<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171</id><updated>2011-04-21T08:45:57.040-12:00</updated><title type='text'>Aggravation Baby</title><subtitle type='html'>Irish amateur comics artist goes mad: Spread the love.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112318621269295946</id><published>2005-08-04T08:07:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-04T08:10:12.696-12:00</updated><title type='text'>Thist just in:</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;The new album by "&lt;em&gt;Gorillaz&lt;/em&gt;" is quite good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112318621269295946?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112318621269295946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112318621269295946' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112318621269295946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112318621269295946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/08/thist-just-in.html' title='Thist just in:'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112309148497133011</id><published>2005-08-03T05:45:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-03T05:51:24.976-12:00</updated><title type='text'>Ninja Apocalypse</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Here’s something I found on my computer (and yes, it is meant to be this bad):&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NINJA APOCALYPSE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By Dan Kennedy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;INT - AN APARTMENT - DAY&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LINDA groggily awakes on a couch to the image of a ninja with goggles and a robot arm standing over her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LINDA&lt;br /&gt;W-where am I? Who are you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NINJA&lt;br /&gt;You are safe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LINDA&lt;br /&gt;But who are you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NINJA&lt;br /&gt;I...am --&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA's speech is cut off by the sound of the door being smashed in. CYBER-NINJA and LINDA both look up to see CYBER-NINJA's arch-nemesis, the menacing DR. NINJA-SAURUS, standing in the doorway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS&lt;br /&gt;You have grown sloppy, old foe. It was child's play finding you here, what shall now become the scene of your gruesome demise. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;What is it you want, Ninja-Saurus?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS&lt;br /&gt;The girl. Give her to me and your torturous death shall be measured in hours and not days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;I shall sooner die.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS&lt;br /&gt;Very well! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, dozens of ninjas burst in through the door and start attacking CYBER-NINJA in a huge battle scene in which, after much struggle, our hero comes out on top. It is only after the fight has ended that he notices the nefarious DR. NINJA-SAURUS at the other side of the room with LINDA in his grasp. He is about to slit her throat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;Unhand the girl, foul beast!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DR. NINJA-SAURUS&lt;br /&gt;Make me, you metal fool!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LINDA&lt;br /&gt;H-help me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;HAVE AT YOU, FOUL THING!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA extends his rocket-arm and his hand shoots off across the room, hitting DR. NINJA-SAURUS in his face. They then fight for a bit, before CYBER-NINJA gouges out DR. NINJA-SAURUS' good eye, leaving him completely blind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;Come Linda, let us flee while we have the upper hand!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LINDA&lt;br /&gt;W-what just happened?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA&lt;br /&gt;There is no time to explain now. We must flee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CYBER-NINJA and LINDA flee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112309148497133011?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112309148497133011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112309148497133011' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112309148497133011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112309148497133011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/08/ninja-apocalypse.html' title='Ninja Apocalypse'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112302676704957458</id><published>2005-08-02T11:42:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T11:55:48.850-12:00</updated><title type='text'>“Ma! I just dun inpaled mahself on a javelin!”</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Today I turned on the TV to be greeted with a show titled “&lt;em&gt;101 Things Removed from the Human Body&lt;/em&gt;”. It always fills me with joy to know that when all else fails, you can always count on the fine people controlling what we watch to have such imagination when it comes to programming.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;I could only bear to watch a few minutes of what must surely have been a fine piece of entertainment, but in that time I witnessed the story of a young man who - to make a long story short - ended up with a javelin stuck in his face. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Because this was an hour long show and 101 things removed from a human body had to be covered in that time, the programme speeded through some of the various items, telling us 10 second stories of people who had to have firelighters, a garden hose and 200 nails removed from their stomach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Within this 10 seconds the programmers failed to explain, however, just why exactly someone would willingly ingest firelighters, a garden hose or 200 nails. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;The next story that more than a few minutes was devoted to was about a man who fell off a ladder and - to make a long story short - ended up with a javelin stuck in his face. