$COLONELSANDERSGIVESHERColonel Sanders gives her a beating
A broke KFC cashier endures savage beatings from the literal Colonel Sanders, igniting a surreal war against corporate ghosts and her own complicity.
A broke KFC cashier endures savage beatings from the literal Colonel Sanders, igniting a surreal war against corporate ghosts and her own complicity.
Synopsis
Mia Torres, 28, flips chicken at a failing KFC while her life crumbles under debt and dead-end shifts. One night Colonel Sanders materializes from the drive-thru sign and pummels her in the parking lot, leaving bruises no one else can see. Each beating peels back layers of the brand’s predatory history, pushing Mia to weaponize the Colonel’s own secret recipe against him. Her boss covers up the attacks to protect the franchise; her best friend thinks she’s cracking. As the Colonel’s assaults escalate from fists to fryer grease and secret blend shrapnel, Mia rallies the night crew for a midnight revolt inside the glowing red-and-white tomb. The line between mascot and monster dissolves as she forces the Colonel to taste his own exploitation. In the final showdown Mia burns the secret recipe and walks out wearing the white suit herself, now the new Colonel—only this time the beatings stop.
The story
the setup, 2-3 sentences
the confrontation, 2-3 sentences
the resolution, 2-3 sentences
The cast
28-year-old night-shift cashier ground down by debt and invisible labor; the Colonel’s attacks force her to fight back.
dream cast: Anya Taylor-Joy
Literal embodiment of corporate greed who materializes to punish workers; his violence reveals the brand’s exploitative soul.
dream cast: Willem Dafoe
Franchise manager who gaslights Mia and protects profits at all costs.
dream cast: Jesse Plemons
Mia’s best friend and fellow shift worker who slowly believes the impossible and joins the revolt.
dream cast: Zoe Kravitz
Company therapist who pathologizes Mia until the truth bleeds into his office.
dream cast: Steve Carell
Dream crew
in the style of David Lynch, for uncanny dread
in the style of Quentin Tarantino, for razor-sharp dialogue
in the style of Trent Reznor, for industrial menace
Cold open
INT. KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN - NIGHT Fluorescent lights hum over empty fryers. MIA TORRES, 28, mop in hand, stares at the glowing Colonel Sanders mural. The eyes seem to follow her. MIA Another twelve-hour close. Thanks for nothing, Colonel. The mural’s painted hand twitches. The red-and-white suit steps off the wall with a wet crunch. COLONEL SANDERS, seven feet tall and smelling of grease, advances. COLONEL SANDERS You owe me twelve more hours, girl. He grabs her by the throat and slams her into the hot box. Grease spatters. Mia screams as his fist—thick with secret herbs—connects with her ribs. EXT. PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER Mia staggers out, bruises already blooming. The Colonel’s laugh echoes from the bucket sign above.
Why now
Worker exploitation, gig-economy burnout, and the weaponization of nostalgia have never felt more visceral; audiences are primed for a savage takedown of the brands that own us.
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