, more kissing of the “pythons.”)

BBJ: “The reason I’m standing in front of this school is… I used to go here.” (JUDO smiles.) “Ah-yep. It’s true. Right over there… (JUDO points off into the distance) I banged Cindy Boxingham’s box-‘n’-ham for the very first time. Popped her cherry. It was great. But then she went and became a real cock-hungry slutwagon and gave everyone a ride... as well as horrible case of genital warts. Not Judo, though, `e got there FIRST. … And over there, by the rocks, was where I sipped my first rum-and-coke, and subsequently fell in love.”

(JUDO bends over, picking up a previously unseen rum-and-coke off the pavement. He takes a big sip, and a look of pure satisfaction washes over his profile.)

BBJ: “Ahhh... Ain’t nothin’ better in this world than a rum-and-coke mixed to perfection. Just enough rum, just enough so-deey pop, just enough cubed ice. Ho’ boy! (Takes another sip) I LOVE IT!

“Lotta’ memories ‘ere, fer sure. I ran this school. Well, I ran half this school.

“Y'see, the student body's love and adoration was split between myself… and one Joe the Plumber.”

(JUDO's face contorts; he looks ready to vomit.)

BBJ: “So what I’m fixin’ to do `ere today is, well, bust inside and `ave me a trip down mem-or-ee lane! Yee-haw! Come on, let’s go!”

(CUT-TO: JUDO, standing next to a glass display case mounted to the wall behind it; inside, half a dozen trophies... for such athletic endeavours as “tug-of-war,” “wrastlin’,” and “foootball.”)

BBJ: “At Joe Camel High, you were either a rocker, a drinker, or a jock. I was a rocker slash drinker. I loved me some booze, I loved me some tunes, but, more importantly, I did loved me some poon! If-ya-know-what-I’m-sayin’!

“Now, Joe was a drinker; JD and Indian swig, mostly… but when he wasn’t tippin’ back half-an-ice-cream-container of the good stuff, he was suplexing kids on the wrestling mat, playin’ every position there was on the football field, and dragging the school's faculty into a pool of mud and septic sludge in the annual teacher-versus-student tug-of-war contest. He was an athlete. A damn good one at that. Over the years, I tried, and I tried, to win in at least one of our three school sports… but that sonuvab*tch bested me time and time again. Time after time. Time … after … time.

“It wasn’t fair.

“This is the legacy Joe left behind… a selfish bastard who wanted ALL the glory for himself!

“Our senior year, we were both running for Prom King… but on account of Joe’s sister -- his older sister, not the one Shawn Hart viciously raped -- bein’ Prom Queen, GUESS WHO WON?

“I’ll give ya a hint: It wasn’t Bill Judo! It wasn’t me! I loved your sister, Joe, I did! We could've been brothers, you and I! If you would've just let me win; if you would've just let me take your sister to prom... things could've been a whole lot different for you. Stella Plummer could've been Stella Judo. And every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every Easter, every fourth of July, we could've all got together -- your family and mine -- and we could've got drunk and ate a feast! BUT NO! YOU WOULDN'T ALLOW FATE TO HAPPEN, WOULD YOU, JOE? NO, BECAUSE THAT WOULD'VE BEEN TOO EASY! TOO F*CKIN' RIGHT!”

(JUDO reaches down next to his pant leg, off-screen, and grabs a SLEDGEHAMMER. He holds it up to his eye line, staring at the large, flat head.)

BBJ: “Your systematic destruction begins today, Joe! It begins with the legacy you left behind at Joe Camel High! No longer will teenagers walk past this trophy case and gaze upon your many accomplishments! No longer will they ASPIRE to be the greasy, fat beast you’ve become! Joe Camel High may be a school of inbred hicks and future pedophiles, but I enjoyed my time ‘ere! However, I can’t look back fondly upon it if I know you’re the one everyone remembers and admires! It’s not “JOE CAMEL HIGH -- GO JUDO GO” out there on the sign! There’s not a count of how many days Judo’s been TV Champ, now is there!? Forget for one moment that I’m not actually TV Champ, and answer me this: Would they have bothered to go to all that trouble to support me if I were? Hmmm? Hell no! It was always about you, Joe... and that ends today!”

(JUDO swings the sledgehammer and SMASHES the glass case!

He drops the sledgehammer and grabs a trophy, smashing it on the tile floor.)

BBJ: “NOT SO DAMN IMPRESIVE WHEN THEY’RE IN PIECES ALL OVER THE FLOOR, EH, JOE?”

(JUDO grabs another and does the same to it. He repeats this over, and over, until no more remain in the case, and he’s left winded and fatigued. He looks to the camera, smiling.)

BBJ: “Ain’t this nice.” (JUDO dances on the trophy pieces, crushing them into even smaller bits) “Yup. Looks a lot better to me. Maybe now I can visit my ol’ shop class teacher, Mr. Frank, without pukin’ my friggin’ guts up from the nauseating sight of your damned achievements! Maybe… Maybe…”

(EXTREME CLOSE-UP: “BIG” BILL JUDO, looking contemptuously into the camera, eyes full of rage.)

