THE BIG LEBOWSKI
			
			               We are floating up a steep scrubby slope.  We hear male voices 
			               gently singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep, affable, 
			               Western-accented voice--Sam Elliot's, perhaps:
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         A way out west there was a fella, 
			                         fella I want to tell you about, fella 
			                         by the name of Jeff Lebowski.  At 
			                         least, that was the handle his lovin' 
			                         parents gave him, but he never had 
			                         much use for it himself.  This 
			                         Lebowski, he called himself the DUDE.  
			                         Now, DUDE, that's a name no one would 
			                         self-apply where I come from.  But 
			                         then, there was a lot about the DUDE 
			                         that didn't make a whole lot of sense 
			                         to me.  And a lot about where he 
			                         lived, like- wise.  But then again, 
			                         maybe that's why I found the place 
			                         s'durned innarestin'.
			
			               We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at 
			               twilight stretches out before us.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         They call Los Angeles the City of 
			                         Angels.  I didn't find it to be that 
			                         exactly, but I'll allow as there are 
			                         some nice folks there.  'Course, I 
			                         can't say I seen London, and I never 
			                         been to France, and I ain't never 
			                         seen no queen in her damn undies as 
			                         the fella says.  But I'll tell you 
			                         what, after seeing Los Angeles and 
			                         thisahere story I'm about to unfold--
			                         wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever' 
			                         bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any 
			                         a those other places, and in English 
			                         too, so I can die with a smile on my 
			                         face without feelin' like the good 
			                         Lord gypped me.
			
			               INTERIOR   RALPH'S
			
			               It is late, the supermarket all but deserted.  We are tracking 
			               in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the 
			               dairy case.  He is the DUDE.  His rumpled look and relaxed 
			               manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.
			
			               He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their 
			               expiration dates.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         Now this story I'm about to unfold 
			                         took place back in the early nineties--
			                         just about the time of our conflict 
			                         with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies.  I 
			                         only mention it 'cause some- times 
			                         there's a man--I won't say a hee-ro, 
			                         'cause what's a hee-ro?--but sometimes 
			                         there's a man.
			
			               The DUDE glances furtively about and then opens a quart of 
			               milk.  He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         And I'm talkin' about the DUDE here-- 
			                         sometimes there's a man who, wal, 
			                         he's the man for his time'n place, 
			                         he fits right in there--and that's 
			                         the DUDE, in Los Angeles.
			
			               CHECKOUT GIRL
			
			               She waits, arms folded.  A small black-and white TV next to 
			               her register shows George Bush on the White House lawn with 
			               helicopter rotors spinning behind him.
			
			                                     GEORGE BUSH
			                         This aggression will not stand. . . 
			                         This will not stand!
			
			               The DUDE, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at 
			               the little customer's lectern.  Milk beads his mustache.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         ...and even if he's a lazy man, and 
			                         the DUDE was certainly that--quite 
			                         possibly the laziest in Los Angeles 
			                         County.
			
			               The DUDE has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and 
			               is making out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         ...which would place him high in the 
			                         runnin' for laziest worldwide--but 
			                         sometimes there's a man. . . sometimes 
			                         there's a man.
			
			               EXTERIOR  RALPH'S
			
			               Long shot of the glowing Ralph's.  There are only two or 
			               three cars parked in the huge lot.
			
			                                     VOICE-OVER
			                         Wal, I lost m'train of thought here.  
			                         But--aw hell, I done innerduced him 
			                         enough.
			
			               The DUDE is a small figure walking across the vast lot.  
			               Next to him walks a Mexican carry-out boy in a red apron and 
			               cap carrying a small brown bag holding the quart of milk.  
			               The two men's footsteps echo in the still of the night.
			
			               After a beat of walking the DUDE offhandedly points.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's the LeBaron.
			
			               DUDE'S HOUSE
			
			               The DUDE is going up the walkway of a small Venice bungalow 
			               court.  He holds the paper sack in one hand and a small 
			               leatherette satchel in the other.  He awkwardly hugs the 
			               grocery bag against his chest as he turns a key in his door.
			
			               INSIDE
			
			               The DUDE enters and flicks on a light.
			
			               His head is grabbed from behind and tucked into an armpit.  
			               We track with him as he is rushed through the living room, 
			               his arm holding the satchel flailing away from his body.  
			               Going into the bedroom the outflung satchel catches a piece 
			               of doorframe and wallboard and rips through it, leaving a 
			               hole.
			
			               The DUDE is propelled across the bedroom and on into a small 
			               bathroom, the satchel once again taking away a piece of 
			               doorframe.  His head is plunged into the toilet.  The paper 
			               bag hugged to his chest explodes milk as it hits the toilet 
			               rim and the satchel pulverizes tile as it crashes to the 
			               floor.
			
			               The DUDE blows bubbles.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         We want that money, Lebowski.  Bunny 
			                         said you were good for it.
			
			               Hands haul the DUDE out of the toilet. The DUDE blubbers and 
			               gasps for air.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Where's the money, Lebowski!
			
			               His head is plunged back into the toilet.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Where's the money, Lebowski!
			
			               The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY, SHITHEAD!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's uh, it's down there somewhere.  
			                         Lemme take another look.
			
			               His head is plunged back in.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Don't fuck with us.  If your wife 
			                         owes money to JACKIE TREEHORN, that 
			                         means you owe money to Jackie 
			                         Treehorn.
			
			               The inquisitor hauls the DUDE's head out one last time and 
			               flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against 
			               the toilet.
			
			               The DUDE gropes back in the toilet with one hand.
			
			               Looming over him is a strapping blond man.
			
			               Beyond in the living room a young Chinese man unzips his fly 
			               and walks over to a rug.
			
			                                     CHINESE MAN
			                         Ever thus to deadbeats, Lebowski.
			
			               He starts peeing on the rug.
			
			               The DUDE's hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his 
			               sunglasses.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, man.  Don't do--
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         You see what happens?  You see what 
			                         happens, Lebowski?
			
			               The DUDE puts on his dripping sunglasses.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Look, nobody calls me Lebowski.  You 
			                         got the wrong guy.  I'm the DUDE, 
			                         man.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         Your name is Lebowski.  Your wife is 
			                         Bunny.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Bunny?  Look, moron.
			
			               He holds up his hands.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You see a wedding ring?  Does this 
			                         place look like I'm fucking married?   
			                         All my plants are dead!
			
			               The blond man stoops to unzip the satchel.  He pulls out a 
			               bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious 
			               native.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         The fuck is this?
			
			               The DUDE pats at his pockets, takes out a joint and lights 
			               it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Obviously you're not a golfer.
			
			               The blond man drops the ball which pulverizes more tile.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         Woo?
			
			               The Chinese man is zipping his fly.
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Yeah?
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         Wasn't this guy supposed to be a 
			                         millionaire?
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Uh?
			
			               They both look around.
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Fuck.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         What do you think?
			
			                                     WOO
			                         He looks like a fuckin' loser.
			
			               The DUDE pulls his sunglasses down his nose with one finger 
			               and peeks over them.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey.  At least I'm housebroken.
			
			               The two men look at each other.  They turn to leave.
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Fuckin' waste of time.
			
			               The blond man turns testily at the door.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         Thanks a lot, asshole.
			
			                                                ON THE DOOR SLAM WE CUT TO:
			
			               BOWLING PINS
			
			               Scattered by a strike.
			
			               Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins 
			               flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes, 
			               sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a 
			               ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.
			
			               The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a distant 
			               jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.
			
			               A lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail 
			               turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight.  
			                         Mark it, DUDE.
			
			               We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man 
			               nursing a large plastic cup of Bud.  He has dark worried 
			               eyes and a goatee.  Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts.  
			               He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves 
			               cut off over an old bowling shirt.  This is Walter.  He 
			               squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he 
			               addresses the DUDE at the scoring table.
			
			               The DUDE, also holding a large plastic cup of Bud, wears 
			               some of its foam on his mustache.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This was a valued rug.
			
			               He elaborately clears his throat.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This was, uh--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah man, it really tied the room 
			                         together--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This was a valued, uh.
			
			               Donny, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Walter.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What tied the room together, DUDE?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Were you listening to the story, 
			                         Donny?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Were you listening to the DUDE's 
			                         story?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         I was bowling--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         So you have no frame of reference, 
			                         Donny.  You're like a child who 
			                         wanders in in the middle of a movie 
			                         and wants to know--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What's your point, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         There's no fucking reason--here's my 
			                         point, DUDE--there's no fucking reason--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Yeah Walter, what's your point?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What's the point of--we all know who 
			                         was at fault, so what the fuck are 
			                         you talking about?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?  No!  What the fuck are you 
			                         talking--I'm not--we're talking about 
			                         unchecked aggression here--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What the fuck is he talking about?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         My rug.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Forget it, Donny.  You're out of 
			                         your element.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I 
			                         can't go give him a bill so what the 
			                         fuck are you talking about?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck are you talking about?!  
			                         This Chinaman is not the issue!  I'm 
			                         talking about drawing a line in the 
			                         sand, DUDE.  Across this line you do 
			                         not, uh--and also, DUDE, Chinaman is 
			                         not the preferred, uh. . . Asian- 
			                         American.  Please.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, this is not a guy who built 
			                         the rail- roads, here, this is a guy 
			                         who peed on my--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck are you--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, he peed on my rug--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         He peed on the DUDE's rug--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT!  This 
			                         Chinaman is not the issue, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         So who--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Jeff Lebowski.  Come on.  This other 
			                         Jeffrey Lebowski.  The millionaire.  
			                         He's gonna be easier to find anyway 
			                         than these two, uh. these two  . . . 
			                         And he has the wealth, uh, the 
			                         resources obviously, and there is no 
			                         reason, no FUCKING reason, why his 
			                         wife should go out and owe money and 
			                         they pee on your rug.  Am I wrong?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, but--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Am I wrong!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, but--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Okay. That, uh.
			
			               He elaborately clears his throat.
			
			               That rap really tied the room together, did it not?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuckin' A.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         And this guy peed on it.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Donny!  Please!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         His name is Lebowski?  That's your 
			                         name, DUDE!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should 
			                         compensate me for the fucking rug.  
			                         I mean his wife goes out and owes 
			                         money and they pee on my rug.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Thaaat's right DUDE; they pee on 
			                         your fucking Rug.
			
			               CLOSE ON A PLAQUE
			
			               We pull back from the name JEFFREY LEBOWSKI engraved in silver 
			               to reveal that the plaque, from Variety Clubs International, 
			               honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.
			
			               Reflected in the plaque we see the DUDE entering the room 
			               with a YOUNG MAN.  We hear the two men talk:
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         And this is the study.  You can see 
			                         the various commendations, honorary 
			                         degrees, et cetera.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yes, uh, very impressive.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Please, feel free to inspect them.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm not really, uh.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Please!  Please!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			               We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and
			
			               certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         That's the key to the city of 
			                         Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was 
			                         given two years ago in recognition 
			                         of his various civic, uh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         That's a Los Angeles Chamber of 
			                         Commerce Business Achiever award, 
			                         which is given--not necessarily given 
			                         every year!  Given only when there's 
			                         a worthy, somebody especially--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey, is this him with Nancy?
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the 
			                         first lady, yes, taken when--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Lebowski on the right?
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right, 
			                         Mrs.  Reagan on the left, taken when--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He's handicapped, huh?
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes.  And 
			                         this picture was taken when Mrs. 
			                         Reagan was first lady of the nation, 
			                         yes, yes? Not of California.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Far out.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         And in fact he met privately with 
			                         the President, though unfortunately 
			                         there wasn't time for a photo 
			                         opportunity.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Nancy's pretty good.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Wonderful woman.  We were very--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Are these.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         These are Mr. Lebowski's children, 
			                         so to speak--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Different mothers, huh?
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         No, they--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I guess he's pretty, uh, racially 
			                         pretty cool--
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         They're not his, heh-heh, they're 
			                         not literally his children; they're 
			                         the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, 
			                         inner-city children of promise but 
			                         without the--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I see.
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         --without  the means  for higher  
			                         education, so Mr. Lebowski  has 
			                         committed  to sending  all of them 
			                         to college.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jeez.  Think he's got room for one 
			                         more?
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         One--oh!  Heh-heh.  You never went 
			                         to college?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, yeah I did, but I spent most 
			                         of my time occupying various, um, 
			                         administration buildings--
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Heh-heh--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         --smoking thai-stick, breaking into 
			                         the ROTC--
			
			                                     YOUNG MAN
			                         Yes, heh--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         --and bowling.  I'll tell you the 
			                         truth, Brandt, I don't remember most 
			                         of it.--Jeez!  Fuck me!
			
			               Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed 
			               Life Magazine cover which is headlined ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI 
			               ACHIEVER?  Oddly, the DUDE's sunglassed face is on it; we 
			               realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the 
			               display is mirrored.
			
			               We hear the door open and the whine of a motor.  The DUDE, 
			               wearing shorts and a bowling shirt, turns to look.
			
			               So does Brandt, the young man we've been listening to.  He 
			               wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.
			
			               Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized 
			               wheelchair--Jeff Lebowski.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Okay sir, you're a Lebowski, I'm a 
			                         Lebowski, that's terrific, I'm very 
			                         busy so what can I do for you?
			
			               He wheels himself behind a desk.  The DUDE sits facing him 
			               as Brandt withdraws.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well sir, it's this rug I have, really 
			                         tied the room together-
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         You told Brandt on the phone, he 
			                         told me.  So where do I fit in?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well they were looking for you, these 
			                         two guys, they were trying to--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         I'll say it again, all right?  You 
			                         told Brandt.  He told me.  I know 
			                         what happened. Yes?  Yes?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         So you know they were trying to piss 
			                         on your rug--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Did I urinate on your rug?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You mean, did you personally come 
			                         and pee on my--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Hello!  Do you speak English?  Parla 
			                         usted Inglese?  I'll say it again.  
			                         Did I urinate on your rug?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well no, like I said, Woo peed on 
			                         the rug--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Hello!  Hello!  So every time--I 
			                         just want to understand this, sir--
			                         every time a rug is micturated upon 
			                         in this fair city, I have to 
			                         compensate the--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Come on, man, I'm not trying to scam 
			                         anybody here, I'm just--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         You're just looking for a handout 
			                         like every other--are you employed, 
			                         Mr. Lebowski?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Look, let me explain something.   
			                         I'm not Mr. Lebowski;  you're Mr. 
			                         Lebowski.  I'm the DUDE.  So that's  
			                         what  you  call me.  That, or DUDEr. 
			                         His  DUDEness.  Or El DUDErino, if,  
			                         you know, you're not into the whole 
			                         brevity thing--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Are you employed, sir?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Employed?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         You don't go out and make a living 
			                         dressed like that in the middle of a 
			                         weekday.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Is this a--what day is this?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         But I do work, so if you don't mind--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, look.  I do mind.  The DUDE minds.  
			                         This will not stand, ya know, this 
			                         will not stand, man.  I mean, if 
			                         your wife owes--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         My wife is not the issue here. I 
			                         hope that my wife will someday learn 
			                         to live on her allowance, which is 
			                         ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that 
			                         will be her problem, not mine, just 
			                         as your rug is your problem, just as 
			                         every bum's lot in life is his own 
			                         responsibility regardless of whom he 
			                         chooses to blame.  I didn't blame 
			                         anyone for the loss of my legs, some 
			                         chinaman in Korea took them from me 
			                         but I went out and achieved anyway.  
			                         I can't solve your problems, sir, 
			                         only you can.
			
			               The DUDE rises.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Ah fuck it.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Sure!  Fuck it!  That's your answer!  
			                         Tattoo it on your forehead!  Your 
			                         answer to everything!
			
			               The DUDE is heading for the door.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Your "revolution" is over, Mr.  
			                         Lebowski!  Condolences!  The bums 
			                         lost!
			
			               As the DUDE opens the door.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         ...My advice is, do what your parents 
			                         did!  Get a job, sir!  The bums will 
			                         always lose-- do you hear me, 
			                         Lebowski?  THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS--
			
			               The DUDE shuts the door on the old man's bellowing to find 
			               himself--
			
			                                     HALLWAY
			                         --in a high coffered hallway.  Brandt 
			                         is approaching.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Okay.  The old man told me to take 
			                         any rug in the house.
			
			               WALKWAY
			
			               A houseman with a rolled-up carpet on one shoulder goes down 
			               a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a swimming 
			               pool to a garage.  Brandt and the DUDE follow.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Manolo will load it into your car 
			                         for you, uh, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's the LeBaron.
			
			               DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW
			
			               Tracking toward the pool.  A young woman sits facing it, her 
			               back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.
			
			               Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the 
			               pool.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see 
			                         you again some time, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the 
			                         neighborhood, need to use the john.
			
			               CLOSER TRACK
			
			               Arcing around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the 
			               nails emerald green.
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               Looking.
			
			               WIDER
			
			               The young woman looks up at him.  She is in her early 
			               twenties.
			
			               She leans back and extends her leg toward the DUDE.
			
			                                     YOUNG WOMAN
			                         Blow on them.
			
			               The DUDE pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over 
			               them.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			               She waggles her foot and giggles.
			
