Misdelivered Mummy!
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"Misdelivered Mummy!" is the third episode of The Residents' crime fiction serial drama The River of Crime!, originally released on the Cordless Recordings website on July 11th, 2006.
An RMX version of the song "Kick a Picnic" from Our Finest Flowers was included as a bonus track in the original download.
Script
INTRO
Our lives are constantly surrounded by unseen streams... numerous, invisible rivers composed of love, power, success, pain... all that we detest and desire. Some we navigate with ease, some we seek forever... and some are simply whirlpools, spinning us into oblivion. While I am not a criminal, crime has stalked me from an early age. At this point, I can only see my life as an unending collision with evil, leaving me with but one conclusion: I ride the river of crime.
INTRODUCTION TO EPISODE #3 - LAWRENCE OF ARABIA
[T.E. LAWRENCE] Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that all was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, and make it possible.
[NARRATOR] Those are the words of T.E. Lawrence; you probably know him as Lawrence of Arabia. I love that goddamn movie! Huge, heroic, gutsy... but it does get kinda weird in the second half... then he dies tragically in a motorcycle crash, kinda like Sid Vicious or Jesus or Princess Diana. But he loved the desert, and this story is about another dreamer in the desert. Two deserts, really... one where someone dies and another one inside someone's mind. The crime here is suicide, or maybe murder... no one really knows. [CHORUS] Someone dies in the desert Someone dies in their mind A lack of loving made them fester like a boil in brine
SCENE 1 - THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS...
(A doorbell rings.) [MOTHER] I'll get it! It's probably just the mailman. (After a brief pause a door shuts, then footsteps are heard.) [MOTHER] (to herself) It mainly looks like junk mail. I'll look at it later. (shouting) I'm off to the store. Watch your sister! (The door slams shut again.)
[NARRATOR] My mother was in a hurry that day... so much of a hurry that she didn't notice a small package, wrapped in brown paper and hidden among the magazines, catalogs, and junk mail that she dropped on the coffee table. But Sherlene, my four-year-old sister, whose world coincided with the two-foot height of the table, instantly spotted it. And, since her birthday was coming up soon, and wonderful things arrived in the mail around birthdays... (Small cooing sounds are accompanied by the ripping of paper.) [NARRATOR] ... she ripped that sucker open like a shark slicing into a fat man's stomach. But unlike the shark, happily munching away on his tubby burger, little Sherlene only found a book... an old worn book with no pictures... and that's when I entered the room and saw the diary lying on the floor. [CHORUS] Discarded diary on the floor Discarded diary on the floor Leads you on a twisted trail like a lonely tattletale whose secrets are ignored
SCENE 2 - THE DIARY
[BILL LANCASTER] I have just escaped a most unpleasant death. It was pitch dark, no moon being up. I tried to feel her down but crashed heavily and the machine turned over. When I came to, I was suspended upside down in the cockpit. There was a horrible atmosphere in my tiny prison, saturated with petrol fumes. By worming my way around and scraping sand away with my nails, eventually I corkscrewed my way out into the open. My eyes were full of blood which had congealed, but eventually I managed to get them open. [CHORUS] Coagulated blood Coagulated blood The rusty red crud, like cherry colored mud, encased his face in blood. [NARRATOR] The diary was apparently the last account of a pilot who crashed in the Sahara desert. Even stranger, along with the diary was a letter addressed to a "Mrs. Chubbie Miller," who lived a few blocks away. The weird part is that this letter was written on what looked like - and I swear it's true - the official stationery of the French Foreign Legion.
SCENE 3 - FIFI
[NARRATOR] The French teacher's name was Miss Poulailler. She was about 200 years old, looked like a giant tree frog and was known to all the kids as "Fifi." Everyone agreed that she was totally out of it. She also listened to this weird French pop music ALL THE TIME.
A CLASSROOM - DAY (A knock on the door is heard.) [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ... uh, excuse me, Miss Poulailler? Could I talk to you for a minute? [MISS POULAILLER] ...eh? What's that? Speak up, young man! What class are you in? Parle en ton nam! [TEENAGED NARRATOR] I'm sorry, ma'am... uh, I'm not in one of your classes, but, uh, I have a kind of unusual letter here that I need translated... uh, can you help me, Miss Poulailler? [MISS POULAILLER] ...letter? What letter? I don't know anything about a letter. ...HUH? What have you got there, young man? Let me see it. [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ...uh, thanks, ma'am. Here it is... uh, thanks. [MISS POULAILLER] (mumbles) Monsieur, Madame, Je suis au regret de vous faire savoir que... (louder) Legion Etrangere? This... this letter is from the Foreign Legion, young man! Where did you get this? [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ...uh, it was delivered to my house by mistake, ma'am. I need to know what it says... uh, please, ma'am? [MISS POULAILLER] ...well, I mean, hoo hoo... the French Foreign Legion...
[NARRATOR] Okay, I'm sure by now you must be getting the picture. The old bag hummed and hawed, and grunted and snorted for what felt like a couple of weeks but I finally got her to tell me that the diary belonged to a guy named Bill Lancaster, who crashed in the Sahara desert back in the early 1930's. That's where the French Foreign Legion found him 30 years later. But here's the part that really got her.
