Bubba Ho-Tep Page #3

All right.

Now... small souls...

are those that don't have much fire for life.

You know a place like that?

Man, if souls were fires

they couldn't burn lower than in here.

Exactamundo.

What we have here at Shady Rest

is an Egyptian soul-sucker of some sort.

A mummy hiding out,

coming in here, feeding on the sleeping.

It's perfect, you see?

We're small souls,

so we can't provide that much.

But if that thing comes back

two or three times in a row

and wraps his lips

around some elder's a**hole,

that elder is going to die pretty soon,

and who will be the wiser?

Aah!

A**hole!

A mummy can't be getting

too much energy from this -

not like the big souls -

but the prey is easy.

And with new people coming in, he can

keep this up forever, this soul robbery.

That's what they brought us here for -

to get us out of the way until we die -

and those who don't die first from

disease or just plain being old, he gets.

That's all well and good, Jack,

but there's one thing that still throws me.

How does an Ancient Egyptian

wind up in a Texas rest-home

and why is he writing

on the shithouse walls?

Well, he went in to take a crap,

got bored, started writing on the walls.

He probably wrote on pyramid walls

centuries ago.

Come on, man. What would he crap?

He hadn't eat...

Well, he eats souls, so I assume

that he would crap soul residue.

By that, I mean that if you die

from his mouth,

you don't go to the other side

where souls go,

he digests souls

until they don't exist any more.

And you're just

so much toilet water decoration.

Uh-huh. And speaking of toilets,

this is how I figured that whole thing out.

He's like anybody else

when it comes to taking a dump.

He wants a nice clean place

with a flush. He didn't have that in his time.

No, no. Don't go out in the hall.

- It's all right, man. I'm not asleep.

- That don't mean he won't hurt you.

Oh, he, my ass!

There isn't any mummy from Egypt.

Nice knowing you, Elvis.

A**hole. A**hole.

A**hole! A**hole!

A**hole.

Ass...

Aah!

'Kemosabe was dead of a ruptured

heart before he hit the floor.

'Gone down and out

with both guns blazing.

'Soul intact.

'Once again, we got scolded.

'This time, we got quizzed about

what had happened to Kemosabe.

'Neither of us told the truth.

'Who was gonna

believe a couple of nuts?

'Elvis and Jack Kennedy explaining

'that Kemosabe was

gunning for a mummy in cowboy duds?

'Some kind of Bubba Ho-tep?

'So what we did was... we lied.'

- Life sure is fleeting, you know?

- What?

Life, I'm saying it's fleeting.

You know what I mean?

One minute you're here

and the next minute you're gone!

Oh, sh*t! Come on.

A**hole! Come on, move it. Get it.

- Ow!

- Ah!

Nonchalant. Nonchalant.

- Get it in there.

You are one f***ing idiot.

Mr Haff?

Mr Presley.

Mr Presley.

Now, now, Mr Presley.

You are looking much stronger,

but you shouldn't be out here too long.

It's time for your nap and it's also time

for us to do that little... you know.

You f*** off, you patronising b*tch!

I'm sick of your sh*t!

I'll lube my own crankshaft!

Treat me like a baby again, I'll wrap

this goddamn walker round your head!

How in the hell did that mummy do that?

Well, what the hell?

Where did old Bubba Ho-tep go?

Where did he come from?

How the hell did he get here?

Wait a minute.

'I saw him under the bridge.'

Come on, momma.

'It's a cancer.

'They're keeping it from me cos I'm old.

To them, it don't matter.

'They think age will kill me first

and they're probably right. Well, suck them.

'I know what it is

and if it isn't, it might as well be.'

Ugh.

'Station KROP is proud to present

the Elvis Presley Movie Marathon.

'It's 24 hours of Elvis

in the roles he made famous.

'Watch that hound dog

outstrum, outrace, outfight

'and outwit the bad guys.

'And at the same time,

watch the King slay the girls.'

Shitty b*tches, man. Every single one.

'Here I was complaining about

loss of pride and how life had treated me,

'and now I realise I never had any pride.

'Much of how life had treated me

had been good

'and the bulk of the bad

was my own damn fault.

'Should have fired Colonel Parker

when I got into pictures.

'Old fart had been a shark and a fool

and I was a bigger fool for following him.

'If only I had treated Priscilla right.

'If I could have told my daughter I loved her.

'Always the questions, never the answers.

'Always the hopes, never the fuIfilments.'

I had the woman who calls herseIf

my niece come get me.

She took me downtown

to the newspaper morgue.

She's been helping me do some research.

- Research on what, man?

- On our mummy.

- You know something about it?

- I know plenty.

Now, one of the lesser mummies,

on loan from the Egyptian government,

was being circulated all over

the United States - museums, stuff like that.

- Like King Tut?

- No. More like King Tut's brother.

His mummy was flown or carried

by the train from state to state.

- When it got to Texas, it was stolen.

- Stolen?

Evidence points to it being stolen

by a couple of guys in a silver bus.

Bus? Hey, I've seen that.

The thieves broke into the museum,

stole it in hopes of a ransom,

when in comes the worst storm

in east Texas history.

Let me guess.

The bus was washed away. I think

I saw it today. It was back in the creek.

The mummy was imprisoned by the debris.

How did it come back to life, man?

How did I end up inside its memories?

Speculation broadens here,

but some mummies get buried

without their names,

a curse on their sarcophagus.

Hey, now. Maybe our boy's one of them.

When he's in the coffin,

he's just a dried-up old corpse.

But when the bus got washed away,

maybe it broke open or something

and now he's free of coffin and curse, man.

He's free from imprisonment,

but he still needs souls.

And now he's free to have them.

He can just keep on feeding

unless he's finally destroyed.

So what do we do, Jack?

Changing rest-homes might be

a good idea. I can't think of much else.

But I will say this.

Our mummy

is a night-time kind of guy,

so I'm gonna go and sleep now.

Set my alarm for just before dark,

then get myseIf a few cups of coffee.

Damn straight!

I don't want him slapping his lips

on my a**hole.

Yes. Consider it.

He's got the proverbial

birds' nest on the ground here.

'What do I really have left in life

but this place?

'It ain't much of a home,

'but it's all I got.'

Well, goddamn it.

I'll be damned if I let

some boring graffiti-writing,

soul-sucking son of a b*tch

in an oversize cowboy hat and boots

take my friends' souls

and sh*t 'em down the visitors' toilet!

'In the movies

I always played heroic types,

'but when the stage lights went out,

it was time for drugs and stupidity

'and the coveting of women.

'Now it's time. Time to be a little

of what I'd always fantasised being.

'A hero.'

Hello.

Mr Kennedy? Ask not

what your rest-home can do for you...

ask what you can do

for your rest-home.

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