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Yeah…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;Anyway, in news that isn’t related to television programming of a dubious nature, I am currently working on a new comic book. So far, I’ve managed to plan most of it out in prose form, thumbnail some of it and design a few characters. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;More news as it happens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112302676704957458?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112302676704957458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112302676704957458' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112302676704957458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112302676704957458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/08/ma-i-just-dun-inpaled-mahself-on.html' title='“Ma! I just dun inpaled mahself on a javelin!”'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112300708170646906</id><published>2005-08-02T06:23:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T06:29:56.500-12:00</updated><title type='text'>“We can’t bury Shelley, she’s our friend.”</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:78%;"&gt;So today I happened across a copy of “&lt;em&gt;The Evil Dead&lt;/em&gt;” on DVD for a measly 15 euros. I’ve been a fan of the “&lt;em&gt;Evil Dead&lt;/em&gt;” trilogy for a while now, ever since I bought “&lt;em&gt;Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn&lt;/em&gt;” on DVD on a whim at least a year ago, having seen it in a record-store on sale and having previously heard good things about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s easily the funniest horror comedy movie ever made and I’d recommend it to anyone. The director, Sam Raimi, has since gone on to direct “&lt;em&gt;Darkman&lt;/em&gt;”, “&lt;em&gt;A Simple Plan&lt;/em&gt;” and most notably, “&lt;em&gt;Spider-man&lt;/em&gt;” and it’s sequel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The star of the film, Bruce Campbell, is a great actor who I’m sure you’ve all seen in something and not known it. He’s notable for recent cult hit “&lt;em&gt;Bubba Ho-Tep&lt;/em&gt;”, which is another great low-budget movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then went on to hunt down the sequel “&lt;em&gt;Evil Dead 3: Army of Darkness&lt;/em&gt;” on DVD and it’s great as well. Not quite as good as the second in the series, a little bit goofier, but still a very entertaining movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I managed to tape an airing of “&lt;em&gt;The Evil Dead&lt;/em&gt;” off the TV, and I have to say, it’s the worst in the trilogy. It’s dated horribly, and it’s the only one of the movies to try and be all-out-horror, which doesn’t really work. It’s still a fun ride though and I’m glad I (finally) bought the DVD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recommend these movies to anyone who’s into zombie movies or horror in general, or even if you just want to laugh at a guy who’s getting plates smashed over his head by his own demon possessed hand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112300708170646906?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112300708170646906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112300708170646906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112300708170646906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112300708170646906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/08/we-cant-bury-shelley-shes-our-friend.html' title='“We can’t bury Shelley, she’s our friend.”'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112292191466923154</id><published>2005-08-01T06:13:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T06:33:04.990-12:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gospel According to Carl</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Picture this: I’m thirteen and I’m told by official board of education people that according to a standardised test: I’m smart. So, I do what any normal thirteen year old would do in the situation - laugh in the face of every asshole who’s ever wronged me or who I just don’t like for whatever reason.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Six months later, when I was through with the laughing, I had come away with two things - a sore throat and the knowledge that after reading the “So You’re Smart Now” pamphlet, I really am not smart at all, but I just have a natural aptitude for English, and that’s all. Big fucking deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this “natural aptitude for the English language”, or as I now like to call it “Literacy” did (after passing another, slightly harder silly test, which I believe Americans call “SAT”s) grant me access to a summer course where other young individuals who could spell words with more than five syllables in them (and some who could even do maths and stuff, which is completely beyond my grasp) met up and did courses on subjects you wouldn’t normally get to focus upon in a regular school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If that sounds like hell then it really wasn’t. It was a lot of fun, provided of course you were smart enough to choose a course subject that didn’t make you do any actual work. The irony in this is that when you get together hundreds of seemingly smart people you’d be surprised by how many choose “Geography”, “Engineering” (what “Dilbert” does), “Applied Maths” or some other stupid shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me, on the other hand, I chose “Art”, and whiled away the hours talking to people, eating and having fun while pretending to draw trees. I also spent a good while laughing my ass off at anyone who had to do any real work, and thereby earning myself another sore throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next year I chose “Screenwriting”, because bollocks, I was getting into that, seemed interesting. I have always been writing, I just never really realised. When I was a child I’d buy a copy book with 120 pages in it, do some doodles in the first five or maybe a comic strip and then buy another one and repeat the process. I’ve always been writing comic stories using characters I created (though in those days, “created” was a fancy word for “thieved from off the TV or from some comic book”) but I’ve never thought of myself as much of a writer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this screenwriting class I met up with some great people and we ended up writing a script (or part of one anyway) for a feature film. That feature