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ACT I
THE SCRIPT

"The best thing a person can do is surround himself with people who want to do the same kind of thing, and if you are lucky they'll be better at it than you are, so you can learn a thing or two."
Stewart A. Smithee

FADE IN:
INTERIOR: DOCTOR CLOCKWORK'S HOLLYWOOD LABORATORY. NIGHT

DOCTOR CLOCKWORK stands over his creation. A gurney is covered with a sheet. The hidden form beneath looks like a body. Hideous moans are heard.

DOCTOR: It hurts now, certainly, but you'll soon be whole. Just a few more snips and cuts, nips and tucks. You're famous and not even born yet. Did you know that? Made from the pretty little pink parts snipped away from those movie stars, so fitting that it should be cosmic-rays from the stars …

"Stewie!"
"What?"
"Don't you say 'what' to me. Now open the door."
I looked up from my yellow legal pad and back again.
"I'm trying to write something. And the door isn't locked."
Ma opened it and poked her nose in.
"I don't want to find you with one of your girlie magazines again."
"What do you want?"
"You don't talk to your mother that way."
"Sorry, Ma. I'm just busy, that's all."
"Doing what?"
"Writing a movie."
I could see Ma's brow slowly furrow.
"Movies have to get written first. Then they shoot them," I told her.
"I know that. What's your movie about?"
"A mad doctor. A plastic surgeon who works in Hollywood. He steals little pieces of movie star clients that he operates on and then saves them up and makes evil henchmen."
I figured I was onto something just by the sick look on her face.
"Well, take a break. Your cousin Mable's downstairs. She's looking mighty nice, painted up like a hussy."
"What do I care?"
"Just come on down. She wants to go see a picture."
She pulled the door shut. I considered locking it, putting on the headphones to my stereo and writing some more. But after I took a glance out the window, I remembered it was a cool October night and the leaves would be ankle deep, swirling in the wind. Mable wasn't too bad, anyway. She was just a bit loose with her company was all. Nothing more than you'd expect of any small town girl with nothing much to lose.
I put my pad away in my desk drawer and stretched in towards the back where I kept my bag of weed. It was some pretty nasty stuff. Mexican Skunk Weed they called it. It gave you a five minute high and a thirty minute headache. But, hey, this is Podunk, USA, not New York, and not LA, and a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. I shoved the dope into my underwear and headed downstairs.
So there was Mable, looking like the one whore in a one-whore town. She was about my age, meaning she should have moved out of her mom's house about three years ago. She was getting too old to pull off the sleazy clothes and caked-on makeup. It looked like she'd actually been painting on her acne instead of painting over it, so she didn't look so haggard, I guess. She sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and chatting away with Ma. I knew they were talking about my dad because they shut up really quick when I came into the room.
"Mable," I said. "How's it hanging?"
She scowled at me. She hated it something fierce when I asked her that.
"Lower than yours, probably," she said.
"Ma says you want to go see a movie. Let's hit it."
She ground out her cigarette and gave Ma a big kiss on her cheek.
"See ya, Ma," I said. Ma turned her other cheek to me, saying I should go ahead and give her a kiss too. I obliged, and me and Mable headed out the back door.

EXTERIOR: PLANET LESBOS. DAY

ESTABLISHING SHOT OF PLANET LESBOS

We see Lesbos in all her glory, zooming into what might be ancient Greece. Huge temples made of white granite are on either side of the camera. Statues of beautiful women, breasts bare, sultry lips. We continue our fly-by, taking note of near naked women, holding hands and walking through market places, some stopping to kiss, their bodies pressed against cold marble.

NARRATOR (voice over):

Planet Lesbos: The only planet in the known universe populated exclusively by beautiful lesbians. Ten thousand years ago, having enough of toilet seats left up, too much sex when they were half asleep in the mornings, husbands who drank too much beer and slept in on Saturdays, husbands who wouldn't watch the kids, iron clothes or keep up the yard, they decided once and for all that being a man was to be discouraged. First, the males were made second-class citizens, then slaves, then jailed. Finally, they were executed on sight.

