By Bub
‘Raisinets,’ chimes a four part choir as the Raisinets logo – the red letters on white field with deep-puce trim – superimposes onto a cross-street scene on Chicago’s west side.
Cut to vox-pop of dashing young Gangster Disciple, Frank.
“Yea, I kill ma’ fuckers over Raisinets… They’re that good.”
Cut to close-up of blind-folded thirteen year old, hands tied behind back, pleading for his life. "You should have thought about that before you came through here all flauntin' them Raisinets!" Frank executes the teen, semi-reminiscent of the famous Eddie Adams photo of a street execution in Saigon. Camera pans out to see the thirteen year old’s bike with a very large bag of Raisinets in the front basket. Frank tucks the pistol into his waistband, grabs the Raisinets, gives a sweeping glance for witnesses, then flees.
‘Raisinets,’ chimes a four part choir.
“It’s true; I sold my child into slavery for Raisinets. They just taste so good. You wouldn’t understand, it’s like licking God’s asshole,” says Rogelio, a middle aged meat-packer.
Cut to dramatic recreation of Rogelio’s transaction. Rogelio is visibly weeping, his daughter, Inez, who is ten, is unaware that she will never see her father again and is very confused. A Yale graduate in a trench coat approaches the dark corner of the parking garage where Rogelio and Inez are waiting. The Yale grad opens a briefcase revealing at least a dozen bags of Raisinets. Rogelio begins to wail at the sight and collapses to the ground. The trench-coated man yanks Inez away from her father and flings the brief-case full of Raisinets, open, with disdain, in Rogelio’s direction. Inez and The Man flee; Inez is still confused but somewhat relieved to be leaving her abusive father. Camera closes in on wailing Rogelio who is now fisting into his mouth unopened bags of Raisinets, along with copious amounts of snot, and tears.
‘Raisinets,’ chimes a four part choir.
Cut to a shack, deep in the Montana woods, a fully bearded man in a hooded sweatshirt, resembling the Unabomber, is packing a bomb into a Fed Ex box. Camera pans in to the faux Unabomber, ‘Oh, God... Raisinets!!' he gasps, as he shakes his fists in the air then tapes the box shut, pauses, and collapses onto the table, head in arms, weeping.
Cut to a shot of a Federal building exploding somewhere in the Great Plains.
‘Raisinets,’ chimes a four part choir as the Raisinets logo – the red letters on white field with deep-puce trim - flashes across the screen obscuring the burning debris and human misery.