			                                     YOUNG WOMAN
			                         G'ahead.  Blow.
			
			               The DUDE tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You want me to blow on your toes?
			
			                                     YOUNG WOMAN
			                         Uh-huh. . . I can't blow that far.
			
			               The DUDE looks over at the pool.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You sure he won't mind?
			
			               The man bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out.  He 
			               is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair.  He 
			               wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open, 
			               shirtless, exposing fine blond chest hair and pale skin.  
			               One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty 
			               whiskey bottle bobs.
			
			                                     YOUNG WOMAN
			                         Dieter doesn't care about anything.  
			                         He's a nihilist.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Practicing?
			
			               The young woman smiles.
			
			                                     YOUNG WOMAN
			                         You're not blowing.
			
			               Brandt nervously takes the DUDE by the elbow.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Our guest has to be getting along, 
			                         Mrs.  Lebowski.
			
			               The DUDE grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still 
			               looking at the young woman.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You're Bunny?
			
			                                     BUNNY
			                         I'll suck your cock for a thousand 
			                         dollars.
			
			               Brandt releases a gale of forced laughter:
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Ha-ha-ha-ha!  Wonderful woman.  Very 
			                         free-spirited.  We're all very fond 
			                         of her.
			
			                                     BUNNY
			                         Brandt can't watch though.  Or he 
			                         has to pay a hundred.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  That's marvelous.
			
			               He continues to lead away the DUDE, who looks back over his
			
			               SHOULDER:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm just gonna find a cash machine.
			
			               BOWLING PINS
			
			               Scattered by a strike.
			
			               THE BOWLERS
			
			               Donny calls out from the bench:
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Grasshopper DUDE--They're dead in 
			                         the water!!
			
			               As the DUDE walks back to the scoring table he turns to 
			               another team in black bowling shirts--the Cavaliers--that 
			               shares the lane.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Your maples, Carl.
			
			               Walter, just arriving, is carrying a leatherette satchel in 
			               one hand and a large plastic carrier in the other.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Way to go, DUDE.  If you will it, it 
			                         is no dream.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You're fucking twenty minutes late.  
			                         What the fuck is that?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Theodore Herzel.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         State of Israel.  If you will it, 
			                         DUDE, it is no--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the fuck're you talking about?  
			                         The carrier.  What's in the fucking 
			                         carrier?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?  Oh--Cynthia's Pomeranian.  
			                         Can't leave him home alone or he 
			                         eats the furniture.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the fuck are you--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm saying, Cynthia's Pomeranian.  
			                         I'm looking after it while Cynthia 
			                         and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You brought a fucking Pomeranian 
			                         bowling?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What do you mean "brought it bowling"?  
			                         I didn't rent it shoes.  I'm not 
			                         buying it a fucking beer.  He's not 
			                         gonna take your fucking turn, DUDE.
			
			               He lets the small yapping dog out of the carrier.  It scoots 
			               around the bowling table, sniffing at bowlers and wagging 
			               its tail.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey, man, if my fucking ex-wife asked 
			                         me to take care of her fucking dog 
			                         while she and her boyfriend went to 
			                         Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck 
			                         herself.  Why can't she board it?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         First of all, DUDE, you don't have 
			                         an ex, secondly, it's a fucking show 
			                         dog with fucking papers.  You can't 
			                         board it.  It gets upset, its hair 
			                         falls out.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey man--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fucking dog has papers, DUDE.--Over 
			                         the line!
			
			               Smokey turns from his last roll to look at Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Smokey Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Over the line, Smokey!  I'm sorry.  
			                         That's a foul.
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Bullshit.  Eight, DUDE.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Excuse me!  Mark it zero.  Next frame.
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Bullshit. Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This is not Nam.  This is bowling.  
			                         There are rules.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Come on Walter, it's just--it's 
			                         Smokey.  So his toe slipped over a 
			                         little, it's just a game.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This is a league game.  This 
			                         determines who enters the next round-
			                         robin, am I wrong?
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Yeah, but--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Am I wrong!?
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Yeah, but I wasn't over.  Gimme the 
			                         marker, DUDE,  I'm marking it an 
			                         eight.
			
			               Walter takes out a gun.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Smokey my friend, you're entering a 
			                         world of pain.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Mark that frame an eight, you're 
			                         entering a world of pain.
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         I'm not--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         A world of pain.
			
			               A manager in a bowling-shirt style uniform is running for a 
			               phone.
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Look DUDE, I don't hold with this.  
			                         This guy is your partner, you should--
			
			               Walter primes the gun and points it at his head.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY?  AM 
			                         I THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO GIVES A SHIT 
			                         ABOUT THE RULES?  MARK IT ZERO!
			
			               The Pomeranian is excitedly yapping at Walter's elbow, making 
			               high body-twisting tail-wagging leaps.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, they're calling the cops, 
			                         put the piece away.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         MARK IT ZERO!
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE?  
			                         MARK IT ZERO!!
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         All right!  There it is!  It's fucking 
			                         zero!
			
			               He points frantically at the score projected above the lane.
			
			                                     SMOKEY
			                         You happy, you crazy fuck?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This is a league game, Smokey!
			
			               PARKING LOT
			
			               Walter and the DUDE walk to the DUDE's car.  The Pomeranian 
			               trots happily behind Walter who totes the empty carrier.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, you can't do that.  These 
			                         guys're like me, they're pacificists.  
			                         Smokey was a conscientious objector.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You know DUDE, I myself dabbled with 
			                         pacifism at one point.  Not in Nam, 
			                         of course--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         And you know Smokey has emotional 
			                         problems!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You mean--beyond pacifism?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He's fragile, man!  He's very fragile!
			
			               As the two men get into the car:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh.  I did not know that.  Well, 
			                         it's water under the bridge.  And we 
			                         do enter the next round-robin, am I 
			                         wrong?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, you're not wrong--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Am I wrong!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You're not wrong, Walter, you're 
			                         just an asshole.
			
			               They watch a squad car take a squealing turn into the lot.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Okay then.  We play Quintana and 
			                         O'Brien next week.  They'll be 
			                         pushovers.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Just, just take it easy, Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's your answer to everything, 
			                         DUDE.  And let me point out--pacifism 
			                         is not--look at our current situation 
			                         with that camelfucker in Iraq--
			                         pacifism is not something to hide 
			                         behind.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, just take 't easy, man.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm perfectly calm, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah?  Wavin' a gun around?!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                              (smugly)
			                         Calmer than you are.
			
			               -his irritates the DUDE further.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Just take it easy, man!
			
			               Walter is still smug.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Calmer than you are.
			
			               DUDE'S HOUSE
			
			               A large, brilliant Persian rug lies beneath the DUDE's beat-
			               up old furniture.
			
			               At the table next to the answering machine the DUDE is mixing 
			               kalhua, rum and milk.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         DUDE, this is Smokey.  Look, I don't 
			                         wanna be a hard-on about this, and I 
			                         know it wasn't your fault, but I 
			                         just thought it was fair to tell you 
			                         that Gene and I will be submitting 
			                         this to the League and asking them 
			                         to set aside the round.  Or maybe 
			                         forfeit it to us--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shit!
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         --so, like I say, just thought, you 
			                         know, fair warning.  Tell Walter.
			
			               A beep.
			
			                                     ANOTHER VOICE
			                         Mr. Lebowski, this is Brandt at, uh, 
			                         well--at Mr. Lebowski's office.  
			                         Please call us as soon as is 
			                         convenient.
			
			               Beep.
			
			                                     ANOTHER VOICE
			                         Mr. Lebowski, this is Fred Dynarski 
			                         with the Southern Cal Bowling League.  
			                         I just got a, an informal report, 
			                         uh, that a uh, a member of your team, 
			                         uh, Walter Sobchak, drew a loaded 
			                         weapon during league play--
			
			               We hear the doorbell.
			
			               THE DOOR
			
			               It swings open to reveal a short, hairy, muscular but balding 
			               middle-aged man in a black T-shirt and black cut-off jeans.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hiya Allan.
			
			                                     ALLAN
			                         DUDE, I finally got the venue I 
			                         wanted.  I'm Performing my dance 
			                         quintet--you know, my cycle--at Crane 
			                         Jackson's Fountain Street Theatre on 
			                         Tuesday night, and I'd love it if 
			                         you came and gave me notes.
			
			               The DUDE takes a swig of his kalhua.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Sure Allan, I'll be there.
			
			                                     ALLAN
			                         DUDE, uh, tomorrow is already the 
			                         tenth.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, yeah I know. Okay.
			
			                                     ALLAN
			                         Just, uh, just slip the rent under 
			                         my door.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, okay.
			
			               BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM
			
			               The  voice continues on the machine.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         --serious infraction, and examine 
			                         your standing.  Thank you.  Beep.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Mr. Lebowski, Brandt again.  Please 
			                         do call us when you get in and I'll 
			                         send the limo.  Let me assure you--I 
			                         hope you're not avoiding this call 
			                         because of the rug, which, I assure 
			                         you, is not a problem.  We need your 
			                         help and, uh--well we would very 
			                         much like to see you.  Thank you.  
			                         It's Brandt.
			
			               TRACKING
			
			               We are pushing Brandt down the high-ceilinged hallway.  
			               Distantly, we hear a dolorous soprano.  Brandt talks back 
			               over
			
			               HIS SHOULDER:
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         We've had some terrible news.  Mr. 
			                         Lebowski is in seclusion in the West 
			                         Wing.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh.
			
			               Brandt throws open a pair of heavy double doors.  The music 
			               washes over us as we enter a great study where Jeffrey 
			               Lebowski, a blanket thrown over his knees, stares hauntedly 
			               into a fire, listening to Lohengrin.
			
			               BRANDT ANNOUNCES, AMBIGUOUSLY:
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Mr. Lebowski.
			
			               Jeffrey Lebowski waves the DUDE in without looking around.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         It's funny.  I can look back on a 
			                         life of achievement, on challenges 
			                         met, competitors bested, obstacles 
			                         overcome.  I've accomplished more 
			                         than most men, and without the use 
			                         of my legs.  What. . . What makes a 
			                         man, Mr. Lebowski?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         DUDE.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I don't know, sir.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Is it. . . is it, being prepared to 
			                         do the right thing?  Whatever the 
			                         price?  Isn't that what makes a man?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Sure.  That and a pair of testicles.
			
			               Lebowski turns away from the DUDE with a haunted stare, lost 
			               in thought.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         You're joking.  But perhaps you're 
			                         right.
			
			               The DUDE thumps at his chest pocket.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Mind if I smoke a jay?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Bunny.
			
			               He turns back around and the firelight shows teartracks on 
			               his cheeks.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         'Scuse me?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light 
			                         of my life.  Are you surprised at my 
			                         tears, sir?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuckin' A.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Strong men also cry. . . Strong men 
			                         also cry.
			
			               He clears his throat.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         I received this fax this morning.
			
			               Brandt hastily pulls a flimsy sheet from his clipboard and 
			               hands it to the DUDE.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         As you can see, it is a ransom note.  
			                         Sent by cowards.  Men who are unable 
			                         to achieve on a level field of play.  
			                         Men who will not sign their names.  
			                         Weaklings.  Bums.
			
			               THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:
			
			               WE HAVE BUNNY.  GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-
			               CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES.  AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.  NO FUNNY STUFF.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Bummer.
			
			               Lebowski looks soulfully at the DUDE.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Brandt will fill you in on the 
			                         details.
			
			               He wheels his chair around to once again gaze into the fire.  
			               Brandt tugs at the DUDE's shirt and points him back to the 
			               hall.
			
			               HALLWAY
			
			               The soprano's singing is once again faint.  Brandt's voice 
			               is hushed:
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a 
			                         generous offer to you to act as 
			                         courier once we get instructions for 
			                         the money.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Why me, man?
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         He suspects that the culprits might 
			                         be the very people who, uh, soiled 
			                         your rug, and you're in a unique 
			                         position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm 
			                         that suspicion.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers, 
			                         huh?
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Well DUDE, we just don't know.
			
			               BOWLING PINS
			
			               CRASH--scattered by a strike, in slow motion.
			
			               WIDER
			
			               Still in slow motion.  We are looking across the length of 
			               the bowling alley at a tall, thin, Hispanic bowler displaying 
			               perfect form.  He wears an all-in-one dacron-polyester stretch 
			               bowling outfit with a racing stripe down each side.
			
			               FAST TRACK IN
			
			               On the DUDE, sitting next to Walter in the molded plastic 
			               chairs. The DUDE is staring off towards the bowler.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fucking Quintana--that creep can 
			                         roll, man--
			
			               BACK TO THE BOWLER
			
			               Displaying great slow-motion form as the DUDE and Walter's 
			               conversation continues over.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert, 
			                         DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         The man is a sex offender.  With a 
			                         record.  Spent six months in Chino 
			                         for exposing himself to an eight-
			                         year-old.
			
			               FLASHBACK
			
			               We see Quintana, in pressed jeans and a stretchy sweater,  
			               walking up a stoop in a residential neighborhood and zinging 
			               the bell.
			
			               The VOICE-OVER conversation continues.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         When he moved down to Venice he had 
			                         to go door-to-door to tell everyone 
			                         he's a pederast.
			
			               The door swings open and a beer-swilling middle-aged man 
			               looks dully out at Quintana, who looks hesitantly up.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What's a pederast, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shut the fuck up, Donny.
			
			               PINS
			
			               scattered by a strike.
			
			               QUINTANA
			
			               wheeling and thrusting a black gloved fist into the air.
			
			               Stitched above the breast pocket of his all-in-one is his 
			               first name, "Jesus".
			
			               BACK TO WALTER AND THE DUDE
			
			               They have been joined by Donny.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Anyway.  How much they offer you?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Twenty grand.  And of course I still 
			                         keep the rug.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Just for making the hand-off?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			               He slips a little black box out of his shirt pocket.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         ...They  gave  DUDE  a  beeper,  so  
			                         whenever these guys call--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What if it's during a game?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I told him if it was during league 
			                         play--
			
			               Donny has been watching Quintana.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         If what's during league play?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Life does not stop and start at your 
			                         convenience, you miserable piece of 
			                         shit.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What's wrong with Walter, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I figure it's easy money, it's all 
			                         pretty harmless.  I mean she probably 
			                         kidnapped herself.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What do you mean, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Rug-peers did not do this.  I mean 
			                         look at it.  Young trophy wife.  
			                         Marries a guy for money but figures 
			                         he isn't giving her enough.  She 
			                         owes money all over town--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That...fucking...bitch!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's all a goddamn fake.  Like Lenin 
			                         said, look for the person who will 
			                         benefit.  And you will, uh, you know, 
			                         you'll, uh, you know what I'm trying 
			                         to say--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         I am the Walrus.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That fucking bitch!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         I am the Walrus.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shut the fuck up, Donny!  V.I. Lenin!  
			                         Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What the fuck is he talking about?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's fucking exactly what happened, 
			                         DUDE!  That makes me fucking SICK!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, well, what do you care, Walter?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Yeah DUDE, why is Walter so pissed 
			                         off?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Those rich fucks!  This whole fucking 
			                         thing-- I did not watch my buddies 
			                         die face down in the muck so that 
			                         this fucking strumpet--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I don't see any connection to Vietnam, 
			                         Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Well, there isn't a literal 
			                         connection, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, face it, there isn't any 
			                         connection.  It's your roll.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Have it your way.  The point is--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's your roll--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         The fucking point is--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's your roll.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Are you ready to be fucked, man?
			
			               They both look up.
			
			               Quintana, on his way out, looks down at them from the lip of 
			               the lanes.  Over his polyester all-in-one he now wears a 
			               windbreaker with a racing stripe and "Jesus" stitched on the 
			               breast.  He is holding a fancy black-and-red leather ball 
			               satchel (perhaps a Sylvia Wein).  Behind him stands his 
			               partner, O'Brien, a short fat Irishman with tufted red hair.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         I see you rolled your way into the 
			                         semis.  Deos mio, man.  Seamus and 
			                         me, we're gonna fuck you up.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah well, that's just, ya know, 
			                         like, your opinion, man.
			
			               Quintana looks at Walter.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         Let me tell you something, bendeco.  
			                         You pull any your crazy shit with 
			                         us, you flash a piece out on the 
			                         lanes, I'll take it away from you 
			                         and stick it up your ass and pull 
			                         the fucking trigger til it goes 
			                         "click".
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         You said it, man.  Nobody fucks with 
			                         the Jesus.
			
			               Jesus walks away.  Walter nods sadly.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Eight-year-olds, DUDE.
			
			               DUDE'S BUNGALOW
			
			               We are looking down at the DUDE who is prone on the rug.  
			               His eyes are closed.  He wears a Walkman headset.  Leaking 
			               tinnily through the headphones we can just hear an 
			               intermittent clatter.
			
			               In his outflung hand lies a cassette case labeled VENICE 
			               BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.
			
			               The DUDE absently licks his lips as we faintly hear a hall 
			               rumbling down the lane.  On its impact with the pins, the 
			               DUDE opens his eyes.
			
			               He screams.
			
			               A blonde woman looms over him.  Next to  her a  young man  
			               in paint-spattered denims stoops and swings something towards 
			               the carrier.
			
