Saw this story this morning:
NJ considers ban on bare-it-all 'Brazilian' wax
TRENTON, N.J. (AP) — New Jersey is drawing the line when it comes to bikini waxing.
The state Board of Cosmetology and Hairstyling is moving toward a ban on genital waxing altogether after two women reported being injured in their quest for a smooth bikini line. . . .
The state Board of Cosmetology meets next on April 14 and will decide whether to move forward with banning the procedure, made popular in Brazil to accommodate skimpy thong bikinis.
The earliest the ban could take effect would be sometime in May, Lamm said, and salons that continue to perform it could be fined.
And you know what that means . . . it's time to take a premise way too far.
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET, TRENTON -- DAY
A lazy summer day in New Jersey's capital. Approach on two boys sprawled on a dusty curb, guzzling Gatorade as their bicycles languish on their sides nearby: FRANK, the taller and leaner of the two, and the fireplug-like JACKIE, both about thirteen years old. Eyes closed, soaking up the sun, the two boys don't even notice as the shadow of a man is cast over them.
The boys look up: ANGLE on the source of the voice, a handsome, dark-haired young man who is a RUNNER for Trenton's criminal underworld.
You think you can do a favor for me?
The RUNNER produces a large canister with a thick, gooey substance inside.
You run this down to Margarita's Salon on Vermont,
there's a twenty in it for you.
But don't let nobody know you have it.
FRANK's and JACKIE's eyes get big.
Back in oh-nine, all the good waxers
hadda go underground.
That's just the way it was.
TITLE CARD: "FROM ACADEMY-AWARD-WINNING DIRECTOR MARTIN SCORSESE"
INT. BASEMENT -- NIGHT
It's twenty or so years later, and FRANK and JACKIE are now grown men, manning the front counter at an illegal underground waxing salon. In the chair nearest to them, a big-haired, botoxed SUBURBAN WOMAN is steeling herself for the rip of the wax-strip removal when a cell phone rings; the waxer, MAMA CARMELA, pulls it out and looks at the number.
Ahh, for the love of Christ, it's my kids. Hang on.
MAMA CARMELA rushes out with the phone at her ear; FRANK and JACKIE are left to just sit awkwardly next to the half-naked SUBURBAN WOMAN.
What, you never seen one of these before?
Rip it out and let's get this over with!
Gingerly, FRANK grasps one of the strips, shuts his eyes, and pulls. Both he and the SUBURBAN WOMAN scream in unison, but when the screams die down and the WOMAN looks at FRANK's handiwork, she's transfixed.
Oh my God, it's . . . beautiful.
At that moment, MAMA CONSUELA rushes back in.
You did this?
Terrified, FRANK and JACKIE nod.
It's . . . like it was never there.
INT. OFFICE -- NIGHT
His talent discovered, FRANK sits next to JACKIE before the desk of CARLOS "THE BRAZILIAN" DA SILVA, head of Trenton's organized-crime underworld. In contrast to the two nervous young men, the cigar-smoking CARLOS looks pleased.
Mama Carmela told me what you did
at Margarita's the other day.
. . . I want the two of you to work for me.
INT. TRENTON APARTMENT -- NIGHT
FRANK and JACKIE pour shots from a bottle of cachaça given to them by CARLOS and down them quickly.
Jackie boy, you and me,
we're gonna make Jersey smooth.
MUSIC: Led Zeppelin, "Black Dog"
INT. BASEMENT -- NIGHT
In the same secret basement salon we saw before, FRANK walks briskly past a row of unseen FEMALE CUSTOMERS in chairs, ripping out a wax strip and eliciting a yelp of pain as he passes each one. The CUSTOMER at the end of the row looks up at him and smiles.
Frankie Ceratore, I wanna have your baby.
I don't think my old lady'd be
too happy about that.
INT. FRANK'S HOUSE -- EVENING
FRANK is home from work, and his young wife, LUISA, is stirring a pot of minestrone on the stove. FRANK comes up behind her and clasps a diamond necklace around her neck.
Frankie! How could you afford this?
Don't you worry about me.
INT. JACKIE'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT
FRANK and JACKIE are getting ready to go out for a night on the town, both wearing expensive, shiny suits. But JACKIE has to do one last thing to prepare: He sits down on the couch, taps out a line of coke on the mirror, and snorts it all up in one go.
I ain't seen you at the salon in a week.
Where the hell you get the money to do that shit?
Doin' a little work on my own, Frankie.
Did the whole Rutgers cheerleadin' squad
Just a little bit on the side! They had the
friggin' West Virginia game Thursday night!
Aw, jeez, Jackie, Rutgers?
That's Carlos's business! You have any idea
what he's gonna say when he finds out one a
his own guys been skimmin' business off him?
What we didn't know was that, even in Jersey,
there was only so much pubic hair to go around.
MUSIC: Rolling Stones, "Gimme Shelter"
TITLE CARD: "ACADEMY AWARD WINNER ROBERT DeNIRO"
INT. JAGUAR SEDAN -- DAY
A troubled-looking FRANK motors down the New Jersey Turnpike in his Jaguar XJ with CARMINE "CURLY" COSCIENZA, The Brazilian's consigliere, in the passenger's seat.
Carlos isn't too pleased with that buddy
of yours, Frankie. He took the Rutgers job,
he took the Nets dancers, the Flight Crew
. . . you don't rein him in, Carlos will.
TITLE CARD: "ACADEMY AWARD WINNER JOE PESCI"
EXT. JERSEY SHORE -- DAY
Somewhere in the vicinity of Long Branch, an aggrieved-looking FRANK stands with JACKIE out on the sand, the waves washing over their feet.
Jackie, you're not seriously talkin' about
goin' to war with the Brazilians, are you?
You get this through that thick Sicilian head
of yours, you fuckin' mook -- I've ripped out
more pubes than you and that fat fuckin' spic
combined, so if he wants a war,
he's gonna get one!
INT. CARLOS'S OFFICE -- NIGHT
Back in the office of "The Brazilian," CARMINE sits across the desk from CARLOS, who can barely be seen through a haze of cigar smoke.
What are we gonna do now, boss?
The same thing we always do
when we've got something we don't want:
EXT. OUTLET MALL PARKING LOT -- DAY
JACKIE and his blond, surgically enhanced GIRLFRIEND are heading out to JACKIE's Escalade, their arms laden with shopping bags.
We rip it out.
CLOSE-UP on JACKIE's alligator-clad feet as he sets his bags down to open his car door: A soccer ball rolls across the pavement and hits his foot. JACKIE leans into the frame to pick up the ball, and the camera follows as he stands upright again and sees where the ball came from.
ANGLE on a van, sliding door thrown open, three men of South American descent leaning out with machine guns at the ready.
A hail of gunfire, and . . .
SMASH CUT TO:
TITLE CARD: "SOME PROBLEMS CAN'T BE SMOOTHED OVER"
INT. FRANK'S HOUSE -- NIGHT
FRANK leans over a sink somewhere in his house, looking down in horror at his hands, which are coated in a dark, sticky-looking substance.
Oh my God, Frank, what have you done?
What have you done? . . .
It's not blood. It's not blood . . .
It wasn't blood. It was worse.
A MARTIN SCORSESE FILM
IN THEATRES MAY 29
FADE TO BLACK