Horror Movie Pitch

Is it just me, or does Dick Cheney look like somebody who goes out every now and again and kills homeless people? You know, just to scratch that itch?

 I can see him, every third Wednesday of the month. He puts on a dark trench coat and a fedora and slinks out into the D.C. night.

 Out of the shadows of an alley he approaches a down and out fellow named “Dave” (his name is changed to protect the innocent).

 “Hey man, got some spare change for some coffee?” Dave innocently inquires.

 “Sure, I got your spare change right HERE!”

 As quick as a wink from the angel of death Cheney pulls the piano wire from the wristband of his watch and wraps it fast around Dave’s neck. Dave squirms, he writhes, he tries to scream, but the blood from the open laceration fills his voicebox and all that comes out is a warm, scarlet gurgle. Cheney pulls the hapless man close and whispers in his ear, “How’s this for change? You like change? You gonna vote for change, asshole?”

 Dave breathes his last.

 Dick arrives home. His wife Lynne sits in the den, knitting or making cookies or persecuting gays or some other Republican wife thing.

 “How was your walk, dear?”

 “Good.” He replies. “Yeah…yeah, real good.”

 The front of his slacks are stained with semen.

 “Step in a puddle again, Dick?”

 “Oh, yeah! Yeah…another puddle. Really raining out there.”

 He slinks upstairs to his room, opens a locked bureau drawer with a key and takes out an ornate wooden box. In the box are tiny bits of homeless man flesh, all put into small Ziplock bags and sorted chronologically. He removes the morsel of Homeless Dave tissue from his pocket, licks off the excess blood, puts it in it’s own secure plastic bag, and sets it at the front of the row marked “June”.

 Yeah, I know it’s a far-fetched story…but then I watch him on the news, and I’m not so sure.

 

I’m Anthony Wood. I’m angry. And I’ve got oatmeal in my shoes.