And the last lost episode for the Locker 13 movie…it’s appropriately tited, L.O.C.K.E.R. and it was written by Jason Marsden:
BLACK.
FADE IN:
INT. WAREHOUSE – DAY
ECU on a LOCKER. Locker THIRTEEN, to be exact. It stands alone, atop of a Roman pedestal, heroically in the center of a large, black room. Locker 13, appears heavy, thick, weathered and ominous…but enough about that.
Across from Locker 13 is an audience of FARMERS. Several rows of chairs, inhabited by a group of old-ish, denim overall wearing, bearded, land owners of yore. They sit patiently when:
A DOOR opens from the black background, illuminating BRIGHT
WHITE LIGHT that floods the inside of vast room. From the door, at a quick pace, walks EDGAR JACKSASSY (30), smartly dressed and slick, followed by his minion, GUNTHAR RETCH (29) a lowly composite. Edgar walks pointedly towards the farmers, pulls himself up a metal chair right in front of Locker 13 and after a beat says to the group:
EDGAR
Chickens.
Gunther, stands off to the side. Obediently watching Edgar.
The Farmers, listen…intrigued.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
The Earth’s full of ’em. We all gotta have ’em. You’re familiar with how that goes I don’t have to tell you. (beat) But where do you PUT ’em?
Angle on the Farmers as they react with the occasional “harfrumps, and hmmmphs”.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Sure, a coop. Right? A coop for all their little chicken toes and chicken fingers to get caught, maybe broken?
Gunthar giggles to himself.
GUNTHAR
Chicken fingers.
Edgar shoots him a look. It freezes the room. Gunthar giggles again. Edgar composes himself and continues.
EDGAR
I know farmers. I like farmers. Heck, I’m like a farmer myself. Outstanding-in-my-field!
He impresses himself with his own joke and chuckles. The farmers weren’t amused. Gunthar is still trying to figure it out.
Edgar breaks the silence by marching up to Locker 13 and slapping it on the side! A dreadful, hollow, metallic sound reverberates from the slam! It grabs everyone’s attention. Edgar continues.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
This is what you came here for! This is what you need. The EA JACKSASSY, military production unit…L.O.C.K.E.R.!
Big hero shot of Locker 13! It’s ominous and spooky sitting in the middle of the room. It’s as if the other lockers just don’t want to hang around him.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Lithium OCtane Killius Earthanium Receptacle. (beat) This is model thirteen.
Gunthar wheels in a tray of, we-don’t-know-what, underneath a velvet sheet. Edgar walks around Locker 13 as he explains.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
The war’s over. But the battle has just begun! Military doesn’t need these anymore because we’re suddenly “pro” life. Goodness gracious. And at the same time, people want their chickens roaming the country side and free! Free range! Free range! Give a chicken free range and next thing you know it’s gonna want to vote!
Gunthar thinks about chickens voting.
The Farmers seem in agreement.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Do you know how many KFC’s there are in this country alone? Koo Koo Roos? Popeyes? Roscoes? El Pollo Locos? Stir fry, country fry, chow main, baked, broiled, sandwich, salad, I don’t have to tell you! Everyone needs chicken! “What about the vegetarians”, you say? Sure, there are plenty of hippies, dippys, yuppies and buppies, in the world. But our planet isn’t going vegetarian yet! We’re carnivores by nature! So rest easy my friends, for you have job security.
The farmers are lost and they’re seeming less interested.
Gunthar, is just lost. Edgar, ramps it up!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Human kind is jonesing for fowl and you are the dealers! Demands will rise, as well as your stock! Cages are ‘spensive! And are you really gonna be the hillbilly bufoon on your block with thousands of chickens roaming the hillside like the Sound of fucking Music?! NO!(beat) That’s why you need this.
Edgar, returns his attention to Locker 13, touching the cool steel.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Made from the alloy, Killiusearthanium. This shit was top secret. Still is. Adamantium is pudding next to this. One, sixteenth of an inch thick. That’s paper thin!
Just as he says this, from the table of goodies, Gunthar, produces a perfectly timed paper lined hoop for Edgar to punch through in punctuation!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
But with hulk-like density.