[MISS POULAILLER] ...un cadavre momifié... (louder) UN CADAVRE MOMIFIÉ?! A MUMMIFIED BODY?!... is this some kind of joke, young man? I don't have time for... [TEENAGED NARRATOR] NO, MA'AM! It's not a joke. It was delivered to my house by mistake... please go on. [MISS POULAILLER] WELL! Hummfff... I don't know... (continues reading)
[NARRATOR] Yeah! His body was, like, mummified! ...right there in the Sahara desert! It was like he became Boris Karloff or something. Well, finally the letter said this Chubbie Miller was the only person connected to Lancaster who was even still alive, so they sent the diary to her. Oh yeah, the old bag thought I stole it or something.
[MISS POULAILLER] ...you didn't steal it, did you? [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ...uh, no. I just wanted to know what the letter said before I took the diary to her... uh, thanks, merci. [MISS POULAILLER] ...you take it straight to her, you hear? It's a valuable artifact... ooo, my goodness... Foreign Legion... ooo...
SCENE 4 - TRUE LOVE KNOWS NO DESERT
[NARRATOR] Well, of course, I had already read the entire diary. I mean, how could I not read it? It mainly talked about loneliness and love, in ways that reflected a great sense of dignity and passion, but also a curious void, not unlike the writer's surroundings. Thinking about this guy, sitting next to his wrecked plane in the middle of the desert, desperately clinging to his one great love, a woman named Chubbie, while counting every drop of water slowly sliding down his swollen throat... it really got to me. But the weird thing, the unexpected thing, was that he kept referring to a trial, and how he wasn't guilty... that it HAD to be suicide... and that, more than anyone else, he knew that Chubbie believed in his innocence. As Bill Lancaster's life faded into the relentless oppression of emptiness and heat, Chubbie's belief in his virtue and honor swelled into a beacon, lighting the darkness of his dying moments. The diary ended with the following statement:
[BILL LANCASTER] Chubbie my sweetheart, my essence is only an ember, fading far from the fire that is you. I have only myself to blame for everything. That foolish, headstrong self of me. [CHORUS] Love is like a ladder surrounded by mad hatters looking for the ladder of Love.
SCENE 5 - THE LOVELY CHUBBIE
[NARRATOR] Overwhelmingly compelled by my growing curiosity, but also a little apprehensive, I stood outside the door of Chubbie Miller's house. Anxious to meet the object of such passion, I knocked on the door.
(A knock is heard; the door opens.) [CHUBBIE MILLER] What do you want, kid.
[NARRATOR] While I knew not to expect the blazing inferno of amour described in Lancaster's 30-year-old diary, I was still not prepared for the lack of grace embodied in the 60-year-old chain smoker standing in front of me.
[CHUBBIE MILLER] I SAID, WHAT DO YOU WANT, KID. [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ...uh, this, uh, diary was delivered to our house by mistake, Mrs. Miller. It, uh, belongs to you. [CHUBBIE MILLER] GIMME THAT, KID!
[NARRATOR] As Chubbie Miller furiously thumbed her way through the diary, I looked around the living room. The open fireplace was welcome on a chilly winter evening, but the rest of the room was dingy and cluttered, reflecting the world of someone whose needs were both sad and solitary. Despite the messiness of the room, my eyes were quickly drawn to a small inconspicuous object: a framed photograph of a young woman cheerfully standing in front of a shiny new biplane. But the curious part was the photo was torn, with one side missing. At that point, Mrs. Miller closed the book and looked up.
[CHUBBIE MILLER] Yeah, okay, kid... thanks. [TEENAGED NARRATOR] Is that you in front of that plane, Mrs. Miller? Were you a pilot? [CHUBBIE MILLER] Huh? Yeah, kid... yeah, I was the first woman to fly from England to Australia... it was a long time ago, though. [TEENAGED NARRATOR] And, uh, what happened to the other part of the picture, ma'am? Something seems to be missing. (A moment of silence.) [CHUBBIE MILLER] ...the BASTARD. THE GODDAMN BASTARD!!! [TEENAGED NARRATOR] Ma'am?... excuse me? [CHUBBIE MILLER] That goddamn bastard killed the only man I ever loved!... shot him dead. The bastard... they had a trial, but they let him off. THE BASTARD! [TEENAGED NARRATOR] Are... are you sure, ma'am? I mean... if they had a trial and all... [CHUBBIE MILLER] WHAT DO YOU KNOW, KID? WERE YOU THERE? WHAT DO YOU KNOW, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!! (coughs) Where are my goddamn cigarettes? [TEENAGED NARRATOR] ...but... but... maybe the diary, Mrs. Miller... maybe it says something. [CHUBBIE MILLER] THIS PIECE OF SHIT!
[NARRATOR] Raging with bitterness and bile, Chubbie Miller grabbed the diary of her long lost lover, and with one swift motion, threw it into the fire, then turned back towards me.
[CHUBBIE MILLER] GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!... YOU LITTLE BASTARD!
EPILOGUE
[NARRATOR] Once again I stood outside the door, freezing in the harsh winter wind, but also flushed with humiliation and shame. Wedged between the extremities of Lancaster's dying words and the rage of a bitter, used up old woman, I was left to wonder: was Lancaster's glowing passion an isolated fantasy, the product of a mind corrupted by solitude and pain, or had Chubbie Miller's love somehow transformed into some toxic bile spewing anger and despair? Haunted by visions of a dried and decaying body desperately clinging to its last precious words, I remembered another quote from T.E. Lawrence. [T.E. LAWRENCE] Thirsting to punish appetites he could not wholly prevent, he took a savage pride in degrading the body, and offered himself fiercely in any habit which promised physical pain or filth.
More info
- More about Bill Lancaster on Wikipedia