			               The sap catches the DUDE on the chin and sends  his head 
			               thunking back onto the rug.
			
			               A million stars explode against a field of black.  We hear 
			               the "La-la-la-la" of The Man in Me.
			
			               The black field  dissolves into  the pattern  of the  rug.   
			               The rug rolls away to reveal an aerial view of  the city  of 
			               Los  Angeles at twilight, moving below us at great speed.
			
			               The DUDE is flying over the city, his arms thrown out in 
			               front of him, the wind whipping his hair and billowing his 
			               bowling shirt. He looks up.
			
			               Ahead the mysterious blonde woman wings away, riding on the 
			               DUDE's rug like a sheik on a magic carpet.  She is outpacing 
			               us, growing smaller.
			
			               The DUDE does a couple of lazy crawl strokes and then notices 
			               that a bowling ball has materialized in his forward hand.  
			               His bemusement turns to concern over the aerodynamic 
			               implications just as the ball seems to suddenly assume its 
			               weight, abruptly snapping his arm down, and him after it. He 
			               is falling. From a high angle we see the DUDE hurtling down 
			               toward the city, dragged by the ball.
			
			               A  reverse  looking  up shows  the DUDE  hurtling toward  us 
			               out  of the inky  sky,  his eyes  wide with  horror.  Led by  
			               the bowling  ball, he zooms past the camera leaving us in 
			               black.
			
			               We hear a distant rumble, like thunder.  Dull reflections 
			               materialize in the darkness.  They are glints off the shiny 
			               surface of an oncoming bowling ball.
			
			               We pull back to reveal that the blackness was the inside of 
			               a ball return, and the gleaming bowling ball is being 
			               regurgitated up at us, overtaking us.
			
			               The DUDE looks up, up, up at the looming ball, its mass 
			               rolling a huge shadow across his face.
			
			               The gleaming ball shows three dead black holes rolling toward 
			               us --finger holes.
			
			               The largest--thumb--hole rolls directly over us, engulfing 
			               us once again in black..
			
			               The black rolls away and we are spinning--spinning down a 
			               bowling lane--our point of view that of someone trapped in 
			               the thumbhole of the rolling ball.
			
			               We see the receding bowler spinning away.  It is the blonde 
			               woman, performing her follow-through.
			
			               Floor spins up at us and then away; ceiling spins up and 
			               away; the length of the alley with pins at the end; floor; 
			               ceiling; approaching pins; again and again.
			
			               We hit the pins and clatter into blackness.  We hear pins 
			               spin, hit each other and drop.
			
			               We hear an irritating, insistent beeping.
			
			               FADE IN
			
			               We are close on the DUDE, upside down.  As the picture fades 
			               in the bowling noises continue, but filtered and faint.  
			               They come from the DUDE's Walkman, the headset of which is 
			               now askew, with one arm off his ear.
			
			               As the DUDE opens his eyes we spiral slowly upward to put 
			               him right side around.  His head is now resting against 
			               hardwood floor, not rug.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh man.
			
			               He  raises  himself  onto  his  elbows  and  massages  the  
			               red   lump  on his  jaw.  The  beeper  on his  belt is  
			               blinking red  in sync  with the continuing irritating beeps.
			
			               WIDE ON THE ROOM
			
			               An  end  table  is  upset,  but  otherwise the  furniture is  
			               in place. The rug is gone.
			
			               The  DUDE  looks  around.    The  bowling sounds  continue.   
			               The beeps continue.
			
			               The phone starts to jangle.
			
			               TRACK
			
			               We  push  Brandt  down  the  familiar  marble  hallway.   
			               Again  there is a  distant  aria.    Brandt  throws  out a  
			               wrist to  look at  his watch.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         They called about eighty minutes 
			                         ago.  They want you to take the money 
			                         and drive north on the 4 5.  They'll 
			                         call you on the portable phone with 
			                         instructions in about forty minutes.  
			                         One person only or I'd go with you.  
			                         They were very clear on that: one 
			                         person only.  What happened to your 
			                         jaw?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, nothin', you know.
			
			               They have reached the little desk outside of the big 
			               Lebowski's office; Brandt opens its bottom drawer with a key 
			               and takes out an attache case.  He hands this to the DUDE 
			               along with a cellular phone in a battery-pack carrying case.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Here's the money, and the phone.  
			                         Please, DUDE, follow whatever 
			                         instructions they give.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Her life is in your hands.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, man, don't say that..
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat that:  
			                         Her life is in your hands.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shit.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Her life is in your hands, DUDE.  
			                         And report back to us as soon as 
			                         it's done.
			
			               DUDE'S CAR
			
			               We pan off the DUDE, driving, to his point of view through 
			               the front windshield.  The headlights play over Walter 
			               standing waiting in front of the storefront of SOBCHAK 
			               SECURITY.  Though he is wearing khaki shorts and shirt, the 
			               fact that he holds a battered brown briefcase makes him look 
			               oddly like a commuter.  He also holds an irregular shape 
			               bundled in brown wrapping paper.
			
			               The car stops in front of him and he opens the DUDE's door 
			               and hands in the briefcase.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Take the ringer.  I'll drive.
			
			               The DUDE takes the briefcase and slides over.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The what?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         The ringer!  The ringer, DUDE!  Have 
			                         they called yet?
			
			               The DUDE opens the briefcase and paws bemusedly through it 
			               as the car starts rolling.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the hell is this?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         My dirty undies.  Laundry, DUDE.  
			                         The whites.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Agh--
			
			               He closes the briefcase.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, I'm sure there's a reason 
			                         you brought your dirty undies--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Thaaaat's right, DUDE.  The weight.  
			                         The ringer can't look empty.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter--what the fuck are you 
			                         thinking?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Well you're right, DUDE, I got to 
			                         thinking.  I got to thinking why 
			                         should we settle for a measly fucking 
			                         twenty grand--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We?  What the fuck we?  You said you 
			                         just wanted to come along--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         My point, DUDE, is why should we 
			                         settle for twenty grand when we can 
			                         keep the entire million.  Am I wrong?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yes you're wrong.  This isn't a 
			                         fucking game, Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         It is a fucking game.  You said so 
			                         yourself, DUDE--she kidnapped herself--
			
			                                     DUDE '
			                         Yeah, but--
			
			               The phone chirps.  DUDE grabs it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         DUDE here.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                              (German accent)
			                         Who is this?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         DUDE the Bagman.  Where do you want 
			                         us to go?
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         ...Us?
			                         DUDE
			
			               Shit. . . Uh, yeah, you know, me and the driver.  I'm not 
			               handling the money and driving the car and talking on the 
			               phone all by my fucking--
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Shut the fuck up.
			                              (Beat)
			                         Hello?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah?
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Okay, listen--
			
			               Walter looks over at the DUDE and bellows:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, are you fucking this up?
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Who is that?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The driver man, I told you--
			
			               Click.  Dial tone.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh shit.  Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck is going on there?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They hung up, Walter!  You fucked it 
			                         up!  You fucked it up!  Her life was 
			                         in our hands!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Easy, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We're screwed now!  We don't get 
			                         shit and they're gonna kill her!  
			                         We're fucked, Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, nothing is fucked.  Come on.  
			                         You're being very unDUDE.  They'll 
			                         call back.  Look, she kidnapped her--
			
			               The phone chirps.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Ya see?  Nothing is fucked up here, 
			                         DUDE.  Nothing is fucked.  These  
			                         guys are fucking amateurs--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shutup, Walter!  Don't fucking say 
			                         peep when I'm doing business here.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                              (patronizing)
			                         Okay DUDE.  Have it your way.
			
			               The DUDE unclips the phone from the battery pack.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         But they're amateurs.
			
			               The DUDE glares at Walter.  Into the phone:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         DUDE here.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Okay, vee proceed.  But only if there 
			                         is no funny stuff.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         So no funny stuff.  Okay?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey, just tell me where the fuck you 
			                         want us to go.
			
			               A HIGHWAY SIGN:  SIMI VALLEY ROAD
			
			               It flashes by in the headlights of the roaring car.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That was the sign.
			
			               Walter wrestles the car onto the two-lane road.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah.  So as long as we get her back, 
			                         nobody's in a position to complain.  
			                         And we keep the baksheesh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Terrific, Walter.  But you haven't 
			                         told me how we get her back.  Where 
			                         is she?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's the simple part, DUDE.  When  
			                         we make the handoff, I grab the guy 
			                         and beat  it out of him.
			
			               He looks at the DUDE.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         ...Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.  That's a great plan, Walter.  
			                         That's fucking ingenious, if I 
			                         understand it correctly.  That's a 
			                         Swiss fucking watch.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Thaaat's right, DUDE.  The beauty of 
			                         this is its simplicity. If the plan 
			                         gets too complex something always 
			                         goes wrong.  If there's one thing I 
			                         learned in Nam--
			
			               The phone chirps.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         DUDE.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         You are approaching a vooden britch.  
			                         When you cross it you srow ze bag 
			                         from ze left vindow of ze moving 
			                         kar.  Do not slow down.  Vee vatch 
			                         you.
			
			               Click.  Dial tone.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         FUCK.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What'd he say?  Where's the hand-
			                         off?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         There is no fucking hand-off, Walter!   
			                         At a wooden bridge we throw the money 
			                         out  of the car!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We throw the money out of the moving 
			                         car!
			
			               Walter stares dumbly for a beat.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         We can't do that, DUDE.  That fucks 
			                         up our plan.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well call them up and explain it to 
			                         'em, Walter!  Your plan is so fucking 
			                         simple, I'm sure they'd fucking 
			                         understand it!  That's the beauty of 
			                         it Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Wooden bridge, huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm throwing the money, Walter!  
			                         We're not fucking around!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         The bridge is coming up!  Gimme the 
			                         ringer, DUDE!  Chop-chop!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck that!  I love you, Walter, but 
			                         sooner or later you're gonna have to 
			                         face the fact that you're a goddamn 
			                         moron.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Okay, DUDE.  No time to argue.  Here's 
			                         the bridge--
			
			               There is the bump and new steady of the car on the bridge.  
			               The DUDE is twisting around to pull the money briefcase from 
			               the back seat.  Walter reaches one arm across DUDE's body to 
			               grab the laundry.
			
			               And there goes the ringer.
			
			               He flings it out the window.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Your wheel, DUDE!  I'm rolling out!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the fuck?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Your wheel!  At fifteen em-pee-aitch 
			                         I roll out!  I double back, grab one 
			                         of 'em and beat it out of him!  The 
			                         uzi!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uzi?
			
			               Walter points across the seat at the paper-wrapped bundle.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You didn't think I was rolling out 
			                         of here naked!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, please--
			
			               Walter has flung open his door and is leaning halfway out 
			               over the road.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fifteen!  This is it, DUDE!  Let's 
			                         take that hill!
			
			               Walter rolls out with his parcel, giving a loud grunt as he 
			               hits the pavement.  The car swerves and lurches and the DUDE, 
			               cursing, takes the wheel.
			
			               OUTSIDE
			
			               Walter tumbles onto the shoulder and--RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!--muzzle 
			               flashes tear open the wrapping paper.
			
			               INSIDE THE CAR
			
			               The car rocks and the DUDE wrestles with the wheel.
			
			               OUTSIDE
			
			               The car clunks and screams around in a skid.
			
			               INSIDE
			
			               The DUDE is thrown forward as the car hits something.
			
			               OUTSIDE
			
			               As the DUDE struggles out holding the satchel of money. The 
			               front of his car is crumpled into a tree.  The car body saps 
			               back to the left, where the rear wheel has been shot out.
			
			               WALTER  is  just  rising  from  the  ground  massaging an  
			               injured knee.
			
			               The  DUDE  runs  up  the  road  toward  the bridge,  
			               frantically waving the satchel in the air.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         WE HAVE IT!  WE HAVE IT!!
			
			               There is a distant engine roar.  A motorcycle bumps up onto 
			               the road from the ravine under the bridge and, tires 
			               squealing, skids around to speed away in the opposite 
			               direction.  It is closely followed by two more roaring 
			               motorcycles.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         WE HAVE IT!!. . . We have it!
			
			               The DUDE and Walter stand in the middle of the road, watching 
			               the three red tail lights fishtail away.
			
			               AFTER A LONG STARING SILENCE:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Ahh fuck it, let's go bowling.
			
			               BOWLING LANE
			
			               A ball rumbles in to scatter ten pins.
			
			               WALTER.
			
			               He turns from the lane to where the DUDE sits in the nook of 
			               molded plastic chairs.  The DUDE listlessly holds the portable 
			               phone in his lap.  It is ringing.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Aitz chaim he, DUDE.  As the ex used 
			                         to say.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the fuck is that supposed to 
			                         mean?  What the fuck're we gonna 
			                         tell Lebowski?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?  Oh, him, yeah.  Well I don't 
			                         see, um-- what exactly is the problem?
			
			               The portable phone stops ringing.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?  The problem is--what do you 
			                         mean what's the--there's no--we didn't--
			                         they're gonna kill that poor woman--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck're you talking about?  
			                         That poor woman--that poor slut--
			                         kidnapped herself, DUDE.  You said 
			                         so yourself--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, Walter!  I said I thought she 
			                         kidnapped herself!  You're the one 
			                         who's so fucking certain--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's right, DUDE, 1  % certain--
			
			               Donny is trotting excitedly up.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         They posted the next round of the 
			                         tournament--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Donny, shut the f--when do we play?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         This Saturday.  Quintana and--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Saturday!  Well they'll have to 
			                         reschedule.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, what'm I gonna tell Lebowski?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I told that fuck down at the league 
			                         office-- who's in charge of 
			                         scheduling?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Burkhalter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I told that kraut a fucking thousand 
			                         times I don't roll on shabbas.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         It's already posted.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         WELL THEY CAN FUCKING UN-POST IT!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who gives a shit, Walter?  What about 
			                         that poor woman?  What do we tell--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         C'mon DUDE, eventually she'll get 
			                         sick of her little game and, you 
			                         know, wander back--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         How come you don't roll on Saturday, 
			                         Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm shomer shabbas.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What's that, Walter?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, and in the meantime what do I 
			                         tell Lebowski?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Saturday is shabbas.  Jewish day of 
			                         rest.  Means I don't work, I don't 
			                         drive a car, I don't fucking ride in 
			                         a car, I don't handle money, I don't 
			                         turn on the oven, and I sure as shit 
			                         don't fucking roll!
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Sheesh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, how--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shomer shabbas.
			
			               The DUDE gets to his feet with the portable phone.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That's it.  I'm out of here.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         For Christ's sake, DUDE.
			
			               Walter and Donny join the DUDE as he walks out of the bowling 
			               alley.
			
			               Hell, you just tell him--well, you tell him, uh, we made the 
			               hand-off, everything went, uh, you know--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Oh yeah, how'd it go?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Went alright.  DUDE's car got a little 
			                         dinged up--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But Walter, we didn't make the fucking 
			                         hand- off!  They didn't get, the 
			                         fucking money and they're gonna--
			                         they're gonna--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah yeah, "kill that poor woman."
			
			               He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Kill that poor woman.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Walter, if you can't ride in a car, 
			                         how d'you get around on Shammas--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Really, DUDE, you surprise me.  
			                         They're not gonna kill shit.  They're 
			                         not gonna do shit.  What can they 
			                         do?  Fuckin' amateurs.  And meanwhile, 
			                         look at the bottom line.  Who's 
			                         sitting on a million fucking dollars?  
			                         Am I wrong?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Who's got a fucking million fucking 
			                         dollars parked in the trunk of our 
			                         car out here?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         "Our" car, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         And what do they got, DUDE?  My dirty 
			                         undies.  My fucking whites--Say, 
			                         where is  the car?
			
			               The three bowlers, stopped at the edge of the lot, stare out 
			               at an empty parking space.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Who has your undies, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Where's your car, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You don't know, Walter?  You seem to 
			                         know the answer to everything else!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Hmm.  Well, we were in a handicapped 
			                         spot.  It, uh, it was probably towed.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's been stolen, Walter!  You fucking 
			                         know it's been stolen!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Well, certainly that's a possibility, 
			                         DUDE--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Aw, fuck it.
			
			               The DUDE walks away across the lot.  The portable phone starts 
			               ringing again.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Where you going, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm going home, Donny.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Your phone's ringing, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Thank you, Donny.
			
			               DUDE'S LIVING ROOM
			
			               The DUDE is slumped disconsolately back in his easy chair, 
			               fingers of one hand cupped over his sunglasses.  Facing him 
			               on the couch are two uniformed policeman, one middle-aged, 
			               the other a fresh-faced rookie.
			
			               At the cut the portable phone, in the DUDE's lap, is chirping.  
			               The DUDE waits for the rings to end.  When they do:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         1972 Pontiac LeBaron.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         Color?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Green.  Some brown, or, uh, rust, 
			                         coloration.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         And was there anything of value in  
			                         the car?
			
			               DULLY:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  Tape deck.  Couple 
			                         of Creedence tapes.  And there was 
			                         a, uh. . . my briefcase.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         In the briefcase?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Papers.  Just papers.  You know, my 
			                         papers.  Business papers.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         And what do you do, sir?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm unemployed.
			