"Stewie," Mable said, "are you paying attention to me?"
"Sure," I said. "You were talking about something."
We were sitting on a park bench downtown, passing a joint of the skunk weed back and forth.
"I was talking all right," she said. "I was talking about how this weed stinks. I mean it really stinks, and then it just plain stinks."
There wasn't any arguing with it, and I wasn't up for excuses. Sometimes Mable liked to argue long and hard about things that weren't worth the time.
"What were you thinking about? One of your imaginary movies?"
"Yeah."
"What's this one about?"
"A planet full of lesbians, maybe. Maybe this guy Doctor Clockwork, a renegade plastic surgeon …"
She got one of those funny looks on her face.
"Lesbians?"
"Right."
"I kind of like lesbians," she said. "I was thinking maybe I might like to try that someday."
She put her hand on my thigh, right next to my you-know-what, and I knew what that meant.
"You want a BJ to help you relax?"
I pushed her hand away. "Dang, Mable, you're my cousin!"
"It didn't used to bother you."
"That was before. This is now."
She grinned.
"Well, if you like lesbians so much, you can be one when I make my movie."
"For real, Stewie?"
"Sure thing. I've been saving up for a Super 8 camera. They have one in the pawn shop."
"That would be so cool."
"I suppose some of the gang might want to be in it too."
Officer McNutt came walking through the park sniffing at the air. I tossed what was left of the joint to the cement and ground it under the sole of my tennis shoe.
"What are you kids doing over here?"
"Nothin', Officer McNutt," Mable said.
"Just getting ready to go the movies is all," I said.
"Getting ready by smoking pot, it smells like."
"No sir. There's a reason they call it dope. I need all my brain cells."
McNutt yawned, listened to something on his radio for second, and then looked at us again.
"Move along. Decent folk might come by and they won't be too happy finding you two here."
We got up. Mable gave him a wink and he shook his head.
"Mable Leslie Smithee, if bad taste was crime I'd be issuing you a citation right now."
She was never fazed by it. A perfect stranger could walk right up to her and call her the most god awful names, insulting her loose morals, and she would act like it was a standing ovation. That's Podunk, USA for you - any attention is good attention.

Inside the movie theater was pretty dark, not too many people; a guy up in the front row who looked kind of suspicious, a couple of kids younger than me and Mable in the back.
We ate popcorn and watched the movie. I can't say it was all that good, but I'm pretty picky. I'm one of those people that lives, sleeps and eats movies, especially the old horror ones. I must have a thousand. A lot of them are on VCR tapes, and I got those stored in the cellar at home. Some of them are even on film reels. That's a long story and one of the reasons I got fired from this very theater.
About once a month, I'd help myself to the movies that were supposed to go back to the distributor, then falsify the paperwork. Well, I guess they caught on eventually and it didn't take long for them to start pointing a finger at me. I denied it, of course. They decided not to get their lawyers involved, but the very next day I was stone-cold fired. It was pretty hard to find a job after that. It's a small town, you know. Not really many jobs anyway. About that time I decided I was going to be a movie director, or at least write some scripts or something. I had a great idea for a sci-fi horror crossover called, Cannibal Lesbian Zombies from Outer Space - versus - Doctor Clockwork and his Furious Plastic Surgeons of Doom.
So anyway, the movie showing now wasn't too bad; a typical monster flick where a monster (doesn't matter what kind) chases a group of people (doesn't matter through where), and they get killed. All but the main character who lives through it and becomes a much better person for the experience.
They sell this plot in a can down in Hollywood, and directors pull it off the shelf, add in a can of the latest actors, pepper it with new teenage vernacular, and push it through shooting before the actors start looking about forty years old. But, like I said, it isn't a bad thing. At least you know what to expect.

INTERIOR: DOCTOR CLOCKWORK'S HOLLYWOOD LABORATORY. NIGHT

Doctor Clockwork is pacing in front of three figures. They are at least a foot taller than he is, and their heads are just out of view in the shot. He seems to be prepping them for something.

DOCTOR CLOCKWORK: Hack'em, look alive!

HACK'EM: Yes Master!