film, my friends was “The Gospel According to Carl”, the story of a Baptist minister who - well, that would be telling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The script, I feel, is quite good, but I can’t take much credit for it, as it was a group project. I did help out significantly though. If not for me, the title would be different, Carl would probably be 18 and not a Baptist minister, and in one scene there would have been a cat jumping out of a roast turkey for no apparent reason. I also edited the final draft. It’s basically 8 minutes of boring, sugary-sweet set-up for what I think is a pretty good gag. There’s some other worthwhile stuff in there too I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, we never could come up with a good ending - or middle, for that matter - for the script, and it’s been years and years since I last saw those guys, so in the safe knowledge that it will, never, ever be completed, I present to you - “The Gospel According to Carl”:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO CARL&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Written by&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Joshua Eklund,&lt;br /&gt;Dan Kennedy,&lt;br /&gt;Ayrton O’Brien,&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;Donnacha O’Sullivan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;FADE IN:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Various images of a small town in Tennessee to the tune of "Nutbush City Limits" by Ike and Tina Turner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. CHAPEL – SUNDAY MORNING&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Music fades out during the second chorus. The sound of Rev. CARL ARNOLD’S homily becomes clearer. We move up the aisle and rest on Carl, 45. He is dressed in a purple vestment. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(preaching)&lt;br /&gt;Now, in these modern times, we may feel challenged by science et cetera about our Christian beliefs. Heck, I even have people comin' up to me an' askin' "How do you stay faithful in front of all your opposition?" Well, friends, I just tell 'em that that was what faith was all about:&lt;br /&gt;staying true to your beliefs despite opposition! Sure, people sin, but people forgive! God forgives! It's those that lose faith because of opposition that truly sin and who are truly unrighteous. An' they have a Lake o' Fire waitin' for them! Can anyone honestly say they disagree with anything Jesus thought? No. And as Christians we are under obligation to seek to make the will of Christ supreme in our own lives, in society. Then those doubters can learn through our good example and be saved! Christian beliefs are common sense anyways, why is there opposition? We oppose hate. We work for the orphaned, the abused, the needy, the aged, the helpless and the sick. We oppose every form of greed, selfishness and vice. We oppose sexual immorality: adultery, rape, pornography and homosexuality. We speak on behalf of the unborn child and contend for the sanctity of human life. All Christians should seek industry, government and society under the principals of righteousness, truth and brotherly love. In order to promote these ends Christians should be ready to work with all men of good will in any good cause, always being careful to act in the spirit of love without givin’ up their loyalty to Christ and His truth.&lt;br /&gt;Now, you may go in peace to love and serve the Lord.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CONGREGATION&lt;br /&gt;(slightly out of time and mumbly)&lt;br /&gt;Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. OUTSIDE OF CHAPEL – VERY SUNNY – 11am&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(bidding farewell to his congregation)&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, bye-bye now, thanks for comin’ out...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;A short, stout woman, EMMYLOU, 45, approaches Carl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EMMYLOU&lt;br /&gt;Oh Reverend, great sermon you gave there today! If that won't convert the non-believers, I don't know what will. An' I just can’t wait for the barbeque. I’m so lookin’ forward to it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Aw, yeah, Emmylou, ’s gonna be great. I’m lookin’ forward to it myself, Mizz Arnold herself’s been workin’ hard on her, eh, gastronomical an’ culinary skills for it, heh heh heh. Ripe tender burgers for all!&lt;br /&gt;(fake laugh)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EMMYLOU&lt;br /&gt;(fake laugh)&lt;br /&gt;Well, it sounds yummy already, Reverend! Like I told you, I can’t wait; ’S gonna be great! All right, I’ll see you there Reverend Arnold. Bye now!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Bye, Emmylou!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;By this stage, all the congregation have left the church and are starting their cars. Carl enters the church.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. REAR EXIT OF CHURCH - 11am&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carls exits in casual clothes, gets in his car and pulls off. The last verse of "Nutbush City Limits" plays as he drives home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. ARNOLD FAMILY HOME&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl pulls into his rather luxurious two-story, white boarded house’s drive-way. Carl gets out of the car, walks into his house and slams the door. The music comes to an abrupt end as he closes the door.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. ARNOLD FAMILY KITCHEN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl walks into his terracotta-walled kitchen. Sunlight bursts in through the windows. His archetypical, Sally Field-like WIFE, 43, is working at some everyday cooking task. Her dress sense is more Queen Liz than Jackie O, and SJP is out of the question. Carl’s son MARC, 17, assists her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;Oh hi, hon!&lt;br /&gt;(pecks Carl on the cheek)&lt;br /&gt;We’re nearly all set for this barbeque now. ’S gonna be great.&lt;br /&gt;(pause, smile fading)&lt;br /&gt;Hon, are you sure you don’t mind us missin’ your sermon today?