Death Race 2050

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(ENGINE REVVING)

(ENGINE REVVING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

Hi,

my fellow citizens

of this great country of ours,

the United

Corporations of America.

Why did those Pilgrims land

on Plymouth Rock?

Because they

needed a place to stage

the greatest pissing

contest known to man!

(CROWD CHEERING)

That's right,

race fans!

We are moments away

from the starting gun,

and anticipation here has reached

a medically dangerous level.

The fifth installment of the

great American tradition.

Does it get any

better than this?

Now,

this is all about freedom.

The freedom to sit on

your big fat ass all day

and watch the singly

greatest sporting event

known to man.

(WOMAN EXCLAIMING)

Competition, that's what's

made this country so great.

Welcome to the Death Race!

(FIREWORKS BURSTING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

JB:
Our first competitor is

approaching the starting line.

And judging by the smell of

burnt rubber and brimstone,

it can only be

Tammy the Terrorist!

A three-time

veteran of the race,

and leader of her own

extremely convoluted religion,

is this the year Tammy turns

prophecy into victory?

I'm here with Tammy the Terrorist,

a close friend of mine,

and America wants to know,

are you

a radical fundamentalist?

(CROWD BOOING)

I just want to spread the love of the

Lord I have in my heart with y'all.

And that's why I've hidden a special

surprise somewhere in section G.

(CROWD CLAMORING)

(LAUGHING)

(LAUGHING)

(EXCLAIMING)

Looks like 17 casualties!

(CROWD CHEERING)

Now, that is how you

start a race, folks!

Love to the nonbelievers

and praise to Elvis Presley!

Judges will

still have to decide

if pre-race kills

count for points.

And I sure hope that they do!

Our beloved racers

are scored on total time

and combined

pedestrian fatalities.

(BEEPING)

With 10 points for an adult,

double that for a child and a whopping

50 points for the senior set!

Yes, Grace, despite our

free sterilization clinics,

Americans continue to reproduce

at an alarming rate.

And when we irradiated the entire

population against cancer,

well, that was probably a huge mistake.

Whoops!

That means

a lot of old people,

and a lot of children

who grow up to be old people.

Sad face.

So, let's watch

them die, America!

(EXCLAIMING) Three days to the

finish line, three days of carnage

from Old New York

to New Los Angeles.

From sea to shining sea.

More space for you and me!

(TIRES SCREECHING)

(CHEERING)

And that is the car

of Minerva Jefferson.

Minerva, this is your first time

making it through qualifying.

How do you plan to compete

against more seasoned racers?

Yo, yo, yo,

where I come from, right, we compete

every goddamn day to survive.

Right, Chi Wapp?

Minerva is a relative

newcomer to the race,

but certainly no

stranger to the spotlight.

A successful recording career,

a blockbuster sex tape,

why risk it all to

compete in the Death Race?

My new single can answer

that question perfectly.

(CROWD CHEERING) MINERVA:

(SINGING) Minerva in the house

Drive, drive, drive, drive

Drive, drive, drive, drive

Drive, drive, kill, kill

Drive, drive, drive

Kill, drive, kill, drive

Kill the white man, hah!

CROWD:
(SINGING)

Drive, drive, kill, kill

Drive, drive, drive!

Kill, drive, kill, drive Kill the

white people in a car, car, car

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Oh-oh!

This song rules!

You girls wanna make out?

Have you seen my insulin?

Grams,

I'm trying to watch the race.

You know what these Jell-O

shots do to my blood sugar?

I'm not your nurse, okay?

A hundred and

fifteen years old

and I ain't showing

no signs of stopping.

(PEOPLE WHOOPING)

(ENGINE RUNNING)

JB:
That's right, race fans!

Cutting-edge technology

from UCA puts you,

the home viewer,

in the passenger seat.

This year,

each driver is carrying

a passenger fitted

with neuro-transmitters.

(BEEPING) These "proxies"

allow you to see, hear,

and smell your favorite driver

in stunning virtual reality.

We hear a lot about professional

athletes getting an early start,

but in Jed's case, his

career began at conception.

The product of

genetic engineering,

Perfectus breezed

through sectional qualifying.

So, could he be the man to finally

dethrone our reigning champ?

Time to shine.

Oh!

(CHEERING)

JB:
Well, this just in.

Frankenstein has

entered the building!

(CROWD CHEERING)

(MUSIC PLAYING)

He's driving when

the sun comes up.

He's still driving

when it goes down.

He's got

a 500-gallon tank right here.

I will destroy

everyone in this montage.

He's got more

machinery in his body

than most guys

have in their cars.

Smoking cigarettes

may be bad for you,

but doubting Frankenstein?

That's fatal!

(CROWD CHEERING)

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

CROWD:
(CHANTING)

Frankenstein!

The ultimate driver wouldn't

have been in those crashes.

(CROWD BOOING)

Frankenstein is outdated!

Perfectus is the next step

in human evolution!

When your DNA sleeps,

it dreams of me!

(CROWD BOOING)

MAN:
You suck!

(CROWD BOOING)

(CROWD CLAMORING)

REPORTER 1:
Frankenstein!

Frankenstein!

Are you fully recovered

from last year's crash?

FRANKENSTEIN:
No comment.

REPORTER 2:

Jed Perfectus, any thoughts?

FRANKENSTEIN:

He's got nice hair.

Some say he's the heir apparent,

The Chairman's new favorite.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Well,

they'll make a nice couple.

Boxers or briefs?

Our next competitor

puts the "Al" in "racing."

(CROWD CHEERING) This is the

first self-driving car,

programmed to follow

the complex rules of the race.

An artificial

intelligence dubbed "Abe."

Ah!

Oh, my, my!

Will you look at that!

(CROWD CHEERING)

That's technology.

You know,

it's technology like this

that has

liberated 99% of Americans

from the outdated

burden of employment.

This is the machine's creator

and B-B-BFF of mine,

Dr. Von Creamer.

Tell me, Doctor, does Abe have

any predictions for the race?

ABE:
Looks like rain today and

enslavement by machines tomorrow.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

(CAR APPROACHING)

Ready for one last dance?

Wait, wait, stop!

Stop right there,

that's perfect!

(LAUGHS) Talking to the car,

that's great.

Give me a second

to power-up my visor

and we'll just

record this whole scene.

I'm Annie Sullivan,

your proxy.

It's nice to finally

meet you in the,uh,

flesh.

Wait,

I'm still not transmitting.

Give me a second

before you start the engine.

(BEEPING, POWERING UP)

What ya doing?

You're adjusting

the air intake.

No, trying to find

a good jazz station.

If the UCA says I need a

passenger to wear a visor,

they should have

sent me a chimp.

Less distraction

and less weight.

(CHUCKLES) Look, I'm sorry

if I'm a little lost here,

but what do you

expect if you refuse

to meet until

10 minutes before we race?

Cheerleaders don't

come to practice.

See, we should

be recording this.

Vintage macho-bullshit

is ratings gold.

I don't care about your

broadcast, Miss Sullivan.

I don't care about

the money or the fans,

and I definitely

don't care about you.

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