DOCTOR CLOCKWORK: Slash'em, look alive!

SLASH'EM: Yes Master!

DOCTOR CLOCKWORK: And you, Gore, the prettiest of the bunch.

GORE: Thank you Master!

DOCTOR CLOCKWORD: Hack'em, Slash'em and Gore! My surgeons three, I do adore! Hack'em, Slash'em and Gore!

"I don't get it," Mable said. "Why is he called Doctor Clockwork?"
"Not sure," I said, and swirled my French fry around in a big pool of ketchup and Tabasco sauce.
"I think it's important. It's in the title and everything."
I looked out the big glass windows. It was well after ten. I didn't have anywhere to be or anything, but if the guys didn't show up, I was ready to call it a night.
"Maybe he started operating on himself. Replacing his body parts with machine parts," I said.
"Like maybe he knew this girl, right? And he was in love, and it turned out she was a lesbian. And so he got real upset one night and took his doctor knives …what are they called?"
"Scalpels?"
"Right, scalpels. And …"

INTERIOR: DOCTOR CLOCKWORK'S MANSION. DAY

The shades are pulled on the windows. Doctor Clockwork sits reading in his elaborate study. Books line the shelves from the floor to the ceiling. On the mantel of the fireplace, a clock sits under a glass dome, tick-tocking the seconds away. He holds a picture. We can't see exactly what it is, but it seems to be holding the doctor's attention. Suddenly he tears the picture in half, flings himself up from the chair.

DOCTOR CLOCKWORK: Damn this heart! Damn the pain, and damn the God that gave me life!

"And so he cuts his own heart out," Mable said. "And then - get this - he replaces it with a clock. So now he doesn't have to feel anything anymore. He can do whatever he wants whenever he wants and he doesn't take no flack from anyone ever again."
"Not bad," I said. "Except, I'm not so sure a clock could hook up to a person's guts in any useful way."
She lit a cigarette while she gave me a look Ma likes to call the Poop-eye.
"Yeah, I guess it's not quite as believable as a whole planet full of lesbians."
"Okay, okay, so that's why he's called Doctor Clockwork."
I started digging in my pocket for some money to pay our tab when I noticed a couple of my buddies coming across the street. They looked like zombies under the orange street lights. They were walking, of course. We all walked most of the time, even though we had cars.
"Who's that?" Mable said.
"Looks like Dan the Man and Lawnmower."
Sure enough they came through the doors, hooting and hollering. The waitress, her name was Janie, (she was old enough so we never went to school together, but I knew who she was) shook her head.
"Hey now boys, we close in an hour."
She knew we'd be here all night if she didn't put her foot down now. These guys that just came in - well, we've been friends ever since I can remember. Dan the Man, as he's been called since he was eleven, earned that moniker because one summer he grew a beard. No joke, he was eleven years old and he started getting facial hair. He'd sit around and comb the dang thing instead of playing tag with us other kids. That one physical anomaly just about ruined him as good company for about five years, he was so proud of the ugly mess. He's a good guy, but I'll tell you what; if there was ever a contest for the biggest jackass in Podunk, he'd take the first prize, and then the second and third too, just because he couldn't stand to see anybody else win.
Now Lawnmower … well, Lawnmower's a whole other kind of guy. When he was four years old his dad backed over him with one of those riding lawn mowers. That messed him up pretty good. It took the doctors about two days to stitch him back together and he was out of school for two years while he healed up. Now the doctors here in Podunk just aren't all that good. Lawnmower's parents had to take him quite a piece down the road until they could find a town with doctors that could fix what the local doctors screwed up. Those Big City doctors did him pretty good, but there was no mistaking that the guy got backed over by a lawnmower. One of his eyes was glass, and one of his hobbies was collecting novelty eyeballs.
"Able Mable," Dan the Man said. "You still got AIDS?"
"It wasn't AIDS," Mable said. "It was chlamydia, and I got it from your dad. And if you must know, they gave me a shot and it went away." She stuck out her tongue at him.
Dan the Man pushed his way into the booth, crowding himself next to Mabel. Lawnmower sat down next to me and reached for Mable's cigarette, took a drag and didn't say nothing. Tonight he was wearing an eye with a pair of flaming dice where the pupil should be.
"New eye?" I asked.
"Yep. Get it?"
"Get what?"
"The eye? It's snake eyes, see, pair of ones."
"Right," I said. "Isn't that unlucky?"
He shrugged and handed Mable her cigarette back, but Mable was busy thumb wrestling and giggling with Dan the Man. She waved it back to me. Janie came over and asked if we wanted anything more. I told her to bring us a pot of coffee and some cups, and she did. Back in the kitchen I could see the cook was keeping an eye on us. I wasn't sure what he thought we were going to do, but whatever it was, it wasn't happening on his watch.
Wasn't too long until Frank the Skank came wandering in too. He was dressed in an old trench coat. Dan and Lawnmower, well they are my good friends, but Frank the Skank, he's probably my best friend. He hardly ever starts up his own conversations, but he's just about always willing to talk about anything. And he can talk about just about anything. Frank's smart, and I don't just mean he can make change or tell you who the latest butthole in the White House is. That's just Podunk smart. Frank the Skank is real-world smart. He was the only one of us that could have gone to college. When we did that last year of high school they gave us an SAT test and he went right off the chart. He'd always done pretty well in school, especially math. It wasn't long before offers started coming in for scholarships. He just laughed it off, said he was happy enough here in Podunk, and just because it was a small town he had to have small thoughts. Sometimes I think, for a smart guy, Frank is pretty dumb.
So these guys are the bread and butter of my social life. I got more friends of course, but they seem to come and go for various reasons. These three are my real friends. If nothing else, we stick together.

