I don’t really drink and write. I drink, and I write, but the combination has never really particularly worked for me. I don’t have anything against the notion. The graveyard of American writers is bursting with gin blossoms. So when I accidentally find myself at a keyboard, and my head swishing back and forth, I feel somewhat like I’ve slumped against the brick exterior of my house, too sloshed to make it the next thirty feet inside to bed, and I’m texting…wildly texting, to only the worst people you could be sending messages to at three am, you start to feel that tiny, nagging voice behind your eyes screaming to put the phone away, but you shant, you mustn’t.
That voice is drowned out be the International Heavy Weight Champion tag team of Hubris and Dread, who put your better judgement in a figure eight leglock, and just keep him there, no tapping out, no metal chairs. It’s as if suddenly your junior high school vice principal, your Mom, and every girl you’ve been on a date with in the past five years somehow jumped onto one reply; all chain, and you just pressed SEND on your representative’s weiner.
Now let’s do some motherfucking outlining.
Who you lookin’ at?
Act one opening: Frankie’s ordinary world is weed, his Mom’s basement, a big bulky computer, and a LOT of video games.
Frankie is anecdotally shown to be incredibly weak and ineffective in “the real world” He gets bullied, even though he’s a full grown 20-something adult.
We establish that Frankie has a pie-in-the-sky romantic interest that is also used to degrade him publicly. This chick could work at a video game store, or, more realistically, host a karaoke night—which now that I think of it fits Frankie’s ultimate redemption better, as I’ve always felt it is all about the music performance. Anyway, I’ve wanted to have a female love interest karaoke host for a while, so let’s stop overthinking it and bro fist and move on. Stop being so analytical. Damn.
We then establish Frankie’s overly developed single skill—his secret power that will allow him to be finally triumphant. So we delve into Frankie’s world which is two fold—the online Medieval-verse of the internet roleplaying game ENGINES OF VICTORY, where Frankie is a roguish hero of legendary proportions in analogue to his own character. He’s a ronin in a true feudal system in the online world, a truly errant knight who exists in the shadows of dynasties and baroque castles. In EoV, Frankie is THE MAN, but for now, that means nothing “in real life”.
It is also key to establish Frankie Teardrop’s savant-like skill at a RockBand style videogame. I’m as yet unclear whether he should just be a monstrous faux-guitarist or whether he should also sing. Or only sing. I’ve already built some business in my mind about using a magical ax/”ax” into the story, where an in-game version of Frankie’s mystical guitar is the hammer Mjolnir to his Thor, and stolen from him by a third party of betrayers sort of a la Billy Dee Williams when he punks Solo to Vader, only to be returned to Frankie at his worst moment at the bottom of act ii, whereupon he will have the opportunity to wrest himself from the chains of his otherwise omnipotent Vader/Sauron/Dracula-like oppressor, and wail unholy wrath all over some minion ass via the power of metal. Hahahahahahahahahaha. My life is awesome.
Ok, so Frankie also a Keytar Hero-hero, which is a talent his milque-toast band of metalish dufus friends cajole out of him, but that he generally tries to avoid doing in front of people. Being super stage-frighty I think is a good way to restrict Frankie, but still allow him to utterly vanquish in act three. I’m thinking the heavy metal equivalent to the skinny ginger bitch in SISTER ACT, that busts out that Annie Lennox voice all over Whippie Goldberg’s face and saves the convent. What? Didn’t see that comin’ didja?
So, Frankie experiences some epic humiliation at the hands of his real life bullies, which causes him to stumble into voluminous, dusty, vintage video store that sells arcane devices like Edison wax cylinders and vhs players, where he has a bizarre encounter with a Craggy Old Shopkeeper who bestows up him a laserdisc player and one magical disk, which is totally ridonkulous anyway, because now Frankie has to take the Metro home carrying a 40 pound laserdisc player, but remember, this movie is supposed to be funny, after all. I will have already cornered the market on laserdisc related humor. Studios, get your checkbooks out now.
So, and this should surprise no one, upon coming back to his basement lair, Frankie will hook up the antiquated device, and just when he gives up in frustration, and sits down to smoke an epic bong rip (or whatever fucking pot people call those. Do they still call them that? Fuck weed culture), and upon becoming stoned like a Silver Dragon, some hilarious mishaps, i.e, bong water on the laserdisc, will whip up a transformative event of magic and wonderment that will suck Frankie into the ALL TOO REAL world of Engines of Victory, where he’s now actually in the game, and what was previously voyeuristic and childlike is now incredibly real. Think GAME OF THRONES meets LORD OF THE RINGS with a little BLACK ADDER self-awareness on Frankie’s part.
Oh snap, that means we’re onto :