			                                     OLDER COP
			                         ...Most people, we're working nights, 
			                         they offer us coffee.
			
			               There is silence.  DUDE continues to stare at a spot on the 
			               floor.  The older cop stares at him.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         ...Me, I don't drink coffee.  But 
			                         it's nice when they offer.
			
			               AT LENGTH:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         ...Also, my rug was stolen.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         Your rug was in the car.
			
			               The DUDE taps the floor with his foot.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No.  Here.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         Separate incidents?
			
			               The DUDE stares at the floor.
			
			               Silence.
			
			                                     OLDER COP
			                         Snap out of it, son.
			
			               The home phone starts ringing--a ring distinct  from the  
			               chirp of the portable.  The DUDE makes no move to answer  
			               it.   Finally the rings stop as an answering machine kicks 
			               on.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You find them much?  Stolen cars?
			
			               DUDE's Voice on Machine The DUDE's not in.  Leave a message 
			               after the beep.  It takes a minute.
			
			                                     YOUNGER COP
			                         Sometimes.  I wouldn't hold out much 
			                         hope for the tape deck though.  Or 
			                         the Creedence tapes.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         And the, uh, the briefcase?
			
			               Beep.
			
			                                     FEMALE VOICE ON MACHINE
			                         Mr. Lebowski, I'd like to see you.  
			                         Call when you get home and I'll send 
			                         a car for you.  My name is Maude 
			                         Lebowski.  I'm the woman who took 
			                         the rug.
			
			               Beep.  Dial tone.
			
			                                     OLDER COP
			                         Well, I guess we can close the file 
			                         on that one.
			
			               TRACKING FORWARD
			
			               We are moving through the open living area of a large downtown 
			               L.A. loft.  A huge unfinished canvas,  lit by  standing 
			               industrial lights, dominates one wall.  The furnishings  are 
			               spare  given the space.  On the floor is the DUDE's brilliant 
			               rug.
			
			               We hear a rumble like an approaching bowling ball.  The DUDE, 
			               standing in the middle of the loft, looks into the murky 
			               depths of the cavernous space.
			
			               Something huge and white hurtles towards the DUDE's head.  
			               As it roars overhead he ducks, and spins to watch it pass.
			
			               We see the backside of a naked woman in a sling suspended 
			               from a ceiling track rumbling over a canvas that lies on the 
			               floor.  She is holding a paint bucket in one hand and a brush 
			               in the other, with which she flicks paint down at the canvas.
			
			               The DUDE turns again as he hears running footsteps.  Two 
			               young men in paint-spattered shorts, T-shirts and sneakers 
			               reach the sling shortly after it reaches the end of its track 
			               and haul it back for another push.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         I'll be with you in a minute, Mr. 
			                         Lebowski.
			
			               She rumbles by in another pass.
			
			               All right, we'll do the blue tomorrow.  Elfranco.  Pedro.  
			               Help me down.
			
			               The  two  men  help Maude  out of  her sling.   She  is naked  
			               except for leather  harness  straps  which  ring  her  breasts  
			               and wrap  her thighs and give her something of a dominatrix 
			               look.
			
			               Does the female form make you uncomfor- table, Mr. Lebowski?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Is that what that's a picture of?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         In a sense, yes.  Elfranco, my robe. 
			                         My art has been commended as being 
			                         strongly vaginal.  Which bothers 
			                         some men.  The word itself makes 
			                         some men uncomfortable.  Vagina.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh yeah?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Yes, they don't like hearing it and 
			                         find it difficult to say.  Whereas 
			                         without batting an eye a man will 
			                         refer to his "dick" or his "rod" or 
			                         his "Johnson".
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         "Johnson"?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Thank you.
			
			               This to Elfranco, who has handed her a robe.
			
			               All right, Mr. Lebowski, let's get down to cases.  My father 
			               told me he's agreed to let you have the rug, but it was a 
			               gift from me to my late mother, and so was not his to give.  
			               Now.  As for this. . . "kidnapping"--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Yes, I know about it.  And I know 
			                         that you acted as courier.  And let 
			                         me tell you something:  the whole 
			                         thing stinks to high heaven.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Right, but let me explain something 
			                         about that rug--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Excuse me?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Sex.  The physical act of love.  
			                         Coitus.  Do you like it?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I was talking about my rug.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         You're not interested in sex?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You mean coitus?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I like it too.  It's a male myth 
			                         about feminists that we hate sex.  
			                         It can be a natural, zesty enterprise. 
			                         But unfortunately there are some 
			                         people--it is called satyriasis in 
			                         men, nymphomania in women--who engage 
			                         in it compulsively and without joy.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, no.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Yes Mr. Lebowski, these unfortunate 
			                         souls cannot love in the true sense 
			                         of the word.  Our mutual acquaintance 
			                         Bunny is one of these.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Listen, Maude, I'm sorry if your 
			                         stepmother is a nympho, but I don't 
			                         see what it has to do with--do you 
			                         have any kalhua?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Take a look at this, sir.
			
			               She is aiming a remote at a projection TV.  The screen 
			               flickers to life.  A title card:
			
			               JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS
			
			               SECOND CARD:
			
			               KARL HUNGUS
			
			               AND
			
			               BUNNY LAJOYA
			
			               IN
			
			               A THIRD CARD:
			
			               LOGJAMMIN'
			
			               The DUDE is at the bar, a bottle of kalhua frozen halfway  
			               to his glass.
			
			               From the television set we hear a doorbell ring, and then  a 
			               door opening.
			
			               On the TV screen the door opens to reveal a sallow-faced  
			               man in blue coyer-alls.  It is Dieter, the floater in  
			               Lebowski's pool.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Hello.  Nein dizbatcher says zere 
			                         iss problem mit deine kable.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shit, I know that guy.  He's a 
			                         nihilist.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         And you recognize her, of course.
			
			               The girl answering the door is Bunny Lebowski.
			
			               Bunny The TV is in here.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Za, okay, I bring mein toolz.
			
			               Bunny This is my friend Shari.  She just came over to use 
			               the shower.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                              (grimly)
			                         The story is ludicrous.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Mein nommen iss Karl.  Is hard to 
			                         verk in zese clozes--
			
			               Maude switches off the set.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Lord.  You can imagine where it goes 
			                         from here.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He fixes the cable?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey.  Little 
			                         matter to me that this woman chose 
			                         to pursue a career
			
			               in pornography, nor that she has been "banging" Jackie 
			               Treehorn, to use the parlance of our times.  However.  I am 
			               one of two trustees of the Lebowski Foundation, the other 
			               being my father.  The Foundation takes youngsters from Watts 
			               and--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shit yeah, the achievers.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, 
			                         yes, and proud we are of all of them.  
			                         I asked my father about his withdrawal 
			                         of a million dollars from the 
			                         Foundation account and he told me 
			                         about this "abduction", but I tell 
			                         you it is preposterous.  This 
			                         compulsive
			
			               fornicator is taking my father for the proverbial ride.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, but my-
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I'm getting to your rug. My  father 
			                         and I don't get along; he doesn't 
			                         approve of my lifestyle and, needless 
			                         to say, I don't approve of his.  
			                         Still, I hardly wish to make my 
			                         father's embezzlement a police matter, 
			                         so I'm proposing that you try to 
			                         recover the money from the people 
			                         you delivered it to.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well--sure, I could do that--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         If you successfully do so, I will 
			                         compensate you to the tune of 1% of 
			                         the recovered sum.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         A hundred.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Thousand, yes, bones or clams or 
			                         whatever you call them.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, but what about--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         --your rug, yes, well with that money 
			                         you can buy any number of rugs that 
			                         don't have sentimental value for me.  
			                         And I am sorry about that crack on 
			                         the jaw.
			
			               The DUDE fingers his jaw, where the lump from the sap has 
			               all but disappeared.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh that's okay, I hardly even--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Here's the name and number of a doctor 
			                         who will look at it for you.  You 
			                         will receive no bill.  He's a good 
			                         man, and thorough.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That's really thoughtful but I--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Please see him, Jeffrey.  He's a 
			                         good man, and thorough.
			
			               LIMO
			
			               The DUDE sits in back holding a White Russian,  listening to 
			               the chauffeur, a man of about the same age from whose livery 
			               cap a ponytail emerges.
			
			                                     DRIVER
			                         --So he says, "My son can't hold a 
			                         job, my daughter's married to a 
			                         fuckin' loser, and I got a rash on 
			                         my ass so bad I can't hardly siddown.  
			                         But you know me.  I can't complain."
			
			               THROUGH RASPING LAUGHTER:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuckin' A, man.  I got a rash.                  
			                         Fuckin' A, man.  I gotta tell ya 
			                         Tony.
			
			               He takes a sip of a freshly-mixed White Russian, which leaves 
			               milk on his mustache.
			
			               I was feeling really shitty earlier in the day, I'd lost  a 
			               little  money, I  was down in the dumps.
			
			                                     TONY
			                         Aw, forget about it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, man!  Fuck it!  I can't be 
			                         worrying about that shit.  Life goes 
			                         on!
			
			               The limo has rolled to a stop.  The DUDE gets out, still 
			               holding his drink.
			
			                                     TONY
			                         Home sweet home, Mr. L.  Who's your 
			                         friend in the Volkswagon?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			               His eyes on the rearview mirror, Tony jerks a thumb over his 
			               shoulder.
			
			               He followed us here.
			
			               The DUDE turns to look.
			
			               HIS POV
			
			               Halfway up the block a Volkswagon bug has pulled over to the 
			               curb.  In the driver's seat we see a fat man's shape.
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               He scowls.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         When did he-
			
			               The DUDE is grabbed from behind and muscled away in a half-
			               nelson by another uniformed chauffeur.
			
			                                     SECOND CHAUFFEUR
			                         Into the limo, you sonofabitch.  No 
			                         arguments.
			
			               As he is frog-marched towards another limo the DUDE holds 
			               his drink away from his chest and cups a hand underneath it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck, man!  There's a beverage here!
			
			               The waiting limo's back door is flung open.
			
			               INSIDE
			
			               The DUDE is shoved in and awkwardly takes a seat facing the 
			               rear. The door is slammed behind him.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Start talking and talk fast you lousy 
			                         bum!
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         We've been frantically trying to 
			                         reach you, DUDE.
			
			               Brandt sits catty-corner from the DUDE; directly across from 
			               the DUDE is the big Lebowski, a comforter across his knees.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Where's my goddamn money, you bum?!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well we--I don't--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         They did not receive the money, you 
			                         nitwit!  They  did not receive the 
			                         goddamn money.  HER LIFE WAS IN YOUR 
			                         HANDS!
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         This is our concern, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, man, nothing is fucked here--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         NOTHING IS FUCKED! THE GODDAMN PLANE 
			                         HAS CRASHED INTO THE MOUNTAIN!
			
			               The DUDE takes a hurried sip from his drink.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         C'mon man, who're you gonna believe?  
			                         Those guys are--we dropped off the 
			                         damn money--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         WHAT?!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I--the royal we, you know, the 
			                         editorial--I dropped off the money, 
			                         exactly as per--Look, I've got certain 
			                         information, certain things have 
			                         come to light, and uh, has it ever 
			                         occurred to you, man, that given the 
			                         nature of all this new shit, that, 
			                         uh, instead of running around blaming 
			                         me, that this whole thing might just 
			                         be, not, you know, not just such a 
			                         simple, but uh--you know?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         What in God's holy name are you 
			                         blathering about?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'll tell you what I'm blathering 
			                         about!  I got information--new shit 
			                         has come to light and--shit, man!  
			                         She kidnapped herself!
			
			               Lebowski stares at him, dumbstruck.  The DUDE is encouraged.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well sure, look at it!  Young trophy 
			                         wife, I mean, in the parlance of our 
			                         times, owes money all over town, 
			                         including to known pornographers--
			                         and that's cool, that's cool-- but 
			                         I'm saying, she needs money, and of 
			                         course they're gonna say they didn't 
			                         get it 'cause she wants more, man, 
			                         she's gotta feed the monkey, I mean--
			                         hasn't that ever occurred to you...?  
			                         Sir?
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                              (quietly)
			                         No.  No Mr. Lebowski, that had not 
			                         occurred to me.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         That had not occurred to us, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, okay, you're not privy to all 
			                         the new shit, so uh, you know, but 
			                         that's what you pay me for.  Speaking 
			                         of which, would it be possible for 
			                         me to get my twenty grand in cash?  
			                         I gotta check this with my accountant 
			                         of course, but my concern is that, 
			                         you know, it could bump me into a 
			                         higher tax--
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Brandt, give him the envelope.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, okay, if you've already made 
			                         out the check.  Brandt is handing 
			                         him a letter-sized envelope which is 
			                         distended by something inside.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         We received it this morning.
			
			               The DUDE, frowning, untucks its flap, takes out some cotton 
			               wadding and unrolls it.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Since you have failed to achieve, 
			                         even in the modest task that was 
			                         your charge, since you have stolen 
			                         my money, and since you have 
			                         unrepentantly betrayed my trust.
			
			               The wadding, undone, reveals a smaller wad of gauze taped up 
			               inside.  The DUDE undoes the tape with his fingernails and 
			               starts to unroll the inner package.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         I have no choice but to tell these 
			                         bums that they should do whatever is 
			                         necessary to recover their money 
			                         from you, Jeffrey Lebowski.  And 
			                         with Brandt as my witness, tell you 
			                         this:  Any further harm visited upon 
			                         Bunny, shall be visited tenfold upon 
			                         your head.
			
			               Between thumb and forefinger the DUDE holds up the contents 
			               of the package--a little toe, with emerald green nail polish.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         ...By God sir.  I will not abide 
			                         another toe.
			
			               COFFEE SHOP
			
			               The DUDE and Walter sit at the counter, both staring off 
			               into space, both absently stirring their coffee with little 
			               clinking noises.
			
			               AFTER A LONG BEAT:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That wasn't her toe.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Whose toe was it, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         How the fuck should I know?  I do 
			                         know that nothing about it indicates--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The nail polish, Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fine, DUDE.  As if it's impossible 
			                         to get some nail polish, apply it to 
			                         someone else's toe--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Someone else's--where the fuck are 
			                         they gonna--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You want a toe?  I can get you a 
			                         toe, believe me.  There are ways, 
			                         DUDE.  You don't wanna know about 
			                         it, believe me.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'll  get  you  a  toe by  this 
			                         afternoon--with nail  polish. These  
			                         fucking amateurs.   They send us a  
			                         toe, we're  supposed to  shit our- 
			                         selves with fear.  Jesus Christ. My  
			                         point is--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They're gonna kill her, Walter, and 
			                         then they're gonna kill me--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Well that's just, that's the stress 
			                         talking, DUDE.  So far we have what 
			                         looks to me like a series of 
			                         victimless crimes--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What about the toe?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!
			
			               A waitress enters.
			
			                                     WAITRESS
			                         Could you please keep your voices 
			                         down--this is a family restaurant.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Oh, please dear!  I've got news for 
			                         you: the Supreme Court has roundly 
			                         rejected prior restraint!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, this isn't a First Amendment 
			                         thing.
			
			                                     WAITRESS
			                         Sir, if you don't calm down I'm going 
			                         to have to ask you to leave.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Lady, I got buddies who died face-
			                         down in the muck so you and I could 
			                         enjoy this family restaurant!
			
			               THE DUDE GETS UP:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         All right, I'm leaving.  I'm sorry 
			                         ma'am.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Don't run away from this, DUDE!  
			                         Goddamnit, this affects all of us!
			
			               The DUDE has left frame; Walter calls after him:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Our basic freedoms!
			
			               He looks defiantly around.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm staying.  Finishing my coffee.
			
			               He stirs the coffee, bopping his head in time to the Muzak, 
			               affecting nonchalance.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Finishing my coffee.
			
			               DUDE'S BATHROOM
			
			               A dripping noise.
			
			               The DUDE sits in the bathtub, staring stuporously, a joint 
			               pinched in one hand, a washcloth draped over his head.
			
			               We hear the phone ringing in the other roam.
			
			               The DUDE is staring at his toes, which protrude from the 
			               soapy water, splayed against the far side of the tub.
			
			               After the DUDE's outgoing message we hear:
			
			                                     VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
			                         Mr. Lebowski, this is Duty Officer 
			                         Rolvaag of the L.A.P.D.
			
			               The DUDE looks stuporously up, his head swaying.
			
			                                     VOICE THROUGH MACHINE
			                         We've recovered your vehicle.  It 
			                         can be claimed at the North Hollywood 
			                         Auto Circus there on Victory.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Far out.  Far fuckin' out.
			
			                                     MESSAGE
			                         You'll just need to present a--
			
			               The message is interrupted by loud smashing sounds, as of 
			               someone applying a baseball bat to the answering machine.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hunh?
			
			               He looks blearily at the open doorway.
			
			               A tall man dressed in black leather with a cricket paddle is 
			               striding across the living room towards the bathroom.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey!  This is a private residence, 
			                         man!
			
			               The man has entered the bathroom and, in stride, swings the 
			               cricket paddle up to smash the overhead light.  Two other 
			               men are entering behind him.
			
			               The room is dark now except for spill from the living room; 
			               the men are backlit shapes.
			
