One thing most people don’t know about Zero Dark Thirty is: KATHERYN BIG-OL’-HO STOLE IT FROM ME!!!! Yep, that’s right! Big-ol’-ho hijacked my script and I demand recognition, as well as an Oscar (assuming she/I win one). Zero Dark Thirty was essentially my idea! The main difference between my script and hers is that mine is based on a True Story about my uncle Francis T. Burglebarker, titled: Francis Turns Thirty.
Four years ago I regretfully sent Kathryn Big-ol’-ho my only copy of Francis Turns Thirty in hopes of getting it produced. All I received back from her was a “thank you” card covered in kittens that said: “Thanks for the script. I’m not sure if you’ve seen the Hurt Locker, but I kinda only make good (emphasis on good) movies. Good luck with your sucky script and life. Love, Kat.”
So when I saw Zero Dark Thirty, you can imagine how furious I was! I guess it wasn’t too “sucky” to steal, huh Kat? Not only did she steal it, but she butchered the opening scene in my movie to bits. We all know how Zero Dark Thirty opens: a terrorist being torture by the CIA— blah, blah, blah, totally cliché.
But let’s look at how my film—a real film—Francis Turns Thirty would have opened so you can see the disgraceful changes Kat made to it for Zero Dark Thirty, and why they were for the worse.
Francis Turns Thirty opens with Francis searching for a snack in San Francisco. He then stumbles on a parade—but not just any parade—he quickly realizes he’s surrounded by men with meaty sausages packaged in leather mankinis. Francis gets frightened…and hungry. Francis reads a big banner: Folsom Street Fair: Biggest Leatherfest in the World.
Francis runs down an alley and finds a group of Bears peeing/waterboarding a guy in a plastic kiddy pool. He turns to run the other way, but trips into a leather-daddy named Barnabas: a hairy, barrel of a man wearing a spikey pouch for his man-package. Barnabas starts flogging a poor naked twink wearing a black hood, tied to a post. Francis asks Barnabas what were the twink’s crimes. Barnabas growls, “Naughty boys get punished.”
If bondage, S&M, and watersports don’t scream Zero Dark Thirty, I don’t know what does. The only difference is the opening of Francis Turn’s Thirty’s is way less “Hollywood” and really gets at the underbelly of “torture” in America.
Later, in Zero Dark Thirty, there is a scene where Maya and Jessica are talking in a cafeteria. Jessica basically says that if Maya doesn’t have sex soon she is going to turn into a Muslim/terrorist. This is almost the same premise I was exploring in Francis Turns Thirty, but Kat blatantly ripped it from me and twisted it into that racist bucket of excrement we know as Zero Dark Thirty.
Obviously the main premise of Zero Dark Thirty is:
Starving oneself of sex causes one to become a terrorist.
Islam starves people of sex.
Therefore, Islam breeds terrorists by starving its followers of sex.
I’m not saying there isn’t any truth to this premise, but Big-ol’-ho oversimplifies it. Francis Turns Thirsty approaches the subject of “sexual repression and its relation to terrorism” in a far more complex and poignant manner.
Let’s get back to Francis Turns Thirty and I’ll let you—my valued reader—decide which story you would have rather seen on the big screen.
Alright, so like most of the terrorists in Zero Dark Thiry, my uncle Francis was ugly. And similar to the way terrorists disguise their ugliness with bushy beards, my parents made my Uncle Francis wear a Bill Clinton mask before he entered our house because they were afraid he’d give me and my sister nightmares. Why a Bill Clinton mask, you ask? Simple: Bill Clinton is a gorgeous, charming, saxophonist and the mask was on sale at Party City for $7.99. Anyways, Francis never had the pleasure of getting down and dirty with a dude or lady. Not even Goths or people with fetishes for circus freaks would give poor Francis any love. He thought it was hopeless until one day a pair of Seventh Day Adventist missionaries knocked on his door, befriended him, and invited him to church. The next day, Francis joined the Seventh Day Adventists, and the Church, being accepting of all freaks, took him under their care, and they didn’t even make him wear the Bill Clinton mask. Francis worked his way up the clergy hierarchy, and eventually opened his own Seventh Day Adventist Church in Chile.
When Francis turned 29, his loins were still as dry as the bones of Moses; and like most terrorists, the bubbling rage brewing in his pelvis slowly seeped into his brain.
Francis started believing he was Christ incarnated and preached that an environmentally unfriendly mining company near their church was about to drill into the gates of hell. Francis decried, “A long time ago I locked Lucifer and his minions below the earth’s surface. Once these miners open the bowels of hell, an army of beasts riding black alpacas will splurt from hell’s rectum and terrorize the world for one-thousand years.”
