INT. BATHROOM – NIGHT
BLAKE STEEVENS, 57, is in the shower. The hot, steamy water cascades over his face and hair and shoulder and down, eventually swirling into a drain that goes to who knows where. He squirts some conditioner into his left hand because he already used shampoo — twice. That’s the kind of guy Blake Steevens, 57, is.
Son of a bitch!
Blake just got conditioner in his eye! It stings. He grimaces and wipes it out deftly. To most men, this would be probably the most painful thing they’ve ever felt in their life. But not Blake. The camera tracks from his eye to a bullet wound scar in his neck, down to ten (10) more bullet wound scars variously placed on his torso. Nuts. And knife and sword scars. The camera keeps moving down. More and more scars until we get to his feet, which are basically just huge purple lumps of scar tissue because of all the badass shit he used to do.
To him, this conditioner in the eye was nothing. Nothing at all.
I hate conditioner.
He did hate conditioner.
But due to my hair type, it’s a necessary part of my regimen.
And unfortunately, my two kids that I had with my wife have the same problem. I use conditioner on my 3-month-old. What a life.
What a life indeed.
Blake gets out of the shower and dries off with a hand towel because:
Craprockets. Grabbed a hand towel instead of one of the shower sheets we bought this last weekend at Restoration.
Restoration Hardware is what he’s talking about.
He takes his time drying his balls because he has big balls because he’s tough.
He looks in the mirror. He looks old. But tough. But still, old.
INT. BEDROOM – MOMENTS LATER
Blake, trying to cover his nuts with a hand towel. His wife, MELINDA, 24, lays on the bed, sprawled out all sexy and shit. She’s a minx/sex kitten/hot. (That should be read like you pick one from each, such as: minx-kitten, minx-hot, sex-kitten, or sex-hot. Thanks!)
She was really into roleplaying me as Tiger Woods lately. Sometimes she couldn’t even climax if we didn’t play 18 holes on Tiger Woods 2012 on the Wii first. I’m getting too old for that shit.
He throws down the towel and turns on the Wii. Melinda purrs.
Does that make you hot?
Jesus. I should’ve married an older woman.
I’m gonna grab a glass of water. Go ahead and pick our players.
I’m going to be Vijay Singh!
Blake stops exiting and stares down the barrel of the camera.
Sounds… super hot.
INT. KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER
Blake enters. He just wants some water. And to fuck his wife without having to play a video game first. Besides, that shit hurts his shoulder. It’s just as bad as real golf in that respect. He takes a swig of water to wash away the pain. It does. Kinda.
Just then he hears a CRASH!
Normally a person would be freaked the fuck out by this. But Blake isn’t a person who reacts in a normal way because he’s not a normal person.
He’s also still naked.
He immediately does a dive-roll through the kitchen, grabbing a 9mm pistol stashed in the drawer that has all the potatoes.
I’d been retired, put out to pasture, out of the game, for 20 years. Undercover. But as soon as I heard that sound, I was unretired. Unput out to pasture. I was un… undercover.
INT. CLOSET – MOMENTS LATER
The door opens to reveal Blake. We reverse to see a bunch of coats.
INT. CLOSET #2 – MOMENTS LATER
The door opens to reveal Blake. We reverse to see a ton of machine guns and grenades and swords and shit.
He sees a shadow move behind him.
Barely aiming, he murders the shadow with about 20 bullets. He flips on the light to see the shadow was a lamp. Oh well. Felt good.
He sees some shit going on in the front yard.
He turns and the backyard is totally clear.
Figures are moving toward the front door. He has to make his move.
Blake rushes out the back of the house, armed to the teeth.
They finally found me. And they have to try to pull me back in. They have to. I don’t fault them. And I hope God doesn’t either.
Blake totally cocks a gun on that last line. So badass.
EXT. BACKYARD – CONTINUOUS
Blake sprints out the back toward the 6-foot privacy fence. The house is filling with undercover covert ops type soldiers. Fucking laser sights and shit everywhere.
I should’ve thought about my wife and kids first, but I’m not trained for that. I’m trained for survival. Besides, how can I protect them if I’m dead? Or if they’re dead?
As Blake reaches the fence, soldiers flood out the back of the house.
Blake, heart-pounding, adrenaline surging, back in the game for the first time in 20 years, runs full speed at the fence and jumps–
SLAMMING into the fence and breaking his face!
Oh my God, I’m so fucking old!
Oh my God, I’m so fucking old!
The soldiers slow their pursuit and aim their laser beam sights on Blake.
(through conditioner-in-eyes pain x 100)
AKA The Pit Viper?
AKA The Human Hand Grenade?
AKA The Big Colorado?
Yes. It’s me. You found me. What do you want?
We have orders to kill you.
Thank you, sir.
The soldier shoots him in the face. He dies.