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This is the first result when you Google Image search for "women."

Well, the cocaine and the cash arrived just now in a satchel on my front doorstep, so I guess I'd better get to work.

GYNO is the terrifying story of what happens when women weaponize their allure. What begins as a magnificent biological agent for promoting pair bonding turns into a nightmare of biological warfare.

IN A WORLD where women rule, ONE MAN must fight to save all mankind. GYNO.

Open on a closeup of a professional football game in progress: the quarterback, dropping back to pass. He pauses in the pocket surveying the field. Suddenly, a linebacker flies into view and levels the quarterback with a bone-crunching hit.

We hear a roar of approval. Not the roar of the stadium crowd: closer, more personal.

Camera pulls back and we see that we have been watching the game on a hi-def TV in a sports bar. The place is crowded with middle-aged guys. Slo-mo pan across the crowd: we see the animal snarls as the men glory in the violence on the TV. Fist pumps. Fist bumps. High fives. Men shoving greasy hands into greasy mounds of greasy fried food, cramming their mouths and washing it down with cheap beer. Men, men, men.

Camera turns back to the game, zooming in on the TV as the quarterback drops back again. Zooming closer and closer and shifting to slo-mo as quarterback spots his receiver and releases the pass. Camera keeps zooming until all we can see is the football slowly spiraling against the blue sky.

Camera pulls back, still slo-mo, but now we are in a suburban backyard, and the football has been thrown by a smiling, happy father. Camera pivots and we see that the ball is headed for the arms of his smiling, happy 10-year-old son.

Kill slo-mo and cut to close-up of son catching ball.

BOY: Touchdown!

Boy begins touchdown dance. Camera pivots to show DAD in background.

DAD: Rookie receiver Billy Donovan has just won Super Bowl 75! It's all over folks! The Buffalo Bills are your Super Bowl Champions!

[Hey, it's my movie.]

Now camera begins super-amazing crane shot a la the opening of Touch of Evil - the camera snaking up and down and around and in and out, creating a single coherent scene.

We pull back and up from Billy's backyard and see that we are in a well-kept middle-class surburban cul-de-sac. The camera takes us from one house to another on this perfect Sunday afternoon in autumn. There are six houses, and we work counterclockwise from Billy's.

In house two, Husband 2 is cheerfully hanging storm windows in preparation for the cold weather.

In house three, Husband 3 is helping his son with math homework.

In house four, Husband 4 is making dinner with his teenage daughter (shot slides through to living room, where Mom is reading on the couch).

In house five, Husband 5 is sitting on the porch with his wife, listening to her talk about the dream she had the night before.

And in house six, Husband 6 is in bed with his wife, just finishing a Sunday afternoon interlude. She is on top. Camera pulls in as she collapses onto him.

WIFE: That was amazing.

HUSBAND: Mmmmmmm

WIFE: Now hold still.

HUSBAND: Mmmmmm.

WIFE reaches over to iPhone on bedstand, starts timer app, which begins counting down from 15 minutes.

WIFE: Why don't you tell me about this game you decided to skip this afternoon? They're playing the Indians, right?

HUSBAND (still recovering): Redskins.

WIFE: How enlightened. What does this mean for our playoff chances?

HUSBAND begins to explain the current standings, the wild-card playoff system, who needs to lose and who needs to win, how various player injuries affect the chances each team has, etc. Camera pulls tight on WIFE'S face and it is clear she doesn't care a whit, but she's staying put, smiling and nodding. Her eyes wander over to the timer, and the camera closes in on the numbers as they count down. Suddenly, the digital numbers - say, 13:40 - switch to digital letters GY:NO.


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