PANEL ONE: It's a smaller version and closer shot of the Phantom Kid as seen on the Story Splash.  He's leaping towards the street (could be a different angle too).  TWO: PK lands betwixt several gang members, sporting their colors with pale yellowish tattoos on their foreheads.  There's someone else in-between them too: a young woman. THREE: All the gang members have pulled out various weapons. FOUR:  PK is leaping out of the group, with the woman over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. ..>..>..>..> NOTE TO ARTIST:Something in the woman's mode of dress should make her stand out & be remembered: a ribbon in her hair, strange shoes, a tattoo on her cheek...whatever. REG CAPTION: I'm a new hero in Railway City now -- the press named me the Phantom Kid.

FIVE: PK easily scales a fire escape with the woman still on his shoulders.  The gang members stand across the street, dumbfounded.

REG CAPTION: Wanna know why?  'Cause word got out on the streets that I ran from a few fights.

SIX: Close-up on gang member, holding his gun tightly, angrily.

REG CAPTION: Guns don't scare me.  Bullets, on the other hand, make me nervous from time to time.

PAGE 9 

ONE:

Exterior shot of East Side School for Young Adults...>..>..>..>

	REG CAPTION: I said goodbye to Becky, the fam, lots of friends.  To be on the a plane for only the second time ever just to go bere. REG CAPTION 2: It's a boarding school.  REG CAPTION 3: I know, I know.  It's a groan for me to...

TWO:

Inside the dormitory.  We see Reg and a nerdy black kid (Crain CRANDALL) who's apparently his roommate.  Reg seems to be just moving in, Crain is obviously settled in already.  The room has two large bay windows -- they have a corner room.

REG CAPTION: ...But I got a few good things from this.  The first is living in a big city like The Railway.  Second's a roommate I think I can trust...

Crain:  'Right.  Reg. I guess you can, uh, put your stuff where Gordo had his.

Reg: "Gordo"?

THREE: 

Crain: Yeh, the jerk who hadda move.  You know, 'cause you were comin' in.

Crain 2: ...What's with that?

Reg: What's with what?..>..>..>..>

FOUR:  (Crain looking at Reg like he's an idiot) Crain:  They said it was your mother.  That she called to request this room. Reg (smiling uncomfortably): Oh.  No, it's just that my...eyesight isn't the best.  She asked for a room with the most sunlight. Reg 2: I didn't know they moved someone.	..

 

FIVE:

Shot of door, or door & Reg...whichever.

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!

Crain (off screen): bloody...!

PAGE 10

ONE: long panel...door, Reg, & Crain are visible.

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK!

Gordon "GORDO" Breckerman is off-screen, yelling through the door.

Gordo: Hey bug, let me in there, or I'll pull your nostrils out through your a--

Crain: Learn my name, you idiot!

GORDO: All right, Crain, you perf, open the door!

TWO:

Reg has opened the door. It's a close-up of Gordo -- a nasty lookin' kid. He wears a yarmulke and has on his school uniform.

GORDO:  New kid.  You're dead.

THREE:

Gordo's swinging a fist at Reg.

FOUR:

<b>Reg, totally unaffected by this, has caught his fist.

FIVE:

Close on Reg, smiling.

SIX:

Angle on hallway, Gordo's been tossed out of the room.

SFX: SLAM!

PAGE 11

ONE: Shot of Crain, dumbfounded.

CRAIN: Oh.  Oh.  That was tight!  He'll kill us both, but...Heh-eh.  Amazing. Ah-hoh-hoh!!  I never saw a thing like that before.  Man, I was watching, and I didn't see it.

TWO:

Crain more serious (or curious) now.

CRAIN: You a wringer, Reynolds?

THREE:

REG: What, like, for sports?

CRAIN: Yeah.

REG: No, "Bug," I ain't no wringer.

FOUR:

CRAIN: Call me Crain...Someone should.

REG:  Sounds good to me.

FIVE:

Larger panel: Reg is at the window, he looks like he's sizing it up.  You can see from this angle that their corner windows lead directlyinto  some trees, which border on a stone wall, followed by a fence, all of which faces the back of some brownstones and an alleyway. (this panel can be a worm's eye view, up at window, showing Reg through one corner window, Crain through the other, with all the described in fore & midground).  This is his obvious escape route to become the Phantom Kid!

REG CAPTION: I was sent here to do some good.  The more I think about it, the more weird it seems.

REG CAPTION 2: Railway City, home of The Conductor, the Deadend Defender, Maximum Man...

REG:  So, are we allowed to go get some burgers or what?

PAGE 12

PANEL ONE:

Close-up of a burger being devoured.

Gordo (O.P.): I'm gonna *munch* kill that new *rowlf* kid, guys.  Really.

