Den Of Depravity

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[Interior of an apartment. The camera sweeps from left to right, picking up the entire main room or “living area” of the apartment in all it’s glory. In a word – filthy. The floor is carpeted by empty pizza boxes, soda cans, beer bottles, porno magazines (loooots of porno magazines), balled up tissues (two guesses what’s in them), apparently empty hand-lotion dispensers, video tapes, more porno magazines… you get the idea. Also visible is a manila folder lying on what we guess is a coffee table (impossible to be sure under all the junk) labeled “Kassandra Fairchild” out of which spill a few 8×10 glossy photos. The specifics of the images are unknown. There are some other pieces of furniture, chairs, a couch, end tables, that may or may not be present (again, because of the mess). Each is covered in a thick combination of dust, week-old food, more porno magazines, and assorted apparel of major New England sports franchises. If one were to guess, money says this is the apartment of famed GCW degenerates, The Glam Boys. Let’s assume we’re right and move one, shall we?]

[After a full scan of the room is done, the camera pans back over to the left and the main entrance. After a few seconds, the door flies open with a loud *THWACK!* and crashes into the wall, driving the doorknob into the sheetrocked surface. A small cloud of chalk dust exhales from the newly formed hole. In walk “The Resistance” and “The Uprising”. They are dressed casually and typically in black denim jeans, with black t-shirts and boots. They storm into the room but are stopped nearly dead in their tracks by the filth they have just encountered.]

Cage: What in the name of all that is holy?

Valencia: [coming into the room and immediately recoiling at the smell] Ugh! What the hell is that?

[The two men stand in the doorway surveying the damage. They sniff the air and make appropriately disgusted facial contortions. Cage waves his hand in front of his face a few times to clear the smell from his nostrils while Diego merely pinches his nose with his left hand.]

Valencia: [in a high, nasally whine] Jeee-sus, D.C. That’s disgusting.

Cage: I know. Look at all this filth.

Valencia: Look at it? Hell, man, I can smell it.

Cage: Makes you wanna cry, doesn’t it?

Valencia: And vomit!

Cage: I know. I find the whole display revolting as well.

[Cage moves forward into the room and begins to rummage through the assortment of pornography and garbage. Diego, not nearly as courageous, kicks slightly at the rubbish at his feet, still pinching his nose with his hand.]

Valencia: Well now what? We can’t very well trash the place. It’s already trashed.

Cage: Well, for starters, we can confiscate all this decadent filth. [he picks up a copy of “Whoppers” magazine] Vile. There’s no other word for it. These boys should be ashamed of themselves.

[Diego has garned up the stomach to pick up a large, balled up, paper towel. He does so by pinching the corners of it with his thumb and index finger, making sure to come in as little contact with the item as possible. He holds it out in front of him like a new father might do with a dirty diaper.]

Valencia: What do you suppose this is?

[With that question, a long drip of semi-clear liquid begins to fall like syrup from the paper towel. It hangs like a snot from a young child’s nose and finally severs itself in the middle, falling to the floor with a dull *SPLUT*. Diego, horrified, drops the towel immediately and lets out a loud retching noise.]

Valencia: Oh, man. I’m gonna yak, I swear.

Cage: Easy there, mister.

Valencia: D.C., this is gross. I didn’t sign up for this. They told me I’d get to beat people up in the name of good, clean, wholesome, moral, righteousness. Nobody never said anything about wading through a pool of some jerkoff kid’s sperm samples.

Cage: It’s all part of the job, my friend. Sometimes it ain’t pretty, sure. But the movement is relying on us. If we’re going to do our job and rid this business of scumbags, it’s got to start here.

Valencia: Don’t we have a clean up unit for this stuff?

Cage: Not yet, comrade. For now, we must act as judge, jury, executioner and janitor as well.

[Cage has been gathering up copies of dirty magazines and video tapes. By now, he has quite an armful, even for a man of his size.]

