Skee Ball

Musings and Mockery on the Idiocy of Society
An Andrew Goodridge Joint

With a life sentence in jail, you should probably spend your minutes
and hours wondering where it went wrong. But sometimes your mind drifts
and you begin to wonder what kind of fabric softener they use to
maintain a solid oak feel to the sheets on your Lucky Charms box of a
bed.
Why would anyone choose a career in murders and executions? It really
wasn't his fault. Skee was a creation of his society. Seriously, how
can anyone be held responsible when we have to live in this
world.
Violence in the media. Celebrity role models. Steve Guttenberg,
republicans, Martha Stuart.
(Martha Stuart's polishing the brass on the Titanic and it's all going
down, man!)
When you're a byproduct of shit, your forecast doesn't look very good.
He tried a few other jobs. He wasn't just born with an urge to
kill.
Wait, back up.
Maybe genetics is our newest scapegoat. I'll keep that in mind.
When he was sixteen he got a job at a music store.
(But Stan, why are you so mad? Try to understand I do want you as a
fan!)
See, he had a special arrangement with the store. On his second
paycheck, he got shafted for 3 hours of overtime, so he ripped off the
company on a daily basis. CDs were easy to get out undetected. When
they expanded and started selling DVDs, he found new sources of income
that made his job basically obsolete.
His boss asked why he wasn't coming to work on time anymore. Skee tried
to make it up to him by bringing him lunch. His boss then needed to use
a few sick days, which gave Skee more opportunities to expand his DVD
ring operation.
His prison cell was a tiny little shithole. He never would have guessed
it would have been so small. It's like when you spend your days and
nights sitting in front of the TV, and then finally see a celebrity,
you wonder, where the hell is the rest of them?
When he got sick of his job at the music store he moved on. He moved up
the entertainment ladder to a video store.
(I want you to hit me, as hard as you can)
Stealing from there got to be too easy. Run a print screen in place of
a receipt, then delete each transaction one line at a time. So when
customers hand over their $4.10 to see the poorly written teen comedy
where the two main characters hate each other until all their
misunderstandings are cleared up and their true feelings are discovered
within 90 minutes, the cash drawer is over. But Skee always made sure
to balance out his drawer at night, which usually meant pocketing about
fifty bucks. He became a sort of Movie Nazi. He took it upon himself to
decide whether or not the store should profit off certain
"movies".
His manager knew too much. Random weekly checks on security tapes. When
you're never on the up and up, the probability of not getting caught
plummets like the ratings of the recent episodes of The X-Files.
(The Truth Is Out There)
When did he get that switchblade? He didn't even remember. Isn't there
a regulation on the size of a switchblade? He didn't even care.
(Cut off one of his fingers...the little one)
Well, Harvey Keitel never steered him wrong before, so he did it. Where
did this violence come from? It wasn't his fault. He was the product of
his society. Skee, and his manager's pinky, were gone, neither were
seen in that store again.
Skee wouldn't want you to think of him as a violent individual. He
would describe himself as a compassionate individual. He got a ticket,
so he volunteered for Meals on Wheels.
When Skee turned 17, he got a new job as a writer. He always tried to
think how condiments could be used in a symbolic fashion.
(I'm having an old friend for dinner)
His editor didn't like his work. You could hardly call it work, he
spent most of his time at home watching TV and playing video games.
Touched By Angel? What the hell is this crap? When Skee heard the bad
news that his short story "A Knife In The Hand Is Worth Two In The
Heart" wouldn't be published, he reacted less than professionally. At
first he tried to vent his anger with video games. But there's only so
much satisfaction that one can get from beating up a computer generated
image. Oh, don't get me wrong, it felt great to be able to grab someone
by the head and rip out their spine
(Fatality)
but it wasn't quite what Skee was looking for.
Where did Skee learn so much about guns? Oh yeah, movies.
(I am Skee's Armalite AR-10 carbine-gas powered semiautomatic)
True, Skee drove three and a half hours to his editor's house. True,
Skee waited silently in a tree for him to get home from work. True,
Skee pulled the trigger [and with pinpoint accuracy, he would be sure
to note].
(Fatality)
But was it his fault? Who in their right mind could honestly point the
finger at Skee and proclaim that it was his responsibility? His mind
