Death Race 2050

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!

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.

Competition, that's what's made this country so great.

Welcome to the Death Race!

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?

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.

Looks like 17 casualties!

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.

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!

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!

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.

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!

(SINGING) Drive, drive, kill, kill

Drive, drive, drive!

Kill, drive, kill, drive Kill the white people in a car, car, car

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.

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.

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!

Well, this just in.

Frankenstein has entered the building!

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!

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

(CHANTING) Frankenstein!

The ultimate driver wouldn't have been in those crashes.

Frankenstein is outdated!

Perfectus is the next step in human evolution!

When your DNA sleeps, it dreams of me!

You suck!

Frankenstein! Frankenstein!

Are you fully recovered from last year's crash?

No comment.

Jed Perfectus, any thoughts?

He's got nice hair.

Some say he's the heir apparent, The Chairman's new favorite.

Well, they'll make a nice couple.

Boxers or briefs?

Our next competitor puts the "Al" in "racing."

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!

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?

Looks like rain today and enslavement by machines tomorrow.

Ready for one last dance?

Wait, wait, stop!

Stop right there, that's perfect!

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.

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.

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.

I know you've won a lot of races,

and I hope for both our sakes that age hasn't diminished your skills.

But this is a prince of an opportunity for me,

and I have blown my share of frogs to get it.

So, show me some professional courtesy and smile for the camera.

That way, we both win.

What is this?

It's my gear bag.

Holy Chairman's hair!

Frankenstein!

Oh, my God! Frankenstein!

Here he comes, ladies and gentlemen.

Battered and bruised, slashed and gashed,

ripped up, tripped up, turned around, but never torn down.

Made from the part bin and hungry for one more win!

Part man, part machine, all legend.

The one, the only, Frankenstein!

They really love you.

You could've died a champion,

but now you'll have to taste defeat at the hands of perfection.

You'll pay for that, boy.

Citizens, you know who I am,

The Chairman of the United Corporations of America.

I love you. (KISSES)

Europe, Asia, cancer, we kicked them all in the ass!

The only thing that can kill an American is another American!

It's survival of the fittest, do or die.

Citizens, get ready to race for your lives!

Rerouting.