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Not at all, darlin’, it wuz outta necessity! We can’t be servin’ our guests somethin’ outta KFC! Besides, you attended last night, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;WIFE&lt;br /&gt;Still, it feels strange not to attend Sunday sermon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(kisses his wife)&lt;br /&gt;Aw, don't worry yer pretty little head about it. One missed sermon's more than worth it fer your cookin' skills! Speakin’ o’ which, how’s it comin’ on? Marc ain’t burned the house down at least!&lt;br /&gt;(laughs)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;I’m doin’ a better job then her here- ! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(laughing)&lt;br /&gt;Oh now you can’t believe that, Carl!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;You can too! I ain’t the disaster you think I am, Pa!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;Ha! But you’re not the miraculous cook I’d hoped for either!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(laughs)&lt;br /&gt;I ain’t getting’ involved in this here argument but I do know that this is gonna be a fine lookin’, fine tastin’, fine...ev’rythin’ barbeque!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;All three smile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. ARNOLD’S BACK GARDEN – SUNNY AFTERNOON, 2pm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;It is the barbeque. Many of the Arnold’s friends are conversing and simultaneously swilling a beer. A few tables are on the lawn in white spreads. Cocktail sausages are on most. Carl is at the barbeque itself, talking. We see Carl’s wife inside talking to the socialites and Marc talking to his friend, a rock star look-a-like called Damon. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC, a member of Carl's congregation, approaches him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Eric! How are ya?! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;Oh jus’ fine, Reverend! I loved that sermon! ’Bout time somebody said somethin’ ’bout those heathen lil’...S.O.B.s, if you ’scuse my language, Reverend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;No, I see what you mean. An’ then those lefties tell us to put up or shut up! Is there not somethin’ called "The First Amendment"?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;Aw, heck yeah! They say alla that B.S. ’bout "civil liberties" while tryin’a oppress us good, hard-workin’ and above all NORMAL Americans!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Yep, yep. Judges rule us now. No place for morality or the Constitution in the face of "special rights" for abortionists an’ faggits.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;Ah...&lt;br /&gt;(looks away at the ground)&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I hear you’re goin’ fishin’ wit’ yer lil’ man there.&lt;br /&gt;(points in the direction of Marc, who is still talking with Damon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Aw hell yeah! Heh-heh! Yep, goin’ out on the river, y’know, find us a bridge an’ then we have fish for dinner!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Both laugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;Well if it’s as nice as these burgers, y’ll remember this as a rather tasty week!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. Must say, I can’t wait. Marc’s a great kid. Make a fine young man someday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;You’ve raised ’im well, and I ain’t jus’ sayin’ tha’. He’s a helpful and mannerly young man and you do right to speak proudly of him. Shame we can’t say the same about...&lt;br /&gt;(cough)&lt;br /&gt;...Damon!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Aw, he’s...he’s a bad egg, that one. I don’t LIKE Marc hangin’ ’round ’im. Least I can say is, Damon doesn’t seem to’ve exerted any of his "influence" on Marc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Both murmur in agreement. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl’s wife and one of her socialites are discussing the food and how nice each other looks. We can't hear their conversation over the sound of all the other people. One of Carl's wife's friends approaches with a man in his mid-twenties by her side.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;WIFE'S FRIEND&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Arnold? Mrs. Glen? Have you met our new neighbour, Mr. Constantine? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(while brushing her hair back and blushing slightly)&lt;br /&gt;Why, I don't believe we've had the pleasure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EMMYLOU&lt;br /&gt;He moved here from the city, lookin' for the queit life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MR. CONSTANTINE&lt;br /&gt;(To WIFE)&lt;br /&gt;Hello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(almost flirting)&lt;br /&gt;Well, Mr. Constantine, I hope you don't find us too boring!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. MARC'S BEDROOM, ON THE SECOND STOREY OF THE ARNOLD HOUSE-SECONDS LATER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Marc is watching the barbecue from the window of his room. Damon is lying on Marc's bed playing his Nintendo. They have food smuggled in from the barbecue below. We hear rock music playing on a stereo in the background. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;Look at 'em all. Bullshittin’ away. Smiling and being oh-so-very nice to someone, then as soon as that person goes? "Oh, what a fucker they are!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;DAMON&lt;br /&gt;This whole place is so phony. It's so idealyic, until you scratch the surface and you see the ugliness that lies beneath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Marc is still looking out the window. He doesn't react to what Damon has just said and appears to be lost in his own thoughts. We see that he is looking down at Carl. After a few seconds, he turns at looks over at Damon, who is playing Marc's Nintendo. He looks up at Marc. Both smile. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. CARL'S BACK GARDEN-SECONDS LATER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl is still talking with Eric. Emmylou approaches.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EMMYLOU&lt;br /&gt;Hello Reverend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(turning around to face her)&lt;br /&gt;Oh, hello Emmylou. What's botherin' you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EMMYLOU&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, Reverend? Eh, where’ve your wife an’ son gone, Reverend? I haven’t seen ’em in a little while...