			               One of them holds a string at the other end of which a small 
			               animal skitters excitedly about the floor.
			
			               The DUDE looks curiously at the small, nattering animal.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Nice marmot.
			
			               The man with the string scoops up the marmot and tosses it, 
			               screaming, into the bathtub.
			
			               The DUDE screams.
			
			               The marmot splashes frantically, biting at the DUDE in a 
			               frenzy of fearful aggression.
			
			                                     FIRST MAN
			                         Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.
			
			               The DUDE, screaming, grabs the lip of the tub and starts to 
			               hoist himself up but the first man lays a palm on top of his 
			               head and squishes him back into the water.
			
			                                     SECOND MAN
			                         You think veer kidding und making 
			                         mit de funny stuff?
			
			                                     THIRD MAN
			                         Vee could do things you only dreamed 
			                         of, Lebowski.
			
			                                     SECOND MAN
			                         Ja, vee could really do it, Lebowski.  
			                         Vee belief in nossing.
			
			               He scoops the marmot out of the water.  It shakes itself 
			               off, spraying the DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus!
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Vee belief in nossing, Lebowski!  
			                         NOSSING!!
			
			               The marmot, back on the floor, is skittering around, shaking 
			               itself and convulsing in little sneezes.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus Christ!
			
			                                     FIRST MAN
			                         Tomorrow vee come back und cut off 
			                         your chonson.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Excuse me?
			
			                                     FIRST MAN
			                         I SAY VEE CUT OFF YOUR CHONSON!
			
			               The three men turn to leave.  Over their retreating backs:
			
			                                     SECOND MAN
			                         Just sink about zat, Lebowski.
			
			                                     FIRST MAN
			                         Ja, your viggly penis, Lebowski.
			
			                                     SECOND MAN
			                         Ja, und maybe vee stamp on it und 
			                         skvush it, Lebowski!
			
			               NORTH HOLLYWOOD AUTO CIRCUS
			
			               A policeman with a clipboard is leading the DUDE through a 
			               large parking lot.
			
			                                     POLICEMAN
			                         You're lucky she wasn't chopped, Mr.  
			                         Lebowski. Must've been a joyride 
			                         situation; they abandoned the car 
			                         once they hit the retaining wall.
			
			               They have reached the DUDE's car.  The  driver's side  
			               exterior has been scraped raw.  The policeman hands the DUDE  
			               a door  handle and an exterior rear-view mirror.
			
			                                     POLICEMAN
			                         These were on the road next to the 
			                         car.  You'll have to get in on the 
			                         other side.
			
			               The DUDE climbs in the passenger side.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         My fucking briefcase!  It's not here!
			
			                                     POLICEMAN
			                         Yeah, sorry, I saw that on the report.  
			                         You're lucky they left the tape deck 
			                         though.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         My fucking briefcase!  Jesus--what's 
			                         that smell?
			
			                                     POLICEMAN
			                         Uh, yeah.  Probably a vagrant, slept 
			                         in the car.  Or perhaps just used it 
			                         as a toilet, and moved on.
			
			               The DUDE tries to roll down the driver's window but it will 
			               not go; he bellows through the glass:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         When will you find these guys?  I 
			                         mean, do you have any promising leads?
			
			               The policeman laughs, agreeing broadly.
			
			                                     POLICEMAN
			                         Leads, yeah.  I'll just check with 
			                         the boys down at the Crime Lab.  
			                         They've assigned four more detectives 
			                         to the case, got us working in shifts.
			
			               The DUDE looks sadly through his window at the policeman 
			               rocking back on his heels, his raucous laughter muffled by 
			               the glass.
			
			               BOWLING ALLEY BAR
			
			               The DUDE, Walter and Donny sit at the bar, the DUDE with a 
			               White Russian, Walter with a beer, and Donny eating beer 
			               nuts.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         And then they're gonna stamp on it?!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Oh for Christ--will you shut the 
			                         fuck up, Donny.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I figure my only hope is that the 
			                         big Lebowski kills me before the 
			                         Germans can cut my dick off.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Now that is ridiculous, DUDE.  No 
			                         one is going to cut your dick off.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Thanks Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Not if I have anything to say about 
			                         it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                              (bitterly)
			                         Yeah, thanks Walter.  That gives me 
			                         a very secure feeling.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That makes me feel all warm inside.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Now DUDE--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         This whole fucking thing--I  could 
			                         be sitting here with just pee-stains 
			                         on my rug.
			
			               Walter sadly shakes his head.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fucking Germans.  Nothing changes.  
			                         Fucking Nazis.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         They were Nazis, DUDE?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Come on, Donny, they were threatening 
			                         castration!
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Are you gonna split hairs?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         No--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Am I wrong?
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Well--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They're nihilists.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They kept saying they believe in 
			                         nothing.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Nihilists!  Jesus.
			
			               Walter looks haunted.
			
			               Say what you like about the tenets of National Socialism, 
			               DUDE, at least it's an ethos.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         And let's also not forget--let's not 
			                         forget, DUDE--that keeping wildlife, 
			                         an amphibious rodent, for uh, 
			                         domestic, you know, within the city--
			                         that isn't legal either.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What're you, a fucking park ranger 
			                         now?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         No, I'm--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who gives a shit about the fucking 
			                         marmot!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         --We're sympathizing here, DUDE--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck your sympathy!  I don't need 
			                         your sympathy, man, I need my fucking 
			                         Johnson!
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         What do you need that for, DUDE?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You gotta buck up, man, you can't go 
			                         into the tournament with this negative 
			                         attitude--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck the tournament!  Fuck you, 
			                         Walter!
			
			               There is a moment of stunned silence.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fuck the tournament?!
			
			               SAD; QUIET:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Okay DUDE.  I can see you don't want 
			                         to be cheered up.  C'mon Donny, let's 
			                         go get a lane.
			
			               They leave the DUDE sitting morosely at the bar.  As he stares
			
			               DOWN INTO HIS EMPTY GLASS:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Another Caucasian, Gary.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Right, DUDE.
			
			               STILL STARING DOWN AT THE BAR:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Friends like these, huh Gary.
			
			                                     GARY
			                         That's right, DUDE.
			
			               The pop song on the jukebox has ended; someone puts on 
			               "Tumbling Tumbleweeds."
			
			               A man saunters up to the bar to take the stool that Walter 
			               vacated.  He is middle-aged, amiable, craggily handsome--Sam 
			               Elliot, perhaps.  He has a large Western-style mustache and 
			               wears denims, a yoked shirt and a cowboy hat.
			
			               TO THE BARTENDER:
			
			                                     MAN
			                         D'ya have a good sarsaparilla?
			
			               We recognize the voice of The Stranger whose narration opened 
			               the movie.
			
			                                     BARTENDER
			                         Sioux City Sarsaparilla.
			
			               The Stranger nods.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         That's a good one.
			
			               Waiting for his drink, he looks amiably around the bar.  His 
			               crinkled eyes settle on the DUDE.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         How ya doin' there, DUDE?
			
			               The DUDE, still staring down at his drink, shakes his head.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Ahh, not so good, man.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         One a those days, huh.  Wal, a wiser 
			                         fella than m'self once said, sometimes 
			                         you eat the bar and sometimes the 
			                         bar, wal, he eats you.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                              (absently)
			                         Uh-huh.  That some kind of Eastern 
			                         thing?
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Far from it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Mm.
			
			               The bartender puts a brown bottle and a frosted glass on the 
			               bar in front of The Stranger, who touches his hat brim.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Much obliged.
			
			               He looks back at the DUDE.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         I like your style, DUDE.
			
			               THE DUDE LOOKS UP, ABSENTLY:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well I like your style too, man.  
			                         Got a whole cowboy thing goin'.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Thankie. . . Just one thing, DUDE.  
			                         D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?
			
			               The DUDE looks at The Stranger as if just now noticing how 
			               out of place the cowpoke is.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The fuck are you talking about?
			
			               The Stranger chuckles indulgently and pushes off from the 
			               bar.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Okay, have it your way.
			
			               He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Take it easy, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.  Thanks man.
			
			               He is gone.  "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" is ending as we hear an 
			               offscreen voice, breaking the spell:
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         DUDE!  DUDE!
			
			               THE DUDE LOOKS:
			
			               Tony, the unformed limo driver, is at the door of the bar, 
			               beckoning.
			
			               MAUDE'S LOFT
			
			               She strides toward us, naked under a robe which she is just 
			               cinching shut.  Paint flecks her skin.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Jeffrey, you haven't gone to the 
			                         doctor.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No it's fine, really, uh--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Do you have any news regarding my 
			                         father's money?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I, uh... money, yeah, I gotta 
			                         respecfully, 69 you know, tender my 
			                         resignation on that matter, 'cause 
			                         it looks like your mother really was 
			                         kidnapped after all.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         She most certainly was not!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey man, why don't you fucking listen 
			                         occasionally?  You might learn 
			                         something.  Now I got--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         And please don't call her my mother.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Now I got--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         She is most definitely the perpetrator 
			                         and not the victim.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm telling you, I got definitive 
			                         evidence--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         From who?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The main guy, Dieter--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Dieter Hauff?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well--yeah, I guess--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Her "co-star" in the beaver picture?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Beaver?  You mean vagina?--I mean, 
			                         you know him?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Dieter has been on the fringes of--
			                         well, of everything in L.A., for 
			                         about twenty years.  Look at my LP's.  
			                         Under 'Autobahn.'
			
			               The DUDE fingers through the albums filling one bookshelf.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         That was his group--they released 
			                         one album in the mid-seventies.
			
			               The DUDE stops between two albums.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Roy Orbison. . . Pink Floyd.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Huh?  Autobahn.  A-u-t-o.  Their 
			                         music is a sort of--ugh--techno-pop.
			
			               The DUDE pulls out an album with a worn sleeve.  On it is 
			               the group's name, Autobahn, the album name, Nagelbett, and a 
			               picture
			
			               OF THREE YOUNG GERMANS, THEIR FOREHEADS LOOMING BELOW 
			               SLICKED-
			
			               back hair, gazing upward in thin-lipped epiphany.  They are 
			               wearing severe but modishly retro suits.  Each has his name 
			               under his picture--Dieter, Kieffer; and Franz.  A bed of 
			               nails is the only set dressing on the cyc.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jeez.  I miss vinyl.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Is he pretending to be the abductor?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well...yeah--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Look, Jeffrey, you don't really  
			                         kidnap someone that you're acquainted 
			                         with.  You can't get away with it if 
			                         the hostage knows who you are.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well yeah...I know that.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         So Dieter has the money?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, no, not exactly.  It's a 
			                         complicated case, Maude.  Lotta ins.  
			                         Lotta outs.  And a lotta strands to 
			                         keep in my head, man.  Lotta strands 
			                         in old DUDEr's--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Do you still have that doctor's 
			                         number?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?  No, really, I don't even have 
			                         the bruise any more, I--
			
			               She is scribbling.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Please Jeffrey.  I don't want to be 
			                         responsible for any delayed after-
			                         effects.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Delayed after-eff--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I want you to see him immediately.
			
			               She is picking up a telephone.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I'll see if he's available.  He's a 
			                         good man, and thorough.
			
			               CLOSE SHOT   THE DUDE
			
			               His eyes are closed, a headset on, his shirt off.  Leaking 
			               tinnily through the headset we hear the opening bars of 
			               "Comin' Up Around the Bend."
			
			               Behind him, cropped so that we see only a little of his torso, 
			               a white-smocked figure taps at the DUDE's back.  After a 
			               moment the figure circles to one side, out of frame.  His 
			               hand reaches in to pull one arm of the headset away from the 
			               DUDE's ear, and as he does so the music issues more strongly.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         Could you slide your shorts down 
			                         please, Mr.  Lebowski?
			
			               The DUDE's eyes open.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?  No, she, she hit me right here.
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         I understand sir.  Could you slide 
			                         your shorts down please?
			
			               DUDE'S CAR
			
			               The DUDE is driving home.  A Creedence tape plays.  The DUDE 
			               is sucking down a joint.  He glances at the rear-view mirror--
			               and, noticing something, looks again.
			
			               HIS POV
			
			               A Volkswagon bug is following, a lone fat man driving.
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               His eyes still on the mirror, he absently takes the joint 
			               between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and flicks it 
			               out the driver's window--except that the window is not open.  
			               The butt bounces off the glass and around the car, showering 
			               sparks.
			
			               DUDE'S CROTCH
			
			               The glowing butt rolls down the car seat between his legs. 
			               The DUDE screams.
			
			               THE STREET
			
			               The car careens wildly as the surrounding traffic veers off 
			               to, make way, horns blaring.  The car finally spins and comes 
			               to rest with its passenger side wrapped into a telephone 
			               poll.
			
			               INSIDE THE CAR
			
			               The DUDE frantically grabs at his door, which won't open, 
			               and then slides over to push at the passenger door, which 
			               also won't open.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck Me.
			
			               But he is sitting on the passenger  side now,  away from  
			               the lit butt.  He looks around for it.
			
			               Smoke is wisping up from between the Driver's seat cushion 
			               and back cushion.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuckola, man.
			
			               He takes his beer and pours it in between the cushions.   
			               There is a hissing  sound.   But there is a piece of paper 
			               sticking out from between the cushions.
			
			               The DUDE pulls it out.
			
			               It is lined spiral notebook paper, slightly singed and 
			               dripping beer, covered with handwriting.  In the upper right-
			               hand corner is the name Lawrence Sellers, and under that, 
			               Mrs. Jamtoss 5th Period.  The theme is titled "The Louisiana 
			               Purchase."  In red ink is a large circled D and some 
			               handwritten marginal comments; misspelled words are circled 
			               in red throughout.
			
			               CRANE JACKSON'S FOUNTAIN STREET THEATER
			
			               We are behind Walter, the DUDE, and Donny, facing the stage 
			               in the background where Allan, the DUDE's balding landlord, 
			               is performing a dance moderne.
			
			               As Walter talks to the DUDE he leans in to him, his voice 
			               hushed, so as not to disturb the rest of the very sparse 
			               audience.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         He lives in North Hollywood on 
			                         Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The In-and-Out Burger is on Camrose.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Near the In-and-Out Burger--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Those are good burgers, Walter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shut the fuck up, Donny.  This kid 
			                         is in the ninth grade, DUDE, and his 
			                         father is--are you ready for this?--
			                         Arthur Digby Sellers.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who the fuck is that?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who the fuck is Arthur Digby Sellers?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Who the f--have you ever heard of a 
			                         little show called Branded, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         All but one man died?  There at Bitter 
			                         Creek?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah yeah, I know the fucking show 
			                         Walter, so what?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fucking Arthur Digby Sellers wrote 
			                         156 episodes, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         The bulk of the series.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Not exactly a lightweight.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         And yet his son is a fucking dunce.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah, go figure.  Well we'll go out 
			                         there after the, uh, the.
			
			               He waves a hand vaguely toward the stage.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What have you.  We'll, uh--
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         We'll be near the In-and-Out Burger.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shut the fuck up, Donny.  We'll, uh, 
			                         brace the kid--he'll be a pushover.  
			                         We'll get that fucking money, if he 
			                         hasn't spent it already.  Million 
			                         fucking clams. And yes, we'll be 
			                         near the, uh--some burgers, some 
			                         beers, a few laughs.  Our fucking 
			                         troubles are over, DUDE.
			
			               RESIDENTIAL AREA
			
			               The DUDE and Walter are pulling up in front of a dilapidated 
			               house sitting on a scrubby lot.  Parked incongruously in 
			               front of the house is a brand new red Corvette.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Fuck me, man!  That kid's already 
			                         spent all the money!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Hardly DUDE, a new 'vette?  The kid's 
			                         still got, oh, 96 to 97 thousand, 
			                         depending on the options.  Wait in 
			                         the car, Donny.
			
			               THE FRONT DOOR
			
			               Walter rings the bell.  It is opened by a matronly Spanish 
			               woman.
			
			                                     WOMAN
			                         Jace?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Hello, Pilar?  My name is Walter 
			                         Sobchak, we spoke on the phone, this 
			                         is my associate Jeffrey Lebowski.
			
			                                     WOMAN
			                         Jace.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         May we uh, we wanted to talk about 
			                         little Larry.  May we come in?
			
			                                     WOMAN
			                         Jace.
			
			               They enter a dim living room and stand, looking about, as 
			               Pilar
			
			               CALLS UP THE STAIRS:
			
			                                     PILAR
			                         Larry!  Sweetie!  Dat mang is here!
			
			               There is a rhythmic compressor sound; Walter places it and 
			               nudges the DUDE.  At the other end of the living room a man 
			               lies on something that looks like a hospital gurney with its 
			               midsection enclosed by a motorized stainless-steel bubble.  
			               It is an iron lung, artificially breathing with distinct 
			               hisses in and out.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's him, DUDE.
			
			                                     VIVA VOCE
			                         And a good day to you, sir.
			
			                                     PILAR
			                         See down, please.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Thank you, ma'am.
			
			               He and the DUDE sit on a sagging green sofa.  In a lowered 
			               voice, to Pilar:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Does he, uh. . . Is he still writing?
			