Also from the goody cart, Gunthar hands Edgar a .44, which he cocks and points at Locker 13.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
And one hundred and ten percent bullet-proof!
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Sparks dance around Locker 13.
It moves not an inch.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
So your chickens will remain intact! Gunthar!
Gunthar, hops to it, unlocks Locker 13 and swings open the door. About a dozen CHICKENS pour out, excitedly! Feathers fly everywhere. Gunthar scrambles to collect the chickens.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
And it’s porous, which deters suffocation.
Edgar double takes as he notices a lone, dead, chicken resting at the bottom of the locker. Without missing a beat:
EDGAR (CONT’D)
That one was already dead.
ECU through the BULLET HOLE on the side of the locker, right to Edgar, who looks to Gunthar, indicating for him to “take care of it”.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Gunthar.
As Gunthar crosses, Edgar scoops the gum (Gunthar’s been chewing all this time) from Gunthar’s mouth and covers up the bullet hole on the sly.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Tragic. She was my favorite. In fact, that was her name, Tragic. She was the sick one.
As Gunthar collects the dead chicken, fresh BLOOD squirts out of the bullet wound, spraying Edgar and the Farmers. Gunthar, quickly runs out to dispose of the carcass. Edgar breaks the tension, by SLAMMING the locker door shut!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Anyway. L.O.C.K.E.R. 13 is also predator proof! Anything kept inside, stays inside. Including odors. Foxes, wolves, possums, any carnivore with a keen sense of smell, and with chicken on it’s menu, will never detect your valuable feathered friends if kept in this baby. Gunthar!
Gunthar runs to attention as a rogue chicken innocently hobbles by. Edgar maliciously snatches it up! Then cradles it in his arms, kindly strokes it’s neck as he continues:
EDGAR (CONT’D)
For example. Pretend Gunthar, is a predator! A squat, ugly, ravenous beast that hasn’t eaten in weeks.
Gunthar, gets into it, trying to emulate Edgar’s description, with hilarious, physically comedic results.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
(re: chicken in his arms) Gunthar, try to get this chicken.
Gunthar, licks his lips, bears his “claws” and pretends to stalk and attack the chicken in Edgar’s arms. Just as he gets close enough, Edgar flings out his fist and WHAM! punches Gunthar in the face! Gunthar, spins from the impact and sails to the ground. Edgar continues to the farmers.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Now you shouldn’t have to exert yourself like that. Save it for your wives and daughters, eh? Your hands are your investment! Instead of challenging the problem with your fists, eliminate the problem altogether! (to Gunthar) Gunthar!
Gunthar struggles to his feet and opens the locker door.
Edgar carefully places the chicken inside.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Simply insert a chicken into our catch-proof locker doors, and…
SLAM! Gunthar shuts the door too fast and catches Edgar’s finger! He reels in pain!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Ahhhgh!
Edgar holds his finger and stares daggers at Gunthar. Edgar takes a peek at the damage and a squirt of his own blood shoots in his face. ANGLE on the Farmers as they get sprayed…again.
Gunthar, meekly offers a hanky. Edgar snatches it away, wraps his hand, and continues…most condescendingly…
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Now say the predator happens to miraculously sense the chicken inside our locker right here. Which he won’t. But let’s say he does.(pointedly to Gunthar) Say, the worm infested, mange covered, diseased, gluttonous little bitch, approaches LOCKER 13 and tries to get inside. Go ahead. Try and get inside.
Gunthar looks to Edgar, sheepish. He doesn’t wanna. Edgar shoots him a look.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Go on now. That a boy.
Gunthar pretends to paw and claw at the locker door.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
That’s it, now try and bite it.
Gunthar reacts, confused.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Try to take a bite out of it. Open your mouth, really wide, then place your teeth around the corner there.
Gunthar, with trepidation, opens his mouth wide and places it on the corner of the locker. Just then ZZZZZZZAP!!!!
LOCKER 13, vibrates with colorful bolts of electricity like a
Tesla-Coil! Smoke emanates from the door, as well as Gunthar’s eyes, mouth, and ears! His hair stands on end.
His mouth, fused to the locker!