TWO:

We can see now that Gordo's at a fast food restaurant sitting with some buddies, eating (the school is in the background out the window).

Buddy 1: So, tell me again how he sucker-punched you?

Buddy 2:  Yeah!  What'd you do, walk into the room bass ackwards.

THREE:

All four of his friends cackle and motion and point at each other 'cause that was "a good one." In the background, Crain & Reg walk in unnoticed.

SFX: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!

Buddy 1: Dude! 

Buddy 3:  Yeah, bud-dee!

FOUR:Now they notice Crain & Reg.

Buddy 1: Hey, Gordo, man. 

Gordo (stuffing his face still): Yeah.

Buddy 1: What's got two legs, lives with a bug, and kicks butt?

GORDO: I dunno.  What?

FIVE:

Buddy 1 is pointing over Gordo's shoulder to Crain & Reg, who are ordering their food now.

Buddy 1: I dunno either, but he kicked yours!

SFX of friends: HA HA HA HA!!

PAGE 13..>..>..>..>

NOTE TO ARTIST:somewhere on this page, we must get a good look at Gordo's yarmulke -- it should be one of the nicer ones.  Embroidered, black or blue, held on with a bobby pin.

 

ONE:

Crain & Reg are heading to their seats with trays of food.

CRAIN: ...no accent 'cause I grew up here.  My dad's from South London, we visit, so, yeah, I've picked up a lot of their, you know, phrases...All right, if I said something was "tight" -- my mates'd be lost.

TWO:

Gordo & his buddies are standing in the way of Crain & Reg.

REG: ...It's kind of wh--

GORDO:  Hey, bug.  Hey, new kid.

REG 2:  Well, now, this is the Railway City hospitality I'd heard about...

THREE:

REG: ...We'd like a table by the window, if you please.

GORDO:  Hey, the Texan Tumbleweed's a freakin' wiseguy!

BUDDY 3: When you're done there, can I get his shake?

GORDO: So, 'wad, wanna finish what we started?

Note: next three panels, should be smaller, tighter shots.

PANEL FOUR: 

REG: Not really.  Why don't you & the funny beanie you wear go find your seats.

PANEL FIVE:

Reg, looking proudly over his shoulder at Crain, who has his hands over his face in disgrace.

REG (proud):  Heh!

CRAIN (small): shoot.

GORDO (O.P.):  WHAT?!

PAGE SIX:

A fist has swung into view and connected with Reg.  His tray is in mid-flight.

PAGE 14

ONE:

The boys are back in the dorm.  It's dusk.  Reg is nursing a black eye with a bag of ice.  Bags and food from the fast food place sit nearby.  Crain eats his fries, a book is open on his lap.

REG: Well, how was I supposed to know?  I never met someone who was Jewish.

CRAIN:  Yeah, well, you looked racist. 

REG 2:  Naw, I'm just an idiot.

TWO:

Crain is showing Reg the book...it's a dictionary. 

CRAIN:  Well, jeez, here it is.  No wonder we couldn't find it -- I'd never have spelled it like that.  See?

CRAIN: "Yarmulke, 'yah-meh-kah'...a small skull-cap worn by Jewish males on religious occasions."  Gordo wears his all the time though.

REG:  I just thought he was a dork.

THREE:

Crain is smiling.

CRAIN:  Turns out that'd be you, hn?

REG: Should I apologize?

CRAIN 2:  Yeah.  This is a small place, and you can be kicked out for something like that.

FOUR: Crain is turning on his computer and his printer.

CRAIN:  We'll write you a letter of apology.  You'll drop a copy off with Dean Mizzilli and slip one under Gordo's door...and before you say it, e-mail's out -- this has to be formal.

REG 2:  How long will this take?

CRAIN 2:  I dunno. Why?  Busy night planned?

REG 3: Um, yeah, I might look around...

Part 3 To Come!

Hello, people of the Internet.

I have noted that many of you have numerous concerns you would like to express online. In order to help you, I've created this universal "COMMUNITY BOARDS FORM/REPLY."

In my detailed studies, I have found this can be used by at least 90% of the people utilizing the myriad community boards in 100% of the situations they would like to post about/reply to.

In sum, this will be especially useful for those who feel they need help organizing their thoughts.

The great thing about this form is that it can be filled-out or left as-is -- either way, it'll have the same basic result and is relevant in quite literally every situation (from boards about politics to those about horses, from topics as specific as pig genitalia to things as broad as drugs or fashion [which are virtually the same topic anyway]).

I hope it helps all of you.



======================================
Universal COMMUNITY BOARDS FORM/REPLY:


RE: above


This is my angry, poorly thought-out opinion!!!!!

Here is some irrelevant nonsense.

Incomplete sentence.

Face created using punctuation I wouldn't otherwise recognize/be able to identify/use.

