Hannibal and Clarice Parody

Hannibal Lecter: No! I will listen now. After you fired your landscaper, you had nobody to do the yard work. You were thirty years old. You answered a Craigslist ad by some Mexican landscapers looking for work, and hired them the next day. And …?

Clarice Starling: [tears begin forming in her eyes] And one morning, I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Hannibal Lecter: Not “just”, Clarice. What set you off? You got angry at what time?

Clarice Starling: Early, just getting light outside.

Hannibal Lecter: Then something woke you, didn’t it? Was it a dream? What was it?

Clarice Starling: I heard a strange noise.

Hannibal Lecter: What was it?

Clarice Starling: It was … buzzing. Some kind of buzzing, like a loud wasp.

Hannibal Lecter: What did you do?

Clarice Starling: I went downstairs, outside. I crept onto the patio. I was so scared to look, but I had to.

Hannibal Lecter: And what did you see, Clarice? What did you see?

Clarice Starling: Mexicans with weed-eaters. And they were buzzing.

Hannibal Lecter: They were trimming the Azaleas with weed-eaters?

Clarice Starling: And they were buzzing.

Hannibal Lecter: And you fired them, or brought them all glasses of lemon flavored iced-tea?

Clarice Starling: No. First I tried to stop them. I … I got the electric bush trimmer from the garage and was going to let them use it, but the extension cord was retracted and I couldn’t pull it out.

Hannibal Lecter: But you could pull it out and you did, didn’t you?

Clarice Starling: Yes. I pressed the BIG, OBVIOUS button on the side that said CORD RELEASE, and pulled the cord out easily.

Hannibal Lecter: Yes, how could you miss the BIG, OBVIOUS button on the side that said CORD RELEASE?

[Clarice looks away, ruefully]

Hannibal Lecter: What were you going to do with it, Clarice?

Clarice: I don’t know. I didn’t have any experience as a landscaper, and it was very hot, very hot. I thought, I thought if I could save just one Azalea from the Mexican’s weed-eater by showing him how to use the trimmer, but … it was so big. So bushy. I didn’t get more than one side of it, then one of the Mexicans approached me. He was so offended that I didn’t trust him using a weed-eater on my beautiful Azaleas.

Hannibal Lecter: What became of your bush trimmer, Clarice?

Clarice Starling: I … I sold it.

Hannibal Lecter: You still wake up sometimes, don’t you? You wake up in the dark and hear the buzzing of weed-eaters.

Clarice Starling: Yes.

Hannibal Lecter: And you think if you save one Azalea, you could make them stop, don’t you? You think if you could flag ads posted on Craigslist by Mexican landscapers who are too broke to buy electric bush trimmers, you won’t wake up in the dark ever again to that awful buzzing of the weed-eaters.

Clarice Starling: [choking up] I don’t know. I don’t know.

Hannibal Lecter: Thank you, Clarice. Thank you.

Were you going to add anything of your own, or is the creative writing of others what you rub yourself with these days?

Try mocking.
Sarcasm.
You know be what you are: a cynical degenerate who belittles everything to validate his own dis-ease.
A comedian who laughs at it all because standing aside is how he pretends to be unique and a genius.

Give us some of that care-free banter, where you imagine yourself getting under the others skin.

Got em!

Hook, line and shrinker… er, I mean sinker.

Well technically I am responsible for the content of the dialogue but not the form or order. The form is the screaming lambs conversation scene. All I’ve done is changed the subject of their conversation.

For the purpose of a parody you need an object that already exists so that you can create the contrast between the original image and conception of the object and the new image and conception of the object you wish to create. Had that dialogue been between two unknown people, it wouldn’t of been half as funny. The expected seriousness, intensity and intrigue of that lambs scene is lost in a wonderful incongruency between the the seemingly stupid and trivial subject of Mexican landscapers with weed-eaters and the imposing, suspenseful nature of Hannibal’s intense probing.

But I made that one for you, Greecey, and all I get is criticism.

I wonder what would happen if I did one with a satyr in it.

[ scratches chin ]

The Cynic’s mind is a cesspool of grief and pain - an eternal longing.
They use places as paradise-lost, but they feel that there is no consolation to be found there.
Cynicism works, but it does not complete the task.
It leaves a little bit behind, like a splinter in the mind’s eye.
Pleasure numbs the rest away.
The cynical hedonist ends it there, because they desperately need a final solution to what ails them.
And what ails them is produced by what they have already rejected.
The pain/pleasure exchange - the juxtaposition - is all that’s left for the word-players.
The need remains unexplored, unrecognized and, unresolved.
In the meantime, they search for sources to find resolution in; childhood images, over the faces of strangers.

lol

Oh my…the 160 I.Q. dude, who hangs around academics and successful men, is here.
Hide your women…he will pull a reefer from his anus, use a few obscure references, and smile with sarcasm as he manipulates brain-dead whores to blow him.

He knows it all, and has dismissed it all…but he will not go further…because you might find that he is a clueless hypocrite, trying his best to appear as more than just another clown.

Guess why all the pic of his fat ass with pretty girls involve him smirking, like a goofball, with his two thumbs up.
Being the clown, and the nice guy, is all he has.
He can’t believe he’s there, so he must save the memory and then share it, to prove that he is, indeed a playa, another whigger who thinks Tupac was a genius.

The thumbs are his tiny penis, which he repeatedly wants us to know is as thick as a coke-can, erect, next to a woman who is there because of the drugs, or because he’s a nice clown that makes her laugh.
I may be wrong, of course.

perfectly valid art form