FUJ Podcast 01 :: The Drone Soundtrack
In this exciting maiden voyage of the FUJ Podcast Mike and Paul write and record the soundtrack for an upcoming short film called The Drone.
This is a rough cut of the soundtrack so obviously various things will be edited out for the final film.
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25 Greatest Films Ever! (Part 4)
Dreamscape: H. Jon Benjamin Murdered Me
We were walking through a freshly snow covered European forest. The group of us, about fifteen or so, were chatting together and having a merry time as we trudged through trees and underbrush. I didn’t know anyone in the group except for one man, Mr. H. Jon Benjamin.
Eventually we came to a clearing in the forest and the group stopped. This seemed the perfect place for the reenactment of the worlds most notorious war criminals. A few of us played the part of the United Nations but most played the parts of war criminals throughout history. I was Stalin.
At first it seemed like a normal reenactment. The UN folk were pacing and giving speeches to the war criminals about why they deserved to die. But that all changed when H. Jon Benjamin pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the head of Mussolini.
“You’ve had enough time to contemplate your crimes,” said Mr. Benjamin, dressed in slick US military garb. Then he pulled the trigger and Mussolini was no more.
Things didn’t erupt like you might expect. For everyone but myself, this seemed to be what was supposed to happen. I was under the impression that we were merely playing the parts of the war criminals. I certainly wasn’t really Stalin!
H. Jon Benjamin stared down Hitler and fired.
He looked at Howard W. Campbell Jr. and without even the slightest wince, he put a bullet deep into his skull.
I dared not move but I was panicking. He must have sensed it because, from across the group, he smuggly looked over at me and I felt him touch my soul.
“I’m going to make this painful for you,” he said to Stalin, to me.
H. Jon Benjamin calmly walked behind me. I could feel the gun against my head even though it was feet away.
“Please. Please just do it quickly. Please just kill me,” I pleaded as I dropped to my knees in the snow.
It seemed like an eternity. I knelt there praying to a god that I never believed to exist. Begging this supposed supreme being to take mercy on me and allow Mr. H. Jon Benjamin to find it in himself to murder me as painlessly as possible.
Finally, as I clenched my eyes closed tight, I felt something against the back of my head. Was it the bullet?
I prayed it was the bullet.
Very slowly I felt a tickle and a spreading sensation through my brain. YES! It was the bullet I had begged so earnestly for.
Time slowed to a crawl, allowing me to experience the last pleasure I would ever have… my death.
As the bullet split my brain in twain, I thanked everyone and everything for the ultimate experience of my . Then I lay, face first, in the snow. I was dead. I felt the death for beats upon beats, until my heart stopped beating altogether. But I could still feel by body laying on the warm snow as the blood rushed from the inside of my body to the outside.
Then… I awoke.
Gray Matter Episode 1: How to Keep Your Job
Listen, learn, laugh and love as J and Mike contemplate surviving the zombie apocalypse as it happens during work hours at their unnamed sub shop in an unnamed Chicago suburb. In the zombie apocalypse, first you get the knives, then you get the food, then you jerk off…a lot.
A Child’s Best Friend
As Tim slept in his bed, a sinister figured looked on. Tim suddenly screamed and writhed in terror, squirming first out of, then deep into, his blanket. Then, as suddenly as it began, he laid still. As silent as a mouse in a trap.
Tim awoke to a wonderful Saturday morning. The sun was shining and the rain from the the previous days had all but evaporated into the heavens. He popped out of bed and traded his dinosaur pajamas for a green shirt and a pair of corduroy trousers. This was going to be a glorious day for playing outdoors. He had been cooped up inside for the past few days as storms ravaged the outside world.
After strapping on his shoes and assuring his mother he wouldn’t wander far, he picked up Arthur. Even though he was only a small, stuffed bear, Arthur was Tim’s best friend. They did everything together. Today would be no exception.
Bounding down the stoop and across the front yard, Tim and Arthur made their way to an old tree in the neighbors yard. The tree didn’t have many leaves, even though it was already late spring. It’s bark was gnarled and the few branches it had twisted every which way. Tim pulled away a fist-sized piece of bark from the base of the tree, revealing a sizable cavern filled with dollar bills and various coinage. He removed the two dollars and sixteen cents of lunch money he had saved from the previous week and shoved it deep into the recess of the old tree.
“I hope this is enough,” Tim whispered to Arthur. “I don’t want the dreams tonight. I never want the dreams.”
Tim starred at Arthur for a reaction. But Arthur just sat silently propped next to the hole in the tree.
The rest of the day was spent wandering the nearby fields and inciting war against various legions of insects. As the sky grew dark, they headed back home. Tim moved slowly. He was worried about the night ahead.
Dinner went without note as did the rest of the evening. But when it came time for bed, Tim’s chest was tight. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then, cumbersomely, clambered into bed.
Tim didn’t want to sleep. He had paid a sizable amount early in the day, but it didn’t always seem to be enough. As the hours wore on, Tim sunk into a deep, unrestful sleep.
Once it was certain Tim was asleep, Arthur moved closer. The stuffed bear loomed ominously over the boy. Then, like a whisper of smoke, Arthur traversed through Tim’s nose and into his soul.
“It’s never enough. Never.”