Bender_
X
The Hyundai Excel pulls up in front of the Netflix building, black smoke billowing from the exhaust. The driver looks into the rear-view mirror and fixes eyebrows that are so bushy they look like the Dr Moreau lovechild from genetic splicing of Bart Cummings and Tony Galati.
“Just breathe, it’s only a pitch. You need this to get back into the game and get those sweet, sweet Netflix bucks.” The man whispers to himself as he does one last straightening of his clip-on tie and sniffs his underarms to make sure the Rexona is still doing its job.
He exits the car and makes his way towards the building’s entrance where he’s greeted by the valet who exchanges his keys for a ticket. “Look, I just want to get this out of the way now, I’m Australian,” The man says to valet who returns a confused look. “I don’t tip, so don’t make it awkward when I come back to grab my keys, okay mate?” the man spits as he continues towards the foyer, leaving behind the valet shaking his head in annoyance.
“G’day, El_Ahraihrah to see Mr Corporate Sellout for a 1pm pitch.” He says to the receptionist who does her best not to recoil in horror at his hung-over monkey-s**t scented breath.
“He’ll be with you momentarily,” she replies. “Please take a seat.”
E_A sits on a plush leather chaise and waits for the receptionist to look at her computer monitor before pocketing 3 handfuls of complimentary mints. “E_A! How are you my good man?” MrCS calls as he leans forward grasping E_A hand with a clammy, limp handshake. “Thanks for coming in, can I get you something - a yaks milk latte? Vegan cola?”
“Wouldn’t mind a gin and tonic.” There’s an awkward nano-second of silence between the 2 men where MrCS isn’t sure if E_A is being serious.
“Oh hahaha good one E_A, you crack me up!” MrCS says as he ushers a clearly disappointed E_A towards a boardroom where a woman sits waiting.
“You remember Miss Corporate Sellout, don’t you?” MrCS says.
“Indeed I do.” E_A says as he offers her a handshake for which she simply waves back to accompanied by a forced smile.
E_A sits down at the desk and the 3 people look at each other silently for a few moments, “Sorry E_A we gotta get into this, I have an anal bleaching appointment uptown at 2 that I just can’t miss. Fire away!”
E_A reaches into his back pocket and removes a stained Hungry Jacks napkin, littered with illegible dot points.
E_A: “Picture this; The sun is setting on an isolated city – in the twilight of a Sunday afternoon, set in a post-pandemalyptic –“
MrsCS: “Post-pandemalyptic?”
E_A: “It’s a phrase I coined to describe a post pandemic and apocalyptic setting. Great huh?”
MrCS and MsCS slowly glance at each other.
E_A: “Anyway, this isolated city is ruled by a ruthless tyrant called Chairman Mark, who has a penchant for inhaling kebabs and keeping families from seeing each other. Chairman Mark resides in an abandoned old sporting stadium known as The Craypot where he organises gladiator styled battles.”
MrCS: “So it's exactly like Thunderdome?”
E_A: “Well, sort of. Anyway, this is a 2-tribe town. On one side of the tracks there’s the Birds; remnants of the private school elite, now barely surviving off chardonnay rations in the leafy coastal suburbs. Once mighty they’ve been faltering of late. Then from the sewers come the Wanchors, downtrodden, perennial losers with a penchant for dirty battle tactics like eye-gouging or forcing their opponents to bite them! These 2 tribes have been battling for centuries, the momentum swinging each way for periods of time, but recent battles have gone the way of the Birds for a long while now.”
MrsCS: “Okay, then what?”
E_A: “So the final scheduled battle of the year is on the horizon before the great festival of the sun, the leader of the Birds ‘Simmo’ scrambling to find motivation for his troops, including the returning ‘The Shoe’, ‘Flyin’ and ‘Powerfist’! The ultimate warrior for the Wanchors ‘the Nyfe’ injured and in a sling, unable to participate but still trying to drag them over the line in the name of pride for the masses of sewer people that adore him! He commands a loyal battalion including ‘Ol Man Mundy’, ‘Spud’, 'Spud 2' and ‘Wilson, the bogan s**t smear’! A tale of love, power, sackings and imminence! Burning utensils! And a hell of a lot of booooing!”
MsCS: “And who do you have in mind for the part of the ‘The Nyfe’?”
E_A: “I was thinking Tilda Swinton.”
The 2 execs sit in silence except for the tapping of a pen on a yellow legal pad by MsCS. MrCS takes a deep breath and leans forward, “Look E_A, I’m going to be brutally honest with you. At Netflix we pride ourselves on providing our subscribers with quality entertainment… AND THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU’VE BROUGHT US TODAY!” he squeals with excitement, his pony-tail swishing. He turns to MsCS, “Reckon we could milk 5 seasons out of it with Zack Snyder on board?”
