ABOUT GUELYLAND

"One of the smallest , independent kingdoms in the ciberuniverse. Nothing fancy. Population? Just me, myself and my jaguars, my movies and my books (and, at this very moment, YOU). Hided and secret like Skull Island or Opar, the ancients in Guelyland use to read the scrools of a minor god called Voor-Hes.
Most of the treasures of Guelyland are made of paper, plastic and vinyl.Guelyland dreams with expanding in deep more then in surface. The music of Nik Kershaw has been heard here. There are apes, lots of apes in Guelyland. Woody Allen and Bob Hope visit it quite often. Here we love books (the Kingdoms Library is both celebrated and secret) Here we are atheists but very tolerant and think of god a bit too often and much. Guelyland is, the stuff my dreams are made of..."

MAY I INTEREST YOU IN SOME...

PEOPLE WITH TASTE. YOU CAN BE ONE OF THEM!!

Sunday, May 30, 2010

R.I.P. DENNIS HOOPER, 1936-2010, MAN!!


No drug could take him away and in his day he must had tried everything! A survivor by his own merit it took a damned prostate cancer to stop six decades of a trip of a movie carrier. Actor and director. Close friend of Jimmy Dean, Elvis and the Duke, Jack Nicholson and David Lynch. With movies like Giant, Easy Rider, The Last Movie (filmed in Perú in 1969), The American Friend, Apocalypse Now!, Blue Velvet, Speed (yeah, man!), True Romance...Okay, I'll take this Tarantino penned scene from the 1993 Tony Scott film True Romance to remember him. Sharing the screen: Chris Walken. as the mob Coccotti.
Sit back and enjoy.



COCCOTTI
Do you know who I am, Mr. Worley?

CLIFF
I give up. Who are you?

COCCOTTI
I'm the Anti-Christ. You get me in a vendetta kind of mood, you will tell
the angels in heaven that you had never seen pure evil so singularly
personified as you did in the face of the man who killed you. My name is
Vincenzo Coccotti. I work as a counsel for Mr. Blue Lou Boyle, the man your
son stole from. I hear you were once a cop so I assume you've heard of us
before. Am I correct?

CLIFF
I've heard of Blue Lou Boyle.

COCCOTTI
I'm glad. Hopefully that will clear up the how-full-of-shit-I-am question
you've been asking yourself. Now, we're gonna have a little Q and A, and,
at the risk of sounding redundant, please make your answers genuine.
(taking out a pack of Chesterfields)
Want a Chesterfield?

CLIFF
No.

COCCOTTI
(as he lights up)
I have a son of my own. About you boy's age. I can imagine how painful this
must be for you. But Clarence and that bitch-whore girlfriend of his
brought this all on themselves. And I implore you not to go down the road
with 'em. You can always take comfort in the fact that you never had a
choice.

CLIFF
Look, I'd help ya if I could, but I haven't seen Clarence -

Before Cliff can finish his sentence, Coccotti slams him hard in the nose with his fist.

COCCOTTI
Smarts, don't it? Gettin' slammed in the nose fucks you all up. You got
that pain shootin' through your brain. Your eyes fill up with water. It
ain't any kind of fun. But what I have to offer you. That's as good as it's
ever gonna get, and it won't ever get that good again. We talked to your
neighbors. They saw a Mustang, a red Mustang, Clarence's red Mustang,
parked in front of your trailer yesterday. Mr. Worley, have you seen your
son?

Cliff's defeated.

CLIFF
I've seen him.

COCCOTTI
Now I can't be sure of how much of what he told you. So in the chance
you're in the dark about some of this, let me shed some light. That whore
your boy hangs around with, her pimp is an associate of mine, and I don't
just mean pimpin', in other affairs he works for me in a courier capacity.
Well, apparently, that dirty little whore found out when we're gonna do
some business, 'cause your son, the cowboy and his flame, came in the room
blastin' and didn't stop till they were pretty sure everybody was dead.

CLIFF
What are you talkin' about?

COCCOTTI
I'm talkin' about a massacre. They snatched my narcotics and hightailed it
outta there. Wouldda gotten away with it, but your son, fuckhead that he
is, left his driver's license in a dead guy's hand. A whore hiding in the
commode filled in all the blanks.

CLIFF
I don't believe you.

