via Axe, on Spectropol Records
GODZ EATZ
godz eatz is the title song to a Godzilla movie - you know, exec-produced by Tarantino, the latest enfant terrible director, very lurid Roger Corman type titles…)
GODZ EATZ
EXT - Crack o’ dawn; Nippon, a beautiful ‘tea garden’ with all that suggests.WE HEAR MUSIC: a hazy drone, a bit ominous, with bansuri flute coloring the sonority.
Slow aerial tracking shot through to the urban environs, EG: Tokyo.
Accelerating and ascending shot to a skyscraper, to a penthouse window;
inside, as the sun rises -
INT - Penthouse suite
WE SEE a 30-ish Military Officer, in officer's dress pink uniform, with a young girl, could be 18, could be twelve.
She is bound and gagged, white lace stockings and garters, sheer bikini panties ’round her ankles, white lacy demi-bra.
He still has his jacket on; now takes his canvas steel-tipped belt off, now wielding it like a whip
(She has a rather blank look on her face, considering.)...
WE HEAR THE MUSIC SWELL - now the gong and cymbals CRASH;
and WE SEE a giant dragon arm, all green and scaly, SMASH thru the window.
The lizard hand has opposable thumbs enough to grab the businessman by the tail of his jacket. He is held up by the mutant reptilian/mammalian monster, who surveys her catch bemusedly.
Businessman loudly mutters his outraged objections to this treatment.
Godz Grinz. She extends her middle finger up and impales the man, sits him right down on the giant claw-nail.
WE HEAR muttering turn to screaming.
Godz emits atomik breath, roasting the businessman, before making a meal of him.
I’m Ill-LEGAL
A-MORAL
I am Un-Repentant
(Not Your Fugitive Kind)
Lock UP your Dotters
Instruct your Sons
Prepare All Your Defense
I’m Crossing That Line
Your Worlds are Crumbling
Pants Falling Down
You Will Not Escape Me
It’s FEEDING TIME
A-MORAL
I am Un-Repentant
(Not Your Fugitive Kind)
Lock UP your Dotters
Instruct your Sons
Prepare All Your Defense
I’m Crossing That Line
Your Worlds are Crumbling
Pants Falling Down
You Will Not Escape Me
It’s FEEDING TIME
Screen Virtually Explodes
LURID. BLOOD-SPATTERED. CHAOS REIGNS.
BEGIN TITLES
[INSTRUMENTAL CODA.]
©2006-2010 jcivil, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
HERESIES
Jimi Hendrix died for all our sins
As did one ‘Marilyn Monroe’
There are many here among us
Who know from hard roads to a ‘ho
Your Jesus, in Her Bodhisattva Aspect
(Mos’ def'nitely the hippest of the Jews)
Turned the tables on them pawnshops in the temple
Ended up with nothing-left-to-lose
Those Honest Injun Joes, baptized-by-firewater
Hunted, gathered, Bar-B-Q’d, all out-of-doors
You built McMansions, overlooking Overlook Hotels
Established systems, turned us all out as your whores
Consider this, you deep-fried Chickens in your Church’s
Inflicting stories fit-for-children-only on us all
By Bushes burning midsummer’s midnite oil supply
And Poppy's revelations pocket lip-sync won't long be recalled
[instrumental interlude]
Processes overheat and your system files corrupt
You need a re-boot, and a clean-slate reinstall
Instead, you depose Shahs (I Rocked, I Ran) from here
Competing prophets duke it out for Winner Taketh All
©2007 Tigress and the U-Fraidees
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