Cage: Tell you what. Why don’t you see if you can rustle up some garbage bags. We’ll never be able to haul all this smut down by hand. There’s too much of it.

Valencia: Anything to get out of this place, brother.

[Diego exits off to the right, presumably into a kitchen-type area. Cage continues picking up magazines. After a few moments, he comes across the manila folder. Recognizing it’s potential importance, he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a plastic surgical glove, and stretches it over his right hand. He then carefully picks up the folder and it’s contents and sets it down on the coffee table (?). Having already cleared a small space on the edge of the sofa, hit sits nimbly on the it’s edge and begins flipping through the photos on the folder. Occasionally, the glossy photos are stuck together and he does his best to pry them apart without ripping them. There is a look of mild disgust on his face.]

Valencia: [entering from off right, carrying a couple of empty, plastic, shopping bags. The bags carry the logo of what appears to be a local video store called “Show World Adult Video Parlor”.] Look at this. There must be three dozen of these bags in the other room. Not all of which are empty, I might add. These boys must have one hell of a sperm count.

Cage: [concentrating on the folder] Un hunh.

Valencia: And from the looks of things, they do a brisk business over there. Check this out. [he holds up a small post card, from which he begins to read aloud.] Dear Kenny, Congratulations on your recent completion of the “Clam Lappers” Series. This marks the first time one of our customers has managed to rent the entire 90 volume collection. As an appreciation of your continued support of our location, we have named you “Customer of the Month”. Feel free to stop by at any time and pick up your awards package, which includes a Show World coupon book and complimentary bottle of Jergens. Yours truly, Manuel.

Cage: [having pretty much ignored Diego up till this point] Interesting. Come here and look at this.

[Diego wades over to Cage and pears down at the photos.]

Valencia: Nasty. Who’s she?

Cage: Our boss.

Valencia: [in shock] WHAT! You mean… he’s… really a she?

Cage: No, no, no. Not THAT boss. That Fairchild women who runs the GCW. These are pictures of her, and these perverts somehow got a hold of them.

Valencia: [calming himself] Oh. Whew! You know, I knew this place was just chock full of sickos. Let’s head over to the office and bust her head open.

Cage: No, we can’t do that, Diego. We’ve got to go through normal channels.

Valencia: Like what?

Cage: We have to do it like we set out to. One at a time. First, we’ll take care of these Glam Boys characters, then we’ll move on to bigger and better things. This four way match will be our stepping stone to success.

Valencia: Screw that. Let’s just take out the queen bee of immorality. Wouldn’t that be easier?

Cage: It will get us nowhere. They need to be extinguished, one team, one player, at a time.

Valencia: So what about the others teams?

Cage: Well… [he thinks hard for a minute] There’s Blud N’ Gutz, which, near as I can tell from the surveillance work the scout team has done, is a couple of deranged midgets with an attitude problem. I’m not sure if we’re meant to take them seriously, but I think it’s dangerous to overlook them. Besides, they too appear to be retched little perverts, so we may as well eliminate them while we’re at it.

Valencia: And…

Cage: I’m not too sure. Allied Forces I think their name was. Not much to go on yet. All I was able to get out of the scout team was that it was an Englishman and an American. They seem wholesome enough – on the outside. We’ll have to wait till more information comes in. For now, we concentrate on these Glam Boys.

Valencia: Couple a [CENSORED]. You know, the receipt in one of these bags is for a couple of gay films. You know, the kind where one guy gets bent over a bed…

Cage: [interrupting] I’m familiar with the M.O., Diego.

Valencia: Right.

Cage: These photos may come in handy later. Let’s gather up the rest of this smut and get the hell out of here.

Valencia: Fine by me, Chico. [he drops the empty bags on the couch, then looks up at the camera] Almost forgot. [in a whisper] M.U.M.’s the word.

[The camera pans the room one last time as Cage and Valencia continue to gather up magazines, videos and other garbage. It then fades out slowly. At full black, words appear on the screen.]

Clean Your Mind.

[And Your Room.]


* * * * *



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