Twitter. Has there ever been a place online more inspiring, silly and downright ace? Just this very morning, the lovely @buxtontheblue and her pal (I'm assuming) @Chimpernel Tweeted about zombie Wombles, the latter coming up with a title for a movie and before I knew it, I had Wordpad open and was scripting a pre-credits teaser!
I thought I'd re-open this here blog and share it with you as, well, it's zombie Wombles. It's a rough and ready first (and, let's face it, only) draft and I'm hardly a playwrite, so don't expect Shakespeare (or even George Lucas, for that matter), but hopefully it'll raise a giggle. So, without further ado, here it is...
Dead Common: Rise of the Wombles
From an idea by @buxtontheblue and @Chimpernel
Script by @Hoodedmatt
INT. Uncle Bulgaria's study. Night.
UNCLE BULGARIA is stood at his window looking up at the night sky. His tasseled hat and shawl are both a little ruffled and skew-whiff, but he appears not to notice.
The study door opens and WELLINGTON womble enters the room, a ball of nervous excitement, with his latest scientific paper in his hands. He sees the old Womble and walks over to the desk.
Wellington: Hello Uncle, it's me. I've just finished my latest paper and I thought I'd pop it in for you to have a read through. I think I've discovered something most exciting!
He places the paper in the centre of the desk, right where the elderly Womble will see it first thing.
W: Cold fusion from rubbish! Who would have...
The study door closes loudly, cutting him off mid sentence, and he turns to see who did it. There's nobody there. Distracted, he fails to hear the faint shuffling sound from behind him and to his left.
W: What on the Common? How did that happen?
He turns towards the window, wondering if it's open at all and BAM! UNCLE BULGARIA is upon him, his teeth biting into the younger Womble's snout. Wellington tries to fight him off, screaming in pain, but he is overwhelmed and shocked by his elders surprising strength.
A sickly wet ripping noise is heard as Bulgaria bites Wellingtons snout clean from his face and a huge gush of blood sprays over the older Wombles pale visage. Wellington crashes to the floor, writhing in pain and we cut to the titles.