Treatment

I know that some of the people who read this diary live in Los Angeles, so I was hoping you could help me pitch my script to some Hollywood Fat Cats.

Okay, we open on an inner city housing project. Some drug dealers are watching their plasma screen tv from their black leather couch, shouting at the screen and pointing their guns at it on occasion. There is a knock at the door. They scramble to hide paraphernalia and keep asking each other who it is and whether one of them invited somebody over. Before they can get the giant mounds of cocaine off the coffee table the door breaks in and police come rushing through. The thugs are overwhelmed, and it looks like the cops have made a clean bust. They start hauling the guys out, but just as one of the cops, Thomas Jackson, is leading his collar out the door a thug bursts out of a closet and shoots him in the back of the head. Thomas Jackson’s body falls to the floor in slow motion and the shooter escapes through a window. We start with an overhead shot of Thomas Jackson lying in a pool of his own blood. Then, slowly, his spirit rises from the floor and straightens the badge on his chest and pulls down the sleeves of his uniform. Thomas Jackson is GHOST COP!

Who do I have to blow to get this on their desk?

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