You’ll get bored of me
A SHORT FILM SCRIPT
Written by: Oli Johns/ Ethan Hawke
Director: Er…me. Or my mate, Elissa. Or the security guard in my building, he’s a decent guy.
Starring: A man and a woman. The streets of HK. Martin L*wrence!
Producer: Don’t need one.
Executive Producer: Peter O Toole
Soundtrack by: The guy who did ‘Sunshine’
Crew: ??
Caterer: Someone’s mum
Bag lady: Judi Dench Read the rest of this entry »
I said I wouldn’t do another issue for a while, but I was bored in April so I wrote another. This one is the beat issue.
You’ll know what I mean when you see it.
And if you don’t see it then I’ll tell you now.
It means there are pictures of lots of beat writers, like Kerouac, Cassady, Burroughs [He holds a gun in most of his pics, sometimes pointing it at a dog] and Ginsberg.
If you don’t know any of these guys, or you only know Kerouac, then don’t panic. I have also included Casey Affleck.
If you don’t like Affleck then you’re fucked.
Unless you like Tom Cruise or cabinets, as I’ve put in the story ‘The many cabinets of Tom Cruise.’ Well, most of it. See, Mr. Cruise somehow found out about the story and has forced me to redact a lot of the text. But there’s still some quality there.
What else? Read the rest of this entry »
[Note: The formatting for this didn’t work. The bold italic sections should be very far to the right. And the rest of it should look a lot different, but I don’t know how to fix it. The only thing that’s right is the actual story.]
I get to work at the same time as every other Monday. I walk the same route, round the side of Jordan road and buy the same shit from the same bakery. Pizza cake and sausage roll. Looking at them makes me feel sick. Seeing the bakery lady looking at them makes me even sicker. The walk to the school is ten minutes and it’s humid. I sit down and eat the pizza shit. I can’t remember last week, or the taste of last weeks shit, but I’m pretty sure this is just as bad. I write notes in my notepad and try not to look at the walls or the door or the class going on next door. Fuck. Why does no one pretty work here? Five minutes to the bell and one of the older teachers comes in and says she’s sorry to disturb me. I tell her I’m kinda busy. She sits down anyway. The first student of mine is a prick. A three year old prick. No, he isn’t a prick, but he isn’t listening to me. I say his name five times before I get an answer. He can’t write his name. He can’t count. He can’t do much of anything except say ‘goo-goo-da-da.’ I taught him that. Read the rest of this entry »
!GUPTER PUNCHER magazine! 
