'Weekend by Jean-Luc Godard. Yes, that Jean-Luc Godard and yes, that Weekend. This is not a parody, or pastiche, this is obviously plagiarism. Time has been messed with; characters appear incongruously, and on whim, I could have used Burroughs' cutup or Eliot's mythical method to achieve an effect. The piece is political, but my politics are arbitrary…today I am with you... tomorrow?' PK
"I hope the roads aren't too congested," said Laura, clad in bra and panties, slipping into her Chanel black highheel shoes. "When we go into the country all we meet is crazy people."
        Laura is blonde and beautiful.
        Montauciel huffed and continued to suck on his Gitanes. Laura has the ability to anger him with the ease of a razor slipping across taut skin.
        Je vais vous tuer, mon amour, said Montauciel inside his head.
        Je vais vous poison dans des champs verts, said Laura inside her head.
        Bars of sunlight cut through the smoke. Montauciel is a heavy smoker. He fears not cancer. A cylinder of light falls upon Laura. In this fabricating light Laura could almost be mistaken for Mireille Darc. 
        Monty & Laura are married, bourgeois and Parisian.
        Laura now in her Chanel black highheel shoes moves around the bedroom. Montauciel watches her with disdain, he can't help himself. It has been dictated that he should feel this way. He is helpless.  Laura has yet to put on her Valentino dress. She sits, she picks up a book, it is a poetry book of Stéphane Mallarmé.
        Monty & Laura's apartment is on the rue de Rome.
        Today they are going out. Montauciel wants to visit Laura's rich parents who live in Charleville-Mézières. Laura has other ideas.
        Monty & Laura's marriage….a magic trick.
        Monty & Laura do not possess a car so they will walk to Charleville-Mézières, or to the shops.
        On the edge of the city Laura has a tête-à-tête with an African dressed as Mozart.
        Mozart: Marx says we're all brothers!
        Laura: stop begging and get yourself a job, you bum!
        Montauciel is almost knocked down. Laura laughs loudly, she can't help herself. A car careens and speeds off. The car is filled with Freud, Marx, De Sade and Eisenstein. Freud is driving and Marx is riding shotgun. Montauciel thanks whoever that De Sade wasn't driving. Maybe he should thank me.
        "I hope the roads aren't too congested," says Laura smirking, sitting on the refrigerator. She twirls her long legs coquettishly. "There was an egg and an orifice," she says.  "O hell Laura you've been reading too much Georges Bataille," moans Montauciel fixing his tie. "Fine I'll get it for you, but you must do that thing for me." "O!" screams Laura leaping off the refrigerator.
        Simone is kissing Marcelle passionately on the lips. Montauciel licks his lips. He sees those lips glued together in a mixture of lipstick and spit. His face is now dappled with lust. Laura can not believe the excitement written all over Montauciel's face. Laura overshadowed slaps Simone brutally across the face. Montauciel moans with ejaculation. Marcelle screams hysterically.
        Lord Edmund: The passion for destruction is also a creative passion.
        Montauciel: Mikhail Bakunin.
        It is a pleasant view, verdant undulating hills, trees in full bloom, flowers scattered, a winding path.  Monty & Laura are holding hands.
        Behind a wall Simone is fingering Lord Edmund's anus. Stop.