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(while looking around to see if he can spot them)&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I haven’t either. Maybe I’ll go look for ’em. Could be upstairs. Heck, they're probably just gettin' mor food for everyone, Emmylou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;He turns to Eric.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Excuse me for a second, Eric.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ERIC&lt;br /&gt;Sure. Take your time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. ARNOLD HOUSEHOLD - DAY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl enters the house from the back. He walks into all the first floor rooms. Noones there. He stands at the bottom of the staircase and looks up. Rock music can be heard faintly coming from Marcs room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Hon? Marc? You up there?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;No reply.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl walks up the stairs and down the hall, looking into every room along the way. He then approaches Marc's room. The door is slightly ajar. He opens it and looks in. To his astonishment, Marc and Damon are lying on the bed kissing passionately. They do not see him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl is too shocked to speak or react in any way. He stands there looking at them for a few seconds before he closes the door and stands with his back against it, clutching his heart and gasping for breath.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;He sees a portrait of Jesus opposite him. Jesus is bearing his wrists, and the puncture marks in them. He has a sad, almost sympathetic look on his face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl's eyes flow down to a family photo taken a few years back that hangs below the portrait of Jesus. From Carl's POV we see close-ups of himself, Marc and finally, his wife. We stay longer on his wife than the other two.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl looks down to the end of the hall, and the door that leads into the master bedroom. He walks over to it and opens the door slightly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;H-honey? Are you in there? I have s-something to tell you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;As Carl opens the door fully, he sees that his wife is having sex with Mr. Constantine in his bed. He backs out looking even more shocked than before.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;EXT. ARNOLD HOUSEHOLD-8PM&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Establishing shot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. DINING ROOM OF ARNOLD HOUSE-SAME TIME.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;A rectangular dining table covered in a white spread is in the centre of the dimly lit magnolia room.At the top of the table is Carl, and at the sides are his wife and son. All have their heads bowed. Carl clears his throat and prepares to say grace.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Lord, we thank you for this bountiful harvest that you, in your infinite generosity, have provided for us to feast upon. We know that we are unworthy of the love you give us, Lord. In our sin, we have cheated on you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl’s wife turns her head slowly to Carl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Our sin makes us filthy as though we had bathed our bodies in a lake of human excrement – &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(interrupting, shocked)&lt;br /&gt;Carl!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl looks up and shrugs, making a face as if to say ‘Oh well...’, then bows his head and continues.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;But you in your infinite wisdom can forgive us, Lord. If only we admit our sins to those we have wronged, and repent. You can erase the ledger of wrongdoing, Lord. Help us to admit our sins and enter into the light of your grace. Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE &amp; MARC&lt;br /&gt;Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;They start to eat. There is an awkward silence for a few moments.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(dryly, in a tired, exasperated voice)&lt;br /&gt;So... how was your day, honey?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(smiling falsely)&lt;br /&gt;Oh, great, hon! Charlene, at the corner shop, she couldn’t stop complementing the BBQ. It was a great success, Carl, ev’ryone’s talkin’ ’bout it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Hm. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;Oh, yeah, hon, it was great!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(exhaling audibly through his nose)&lt;br /&gt;And you, Marc? Did you enjoy yourself?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;(slightly nervously)&lt;br /&gt;Yeah Dad, it was fantastic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(slightly smugly)&lt;br /&gt;I must say, I haven’t seen you with any lady-friends lately...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Marc and his mother turn towards Carl apprehensively. Marc starts talking after a few moments of more awkward silence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, em, I’m just waitin’ ’til I find someone special, y’know, take my time – &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(interrupting)&lt;br /&gt;Oh I understand, that’s mighty admirable of you, son... ’Must say, you an’ Damon sure do spend a lotta time together, Marc...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;Well, yeah, y’know, he is my best friend ’n’ all...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Marc, can I ask you something?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;(very nervously)&lt;br /&gt;Y-yes, yeah, go ahead, Dad...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Can you pass the gravy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;(relieved)&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, sure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Marc obediently starts to pass the gravy from the opposite end of the table. As he does so, Carl quickly interjects.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(quickly,rather bluntly)&lt;br /&gt;Son, are you gay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Marc drops the gravy and spills it all over the tablecloth. There is yet more awkward silence for those few moments.