was saturated with rubbish from TV and movies!
His first contract killing didn't come for 3 months.
(As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a
gangster.)
It's not like you can open the classifieds section and turn to the
"assassins wanted" column. He was unemployed for 3 solid months. What
would Gandalf say? Who cares! What would Tony Soprano say? He survived
by stealing pets and selling them back for the reward money. In
January, Skee met the dope fiend that would later go on to be his under
the table boss. Skee wasn't buying drugs, Jesus no, he had standards.
He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He wanted
lots of money.
(Make me an offer I can't refuse)
Bruce Willis got $70 million for assassinating the president in The
Jackal, he should get at least a fair some of money for this.
(I'm Slim Shady, yes the Real Shady, and all you other Slim Shady's are
just imitating)
It would have gone well, but Skee didn't have enough real world
practice at this. Watching Pulp Fiction, he thought, would give him an
edge. Skee spent an hour and a half slicking back his hair and dressing
in a black suit a la John Travolta.
(They call it a "Royale" with cheese)
Why couldn't he just bust into the room and start shooting? That's how
the legends like Vincent Vega and Jules Winfield did it.
("Le Big Mac" Ha ha ha ha! What do they call a Whopper?)
Skee walked up to apartment #42, drew out his gun [just like he'd seen
Mr. Pink do it in Reservoir Dogs...he stopped, put his gun back, and
drew it out again, just because he thought it was so badass]. He kicked
open the door. He didn't have a whole lot of experience, but for his
first time kicking in a door, he felt supercool.
There they were, 4 guys sitting around on a couch, doing nothing with
their lives. One of these losers has the audacity to ask "Who the hell
are you?"
(You talkin' to me? Well I'm the only one here. Who do you think you're
talking to?)
Skee asked which one was Lawrence Tureaud, because he was sent to kill
him. Of course, no one owned up to it. When you're staring down the
barrel of a gun, you'd think honesty would be the best policy. Deny
everything.
So of course, Skee got irritated. He said he'd have to start picking
off assholes one by one down the line until someone owned up to being
Lawrence Tureaud.
Still nothing. Idiots.
Skee started at the left. His left, not their left. When the guy on the
left fell off the couch, and Skee asked again, they all claimed the
same thing. "You just shot Lawrence, that was him, I swear!" Well,
good. That would make things easier.
Wait.
Would they lie to him?
By now six neighbors had already called the police.
Skee never really thought a silencer was all that necessary. Sure Tyler
Durden used one, but he wasn't a hitman.
(This is your life, and it's ending...one minute at a time)
Seven neighbors. Eight.
Shooting the other three seemed to be the best idea at the time. The
choice between quadruple murder and the risk of not getting paid for
shooting the wrong guy isn't even a choice at all. Six more
shots.
(Two in the head to make sure they're dead)
Michael Corleone had to leave the country for a year. Skee hoped that
wouldn't have to happen to him. He was looking into buying a
Labrador.
Three more neighbors.
Skee thought of Michael Corleone again, and dropped the gun on the
floor as he walked out. When Skee got to his 93 Corolla, that didn't
really get very good gas mileage but still drove well and fit into his
budget nicely, he realized he wasn't wearing gloves. Would his
fingerprints be on the gun? It didn't matter. He thought about
Reservoir Dogs and wondered whether or not Mr. Blonde had registered
his weapon in his real name. Skee began to think maybe doing that was a
bad idea.
(Prison life consists of routine, and then more routine.)
Skee felt a little gypped. After all, Andy Dufresne got 2 life
sentences, and he only got one.
(When they put you in that cell... and those bars slam home for the
first time...that's when you know it's for real. A whole life blown
away in the blink of an eye.)
It wasn't even his fault.
Sure. Fine. Whatever.

Cast
(in order of appearance)
Narrator Edward Norton
Skee Hayden Christiansen
Skee's first boss Robert De Niro
Skee's second boss Al Pacino
Skee's editor Robert Goulet
Thug #1 Steve Buscemi
Thug #2 Harvey Keitel
Thug #3 Quentin Tarantino
Thug #4 Michael Madsen

Music By Eminem
Jay Z
Dr. Dre
Snoop Dogg
and Dateline's newest public enemy of the week.

Story based on the irrationality of Society

Written by Andrew Goodridge

Directed by Quentin Tarantino
Bryan Singer
David Fincher
and whoever else 20/20 wants to blame for a violent society.

The directors would like to "give props" to the prop crew on a job
well
done with Skee's boss's pinky.

Skee will return.