My name or clever-enough stand-in for such.
"This quotation is here because someone has said this already, and I like it although I'm not really clear on, or interested in, its original intent."

[I found this helpful form here: myspace.com/planitrealities]
=====================================

You're welcome, all of you.

Your pal,
Keith

**Thank you for coming to my blog.  I say naughty words from time to time. If you are easily offended, then you will be. Perhaps you should go read a "Clifford" book -- they're pretty harmless and very entertaining.**

What you are about to read are parts 12-14 of my work-in-progress entitled "72 People I've Met On The Subway."

While some earlier parts will be posted here, most of the previous sections are at my blog on my OTHER MySpace: myspace.com/planitreality

From now on, I'll be posting these here. Each and every story here is true...only the names, situations, and locations have been changed to protect the innocent. (Um..that's, uh, just a joke, 'kay?)


12. The Old Smuggler

I waited for a bus on a sun-shiney day.
An old man told me, "They won't let you on, no how, no way!"

See, on this lovely morn, I held my Ladyfriend's cute pup.
A "yorkie-poo," not too tall, no higher than three cups.

The pup was a good girl, a smart girl, could stand on hind legs and heel.
But this old man figured, to get her on a bus, we must distract the man behind the wheel.

So the bus pulled to the stop, and everyone got on.
I kept Bella behind me, held her with one arm.

The old man went first, paid his fare, stopped, then queried the driver.
I came on next, swiped my MetroCard for fare, slid past the old man -- no one the wiser.

I moved down the aisle, with little Bella full of perk.
The old man sauntered towards me, very proud of his work.

I sat in the back, that smuggler sat nearby; he smiled and winked.
Then Bella smiled back…well, not really, but that's what the old man seemed to think.


13. The Banana Girl

It struck me as odd. A young, innocent-looking Asian girl had taken a banana out of her purse -- not the odd part -- and she had started peeling it...from the bottom.

I watched, confused, astounded, bewildered. So I asked. I asked "Why?"

She, struggling with her English, told me she had been doing it that way since she was little and soon explained that this was a good way to avoid smooshing the top of the banana, which people often do working the top back and forth before peeling it.

Yes, this made perfect sense! This woman was clearly a genius! Most definitely from a family of geniuses!

So when next I found myself with a banana in hand, why, I gave it a try.

Of course, I now wished I'd chosen to ask her "How?" rather than "Why?," because I simply could not seem to open the banana from the bottom.

And, when I finally did, I had another quandary -- something I simply had not considered: normally, when I eat a banana, I leave that icky, crunchy black thing at the bottom. But now, here I was, staring at that little black wad of whatever...And I didn't want it.

Where is my "innocent" Asian banana girl now? Where is the banana girl now?!


14. What are they wearing in Hell's Kitchen this Season?

On Long Island there's a train hub for the commuter rail -- the LIRR -- where passengers are often forced to switch trains to reach their proper destination.

A stop or two before this station a woman ran into the car just as the doors closed.

I was in an aisle seat, so I looked up as she pulled herself into the train. She saw me look and stopped in her tracks then asked me, "Is this the train to Manhattan?"

I said that it was.

She then asked, "Do I have to change?"

Casually, I looked her up and down, then down and up and said simply, "No-no...What you're wearing should be fine."

I'm almost always just this helpful.

7. Our Love Is Infectious

One Halloween, I had a great costume idea. A brilliant one, I might even add.

My gal and I would dress like infections. Sure, it's a bit abstract, but I had a plan:

I would be a urinary tract infection! I wore a piss-yellow shirt (picked up at a thrift shop) and brown pants. I dipped a toothbrush into bleach then snapped it over the shirt, creating light bleach spots which were my globules; rust-colored eyeliner was used to draw my "exposed veins" on the shirt and on my neck. To top it off, two Zip-Loc baggies filled with Ivory soft soap hung from my belt -- this was my puss.

My then-current lady-love would be a yeast infection. She wore a dark pinkish skirt and a pink t-shirt, also with the bleach effect. She added some stretched cotton balls to her hair, for that "cheesy" effect, and, pinned on the front of her skirt, two things: an empty box of Vagisil and, just below that, a little packet of yeast.

Ah, romance! We were terribly proud of our costumes, telling everyone we knew about the party we were going to and what we were dressing as -- all the while giggling at the "our love is infectious" joke and repeating said joke every chance we could.

The party we were heading to was downtown; we'd be meeting a buddy of mine at the bus stop. So, off we went.

It was fairly early on Saturday night, and the bus was a little crowded. The three of us stood towards the front, by the reserved seats for the elderly. My gal wore a 3/4-length winter coat; it went down to just below her Vagisil. My top coat covered me up pretty completely. My friend was dressed innocuously as Count Dracula.