Edgar produces a STUN GUN, which he has jabbed onto the backside of the locker, unbeknownst to everyone. He releases the charge and a smoking Gunthar, falls to the floor.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
As a special bonus, not included in the final sale, we can equip L.O.C.K.E.R. 13 with a stun device, that would react not unlike the way you just saw. (beat) But what the heck, cuz I like you guys. I’ll just go ahead and throw it in for free!
L.O.C.K.E.R.’s door slowly swings open, revealing a very cooked chicken!
The Farmers react, skeptical. Edgar brings it home.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
I don’t know if I mentioned this, but L.O.C.K.E.R. 13 is the last one of its kind. The only one left in the entire state of Arizona! The only one left on this planet! Every land owner, barn-hand, and chicken farmer would sell me their youngest daughter for one of these (beat) What say we start opening bids!
Gunthar springs to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly, and holds up a sign reading “$1000.00”.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
One thousand dollars. For L.O.C.K.E.R. 13 and free predator deterrent. (re: fried chicken) And chicken dinner for one. Who’ll start the bidding at one thousand? One thousand dollars.
The Farmers ain’t biting.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Ah. We’re all here for a bargain, aren’t we. Well I beg your pardon. Nine-fifty!
Gunthar scrambles to find a sharpee in his pocket and crosses out “$1000” and writes “$950”.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Let’s open the bids at nine-fifty! (ala auctioneer)Nine-fifty,doIhearnine-fifty,ninefifty,rightherenine-fifty…
He trails off as the Farmers continue to stare, stoic.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
(to Gunthar) Let’s go to eight hundred.
Gunthar crosses off “$950” and scribbles “$800”.
The Farmers don’t budge. Edgar grows restless.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
(to Gunthar) No no no. Make it seven. Seven hundred.
Gunthar scribbles. Edgar tries the Farmers for approval.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Seven? How about six?
Gunthar makes the change.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
This is a military device here, gentleman! Billions of dollars in research went into…
Farmers don’t care.
Edgar’s finger is throbbing.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Alright, but I’m gonna get in trouble with my bosses if I… (new thought) Hey. If you don’t tell ’em. I won’t. Five-fifty.
Gunthar is growing weary of the changes. There is very little room left on the sign. ANGLE on the FARMERS – one, raspberries in disapproval.
Edgar stares at them with disappointment. He sizes them up like spoiled children. Finally he offers.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Seventy-five dollars?
A Farmer, FARMER #1, raises his hand.
Edgar jumps with excitement!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Seventy-five dollars! (auction mode) Seventy-five, we got seventyfiveseventy-fivedollars. Do I hear two hundred?! Who wants to give me two hundred? TwohundreddoIheartwohundred…
He continues vying for two hundred as Gunthar finds a new piece of paper and writes “$200” on it. The Farmers aren’t budging. The bidding Farmer sits back, proud. Edgar is losing ’em.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Two hundred? No two hundred WegotseventyfiveI’mlookin. ‘fortwohundred. Seventy-fivetotwohundred? Seventyfiveto…eighty. Can I get eighty?
A different Farmer, FARMER #2, raises his hand. Farmer #1 scowls in offense.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
EIGHTY! I have eighty! Can I get eighty-five Whowantstogivemeeighty -five, eighty-five, wegoteightyIwanteighty -five, who’llgivemeeighty-five? Eightyfive? Anyone? Eighty-five?
Edgar notices a Farmer, FARMER #3, counting change in his hand.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty-two-fifty?
Farmer #3, excitedly raises his hand!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty-two-fifty! Igoteighty-twofifty, doIheareightytwo-seventyfive? Lookingforeighty-two-seventyfive, helpmeoutwitheightytwoseventyfive.
The Farmers all reach in their pockets for change. Some pull out hankies, hay, a wrench, and the occasional change. Farmer #1 raises his hand again!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eightytwoseventyfive! Wegoteightytwoseventyfive, who’llgimme eightytwo-eighty?! Do I hear eightytwo-eighty?!
