Imagine Dr. David Banner tripping along dystopian urban streets in the year 2019, which was not so long ago. Coincidentally, it’s the Los Angeles of Blade Runner, a city with 106 million people, most of them cavorting-about with their spacey umbrellas perpetually sprouted. There are talkie-ads the size of skyscrapers and flying cars and embittered replicants, artificial people who intend to visit some voracious vengeance upon the malevolent corporation which designed them.
In this future, the camera follows Sean Young, Rutger Hauer,
and especially Harrison Ford. (“Harrison Ford?” says Dr. David Banner.) Yes,
Harrison Ford, which is really aggravating, so Dr. David Banner hulks, his mouth
agape, his eyes resembling the green of lightning. The buttons on his shirt pop
free, one at a time, and he shreds the legs of his blue dungarees to inhabit
them perchance as a perfect pair of cutoff jeans. “Rawwr!” he says.
By now, Dr. David Banner hulks every fifteen-twenty minutes.
So much so, the makeup artists tire of scrubbing off the green pancake, and
slopping it on, scrubbing and slopping, until it’s just Lou Ferrigno walking
around as an ill-clad drifter, a kind of Mr. Green Universe Meets the Crowded Indifferent
Future of California. There’s no more need for Bill Bixby, who is seen smoking
apple tabac and attending dubious matinees. His anger no longer matters; he’s
cured of his gamma radiation overdose.
When all of a sudden, Lou Ferrigno espies Pris Stratton, a
basic pleasure replicant who could be The Incredible Hulk’s spirit animal. They
are both pancaked, they are both raccoons, they are both shorn in the same
shaggy hairdo. Pris is really Daryl Hannah. She dunks her hand without pain
into water that boils a dozen eggs. Perhaps she desires a magnificent sprawling
omelet, the ambient heat of the whipped eggs and southwestern ingredients. “Rawwr!”
goes Lou Ferrigno.
If Daryl Hannah was capable of
love, then she’d have already crushed Harrison Ford’s face between her thighs,
his head bouncing down the stairs like the meatball in the spaghetti song. We
know more about the future than ever before, and it continues to predict the
demise of Pris, kicking her legs and howling for help. The Incredible Hulk trudges
toward a second transformation, green and dumbfounded, and in that way, Lou
Ferrigno resembles all of us, trapped in the lonely squalls of our acrimony.
too futuristic? see super secret project
8 comments:
“Rawwr!”
He had all the best lines!
-------B.A.
Incredible!
Rawwr!
--b.a.
totally hilarious. even the sad ending!
--gina
GINA! Jiminy Cricket. I haven't heard from you in YEARS. I'll just have to sit here in the aftermath of this great shock and simply absorb this fantastic development. Ahahahaha. No, I hope all is well with you and thanks for taking a look at the blog!
BA
Concern for various manifestations of hulk-head abides, while Pris circa 2019 persists as that grt cinematic device btwn 'hero' & Rutger Hauer. No skin-job supplants her in 2049, not even the quadricep-endowed but ill-named 'Luv.' Imagination allows for a superhero v. future-hero death match in 2079.
In the end, we can attribute the downfall of Pris to her fondness for backflip routines. She had Harrison Ford by the nose. She had squozen his neck between her replicant thighs. He was beguiled. And then -- a second series of backflips, which enabled said Ford enough time to recherche his service weapon.
Into this world could stagger The Incredible Hulk, or why not the Hulk among the Cossacks, or on the Silk Road, or in The Clan of the Cave Bear. I do believe that Daryl Hannah was in that movie, too. How about John Wayne as The Incredible Hulk. "Raw," he would say. "Rrrrr."
-----B.A. / Grtstn
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