			                                     PILAR
			                         No, no.  He has healt' problems.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			               HE BELLOWS ACROSS THE ROOM:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I just want to say, sir, that we're 
			                         both enormous--on a personal level, 
			                         Branded, especially the early 
			                         episodes, has been a source of, uh, 
			                         inspir---
			
			               There are footsteps on the stairs.  Larry, a fifteen-year-
			               old, looks at the two men.
			
			                                     PILAR
			                         See down, Sweetie.  These are the 
			                         policeman--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         No ma'am, I didn't mean to give the 
			                         impression that we're police exactly.  
			                         We're hoping that it will not be 
			                         necessary to call the police.
			
			               He adopts his command voice in turning to Larry:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         But that is up to little Larry here.  
			                         Isn't it, Larry?
			
			               Walter pops the latches on his attache case and takes out 
			               the homework, which is now in a ziploc bag.  He holds it out 
			               at arm's length, displaying it to Larry.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Is this your homework, Larry?
			
			               Larry does not respond.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Is this your homework, Larry?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Look, man, did you--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, please!. . .  Is this your 
			                         homework, Larry?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Just ask him if he--ask him about 
			                         the car, man!
			
			               Walter is still holding out the homework.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Is this yours, Larry?  Is this your 
			                         homework, Larry?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Is the car out front yours?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Is this your homework, Larry?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We know it's his fucking homework, 
			                         Walter!  Where's the fucking money, 
			                         you little brat?
			
			               Throughout Walter has been staring at Larry with the homework 
			               extended towards him.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Look, Larry. . . Have you ever heard 
			                         of Vietnam?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, for Christ's sake, Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You're going to enter a world of 
			                         pain, son.  We know that this is 
			                         your homework.  We know you stole a 
			                         car--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         And the fucking money!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         And the fucking money.  And we know 
			                         that this is your homework, Larry.
			
			               No answer.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You're gonna KILL your FATHER, Larry!.
			
			               FINALLY, IN DISGUST:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Ah, this is pointless.
			
			               As he shoves the homework back in the attache case:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         All right, Plan B.  You might want 
			                         to watch out the front window there, 
			                         Larry.
			
			               He is heading for the door.  The DUDE, puzzled, rises to 
			               follow him.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This is what happens when you FUCK a 
			                         STRANGER in the ASS, Larry.
			
			               OUTSIDE
			
			               Walter is striding down the lawn with his attache case like 
			               an enraged encyclopedia salesman.  Without looking back at, 
			               the DUDE, who follows:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fucking language problem, DUDE.
			
			               He pops the DUDE's trunk, flings in the briefcase and takes 
			               out a tire iron.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Maybe he'll understand this.
			
			               He is walking over to the Corvette.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!
			
			               CRASH!  He swings the crowbar into the windshield, which 
			               shatters.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS?!
			
			               CRASH!  He takes out the driver's window.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK A 
			                         STRANGER IN THE ASS!
			
			               Lights are going on in houses down the street.  Distant dogs 
			               bark.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS, LARRY!
			
			               CRASH!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         HERE'S WHAT HAPPENS!  FUCK A STRANGER 
			                         IN THE ASS!
			
			               CRASH!
			
			               A man in a sleeveless T-shirt and boxer shorts has run over 
			               behind Walter and grabbed him from behind on a backswing of 
			               the crowbar.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         WHAT THE FUCK JOO DOING, MANG?!
			
			               He wrestles the crowbar away from the startled Walter.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         I JUS' BAWDEEZ FUCKEEN CAR LASS WEEK!
			
			               Walter cringes before the enraged Mexican.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Hunh?
			
			               The man looks about, wildly.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         I KILL JOO, MANG!  I--I KILL JOR 
			                         FUCKEEN CAR!
			
			               He runs over to the DUDE's car.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No!  No!  NO!  THAT'S NOT--
			
			               CRASH!  CRASH!
			
			                                     MAN
			                         I FUCKEEN KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
			
			               CRASH!
			
			                                     MAN
			                         I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
			
			               INSIDE THE CAR
			
			               Glass rains in on a terrified, cringing, Donny.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         I KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!
			
			                                            ON A DEAFENING CRASH WE CUT TO:
			
			               THE DUDE'S CAR
			
			               We are looking into the car through the broken windshield as 
			               it rattles down the freeway.  Wind whistles through the caved-
			               in windows.
			
			               The DUDE drives, his jaw clenched, staring grimly out at the
			
			               road.  Walter, beside him, and Donny in the back seat, munch 
			               'on In-and-Out Burgers.
			
			               Creedence music plays above the bluster of wind.
			
			               DUDE'S BUNGALOW
			
			               As the DUDE talks on the phone he is hammering a two-by-four 
			               into the floor just inside, and parallel to, the front door.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I accept your apology. . . No I, I 
			                         just want to handle it myself from 
			                         now on. . . No.  That has nothing to 
			                         do with it. . . .Yes, it made it 
			                         home, I'm calling from home.  No, 
			                         Walter, it didn't look like Larry 
			                         was about to crack.
			
			               He finishes hammering, rises and grabs a straightbacked chair 
			               that stands nearby.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well that's your perception. . . 
			                         Well you're right, Walter, and the 
			                         unspoken Message is FUCK YOU AND 
			                         LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. . . Yeah, 
			                         I'll be at practice.
			
			               He hangs up and has just finished sliding the chair into 
			               place with its top under the doorknob and its legs braced 
			               against the two-by-four, thus wedging the door closed, when 
			               the door is opened--outwards.  The chair clatters to the 
			               floor.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			               Woo and the blond man who earlier peed on the rug stride in, 
			               kicking the chair away.
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Pin your diapers on, Lebowski.  Jackie
			                         Treehorn wants to see you.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         And we know which Lebowski you are, 
			                         Lebowski.
			
			                                     WOO
			                         Yeah.  JACKIE TREEHORN wants to talk 
			                         to the deadbeat Lebowski.
			
			                                     BLOND MAN
			                         You're not dealing with morons here.
			
			               BLACKNESS
			
			               Out of the blackness something is falling toward us.  It is 
			               a woman, falling in slow motion, her limbs flailing, her 
			               mouth contorted by either fear or ecstasy.  She is topless.  
			               She falls past the camera, leaving blackness, then after a 
			               beat reappears, rising into the night sky.
			
			               MALIBU BEACH
			
			               A crowd of mostly tanned middle-aged men with blow-dried 
			               hair, wearing jogging outfits and other expensively casual 
			               attire, are blanket-tossing the squealing young woman in 
			               nightmarish slow motion.
			
			               WIDER
			
			               It is a party, lit by festive beach lights and standing 
			               kerosene heaters.  1960's mainstream jazz, of the Mancini-
			               Brubeck school, has been piped down to speakers on the beach'.
			
			               In long shot now the woman rises, squealing, disappears  
			               into darkness, descends into light, rises again.
			
			               A man walks towards the camera through the pools of beach 
			               light.  He is handsome, fiftyish, wearing cotton twill pants 
			               and a Turnbull & Asher shirt with a foulard knotted at the 
			               neck.  Behind him, the woman rises and falls, appears and 
			               disappears.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Hello DUDE, thanks for coming.  I'm 
			                         JACKIE TREEHORN.
			
			               INSIDE THE BEACH HOUSE
			
			               The DUDE is looking around at the '60's modern decor.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         This is quite a pad you got here, 
			                         man.  Completely unspoiled.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         What's your drink, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         White Russian, thanks.  How's the 
			                         smut business, Jackie?
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         I wouldn't know, DUDE.  I deal in 
			                         publishing, entertainment, political 
			                         advocacy, and--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Which one was Logjammin'?
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Regrettably, it's true, standards 
			                         have fallen in adult entertainment.  
			                         It's video, DUDE.  Now that we're 
			                         competing with the amateurs, we can't 
			                         afford to invest that little extra 
			                         in story, production value, feeling.
			
			               He taps his forehead with one finger.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         People forget that the brain is the 
			                         biggest erogenous zone--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         On you, maybe.
			
			               He hands him the drink.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Of course, you do get the good with 
			                         the bad.  The new technology permits 
			                         us to do exciting things with 
			                         interactive erotic software.  Wave 
			                         of the future, DUDE.  100% electronic.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.  Well, I still jerk off 
			                         manually.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Of course you do.  I can see you're 
			                         anxious for me to get to the point.  
			                         Well DUDE, here it is.  Where's Bunny?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I thought you might know, man.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Me?  How would I know?  The only 
			                         reason she ran off was to get away 
			                         from her rather sizable debt to me.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But she hasn't run off, she's been--
			
			               Treehorn waves this off.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         I've heard the kidnapping story, so 
			                         save it.  I know you're mixed up in 
			                         all this, DUDE, and I don't care 
			                         what you're trying to take off her 
			                         husband.  That's your business.  All 
			                         I'm saying is, I want mine.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, well, right man, there are 
			                         many facets to this, uh, you know, 
			                         many interested parties.  If I can 
			                         find your money, man-- what's in it 
			                         for the DUDE?
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Of course, there's that to discuss.  
			                         Refill?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Does the Pope shit in the woods?
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         Let's say a 10% finder's fee?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Okay, Jackie, done.  I like the way 
			                         you do business.  Your money is being 
			                         held by a kid named Larry Sellers.  
			                         He lives in North Hollywood, on 
			                         Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger.  
			                         A real fuckin' brat, but I'm sure 
			                         your goons'll be able to get it off 
			                         him, mean he's only fifteen and he's 
			                         flunking social studies.  So if you'll 
			                         just write me a check for my ten per 
			                         cent. . . of half a million. . . 
			                         fifty grand.
			
			               He is getting to his feet, but sways woozily.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'll go out and mingle.--Jesus, you 
			                         mix a hell of a Caucasian, Jackie.
			
			               The DUDE shakes his head, tries to focus.
			
			                                     TREEHORN
			                         A fifteen-year-old?  Is this your 
			                         idea of a joke?
			
			               JACKIE TREEHORN's image starts to swim.  He is joined on 
			               either side by Woo and the blond man, all three men looking 
			               grimly down at the DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No funny stuff, Jackie. . . the kid's 
			                         got it.  Hiya, fellas. . . kid just 
			                         wanted a car.  All the DUDE ever 
			                         wanted. . . was his rug back. . . 
			                         not greedy. . . it really.
			
			               He squints at JACKIE TREEHORN, who swims in and out of focus.  
			               Tied the room together.
			
			               He tips forward, spilling his drink off the table.
			
			               FROM UNDER THE GLASS COFFEE TABLE
			
			               Looking up at the DUDE as his face hits the glass and 
			               squishes.
			
			               FAST FADE OUT
			
			               BLACK
			
			                                     THE STRANGER'S VOICE
			                         Darkness warshed over the DUDE--
			                         darker'n a black steer's tookus on a 
			                         moonless prairie night.  There was 
			                         no bottom.
			
			               We hear a thundering bass.
			
			               SCRATCHY WHITE TITLE CARD:
			
			               JACKIE TREEHORN PRESENTS
			
			               ANOTHER TITLE CARD:
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               AND
			
			               MAUDE LEBOWSKI
			
			               IN
			
			               THIRD TITLE CARD:
			
			               GUTTERBALLS
			
			               The title logo is a suggestively upright bowling pin flanked 
			               by a pair of  bowling balls.   The  bending bass sound turns  
			               into the lead-in to Kenny Rogers and the First Edition's  
			               "Just Dropped In."
			
			               The DUDE is walking down a long corridor dressed as a cable 
			               repairman.  The DUDE's face is washed with a brilliant light 
			               as the corridor opens onto a gleaming bowling alley.
			
			               In the center of the alley stands Maude Lebowski, singing 
			               operatic harmony to the Kenny Rogers song.  She wears an 
			               armored breastplate and Norse headgear, has braided pigtails, 
			               and holds a trident.
			
			               The DUDE stands behind her and, pressed up against her, helps 
			               her with her follow-through as she releases a bowling ball.
			
			               The lane is straddled by a line of chorines in spangly mini- 
			               skirts, their arms akimbo, Busby-Berkley style, their legs 
			               turning the lane into a tunnel leading to the pins at the 
			               end.
			
			               But it is no longer a bowling ball rolling between their 
			               legs--it is the DUDE himself, levitating inches off the lane, 
			               the tools from his utility belt swinging free.  He is face 
			               down, his arms, torpedolike, pressed against his sides.
			
			               His point of view shows the lane rushing by below, the little 
			               ball-guide arrows zipping by.
			
			               The DUDE twists his body around, performing a barrel-roll so 
			               that he is now gliding along the lane face-up.
			
			               Now his point of view looks up the dresses of the passing 
			               chorines.
			
			               The DUDE smiles dreamily and does a backstroke motion so 
			               that he is once again gliding face-down.  He looks forward 
			               and his forward momentum blows back his hair.
			
			               Coming at us, as we go through the last few pairs of legs, 
			               are the approaching pins.  We hit the pins, scattering them,  
			               and rush on into black.
			
			               A body drops down into the blackness in slow motion--a topless 
			               woman, squealing, her legs kicking.
			
			               As she drops out of frame, leaving blackness again, three 
			               men are entering from the background, emerging into a pool 
			               of light.  It is the Germans, advancing ominously, wielding 
			               oversized shears which they menacingly scissor.
			
			               The DUDE, now standing in a field of black, reacts to the 
			               advancing Germans.  He turns and runs, fists pumping.
			
			               The scissoring sound of the shears turns into the whoosh of 
			               car-bys.  The field of black is punctured by headlights.  
			               The DUDE is running blearily down the middle of the Pacific 
			               Coast Highway. Cars rush by on either side, horns blaring.
			
			               With the BLOO-WHUP of a short siren blast, a squad car with 
			               flashing gumballs pulls up.
			
			               SQUAD CAR
			
			               The DUDE sits in the back seat, his head lolling with the 
			               motion of the car as he blearily sings the theme of Branded:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He was innocent.  Not a charge was 
			                         true.  And they say he ran awaaaaaay.
			
			               CHIEF'S OFFICE
			
			               The DUDE is hurled against the chief's desk, which he bounces 
			               off of, to come to rest more or less seated in a facing chair.
			
			               His wallet is tossed onto the desk.
			
			               The chief leans forward, takes the wallet and sorts through 
			               it with disgusted incredulity.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         This is your only I.D.?
			
			               He is looking at the Ralph's Shopper's Club card.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I know my rights.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         You don't know shit, Lebowski.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I want a fucking lawyer, man.  I 
			                         want Bill Kunstler.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         What are you, some kind of sad-assed 
			                         refugee from the fucking sixties?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had to 
			                         eject you from his garden party, 
			                         that you were drunk and abusive.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That guy treats women like objects, 
			                         man.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water in 
			                         this town, Lebowski.  You don't draw 
			                         shit.  We got a nice quiet beach 
			                         community here, and I aim to keep it 
			                         nice and quiet.  So let me make 
			                         something plain.  I don't like you 
			                         sucking around bothering our citizens, 
			                         Lebowski.  I don't like your jerk-
			                         off name, I don't like your jerk-off 
			                         face, I don't like your jerk- off 
			                         behavior, and I don't like you, jerk-
			                         off --do I make myself clear?
			
			               The DUDE stares.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.
			
			               The Chief hurls his steaming mug of coffee at the DUDE.  It 
			               hits him in the forehead with a thud, the scalding coffee 
			               splashing everywhere.
			
			               The Chief is already up off his chair, rounding the desk.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         --Ow!  Fucking fascist!
			
			               The Chief slaps him twice.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         Stay out of Malibu, Lebowski!
			
			               He kicks the chair out from under the DUDE, and then starts 
			               kicking at him.
			
			                                     CHIEF
			                         Stay out of Malibu, deadbeat!  Keep 
			                         your ugly fucking goldbricking ass 
			                         out of my beach community!
			
			               CAB
			
			               The DUDE, in the back seat of a taxicab that rocks and squeaks 
			               with every bump, is gingerly touching at sore spots on his 
			               face and scalp.
			
			               "Peaceful Easy Feeling" is on the radio.
			
			               DUDE'S POV
			
			               The back of the driver, a large black man with rasta dreds 
			               under a knit cap.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus, man, can you change the 
			                         station?
			
			                                     DRIVER
			                         Fuck you man!  You don't like my 
			                         fucking music, get your own fucking 
			                         cab!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I've had a--
			
			                                     DRIVER
			                         I pull over and kick your ass out, 
			                         man!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         --had a rough night, and I hate the 
			                         fucking Eagles, man--
			
			                                     DRIVER
			                         That's it!  Outta this fucking cab!
			
			               THE STREET
			
			               The cab screeches over towards the curb.  Another car, 
			               oncoming, its radio blaring Metallica, speeds by.
			
			               INSIDE THE OTHER CAR
			
			               It is a red convertible.  The driver, singing loudly and 
			               badly along with the radio, her hair blowing in the wind, a 
			               dreamy smile on her face as she speeds along, higher than a 
			               kite, is Bunny Lebowski.
			
			               THE FOOTWELL
			
			               On the accelerator her right foot, in an open-toed bright 
			               red high-heeled shoe, has five painted toes.
			
			               When she downshifts her left foot enters to engage the clutch.
			
			               Five more toes.
			