EXTERIOR: QUEEN'S CHAMBERS. DAY

We find Juliana, Queen of Lesbos, sitting on her throne. She's wearing a huge black strap-on phallus that juts out rudely, like an accusing finger. She is surrounded by her royal guards, and one blows a trumpet in announcement.

ROYAL GUARD: Bring in the Queen's Scientist!

LONG SHOT from the Queen's perspective. A scientist enters and walks sullenly up the carpet leading to her throne. She is dressed in a long somber robe, her hands linked, her eyes cast downward.

QUEEN JULIANA: And what, pray tell, resolution to our imminent woes has my pretty-pretty come up with?

SCIENTIST: I need more time.

QUEEN JULIANA: No, you've had enough time.

SCIENTIST: Please, I've almost …

QUEEN JULIANA: Mercy is not one of my virtues. Guards! Disrobe her!

The royal guards are on her quickly, tearing her robes away. Underneath she's wearing a black leather bra and panties.

QUEEN JULIANA: First I will have my way with her, and then it's to the creamed-corn-wrestling-pits for my kingdom's royal amusement!

"So, wait, wait, wait, Stewie. I don't get it. Why the creamed-corn-wrestling-pits?" Dan the Man asked.
"The Queen. She's pretty much evil," I said. "Right?"
"Right," a chorus responded.
"She had all the men killed and this scientist was supposed to figure out how they could have kids without men. But she failed."
"Oh, I get it," Lawnmower said. "Tell us about how the queen had her way with her."
"Not tonight," I said. "We need to get out of here."
Janie overheard that and tossed me one of her pretty smiles.
"Okay, ante up." I threw down five bucks. Everybody dug deep, except Mable.
"What's your problem?" Dan asked her.
"I'm a girl, Stewie paid for mine."
"You guys on a date? Hey, Lawnmower, did I ever tell you about the time I circumcised Stewie here?"
"No, how'd you do that?"
"Kicked Mable right here." He pointed to her chin and she pushed his hand away.
"Yeah, like every single one of you hasn't taken your turn."
"Just shut up, Mable," I said. I wasn't really embarrassed or anything, I just wanted to get home.
"Not me," Frank the Skank said, holding up his hands like he was about to get burned.
"Yeah, not you. You're some kind of fag or something, though."
"Call me whatever you want," he said.
"Besides," Dan the Man said, "we aren't your cousins."
"Lawnmower is."
"By marriage," Lawnmower said instantly.
"Yeah, yeah." She pushed her foot into Dan's butt to get him out of her way.
So we walked together for a while, and the night was just how I was hoping it would be. Cool wind, leaves blowing around, trees starting to look bare except for a few leaves that couldn't get shaken off. We all walked in a line so we could talk to each other.
Now the thing about Mable and the BJ: Well it just happened once. And we were pretty young. So don't think the worst. She just likes to pick on me about it, and so do the guys. Like I said earlier, it doesn't bother me much.
We passed by the cemetery and I got to thinking about how my lesbians might turn in to cannibal zombies, but nothing was coming to mind. I started remembering the time Mable got herself into some trouble out in the woods not far from here.
About seventy-five miles up the road there's a big university. I'm not going to tell you which one it is, because I don't want to go and spill the beans enough to get caught. So this college is full of frat boys with blond hair and big muscles who get on planes and fly places to go snowboarding and sit around talking about how they'd like to get sponsored and what not. About two or three years ago, Mable somehow got mixed up with one and he'd drive down here with a trunk full of beer and a couple of his buddies and they'd sit around all night getting drunk. Then they'd go back down to the university, and that would be that. We didn't think much of it.