Suddenly, one of the sweet elderly women we stood by bent towards my gal, and, seeing the yeast packet on her skirt and balls of cotton in her hair, she asked my girl -- in that sweet old lady voice -- "What're you supposed to be?"

Being one of the few people left in the world who actually respects her elders, my lady froze with fright...She couldn't possibly tell the woman what she was!   I simply smiled and turned away hoping she would tell the old lady the truth -- what a great sociological experiment that would've been (yeah, I'm kind of a bastard that way).

So my gal was frozen with fright and my friend, embarrassed, was doing his best to help, whispering in her ear the answer, the answer she needed to say, frantically repeating the safe response...

And my lady repeated what she heard in her ear: "Bread! I'm dressed as a loaf of bread."

The elderly woman smiled and turned to her elderly friend. "Ohh, how cute is that?"

Yeah, baby, cute as a yeasty vagina, you betcha!

*** Holy cow! I'm one insensitive jerk! So if you're easily offended, you should probably leave and go wash your mouth out with soap for the awful things you're thinking. ***

What follows here is part 9 of my ongoing tales of 72 People I've Met on the Subway...

9. A Tussle in the Bustle (or Let's Bungle in the Jungle)

A crowded bus. That's where this one starts.

On the way to the airport I and other bus riders, heading out of the city for a holiday weekend, staked the back of the bus as our territory. There were about a half-dozen of us sitting there, each of us with our packed bags and carry-ons.

As the bus rode along 125th street in Harlem it became increasingly busier and busier.

Three points to mention here, as they will become important later in my tale. First is that, as you may have heard around the watercooler, many residents of Harlem are black; I, however, am not (that'd be point two right there). Point three is that this busy bus was cruising along, minding its own reduced-carbon-monoxide business around the time that, elsewhere in our country, the Federal Government under Mr. Dubyuh was completely ignoring the utter chaos in New Orleans – that chaos being a result of the now-famous Hurricane Katrina. 

All that said, on with the show...   

The bus was full enough that the driver made no less than three announcements asking folks to move in. At one stop, a woman actually decided it'd be a good idea to sneak on through the back exit as people got off. But the bus driver wouldn't have any of it: "Miss, got off the bus," came the driver's voice through the speakers.

"No, no, I'm comin' up to pay you," she yelled back.

He waited a patient few moments and when it was clear she wasn't going to pay, he announced, "Miss, get off the bus, or I will stop the bus and have police take you off...I ain't playin' wit'cha." He then did indeed stop the bus.

She cursed and argued as people near her told her to leave.  She finally exited, and, when she did, some other clever soul saw it as a great opportunity to sneak on through the same doors she did! And, once again, we heard the driver: "Sir, get off the bus!" Us passengers let out a collective groan, mixed with a bit of ironic laughter, and we all began yelling at this guy to get the hell off, as we were already tired of being held up by the lady.  The frightened man looked around shocked, and quickly left, probably wondering what sort of insanity he'd entered into from the comparatively quiet street.

Once he was gone, the bus driver put 'er into gear, and we were able to move along again. 

I turned to the white woman next to me and said, "What do they think this, New Orleans?" The white woman laughed, as did the black man to her left, and the Asian girl to his left.

In front of me stood a little person, now while I am using the politically correct term for an adult of small proportions, I could – as it turns out – have been referring to the keen abilities of her mind as well.

After my little joke, the little person moved towards me and she said, "What's that mean, was that a racist joke?"

Clearly she had issues – that joke was about as racist as a southern black man named Hakeem Goldberg.

So I said, with a big smile, and a twinge of ridicule, "No, it was a comment about the utter chaos of this bus ride."

Little woman, still defensive: "Well, do you know where you are?"

Me: "Yes, I've lived in New York all my life."

Her: "Well so have I."

Me: "Then it's clear you've been here quite some time longer."

Zing!

She soldiered on, saying, "Well you should be careful with what you say."

But I, unphased, said – again with a tone of ridicule (because, while I'm not a racist, I am just a little bit of an asshole) – "Well all these people got it, and, just so we're clear..." I then pointed to each of the three as I said, "White, black, Asian."

She felt it necessary to state that she herself was Puerto Rican (although, as important as this was, she pronounced it, "Porto Reekin"). I shrugged, uncertain of the relevance.

A few quiet and sunshiney peaceful moments passed, but the woman just couldn't let it go.  She had been defeated – two falls in a three-minute time-limit, and I'd already kicked her in the solar plexus and lobbed her over the ropes.  But here she was, back again…

She put her arm alongside mine and said "There are differences."

This was even more confusing, in part because, as it turned out, I was darker than she.  So I had to end the mutilation: "The difference in this case may only be here," said I, tapping my finger to my temple.

Indeed I was right – she didn't get it.