I sometimes wonder if Francis said the beasts were riding alpacas simply because the Chilean farmers in his congregation were less familiar with horses. But whether the beasts rode alpacas or horses made little difference to the Chileans. Francis, who looked like a hellish beast himself, had officially terrified them. They were putty in his hands
Francis and his congregates hid explosives throughout the offending mine; and unless you’ve been living under a rock or in a rural village in Alpaca-stan (It’s a play on words. Get it? Did you hear a witty play-on-words in Zero Dark Thirty? I don’t think so) you may remember a little “incident” that happened in Chile that involved an “accidental” explosion that trapped 33 “sinful” miners deep in the bowels of hell. Yea, that was Uncle Francis, a little fact mainstream media never disclosed. I say my story is just a tad more interesting than all that tiresome 9/11 terrorist mumbo-jumbo, eh?
Anyhow, now we come to the most damning evidence that Kat stole my script.
So the Chilean secret police discovered that the mine explosion was actually an act of terrorism by a fundamentalist sect of Seventh Day Adventists led by the notorious Francis T. Burglebarker. (My grandfather forced Francis to change his last name. Grandpa didn’t want anyone knowing a monstrosity like Francis could in any way be his creation—a classic case of Frankenstein and his misunderstood monster).
The Chilean secret police organized a manhunt for Francis, so he hid in a secret cave deep in the Chilean jungles, where he continued plotting out strikes against environmentally unfriendly mining companies. But the secret police captured one of Francis’ followers after a botched attempt to kidnap the son of some guy who owned a Chilean Pizza Hut (someone once called Francis “pizza face” and he had it out for Pizza joints ever since). Similar to the CIA’s interrogation tactics in Zero Dark Thirty, the Chilean secret police in Francis Turns Thirty wiped their bums with “human rights;” and it wasn’t long before they tortured their way to Francis’ doorstep.
On the night of Francis’ 30th Birthday —the night before the secret police would raid his hidden cave—Francis and a virgin girl who was blind, deaf, and had nerve damage throughout 70% of her body made love together. Unfortunately for the girl, she didn’t receive any pleasure due to her clitoris being part of the 70% that had nerve damage. But her chance of receiving any pleasure was “pretty small” anyways, since poor Francis was cursed with a “micro-penis”—a penis hardly larger than an unripe Baby Carrot.
Here’s an interesting study: 89% of men with micro-penises become terrorists (a fascinating fact Kat forgot to mention in Zero Dark Thirty). The study reported that men with mico-penises were more likely to become terrorists because A) They’re embarrassed to have sex; and as we now know: sexual repression leads to terrorism. B) Men with micro-penises blow up skyscrapers because they see them as giant phalluses—a classic case of penis envy.
The orgasm Francis “Baby Carrot” Burglebarker experienced was euphoric—the terrorism clouds in Francis’ head that’d been swelling with rage-sperm for 30 years finally burst. Francis’ climax lasted 19 minutes: a new world record. The typhoon of terrorist tendencies that had ruled Francis’ life disappeared like a storm. All became clear. And for once, Francis’ sky—instead of his balls—was blue.
It should now be clear that it wasn’t the CIA that stopped Osama from committing future terrorist attacks; rather, it’s because some lady finally popped his micro-penis cherry. After finally getting laid, all Osama wanted was to be surrounded by babes and to bone all day in a compound: the typical mentality of a recovering terrorist.
Anyways, if you’ve seen Zero Dark Thirty, you can probably guess how Francis Turns Thirty ends: considering Big-ol’ho stole it verbatim. After Francis’ climax ended, he forgot why he was in a cave surrounded by Chileans. He didn’t remember blowing up the mine or that he was the leader of a fanatical sect of the Seventh Day of Adventists. The blind, deaf, and nerve damaged girl jogged his memory, and it slowly all came back. Francis panicked. He planned a desperate escape back to America; but just as he saddled his fastest alpaca, the secret police blew open the heavy vines guarding his cave and shot him dead before he could even apologize to the 33 miners, which he planned to do as soon as he returned to the U.S.
Kat, I’m thoroughly disappointed in you. If you’re going to steal someone’s script (particularly mine) and make changes to it, you better be sure as God made grey alpacas that you make it better than the original. It isn’t even debatable that Francis Turns Thirty would have been a more thought provoking masterpiece and likely made its way into the film canon—unlike Zero Dark Thirty that will inevitably die a slow, tortured death.
Big-ol’-ho, you’re a thief and a failure. Audiences have spoken: as a filmmaker, it’s time for you to al-pack-it in.