MsCS: “We’ve done worse before! But is there a way we could work 'folding' into the script? It's really fashionable right now.”
The Birds by 32 points
“Just breathe, it’s only a pitch. You need this to get back into the game and get those sweet, sweet Netflix bucks.” The man whispers to himself as he does one last straightening of his clip-on tie and sniffs his underarms to make sure the Rexona is still doing its job.
He exits the car and makes his way towards the building’s entrance where he’s greeted by the valet who exchanges his keys for a ticket. “Look, I just want to get this out of the way now, I’m Australian,” The man says to valet who returns a confused look. “I don’t tip, so don’t make it awkward when I come back to grab my keys, okay mate?” the man spits as he continues towards the foyer, leaving behind the valet shaking his head in annoyance.
“G’day, El_Ahraihrah to see Mr Corporate Sellout for a 1pm pitch.” He says to the receptionist who does her best not to recoil in horror at his hung-over monkey-s**t scented breath.
“He’ll be with you momentarily,” she replies. “Please take a seat.”
E_A sits on a plush leather chaise and waits for the receptionist to look at her computer monitor before pocketing 3 handfuls of complimentary mints. “E_A! How are you my good man?” MrCS calls as he leans forward grasping E_A hand with a clammy, limp handshake. “Thanks for coming in, can I get you something - a yaks milk latte? Vegan cola?”
“Wouldn’t mind a gin and tonic.” There’s an awkward nano-second of silence between the 2 men where MrCS isn’t sure if E_A is being serious.
“Oh hahaha good one E_A, you crack me up!” MrCS says as he ushers a clearly disappointed E_A towards a boardroom where a woman sits waiting.
“You remember Miss Corporate Sellout, don’t you?” MrCS says.
“Indeed I do.” E_A says as he offers her a handshake for which she simply waves back to accompanied by a forced smile.
E_A sits down at the desk and the 3 people look at each other silently for a few moments, “Sorry E_A we gotta get into this, I have an anal bleaching appointment uptown at 2 that I just can’t miss. Fire away!”
E_A reaches into his back pocket and removes a stained Hungry Jacks napkin, littered with illegible dot points.
E_A: “Picture this; The sun is setting on an isolated city – in the twilight of a Sunday afternoon, set in a post-pandemalyptic –“
MrsCS: “Post-pandemalyptic?”
E_A: “It’s a phrase I coined to describe a post pandemic and apocalyptic setting. Great huh?”
MrCS and MsCS slowly glance at each other.
E_A: “Anyway, this isolated city is ruled by a ruthless tyrant called Chairman Mark, who has a penchant for inhaling kebabs and keeping families from seeing each other. Chairman Mark resides in an abandoned old sporting stadium known as The Craypot where he organises gladiator styled battles.”
MrCS: “So it's exactly like Thunderdome?”
E_A: “Well, sort of. Anyway, this is a 2-tribe town. On one side of the tracks there’s the Birds; remnants of the private school elite, now barely surviving off chardonnay rations in the leafy coastal suburbs. Once mighty they’ve been faltering of late. Then from the sewers come the Wanchors, downtrodden, perennial losers with a penchant for dirty battle tactics like eye-gouging or forcing their opponents to bite them! These 2 tribes have been battling for centuries, the momentum swinging each way for periods of time, but recent battles have gone the way of the Birds for a long while now.”
MrsCS: “Okay, then what?”
E_A: “So the final scheduled battle of the year is on the horizon before the great festival of the sun, the leader of the Birds ‘Simmo’ scrambling to find motivation for his troops, including the returning ‘The Shoe’, ‘Flyin’ and ‘Powerfist’! The ultimate warrior for the Wanchors ‘the Nyfe’ injured and in a sling, unable to participate but still trying to drag them over the line in the name of pride for the masses of sewer people that adore him! He commands a loyal battalion including ‘Ol Man Mundy’, ‘Spud’, 'Spud 2' and ‘Wilson, the bogan s**t smear’! A tale of love, power, sackings and imminence! Burning utensils! And a hell of a lot of booooing!”
MsCS: “And who do you have in mind for the part of the ‘The Nyfe’?”
E_A: “I was thinking Tilda Swinton.”
The 2 execs sit in silence except for the tapping of a pen on a yellow legal pad by MsCS. MrCS takes a deep breath and leans forward, “Look E_A, I’m going to be brutally honest with you. At Netflix we pride ourselves on providing our subscribers with quality entertainment… AND THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU’VE BROUGHT US TODAY!” he squeals with excitement, his pony-tail swishing. He turns to MsCS, “Reckon we could milk 5 seasons out of it with Zack Snyder on board?”
MsCS: “We’ve done worse before! But is there a way we could work 'folding' into the script? It's really fashionable right now.”
The Birds by 32 points
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