I’ve written a script.*
Here’s the plot rub-down. It goes a little something like this:
After a wacky series of events, a dog named The President of Cuteness ends up playing in the NBA. During a regular season game, an even wackier series of events occurs. El Presidente is whistled for “giving the business” to an opponent. He ends up in a scuffle with his arch rival (who also happens to be a dog, who landed in the NBA by the wackiest series of events possible). This leads to both The President and his mortal enemy getting kicked out of the league. Our hero, through a series of events wackier than even the wackiest series of events, then masquerades as a female dog and plays in the women’s basketball league. Along the way, he secretly falls in love with his new teammate, who doesn’t know what is hiding under Mr. (now Ms.) President’s gym shorts. Then, through a series of events so hopelessly wacky that they give a new meaning to the word “wacky,” the two end up making love in a steamy shower scene late one night after practice. At this point Cuteness realizes that the dog he just crammed is also a male dog – his arch rival from the NBA! They can’t deny their attraction for one another, so they start a coed basketball league for homosexual dogs. Then The President of Cuteness wakes up, realizes it was all a dream and goes back to his job as a lawyer, which he obtained without much wackiness at all. The movie ends with him gazing out of his corner office window, wondering if he’ll ever find his soul mate, while Van Halen’s Why Can’t This Be Love plays over the fadeout.
*It has been pointed out to me that heavy elements of Juwanna Mann, Air Bud, and The Crying Game have been used in this script. Now, I’ve never actually seen any of those movies, so the fact that I was able to independently come up with the major plot points of not one, not two, but three Hollywood films is a testament to the fact that I possess the talent to be a Silver Screen writer.
Blong (Blog Song) of the day. Van Halen – Why Can’t This Be Love
Beard Man is not only a superhero, he also receives, and reads, mail from fans. (His vigilantism can be read about here.) Click to enlarge.
Scientists have discovered a step to the next level of human consciousness. A race of highly evolved, hyper-intelligent humans was found living atop a cloud city over Area 51. Their digestive systems are extremely streamlined — no liquid or solid waste is produced by their bodies, causing both their genitalia and rectal orifices to have been snuffed out by natural selection. When asked how they reproduce, what we formerly considered a “smart” anthropologist, who would be thought of as a water-headed infant by this new society’s standards, put down his Tootsie Pop and replied, “I don’t know, but it’s probably totally nast.”
The members of this all around better breed are so advanced that they transmit their language telepathically. Since we have no way of communicating with this newer, better version of the poor excuses we currently have for people, it may not be possible to find out or even hope to understand the technological advances they have made, but you can be damn sure those rat-bastards would have something up their sleeves, if they had use for clothing. They’re just up there on their stupid cloud, zipping around on their personal perpetual motion machines, while all us idiots are stuck down here, listening to what Stephen Hawking says, and he can’t even talk. We can only hope our out-dated bodies are so revolting to them that they have no interest in prodding, probing, and picking at every hole they can find.