BBJ: “This ain’t over, Joe, not by a long shot. That walloping my clown buddy and I put on you at Crash 45 was NOTHIN’- NOTHIN’ compared to what we have in store for you! Your brains are gonna be like MUSH by the time get done wit`cha! And if by some horrible twist of fate you survive, well, then I’ll just have to get behind the wheel of my beautiful 1973 Pontiac Trans Am and RUN YOUR ASS OVER! And you know me, Joe… You know what I’m capable of when I get piss-loaded drunk with a vengeance! I get twisted, I get nasty, I get f*ckin’ MEAN! So watch your back, Joe, and listen for the revvin’ of a pristine V8 as I tear a strip up your ass in my own personal piece of Americana! VROOM-VROOOOOOOM!”

(FTB)

 

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN: JOE THE PLUMBER in a basement-like setting; dark, dreary, wet, with very little light. He paces in front of the camera, tugging at his straggly mop of hair out of hatred and resentment for the man he’s about to address.)

JTP: “Judo, ol’ Joe’s gonna make this short and sweet—short like my temper, and sweet like your little sister’s tenderoni c*nt. You wanna come into NFW—the house Jay Tee Pee built—and blindside-chairshot me? You try `n put me out of commission for good… for permanent? You try `n make me look foolish by knockin’ me out-cold directly after my triumphant return promo? Well, uh-uh, no way, no fuckin’ way, BUSTER! That sh*t stops right hurr! No longer will the Sucka-Free fuckin’ Bouse be seen as a viable target for you or your faggot clown friend… My peepers are pried W I D E open!

“Don’t fool yourselves: SARS ain’t sh*t.” (JTP gestures with his hand, insinuating that the aforementioned cross-dressing clown is not a concern of his.) “I could throw a bunch of bargain-bin make-up (...a little rouge, maybe some eyeliner...) on the semen-glazed head of my throbbing eight-inch cock, and it’d be more intimidating than that limp-wristed queer, with all his flip-floppy offensive moves… prancin’ around in his rainbow man-panties, sprinklin’ his brand of magical pixy dust on the heads of the little boys he oh-so craves. Then, after the “seeds” have been planted, he waits patiently in the shadows for them to wander off from their mommies and daddies in a sort of trance-like stupor. And when they get near… he SPRINGS OUT, unleashing the white-gloved fugitive hand wanted in forty-seven states in connection with several hundred cases of child molestation, as well as unwanted bum-touching in carnival ride line-ups.” (JTP stops pacing and glares at the camera, menacingly.) “You sicken me.”

(JTP reaches for a light attached to a string overhead and pulls down on it, illuminating the small area in which he stands. He is, indeed, in the basement of his dilapidated shack of a house, near a workbench. Sitting a top the workbench is a steel folding chair, with an assortment of household items superglued or nailed to it.)

For instance, a mousetrap, a doorknob, several forks and knives, glass shards from his broken hash pipe, coagulated cleaning fluid, (deep breath) … and a Bic lighter. Oh! And the engagement ring he was going to give to Sexy Stacy when he proposed to her; that is, had she not died / deflated.

JTP holds the steel chair up, and smiles, sadistically, showing his baked bean teeth.)

JTP: “You wanna make this about chairs, do ya!? You wanna make sh*t real!? Well, sh*t’s fixin’ to get real REAL quick! Ol’ Joe doesn’t fuck around when he sees an adversary dressed in a steel-chair suit of armour! That’s a call-to-war! I’ll fight chair with chair—and motherf*cker…? … I’ll win.

“See, I’m gonna be lookin’ over my shoulder, 24 f*ckin' 7, now! Ahhh, yeaaah! You and Judo better pack your bags REAL quick, and move on! Find a cheap motel on interstate whatever-the-f*ck-leads-you-away-from-ME, get underneath the sheets, snuggle in tight, and hope and pray—go on, pull your f*ckin' hands out of each others trousers and put ‘em together, now!—HOPE and f*ckin’ PRAY that the NFW WORLD Television Champ don’t come lookin’ for ya! `Cause you ain’t gonna beat me, one-on-one, or even two-on-one! Ain’t nobody gonna blindside ol’ Joe again! You queers could multiply a thousand times over and you still wouldn’t stand a chance against the Greasy Goblin! Try, GIVE IT A SHOT, but know this: you’re gonna get beat down to a bloody, autistic PULP with this beautiful piece of Sucka-Free craftsmanship! Guar-an-teed to cause frightening hallucinations and a brain aneurism that’ll sneak up on ya when you LEAST expect / can afford it!

“That’s the f*ckin’ WORD, boys! Joe the Plumber is officially back! Concussions be damned! Ol’ Joe ain’t spending another MINUTE in a hospital bed! UGNHHH! I don’t care if I get shot walkin’ to the ring and have to pull the bullet out of my spleen myself; I AIN’T goin’ to no damn hospital! I’m double-tough, hardboiled, a BEAST! The NFW fans want to see me defend my belt, and that’s what I plan to do! Defend it as frequently as f*ckin’ possible! Because I AM the Workin’ Man! The toughest sonuvab*tch NFW has ever seen! AND I AIN’T TO BE F*CKED WITH!

“I’m gonna rule this fed someday…”

(Following his prophetic words, JTP’s saucer-shaped eyes become fixed on the steel chair monstrosity clutched in his hands, as the scene FTB.)