COCCOTTI
That's of minor importance. But what's of major fuckin' importance is that
I believe you. Where did they go?

CLIFF
On their honeymoon.

COCCOTTI
I'm gettin' angry askin' the same question a second time. Where did they
go?

CLIFF
They didn't tell me.

Coccotti looks at him.

CLIFF
Now, wait a minute and listen. I haven't seen Clarence in three years.
Yesterday he shows up here with a girl, sayin' he got married. He told me
he needed some quick cash for a honeymoon, so he asked if he could borrow
five hundred dollars. I wanted to help him out so I wrote out a check. We
went to breakfast and that's the last I saw of him. So help me God. They
never thought to tell me where they were goin'. And I never thought to ask.

Coccotti looks at him for a long moment. He then gives Virgil a look. Virgil, quick as greased lightning, grabs Cliff's hand and turns it palm up. He then whips out a butterfly knife and slices Cliff's palm open and pours Chivas Regal on the wound. Cliff screams.

Coccotti puffs on a Chesterfield.

Tooth-pic Vic returns to the trailer, and reports in Italian that there's nothing in the car.

Virgil walks into the kitchen and gets a dishtowel. Cliff holds his bleeding palm in agony. Virgil hands him the dishtowel. Cliff uses it to wrap up his hand.

COCCOTTI
Sicilians are great liars. The best in the world. I'm a Sicilian. And my
old man was the world heavyweight champion of Sicilian liars. And from
growin' up with him I learned the pantomime. Now there are seventeen
different things a guy can do when he lies to give him away. A guy has
seventeen pantomimes. A woman's got twenty, but a guy's got seventeen. And
if you know 'em like ya know your own face, they beat lie detectors to
hell. What we got here is a little game of show and tell. You don't wanna
show me nothin'. But you're tellin' me everything. Now I know you know
where they are. So tell me, before I do some damage you won't walk away
from.

The awful pain in Cliff's hand is being replaced by the awful pain in his heart. He looks deep into Coccotti's eyes.

CLIFF
Could I have one of those Chesterfields now?

COCCOTTI
Sure.

Coccotti leans over and hands him a smoke.

CLIFF
Got a match?

Cliff reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter.

CLIFF
Oh, don't bother. I got one.
(he lights the cigarette)
So you're a Sicilian, huh?

COCCOTTI
(intensly)
Uh-huh.

CLIFF
You know I read a lot. Especially things that have to do with history. I
find that shit fascinating. In fact, I don't know if you know this or not,
Sicilians were spawned by niggers.

All the men stop what they were doing and look at Cliff, except for Tooth-pic Vic who doesn't speak English and so isn't insulted. Coccotti can't believe what he's hearing.

COCCOTTI
Come again?

CLIFF
It's a fact. Sicilians have nigger blood pumpin' through their hearts. If
you don't believe me, look it up. You see, hundreds and hundreds of years
ago the Moors conquered Sicily. And Moors are niggers. Way back then,
Sicilians were like the wops in northern Italy. Blond hair, blue eyes. But,
once the Moors moved in there, they changed the whole country. They did so
much fuckin' with the Sicilian women, they changed the blood-line for ever,
from blond hair and blue eyes to black hair and dark skin. I find it
absolutely amazing to think that to this day, hundreds of years later,
Sicilians still carry that nigger gene. I'm just quotin' history. It's a
fact. It's written. Your ancestors were niggers. Your great, great, great,
great, great-grandmother was fucked by a nigger, and had a half-nigger kid.
That is a fact. Now tell me, am I lyin'?

Coccotti looks at him for a moment then jumps up, whips out an automatic, grabs hold of Cliff's hair, puts the barrel to his temple, and pumps three bullets through Cliff's head.

He pushes the body violently aside. Coccotti pauses. Unable to express his feelings and frustrated by the blood in his hands, he simply drops his weapon, and turns to his men.

COCCOTTI
I haven't killed anybody since 1984. Goddamn his soul to burn for eternity
in fuckin' hell for makin' me spill blood on my hands! Go to this
comedian's son's apartment and come back with somethin' that tells me where
that asshole went so I can wipe this egg off of my face and fix this fucked-up family for good.



2 comments:

Muertevideano said...

Good Bye mr Hooper and good luck

Guely of Sweden said...

Aaaamen, maaaan!

WATCH ME, WATCHING YOU WATCHING ME

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