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PAPA JOHN GETS IN ON THE PROTEST MOVEMENT

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A SCRIPT PROPOSAL

DirecTV Super Saturday Night - Arrivals
HANGIN WITH THE DOUBLE J AND DOWN WITH THE MOVEMENT
Photo by Rob Kim/Getty Images for DirecTV

SCREENPLAY: PAPA JOHN SEIZES THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION

1.

AERIAL SHOT

DERBY CITY

CAMERA FOLLOWS and ZOOMS in on badass gold Camaro flying down city streets. Camera WINDS and DIVES and HUNKERS IN LIKE THE LONGING FLOATING EYE OF A LONG LOST LOVER on the face of Papa John Schnatter, Louisville booster and pizza magnate, as he roars home

the MUSIC of Kid Rock’s “Bawitdaba” plays, but just the part where Kid Rock says “MY NAME IS KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID—” over and over again as

the camera CIRCLES and FOLLOWS the gold Camaro as it rips through the circular driveway of a palatial estate. It SLIDES through the perfectly Camaro-sized front doors of the mansion, into the foyer, and comes to a smoking halt as it collides with the staircase.

PAPA JOHN: PIZZA TWO!

PERSONAL ASSISTANT STEVE, whose name is not PIZZA TWO, but is called that because Papa John is the assumed PIZZA ONE:

P2: Yes, sir.

PJ: [fumes]

Car: [smokes, looks explode-y]

Pizza Two as if his soul will depart his body when he answers, which it nearly does: Yes, Pizza One.

PJ: PIZZA TWO! Did you see this! This is an outrage!

P2: [eyes explode-y car] Sir—um, Pizza One, is that gas I smell?

PJ: The smell is our country burning!

P2: Pretty sure that’s gasoline, too.

PJ: Don’t tell me what the smell of revolution or arson is! I didn’t work for thirty-five years and find a way to turn discarded junk mail into a form of cheap flour to watch it all go down the tubes to some kneeling socialist quarterback.

the camera ZOOMS in on Pizza Two’s hand, slowly creeping behind him as they talk. It FLASHES and ZOOMS in on a dart gun tucked into Pizza Two’s waistband.

P2: No, Pizza One. Agreed. Absolute—

PJ: —Outrage! There, on the cover of Sports Illustrated. They got LeBron, and Steph Curry, Ron Jeremy, I get those

P2: Sir, that is Shad Khan

PJ: Pizza Two, I don’t care what they call him in Mexico, he’ll always be the Hedgehog to me.

P2: Right.

PJ: Gawdangit I’m mad. Roger Goodell! Until yesterday he was one of my heroes.

P2: Really?

PJ: Shovels hot garbage directly into people’s homes for a living, Pizza Two? Duh? It’s like I have to show you the dinosaur in the Magic Eye painting sometimes.

Papa John gestures to enormous oil painting of an apatosaurus eating leaves peacefully as an giant flaming pizza-asteroid descends from space. It is not a Magic Eye painting.

P2: Sir, please come to the study. I think I can help.

PJ: One second.

The camera pans to the door. It opens and BOBBY PETRINO stands, holding a pizza. He has the opposite of a smile on his face.

Petrino: Your daily pie sir.

Papa John takes it and slings it behind him without looking. Camera CUTS to pizza landing on the smoking hood of the crashed Camaro. The cheese bubbles and begins to burn along with the staircase and car.

PJ: How’d you get here

Petrino: My car, sir.

PJ: Gonna say, better stick to four wheels, right? AHAHAHAHAAAA

P2: Oh that’s good sir

Petrino, under his breath: what the hell did I do, killed them all, of course

PJ: What?

Petrino: I said that’s funny.

PJ: You bet it is, now go try not to lose to Kentucky. Later, Skids!

Camera ZOOMS in on Petrino as he smiles the smile of a man who wants to garrote you in broad daylight in the Magic Kingdom. The door shuts and the camera FLASHES to Pizza Two

P2: As I was saying, sir. This way, to the study. I believe I can help calm you.

The camera FOLLOWS and GLIDES down the 800 foot hallway to Papa John’s study. The shelves are lined with James Patterson, John Grisham, and hardbound collections of Hustler.

The camera ZOOMS to a single screen revealed through a sliding panel on the wall. Pizza Two has picked up a laptop and is typing furiously.

P2: Just a second...

PJ: I’m so angry!

P2: Not much longer...

PJ: I’m gonna purch a fit! No one’s gonna like it! PAPAAAAA—-

P2: Sir is that Peyton Manning at the door—

PJ: PEYTON MY LOVE—-

As Papa John turns the camera FLASHES to Pizza Two’s arm ripping the dart gun from his belt, then FLASHES again to the gun as he fires a pinpoint accurate shot directly at Papa John’s jugular. Camera FOLLOWS the dart in slow-motion as it spins, revealing the GARLIC BUTTER label, all the way till it strikes home in Papa John’s neck.

Papa John turns back, staggers into Pizza Two’s arms, conscious but obviously under the narcotic effects of the garlic butter.

P2: Now, now. Shhhhhh.

PJ: Where’s Pey—

P2. Now just relax. Look at the screen. Don’t you like this so much better?

PJ: HANS

P2: Yes, yes it is, Papa.

PJ: HE’S BEHIND EVERYTHING!

P2: It’s true.

PJ: He’s a the man with the hot criminal hand! [falls to a sudden whisper] ... but who plays it so cool...

P2: That’s right.

PJ: I knew he wasn’t dead!

P2: Of course not. Now, don’t you feel better?

PJ: Everything’s better with legendary character actor Alan Rickman in it, Pizza Two! But...I still feel left out of this. I can’t get Louisville to take a knee. How Big Papa gonna flex, Pizza Two? How’m I gonna get on this hashtag kneelwave? I gotta be at the party somehow.

P2: I’m wasn’t finished, sir.

PJ: PAPA WANNA FLEX

Pizza Two theatrically presses a key on his laptop with a loud CLICK!

A bleary-eyed and drowsy Papa John lights up and, wobbling, bolts up from the chair

PJ: NOW WE’RE TALKIN’

P2: You’re pleased, sir?

PJ: PIZZA TWO THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY GIFT ANYONE’S EVER GIVEN ME.

P2: Your birthday isn’t for another seven months, sir.

PJ: Call me a calendar cause I may just march over to this couch and have a nap

P2: Very good sir

PJ: CALL ME A FAT MAN CAUSE I’M GONE OFF THAT BUTTERAKskdhkxjaajkhzzzzzzzzzz—

The camera PANS out as Papa John collapses into a couch. Pizza Two dials his cellphone as the camera HOVERS overhead. Petrino picks up the phone.

Petrino: huh

P2: Get back here and bring the tow truck, we’ve got to get the Camaro out before it explodes or he wakes up.

Petrino: I thought I had you blocked

P2: Like blocking’s your specialty anywhere, Bob.