Anyway, I guess these three guys hauled Mable's sorry butt out into the woods one night and started having their way with her … yeah exactly what you're thinking. Now, knowing Mable, she was almost certainly a willing participant up until they started hitting her. They busted up her face pretty good, and one even put his cigarette out on one of her boobs and left some scars. It was pretty bad - not life-threatening or anything like that - but pretty bad.
So me and Frank, Dan and Lawnmower got in our car and drove our Podunk butts down to the University. We knew where to find them because Mabel had gone to a party at their frat house once and told us where it was. So we just parked there and waited until we caught all three of them coming home drunk, and we beat the holy hell out of them with baseball bats. Dan the Man had a bunch of big metal rings with skulls and devils and stuff and he loaded his knuckles pretty good. I remember that one of the only times I'd ever been afraid of Frank was when he showed Dan just how to hold the dumb jock's arm so Frank could stomp it and break it with as little effort as possible. Something about a fulcrum and too much force.
I'm not proud of what we did. I had nightmares about it for months. I kept dreaming that we accidentally killed them. And - who knows? - we might have, because we didn't hear anything about them ever again. And I haven't really left Podunk since or slept good either. Like I said, it don't bother me that I fooled around with my cousin once or twice. There are worse people in the world, like three guys that beat up on a little ninety-eight pound girl to get their rocks off.
Lawnmower dared Dan the Man to go piss on the grave of the last mayor who just got buried a few months ago. Dan happily obliged and then yelled he was going to cut through the woods to get home. We waved him goodbye.
So I said to Frank, "I was thinking about actually making this movie, you know, filming it. Just for fun. You want to be in it? I think you'd make a perfect Doctor Clockwork."
Frank didn't even bother thinking about it. "Yeah, why not?"
"Great," I said.
"So what's this Doctor Clockwork all about?"
I thought I might let Mable explain, but she was holding hands with Lawnmower and they were giggling about some dumb thing or another.
"He was in love with this girl, and it turned out she was a lesbian. And he couldn't take having a broken heart anymore, so he cut it out and replaced it with a clock from his mantel, and thereafter he was a real bastard and decided to get revenge on lesbians everywhere. Since he was a plastic surgeon he kept stealing little pieces he cut off of movie stars and finally got enough to make some henchmen to carry out his plan."
"Man," said Frank, "you've got some imagination."
"Mable helped."
I'd walk fifteen miles across red hot coals for a compliment from Frank. He was so damned smart it made my skin crawl. He had a whole library in his house. I'd go over there and pick a book, and he'd tell me what was in it, down to the page number of where it was at. And if he was in the mood, he'd go in to the long details of it. It might be a fiction book or a book on science or geography or some kind of conspiracy theory. He knew it all. Then he'd say every time, "You want to borrow it?" And I'd say, "No, you just told me every dang thing there was to know in it." And we'd laugh like it was something real funny.

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