Farmer #2 throws up a hand.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eightytwo-eighty! Wegoteightytwo- eighty, who’llgivemeeightytwoyninety?! Gunthar is desperately trying to catch up!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eightytwoninetylookingforeightytwon inety, who’llgivemeeightytwoninety?
Farmer #1 again!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty-two, ninety! Now, eightytwoninety-five! Who’sbraveenoughtoforkouteightytwoninety-five?!
Farmer #3 takes the bait!
EDGAR (CONT’D)
EIGHTY-TWO-NINETY-FIVE! Let’s go for a clean hundred!
All the Farmers stop fishing for change and shoot a collective look at Edgar. Edgar, reacts. Then covers.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty…three, dollars. Who’s gonna offer eighty three?! Eightythree. Looking for eighty three.
The Farmers resume counting change, but none are biting.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty-three, eighty-three, anyone, eighty-three.
The Farmers are still counting change. Some are even making trades and discussing combining funds.
Edgar looks to Gunthar, who has scribbled on everything in sight, trying to keep up with the bidding. Edgar sees no future in this.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Eighty-two dollars, and ninety-five cents, going once. One, authentic, military approved, L.O.C.K.E.R., going twice. This is model number 13. It will hold a capacity of 50 plus chickens, going, eighty-twoninety-five, still going twice…fuck it, SOLD! To that guy.
Edgar, half hearted, points towards the Farmers, then turns to Gunthar.
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Get the cash. Count it. And get them out of here.
Gunthar leaps to. The winning Farmer, celebrates. The other Farmers offer congratulations, rise from their seats and pile out.
We stay with Edgar, who retreats to the background, removes a pack of gum from his pants pocket, unwraps it and sticks it in his mouth in disgust.
SOFT in the FG: We can make out the commotion of Gunthar removing L.O.C.K.E.R. 13 from it’s pedestal and wheeling it out with the winning Farmer as Edgar shakes his head and checks his wounded finger.
After the Farmers exit, we FOLLOW Edgar as he makes the long walks back towards the door from whence he came. He throws open the door, bathing us in light and enters: INT. BACK WAREHOUSE – CONTINUOUS
A florescent lit kitchenette! There’s a fridge, water dispenser, several cabinets, drawers, rows of various tea, a coffee machine, plate of bagels and a vegetable plate. Edgar grabs a bottled water from the fridge, a bottle of vitamins from the cupboard, his favorite tea bag, and favorite mug, which he fills up with piping hot water. He searches for a band-aid, for his wounded finger, shortly followed by a change of shirt. He then unscrews the water bottle and dilutes the tea with a bit of cold so’s he can drink it right away. Gunthar enters and crosses frame.
GUNTHAR
I’m sorry I…
EDGAR
Shut up. No one asked your opinion.
GUNTHAR
You didn’t have to…
EDGAR
(mocking) You didn’t have to… (then) Just, shove them in there so we can get on with round two!
Gunthar Exits.
OFF SCREEN – We hear deep, guttural, BARKING sounds and Gunthar, opening a cage. We hear him ad-libbing distress as he is attempts to wrangle some boisterous, unseen, animals. We hear the sound of a door opening. A familiar, METALLIC DOOR. And Gunther, forcing the animals into it. Finally, he manages to corral all the creatures before finally slamming the door. A familiar METALLIC SLAM!
We PAN over to find Gunthar, pushing another L.O.C.K.E.R. on a dolly. The BARKING sounds are muffled, almost mute. Edgar, slaps a sticker marked “13” on the side.
Behind them, ala Raiders of the Lost Ark, HUNDREDS of L.O.C.K.E.Rs waiting to be sold.
Gunthar pushes the dolly through frame, we HOLD on Edgar.
Who gulps his tea, straightens his jacket, places his hair, and walks out of the room. We CONTINUE with him as he makes the long walk back to the pedestal, where Gunthar has placed the new L.O.C.K.E.R. 13. We PAN around to find, an audience of ESKIMOS! All decked out in their thick, winter coats, spears, etc. We continue PANNING, resting on Edgar, sitting in a chair, just like in the beginning. He looks at the Eskimos and after a BEAT, says:
EDGAR (CONT’D)
Baby seals!
CUT TO:
BLACK.