			               DUDE'S BUNGALOW
			
			               The DUDE staggers in the open front door, one hand pressed 
			               to a lump on his forehead, and looks around.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus.
			
			               The place is a wreck.  Furniture has been overturned, 
			               upholstery slashed, drawers dumped.
			
			               Quiet.
			
			               The door to the bedroom starts to creak open.
			
			               The DUDE cringes.
			
			               Maude emerges from the bedroom.  She is wearing a bathrobe.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Jeffrey.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Maude?
			
			               She pulls open the bathrobe as she approaches.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Love me.
			
			               The DUDE is stupefied.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         That's my robe.
			
			                                         THOOMP!  ON THE EMBRACE WE CUT TO:
			
			               BLACK
			
			               After a beat, a long sigh, and then a voice from the 
			               blackness:
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Tell me a little about yourself, 
			                         Jeffrey.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well, uh. . . Not much to tell.
			
			               A match is dragged across a headboard; the DUDE is lighting 
			               himself a joint.  He shakes the match out to restore blackness 
			               except for the glowing tip of the joint.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I was, uh, one of the authors of the 
			                         Port Huron Statement.--The original 
			                         Port Huron Statement.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Not the compromised second draft.  
			                         And then I, uh. . . Ever hear of the 
			                         Seattle Seven?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Mmnun.
			
			               Click--the DUDE turns on a bedside lamp.  He and Maude lie 
			               next to each other in bed.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         And then. . . let's see, I uh--music 
			                         business briefly.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Oh?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.  Roadie for Metallica.  Speed 
			                         of Sound Tour.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Bunch of assholes.  And then, you 
			                         know, little of this, little of that. 
			                         My career's, uh, slowed down a bit 
			                         lately.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         What do you do for fun?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, you know, the usual.  Bowl.  
			                         Drive around.  The occasional acid 
			                         flashback.
			
			               He climbs out of bed but Maude remains in it.  She wedges a 
			               pillow into the small of her back and clasps a hand on each 
			               kneecap.  She pulls her knees in toward her chest to keep 
			               her pelvis raised.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         What happened to your house?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         JACKIE TREEHORN trashed the place.  
			                         Wanted to save the finder's fee.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Finder's fee?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He thought I had your father's money, 
			                         so he got me out of the way while he 
			                         looked for it.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         It's not my father's money, it's the 
			                         Foundation's.  Why did he think you 
			                         had it?  And who does?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Larry Sellers, a high-school kid.  
			                         Real fucking brat.
			
			               He picks a White Russian off the bedside table.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Jeffrey--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's a complicated case, Maude.  
			                         Lotta ins, lotta outs.  Fortunately 
			                         I've been adhering to a pretty strict, 
			                         uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, 
			                         you know, limber.  I'm real fucking 
			                         close to your father's money, real 
			                         fucking close.  It's just--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I keep telling you, it's the 
			                         Foundation's money.  Father doesn't 
			                         have any.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?  He's fucking loaded.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         No no, the wealth was all Mother's.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But your father--he runs stuff, he--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         We did let Father run one of the 
			                         companies, briefly, but he didn't do 
			                         very well at it.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But he's--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         He helps administer the charities 
			                         now, and I give him a reasonable 
			                         allowance.  He has no money of his 
			                         own.  I know how he likes to present 
			                         himself; Father's weakness is vanity.  
			                         Hence the slut.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh.  Jeez.  Well, so, did he--is 
			                         that yoga?
			
			               Throughout, Maude has been lying on her back with her knees 
			               pulled in.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         It increases the chances of 
			                         conception.
			
			               The DUDE spits some White Russian.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Increases?
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Well yes, what did you think this 
			                         was all about?  Fun and games?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well...no, of course not--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         I want a child.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, okay, but see, the DUDE--
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Look, Jeffrey, I don't want a partner.  
			                         In fact I don't want the father to 
			                         be someone I have to see socially, 
			                         or who'll have any interest in rearing 
			                         the child himself.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh...
			
			               Something occurs to him.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         So...that doctor.
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         Exactly.  What happened to your face?  
			                         Did JACKIE TREEHORN do that as well?
			
			               The DUDE is staring off into space, thinking.  His answer is 
			               absent.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         No, the, uh, police chief of Malibu.  
			                         A real reactionary. . . So your 
			                         father. . . Oh man, I get it!
			
			                                     MAUDE
			                         What?
			
			               The DUDE is leaving the bedroom.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, my thinking about the case, 
			                         man, it had become uptight.  Yeah.  
			                         Your father--
			
			               LIVING ROOM
			
			               The DUDE finishes punching a number into the phone.
			
			                                     PHONE VOICE
			                         This is Walter Sobchak.  I'm not in; 
			                         leave a message after the beep.
			
			               FROM THE BEDROOM:
			
			                                     MAUDE'S VOICE
			                         What're you talking about?
			
			               Beep.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, if you're there, pick up the 
			                         fucking phone.  Pick it up, Walter, 
			                         this is an emergency.  I'm not--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, listen, I'm at my place, I 
			                         need you to come pick me up--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I can't drive, DUDE, it's erev 
			                         shabbas.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Erev shabbas.  I can't drive.  I'm 
			                         not even supposed to pick up the 
			                         phone, unless it's an emergency.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It is a fucking emergency.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I understand.  That's why I picked 
			                         up the phone.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         THEN WHY CAN'T YOU--fuck, never mind, 
			                         just call Donny then, and ask him to--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, I'm not supposed to make calls--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         WALTER, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WE GOTTA 
			                         GO TO PASADENA!  COME  PICK ME UP OR 
			                         I'M OFF THE FUCKING BOWLING TEAM!
			
			                                     MAUDE'S VOICE
			                         Jeffrey?
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               He emerges on his front stoop, pulling on a shirt. His 
			               attention is caught by something down the street.
			
			               HIS POV
			
			               A car is  parked halfway down the block.  We can see the 
			               shape of a fat man in the driver's seat.
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               Striding purposefully down the street.
			
			               HIS POV
			
			               The fat man leans forward and we hear the sound of the car's 
			               ignition coughing, but the engine will not turn over.  More 
			               whines and coughs; no start.
			
			               The man hurriedly fumbles in front of him.  He brings up a 
			               newspaper, which he holds before his face.
			
			               THE DUDE
			
			               As he gets to the car.  He reaches through the open driver's 
			               window and grabs the newspaper and hurls it to the ground.  
			               He is revved with nervous energy.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Get out of that fucking car, man!
			
			               The man nervously complies.  The DUDE flinches at the man's 
			               movement as he gets out.
			
			               The man cringes, reacting to the DUDE's flinch.
			
			               He is wearing a cheap blue serge suit.  He is bald with a 
			               short fringe and a mustache.
			
			               The DUDE shouts to cover his fear:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who the fuck are you, man!  Come on, 
			                         man!
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Relax, man!  No physical harm 
			                         intended!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who the fuck are you?  Why've you 
			                         been following me?  Come on, fuckhead!
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Hey, relax man, I'm a brother shamus.
			
			               The DUDE is stunned.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Brother Shamus?  Like an Irish monk?
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Irish m--What the fuck are you talking 
			                         about?  My name's Da Fino!  I'm a 
			                         private snoop!  Like you, man!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         A dick, man!  And let me tell you 
			                         something: I dig your work. Playing 
			                         one side against the other--in bed 
			                         with everybody--fabulous stuff, man.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm not a--ah, fuck it, just stay 
			                         away from my fucking lady friend, 
			                         man.
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         Hey hey, I'm not messing with your 
			                         special lady--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         She's not my special lady, she's my 
			                         fucking lady friend.  I'm just helping 
			                         her conceive, man!
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         Hey, man, I'm not--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Who're you working for?  Lebowski?  
			                         JACKIE TREEHORN?
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         The Gundersons.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The?  Who the fff--
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         The Gundersons.  It's a wandering 
			                         daughter job.  Bunny Lebowski, man.  
			                         Her real name is Fawn Gunderson.  
			                         Her parents want her back.
			
			               He is fumbling in his wallet.
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         See?
			
			               The DUDE looks at the picture.
			
			               It is probably a school portrait, unmistakably Bunny, but 
			               fresh-faced, much younger looking, with a corn-fed smile and 
			               straight Partridge Family hair and bangs.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jesus fucking Christ.
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         Crazy, huh?  Ran away a year ago.
			
			               He is holding out another picture.
			
			               The Gundersons told me to show her this when I found her.  
			               The family farm.
			
			               A bleak farmhouse and silo are the only features on a flat 
			               snow-swept landscape.
			
			               Outside of Moorhead, Minnesota.  They think it'll make her 
			               homesick.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Boy.  How ya gonna keep 'em down on 
			                         the farm once they seen Karl Hungus.
			
			               He hands back the picture.
			
			               She's been kidnapped, Da Fino.  Or maybe not, but she's 
			               definitely not around.
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         Fuck, man!  That's terrible!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, it sucks.
			
			                                     DA FINO
			                         Well maybe you and me could pool our 
			                         resources--trade information--
			                         professional courtesy--compeers, you 
			                         know--
			
			               We hear distant yapping, growing louder with the hum of an 
			               approaching car.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, I get it.  Fuck off, Da Fino.  
			                         And stay away from my special la--
			                         from my fucking lady friend.
			
			               The DUDE steps out to meet Walter's car as it pulls up, its 
			               passenger window open and the pomeranian leaning out and 
			               yapping.
			
			               DENNY'S
			
			               Four people sit at a booth:  Dieter, Kieffer, Franz, all in 
			               black leather, and a young woman with long stringy blonde 
			               hair, wearing torn and patched jeans and a ribbed sleeveless 
			               tee-shirt, worn thin with age.  She is apparently braless, 
			               and is teutonically pale with birthmarks on her face and 
			               arms.
			
			               Notable  is  her  camera-side  leg,  which  ends in  a bandage-
			               swaddled foot.  Dried rust-colored blood stains the tip of 
			               the bandage. The  four  are  arguing,  loudly,  in  German.   
			               They seem  very unhappy. A waitress enters with a checkpad 
			               and pen.
			
			                                     WAITRESS
			                         You folks ready?
			
			               The German shouting stops.  Dieter looks sourly up.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         I haff lingenberry pancakes.
			
			                                     KIEFFER
			                         Lingenberry pancakes.
			
			                                     FRANZ
			                         Sree picks in blanket.
			
			               The woman speaks to Dieter in German.  He nods.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Lingenberry pancakes.
			
			               WALTER'S CAR
			
			               Walter's eyes are on the road as he listens, driving, to the 
			               DUDE, whose speech is occasionally punctuated by yaps from 
			               the back seat.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I mean we totally fucked it up, man.  
			                         We fucked up his pay-off.  And got 
			                         the kidnappers all pissed off, and 
			                         the big Lebowski yelled at me a lot, 
			                         but he didn't do anything.  Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Well it's, sometimes the cathartic, 
			                         uh.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         I'm saying if he knows I'm a fuck-
			                         up, then why does he still leave me 
			                         in charge of getting back his wife?  
			                         Because he fucking doesn't want her 
			                         back, man!  He's had enough!  He no 
			                         longer digs her!  It's all a show!  
			                         But then, why didn't he give a shit 
			                         about his million bucks?  I mean, he 
			                         knew we didn't hand off his briefcase, 
			                         but he never asked for it back.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What's your point, DUDE?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         His million bucks was never in it, 
			                         man!  There was no money in that 
			                         briefcase!  He was hoping they'd 
			                         kill her!  You throw out a ringer 
			                         for a ringer!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Shit yeah!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Okay, but how does all this add up 
			                         to an emergency?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Huh?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm saying, I see what you're getting 
			                         at, DUDE, he kept the money, but my 
			                         point is, here we are, it's shabbas, 
			                         the sabbath, which I'm allowed to 
			                         break only if it's a matter of life 
			                         and death--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, come off it.  You're not 
			                         even fucking Jewish, you're--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck are you talking about?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You're fucking Polish Catholic--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What the fuck are you talking about?  
			                         I converted when I married Cynthia!  
			                         Come on, DUDE!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah, and you were--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         You know this!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         And you were divorced five fucking 
			                         years ago.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah?  What do you think happens 
			                         when you get divorced?  You turn in 
			                         your library card?  Get a new driver's 
			                         license?  Stop being Jewish?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         This driveway.
			
			               AS HE TURNS:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'm as Jewish as fucking Tevye
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         It's just part of your whole sick 
			                         Cynthia thing.  Taking care of her 
			                         fucking dog.  Going to her fucking 
			                         synagogue.  You're living in the 
			                         fucking past.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Three thousand years of beautiful 
			                         tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax--
			                         YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I LIVE IN THE 
			                         PAST!   I--Jesus.  What the hell 
			                         happened?
			
			               He is looking off as the car slows.  The DUDE looks where 
			               Walter is looking.
			
			               THE LEBOWSKI MANSION
			
			               Walter's car pulls up the drive into the foreground and he 
			               and the DUDE get out.
			
			               Both are gaping off at the front lawn.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Jesus Christ.
			
			               THEIR POV
			
			               Tire treads lead across the manicured front lawn to where a 
			               little red sports car rests with its hood crumpled into a 
			               palm trunk.
			
			               TRACKING DOWN THE GREAT HALLWAY
			
			               Through the French doors at its far end we can see Bunny, 
			               naked, briefly bouncing on the diving board before splashing 
			               into the illuminated pool outside.  Heavy metal music filters 
			               in from a boom box by the pool.
			
			               Brandt, approaching, stoops and straightens, stoops and 
			               straightens, picking up the discarded clothes that run the 
			               length of the hall.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         He can't see you, DUDE.
			
			               We pull the DUDE and Walter as they approach the doors to 
			               the great study.  Walter's dog follows, stiffly waving its 
			               tail.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Where'd she been?
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Visiting friends of hers in Palm 
			                         Springs.  Just picked up and left, 
			                         never bothered to tell us.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         But I guess she told Dieter.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Jesus, DUDE!  He never even kidnapped 
			                         her.
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         Who's this gentleman, DUDE?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Who'm I?  I'm a fucking VETERAN!
			
			                                     BRANDT
			                         You shouldn't go in there, DUDE!  
			                         He's very angry!
			
			               BANG--the DUDE and Walter push through the double doors into--
			
			               THE GREAT ROOM
			
			               The big Lebowski turns at the sound of the door.  His 
			               wheelchair hums as he spins it around.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                              (bitterly)
			                         Well, she's back.  No thanks to you.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Where's the money, Lebowski?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         A MILLION BUCKS FROM FUCKING NEEDY 
			                         LITTLE URBAN ACHIEVERS!  YOU ARE 
			                         SCUM, MAN!
			
			               The dog yaps.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Who the hell is he?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'll tell you who I am!  I'm the guy 
			                         who's gonna KICK YOUR PHONY 
			                         GOLDBRICKING ASS!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We know the briefcase was empty, 
			                         man.  We know you kept the million  
			                         bucks yourself.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Well, you have your story, I have 
			                         mine.  I say I entrusted the money 
			                         to you, and you stole it.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         AS IF WE WOULD EVER DREAM OF TAKING 
			                         YOUR BULLSHIT MONEY!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You thought Bunny'd been kidnapped 
			                         and you could use it as a pretext to 
			                         make some money disappear.  All you 
			                         needed was a sap to pin it on, and 
			                         you'd just met me.  You thought, 
			                         hey, a deadbeat, a loser, someone 
			                         the square community won't give a 
			                         shit about.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Well?  Aren't you?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well. . . yeah.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         All right, get out.  Both of you.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Look at that fucking phony, DUDE!  
			                         Pretending to be a fucking 
			                         millionaire!
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         I said out.  Now.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Let me tell you something else.  
			                         I've seen a lot of spinals, DUDE, 
			                         and this guy is a fake.  A fucking 
			                         goldbricker.
			
			               He is crossing to Lebowski.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This guy fucking walks.  I've never 
			                         been more certain of anything in my 
			                         life!
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Stay away from me, mister!
			
			               Walter reaches around from behind and hoists the big Lebowski 
			               out of the wheelchair by his armpits.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Walk, you fucking phony!
			
			               The big Lebowski waggles helplessly, his rubbery feet grazing 
			               the floor like a Raggedy Ann's.  The pomeranian gaily leaps 
			               and yaps.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Put me down, you son of a bitch!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         It's all over, man!  We call your 
			                         fucking bluff!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         WALTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!  HE'S 
			                         CRIPPLED!  PUT HIM DOWN!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Sure, I'll put him down, DUDE.  RAUSS!
			                         ACHTUNG, BABY!!
			
			               He shoves the big Lebowski forward and he crumples to the 
			               floor, weeping.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Oh, shit.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                              (sobbing)
			                         You're bullies!  Cowards, both of 
			                         you!
			
			               Walter is abashed.  The Big Lebowski flails about on the 
			               floor.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Oh, shit.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         He can't walk, Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah, I can see that, DUDE.
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         You monsters!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Help me put him back in his chair.
			
			               Walter moves to comply.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shit, sorry man.
			