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;N-n-no sir!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(sighs, raising his voice, almost to a shout)&lt;br /&gt;Don't you lie to me boy! I saw you with my own eyes! My son, my flesh and blood, feelin’ the flesh o’ another man!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;(shocked and anxious)&lt;br /&gt;Carl, how dare you, how could you –&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MARC&lt;br /&gt;Mom!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;- accuse him of such a thing! Marc go back to your closet-, I mean - your room! Go to your room an’ we’ll have no more ridiculous talk of boyfriends an’ -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(interrupting)&lt;br /&gt;While we're on the subject of boyfriends, I just thought I'd tell you that I know all about your seedy little affairs!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL’S WIFE&lt;br /&gt;I can’t believe I’m hearing these, these...accusations!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Oh, please don’t insult my intelligence like this!&lt;br /&gt;(looks to Marc)&lt;br /&gt;Or were you and Damon rehearsing for a play when I saw you in your room?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Heated silence for a few moments. Carl stands at the table.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;I hope you're both very proud of yourselves. It hurts me to even look at you! So you see, there ain't no way I can bring myself to live in such an immoral house of adulterers an’ faggots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl heads for the door. His wife gets up and grabs his arm in an attempt to stop him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;WIFE&lt;br /&gt;Carl, wait!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;Let go of me, woman! Haven't you done enough harm?!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;He pushes her away. Choking back tears, she sits back down and puts her head in her hands.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl walks out the door, slams it behind him and a few seconds later, a picture of the family falls from the wall behind Carl's place at the table and is heard shattering. Carl’s wife and Marc slowly and solemnly bow their heads in shame.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;FADE TO BLACK.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;FADE IN:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;INT. CHAPEL – NIGHT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl is sitting on one of the steps leading up to the alter. Broken shafts of moonlight are coming through the windows. Carl holds a Bible in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. As he speaks to God, or rather, the ceiling, his voice reverberates all around the chapel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;CARL&lt;br /&gt;(softly)&lt;br /&gt;Where did I go wrong, Lord? I know this is punishment, but for what? Where did I stray from the path? I’ve always been a model Christian.&lt;br /&gt;(shouting)&lt;br /&gt;Hell, I even joined the ministry!! So why have you punished me like this?! A faggot for a son an’ a cheatin’ bitch of a wife?!&lt;br /&gt;(shouting; nearly at tears)&lt;br /&gt;I lived for the Church, can’t I jus’ have a barbeque with t’neighbours without finding my family sleepin’ around with men?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl slugs the last of the whisky and throws the bottle away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Carl sighs deeply, stands and puts on his Stetson. As he leaves he sees his Bible on the step. He hesitates before picking it up and walking out. A car is heard starting, revving and driving off at some speed. Headlights flash briefly through the windows. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*************************************************************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;There's slightly more written, but that's all that's really good enough to show.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Also, you have no idea of what hell it was to format all this in this post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112292191466923154?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112292191466923154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112292191466923154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112292191466923154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112292191466923154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/08/gospel-according-to-carl.html' title='The Gospel According to Carl'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14984171.post-112282984348367912</id><published>2005-07-31T13:10:00.000-12:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T06:35:32.363-12:00</updated><title type='text'>Main Titles</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;I don’t know why I am doing this - the blogger account, I mean. I have always sort of believed that if you want to wank, do it with your genitalia and not your ego, but still, I submit this as a time-capsule of sorts, documenting my writing, art, animation and karaoke career for the ages. Not that I have a career in such fields, but even still…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;It’s just like a time-capsule only you get to open it now, and also, you know, it’s not a box filled with old “&lt;em&gt;Action comics&lt;/em&gt;” and “&lt;em&gt;Prince&lt;/em&gt;” records buried in two feet of ground. In fact, it really isn’t anything like a time-capsule at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14984171-112282984348367912?l=aggravationbaby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/feeds/112282984348367912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14984171&amp;postID=112282984348367912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112282984348367912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14984171/posts/default/112282984348367912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aggravationbaby.blogspot.com/2005/07/main-titles.html' title='Main Titles'/><author><name>Dan Kennedy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03978542435768675433</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://a.deviantart.com/avatars/b/r/broken-screams.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