			               THROUGH HIS TEARS:
			
			                                     LEBOWSKI
			                         Stay away from me!  You bullies!  
			                         You and these women!  You won't leave 
			                         a man his fucking balls!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter, you fuck!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shit, DUDE, I didn't know.  I 
			                         wouldn't've done it if I knew he was 
			                         a fucking crybaby.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         We're sorry, man.  We're really sorry.
			
			               The DUDE has picked up the Big Lebowski's plaid lap warmer 
			               and is frantically tucking it back in around his waist and 
			               batting the dog away.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         There ya go.  Sorry man.
			
			               Walter, puzzled, hands on hips, stands over the big Lebowski.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shit.  He didn't look like a spinal.
			
			               TEN PINS
			
			               Scattered at the cut.
			
			               DUDE AND WALTER
			
			               Each with a beer at the scoring table.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Sure you'll see some tank battles.  
			                         But fighting in desert is very 
			                         different from fighting in canopy 
			                         jungle.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Uh-huh.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I mean 'Nam was a foot soldier's war 
			                         whereas, uh, this thing should be a 
			                         fucking cakewalk.  I mean I had an 
			                         M16, Jacko, not an Abrams fucking 
			                         tank.  Just me and Charlie, man, 
			                         eyeball to eyeball.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         That's fuckin' combat.  The man in 
			                         the black pyjamas, DUDE.  Worthy 
			                         fuckin' adversary.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Who's in pyjamas, Walter?
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shut the fuck up, Donny.  Not a bunch 
			                         of fig-eaters with towels on their 
			                         heads tryin' to find reverse on a 
			                         Soviet tank.  This is not a worthy--
			
			                                     VOICE
			                         HEY!
			
			               The DUDE and Walter look.
			
			               Quintana is bellowing from the lip of the lane, and is 
			               restrained by O'Brien.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         What's this "day of rest" shit, man?!
			
			               Walter looks at him innocently.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         What is this bullshit, man?  I don't 
			                         fucking care!  It don't matter to 
			                         Jesus!  But you're not fooling me!  
			                         You might fool the fucks in the league 
			                         office, but you don't fool Jesus!  
			                         It's bush league psych-out stuff!  
			                         Laughable, man!  I would've fucked 
			                         you in the ass Saturday, I'll fuck 
			                         you in the ass next Wednesday instead!
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			
			               He makes hip-grinding coital motions as O'Brien leads him 
			               away.
			
			                                     QUINTANA
			                         You got a date Wednesday, man!
			
			               Walter, his head cocked, and the DUDE, peeking over his 
			               shades, watch him go.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         He's cracking.
			
			               BOWLING ALLEY PARKING LOT
			
			               Donny, Walter and the DUDE emerge from the alley, each holding 
			               his leatherette ball satchel.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         A tree of life, DUDE.  To all who 
			                         cling to it.
			
			               They react to the droning synthesizer-based technopop coming 
			               from a boom box.
			
			               REVERSE
			
			               Dieter, Kieffer and Franz, in shiny black leather, stand in 
			               a line facing them in the all-but-deserted lot.  Behind them 
			               orange flames lick gently at the DUDE's car, which has been 
			               put to the torch.  The orange flames glow on the men's 
			               creaking leather.  Next to the car are three motorcycles, 
			               parked in a neat row.  The DUDE looks sadly at the burning 
			               car.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They finally did it.  They killed my 
			                         fucking car.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.
			
			                                     KIEFFER
			                         Ja, uzzervize vee kill ze girl.
			
			                                     FRANZ
			                         Ja, it seems you forgot our little 
			                         deal, Lebowski.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You don't have the fucking girl, 
			                         dipshits.  We know you never did.  
			                         So you've got nothin' on my Johnson.
			
			                                     DUDE
			
			               The men in black, stunned, confer amongst themselves in 
			               German.  Under his breath:
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Are these the Nazis, Walter?
			
			               Walter answers, also sotto voce, his eyes still on the three 
			               men:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         They're nihilists, Donny, nothing to 
			                         be afraid of.
			
			               The Germans stop conferring.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Vee don't care.  Vee still vant zat 
			                         money or vee fuck you up.
			
			                                     KIEFFER
			                         Ja, vee still vant ze money.  Vee 
			                         sreaten you.
			
			               He pulls an uzi from under his coat.  It glints in the 
			               firelight.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fuck you.  Fuck the three of you.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey, cool it Walter.
			
			               Walter ignores the DUDE, addresses the Germans:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         There's no ransom if you don't have 
			                         a fucking hostage.  That's what ransom 
			                         is.  Those are the fucking rules.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Zere ARE no ROOLZ!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         NO RULES!  YOU CABBAGE-EATING SONS-
			                         OF- BITCHES--
			
			                                     KIEFFER
			                         His girlfriend gafe up her toe!  She 
			                         sought we'd be getting million 
			                         dollars!  Iss not fair!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fair!  WHO'S THE FUCKING NIHILIST 
			                         HERE!  WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCH OF 
			                         FUCKING CRYBABIES?!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey, cool it Walter.  Listen, pal, 
			                         there never was any money.  The big 
			                         Lebowski gave me an empty briefcase, 
			                         man, so take it up with him.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         AND I'D LIKE MY UNDIES BACK!
			
			               The Germans confer again, in German.
			
			               Donny is visibly frightened.
			
			                                     DONNY
			                         Are they gonna hurt us, Walter?
			
			               WALTER 'S TONE IS GENTLE:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         They won't hurt us, Donny.  These 
			                         men are cowards.
			
			               THE CONFERENCE ENDS:
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         Okay.  Vee take ze money you haf on 
			                         you und vee call it eefen.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Fuck you.
			
			               The DUDE is digging into his pocket.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Come on, Walter, we're ending this 
			                         thing cheap.
			
			               Walter's eyes, burning with hatred, are locked on Dieter's.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What's mine is mine.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Come on, Walter!.
			
			               Louder, to the Germans, as he looks in his wallet:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Four dollars here!
			
			               He inspects the change in his palm.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Almost five!
			
			                                     DONNY
			                              (tremulously)
			                         I got eighteen dollars, DUDE.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                              (grimly)
			                         What's mine is mine.
			
			               With a ring of steel, Dieter produces a glinting saber.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!  VEE TAKE YOUR 
			                         MONEY!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                              (coolly)
			                         Come and get it.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Come and get it.  Fucking nihilist.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         I FUCK YOU!  I FUCK YOU!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Show me what you got.  Nihilist.  
			                         Dipshit with a nine-toed woman.
			
			               In a rage, Dieter charges.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         I FUCK YOU!  I FUCK YOU!
			
			               WALTER
			
			               hurls his leather satchel.
			
			               KIEFFER
			
			               Watching Dieter's charge, is caught off-guard.  The bowling 
			               ball thuds into his chest and lifts him off his feet.
			
			               He falls back, his uzi clattering away.
			
			               WALTER
			
			               twists away as Dieter reaches him; grabs Dieter's head in 
			               both hands; draws Dieter's head up to his mouth, which closes 
			               on Dieter's ear.
			
			               DUDE
			
			               He rushes Franz but draws up short as Franz sends out karate 
			               kicks, his leather pants squeaking and popping.  Franz gives 
			               a loud cry with each kick; the DUDE leans back, throwing his 
			               arms up, evading the kicks.
			
			               WALTER
			
			               His jaw is still clamped on Dieter's ear.  Dieter draws his 
			               saber against Walter's side, drawing blood.
			
			               Walter doesn't react to the wound.  Growling as Dieter 
			               screams, he worries his ear, waggling his head with his jaws 
			               clamped.
			
			               THE SABER
			
			               Dieter drops it.
			
			               DUDE
			
			               Awkwardly circling, evading Franz's kicks.
			
			               WALTER
			
			               still worrying the ear.  With a tearing sound his head and 
			               Dieter's separate.
			
			               DIETER, EARLESS, SCREAMS:
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         I FUCK YOU!  YOU CANNOT HURT ME!  I 
			                         BELIEF IN NUSSING!
			
			               Walter spits his ear into his face.
			
			               DUDE
			
			               The DUDE and Franz, both now panting heavily, have yet to 
			               establish body contact.  Franz continues to kick.
			
			                                     FRANZ
			                         VEAKLING!
			
			               WALTER
			
			               draws back his fist.
			
			                                     DIETER
			                         NUSSING!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         ANTI-SEMITE!
			
			               Bam!--A powerhouse blow to the middle of his face drops Dieter 
			               for the count.
			
			               DUDE AND FRANZ
			
			               With a piercing shriek Franz finally summons the nerve to 
			               charge the DUDE, hands raised to deliver karate blows.
			
			               As he reaches the DUDE--WHHAP--the  boom box swings into  
			               frame to smash him in the face.  Its volume shoots up.
			
			               Walter bashes him a few more times over the head.  The music 
			               screeches to static, then quiet.  Laid out now, Franz too is 
			               quiet.
			
			               All quiet.
			
			               Walter, panting, looks around.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         We've got a man down, DUDE.
			
			               With a hand pressed to his bleeding side he trots over to 
			               Donny, who lies gasping on the ground.
			
			               The DUDE, also panting, rises and trots over.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hy God!  They shot him, Walter!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         No DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         They shot Donny!
			
			               Donny gasps for air.  His eyes, wide, go from the DUDE to 
			               Walter.  One hand still clutches his eighteen dollars.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         There weren't any shots.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Then what's...
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         It's a heart attack.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Wha.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Call the medics, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Wha. . . Donny--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Hurry DUDE.  I'd go but I'm pumping 
			                         blood.  Might pass out.
			
			               The DUDE runs into the lanes.  Walter lays a reassuring hand 
			               on Donny's shoulder.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing 
			                         fine.  We got help choppering in.
			
			               FADE OUT
			
			               HOLD IN BLACK
			
			               THE DUDE AND WALTER
			
			               ---
			
			               They sit side by side, forearms on knees, in a nondescript 
			               waiting area.  Walter bounces the fingertips of one hand off 
			               those of the other.  They sit.  They wait.
			
			               A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters.  He 
			               eyes the DUDE's bowling attire and sunglasses and Walter's 
			               army surplus, but doesn't make an issue of it.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Hello, gentlemen.  You are the 
			                         bereaved?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah man.
			
			                                     MAN
			                         Francis Donnelly.  Pleased to meet 
			                         you.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Jeffrey Lebowski.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Walter Sobchak.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         The DUDE, actually.  Is what, uh.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Excuse me?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Nothing.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Yes.  I understand you're taking 
			                         away the remains.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         We have the urn.
			
			               He nods through a door.  Another man in a black suit enters 
			               to carefully deposit a large silver urn on the desktop.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         And I assume this is credit card?
			
			               He is vaguely handing a large leather folder across the desk 
			               to whomever wants to take it.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah.
			
			               He takes it, opens it, puts on reading glasses that sit 
			               halfway down his nose, and inspects the bill with his head 
			               pulled back for focus and cocked for concentration.  Silence.  
			               The DUDE smiles at Donnelly.  Donnelly gives back a 
			               mortician's smile.  At length Walter holds the bill towards 
			               Donnelly, pointing.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         What's this?
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         That is for the urn.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Don't need it.  We're scattering the 
			                         ashes.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Yes, so we were informed.  However, 
			                         we must of course transmit the remains 
			                         to you in a receptacle.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         This is a hundred and eighty dollars.
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Yes sir.  It is our most modestly 
			                         priced receptacle.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Well can we--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         A hundred and eighty dollars?!
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         They range up to three thousand.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Yeah, but we're--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Can we just rent it from you?
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental 
			                         house.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         We're scattering the fucking ashes!
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Walter--
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T 
			                         MEAN WE'RE SAPS!
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         Sir, please lower your voice--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Hey man, don't you have something 
			                         else you could put it in?
			
			                                     DONNELLY
			                         That is our most modestly priced 
			                         receptacle.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         GODDAMNIT!  IS THERE A RALPH'S AROUND 
			                         HERE?!
			
			               POINT DUME -- DAY
			
			               It is a high, wind-swept bluff.  Walter and the DUDE walk 
			               towards the lip of the bluff.  Parked in the background is 
			               one lonely car, Walter's.
			
			               Walter is carrying a bright red coffee can with a blue plastic 
			               lid.  When they reach the edge the two men stand awkwardly 
			               for a beat.  Finally:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         I'll say a few words.
			
			               The DUDE clasps his hands in front of him.  Walter clears 
			               his throat.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Donny was a good bowler, and a good 
			                         man.  He was. . . He was one of us.  
			                         He was a man who loved the outdoors, 
			                         and bowling, and as a surfer explored 
			                         the beaches of southern California 
			                         from Redondo to Calabassos.  And he 
			                         was an avid bowler.  And a good 
			                         friend.  He died--he died as so many 
			                         of his generation, before his time.  
			                         In your wisdom you took him, Lord.  
			                         As you took so many bright flowering 
			                         young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc 
			                         and Hill 364.  These young men gave 
			                         their lives.  And Donny too.  Donny 
			                         who. . . who loved bowling.
			
			               Walter clears his throat.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         And so, Theodore--Donald--Karabotsos, 
			                         in accordance with what we think   
			                         your dying wishes might well have 
			                         been, we commit your mortal remains 
			                         to the bosom of.
			
			               Walter is peeling the plastic lid off the coffee can.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         the Pacific Ocean, which you loved 
			                         so well.
			
			               AS HE SHAKES OUT THE ASHES:
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Goodnight, sweet prince.
			
			               The wind has blown all of the ashes into the DUDE, standing 
			               just to the side of and behind Walter. The DUDE stands, 
			               frozen. Finished eulogizing, Walter looks back.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shit, I'm sorry DUDE.
			
			               He starts brushing off the DUDE with his hands.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Goddamn wind.
			
			               Heretofore motionless, the DUDE finally explodes, slapping 
			               Walter's hands away.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Goddamnit Walter!  You fucking 
			                         asshole!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE!  DUDE, I'm sorry!
			
			               The DUDE is near tears.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You make everything a fucking 
			                         travesty!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, I'm--it was an accident!
			
			               The DUDE gives Walter a furious shove.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What about that shit about Vietnam!
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         DUDE, I'm sorry--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         What the fuck does Vietnam have to 
			                         do with anything!  What the fuck 
			                         were you talking about?!
			
			               Walter for the first time is genuinely distressed, almost 
			               lost.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Shit DUDE, I'm sorry--
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         You're a fuck, Walter!
			
			               He gives Walter a weaker shove.  Walter seems dazed, then 
			               wraps his arms around the DUDE.
			
			                                     WALTER
			                         Awww, fuck it DUDE.  Let's go bowling.
			
			               THE LANES THE DUDE AND WALTER BOWLING
			
			               We watch each of them glide across the floor, release, follow 
			               through--gracefully.  We have never seen them bowl before.  
			               They are quite good.  Each wears a black armband on his 
			               bowling shirt.
			
			               BAR AREA
			
			               The DUDE walks up to the bar.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Two oat sodas, Gary.
			
			                                     GARY
			                         Right.  Good luck tomorrow.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Thanks, man.
			
			                                     GARY
			                         Sorry to hear about Donny.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah.  Well, you know, sometimes you 
			                         eat the bear, and, uh.
			
			               "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" has come up on the jukebox, and The 
			               Stranger ambles up to the bar.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Howdy do, DUDE.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Oh, hey man, how are ya?  I wondered 
			                         if I'd see you again.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Wouldn't miss the semis.  How things 
			                         been goin'?
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Ahh, you know.  Strikes and gutters, 
			                         ups and downs.
			
			               The Stranger's eyes crinkle merrily.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Sure, I gotcha.
			
			               The bartender has put two gleaming beers on the counter.
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Thanks, Gary...Take care, man, I 
			                         gotta get back.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Sure.  Take it easy, DUDE--I know 
			                         that you will.
			
			               THE DUDE, LEAVING, NODS:
			
			                                     DUDE
			                         Yeah man.  Well, you know, the DUDE 
			                         abides.
			
			               Gazing after him, The Stranger drawls, savoring the words:
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         The DUDE abides.
			
			               He gives his head a shake of appreciation, then looks into 
			               the camera.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         I don't know about you, but I take 
			                         comfort in that.  It's good knowin' 
			                         he's out there, the DUDE, takin' her 
			                         easy for all us sinners.  Shoosh.  I 
			                         sure hope he makes The finals.  Welp, 
			                         that about does her, wraps her all 
			                         up.  Things seem to've worked out 
			                         pretty good for the DUDE'n Walter, 
			                         and it was a purt good story, dontcha 
			                         think?   Made me laugh to beat the 
			                         band.  Parts, anyway.  Course--I 
			                         didn't like seein' Donny go. But 
			                         then, happen to know that there's a 
			                         little Lebowski on the way.  I guess 
			                         that's the way the whole durned human 
			                         comedy keeps perpetuatin' it-self, 
			                         down through the generations, westward 
			                         the wagons, across the sands a time 
			                         until-- aw, look at me, I'm ramblin' 
			                         again.  Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed 
			                         yourselves.
			
			               He brushes his hat brim with a fingertip as we begin to pull 
			               back.
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         Catch ya further on down the trail.
			
			               As we pull away The Stranger swivels in to the bar.  As his 
			               voice fades:
			
			                                     THE STRANGER
			                         ...Say friend, ya got any more a 
			                         that good sarsaparilla?...