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INT. THE FRATELLI'S HOUSE
Nick, Mia, and Godmother Fratelli are gathered around the kitchen table. Nick and Mia, as always, are arguing fiercely. Godmother Fratelli has her head in her hands. She slowly massages her temples and prays for death's clammy fingers.
NICK: Listen, Mia, if that rancid crack that you call a pussy was on fire, I'd wait until you were dead before pissing on you!
MIA: oh, yea, like you'd even know what a pussy is, mr fag boy nick or i'm sorry, you've probably never seen one, since you came out of your mother's ass instead of her pussy!
GODMOTHER: Hey! I'm . . . sitting . . . right . . . here!!
MIA: whoops, sorry, ma, but nick's just a stupid little homo who can't do anything
NICK: Mia, listen very carefully: I'm going to cleave your fucking skull off of your stupid shoulders and use it as a shit chalice, okay? And then. . .
GODMOTHER: Hey, somebody's here!
The all look up in eager anticipation. SLATER and THANATOS walk into the room, obviously drunk.
NICK: Who the holy hellfuck are you?
SLATER: I'm Slater. And this is Thanatos.
The Fratellis look perplexed.
GODMOTHER: Yeah, but everybody here is supposed to "be" someone else. I'm supposed to be Mamma Fratelli, Mia's supposed to be Francis . . . you know, it's a freaking parody, for Chrissake! Who are you supposed to be?
SLATER: Uh . . . Slater.
GODMOTHER: Yeah, but why are you here?
SLATER: I always right myself into my fanfics. And Thanatos asked for a speaking role, so I said I'd give him one.
THANATOS: Humperdido, chromedome!
Godmother shakes her head.
GODMOTHER: Nick--you know what to do.
Nick stands up and shoots Thanatos in the head. Thanatos' brains splatter against the wall in a mist of crimson gore. He turns to Slater.
SLATER: Hey, err, what about the rights of the artist?
NICK: You're in Crankyland, asshole. You have the right to be ridiculed.
Nick grabs an coat hanger off the door and with one swift move, tears Slater's throat open. Gurgling and coughing, Slater slowly sinks to the floor.
SLATER: This...was...supposed to...be rated...PG...
NICK: Yeah, well, you shouldn't have put me and Mia in it, then.
SLATER: Good...fucking...point...
He slumps to the floor, dead. Mr. Chunkiful suddenly walks out of the bathroom and stumbles over the two corpses. For some reason, Mr. Chunkiful is now without any pants.
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Wow, supper-koool bloodd!!
NICK: Now who the *fuck* is this asshole?!
Nick goes off to get more bullets.
MR. CHUNKIFUL: If youoo kills mee, I won't tell yoou aboutt the tressure of one-eye Crankee! My friends are lookinn for it rite now!!
GODMOTHER: But you just told us about it!
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Oh yeah...
There is a long pause.
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Snapper!!! Ppppppppppppppppppppppp!!!
Nick re-enters the room.
NICK: Ma, we're outta bullets. You want me to skullfuck this newbie to death.
MIA: you'd probably like that wouldn't you nick the perv?
GODMOTHER: NO, there's no time for that. Throw him in with your brother and let's get after that treasure.
NICK: I don't wanna touch him, ma. The fuckstain doesn't have any pants on!
Mr. Chunkiful twangs his tiny penis in agreement.
GODMOTHER: Just do it!
With a look of obvious disgust, Nick drags Mr. Chunkiful into the next room. It looks like a medieval torture room-- huge chains, massive chairs, bowls of slop on the floor. This looks like the type of room you keep not-especially- bright pigs in.
Nick chains Mr. Chunkiful to the wall and leaves. Mr. Chunkiful plays with himself a little longer, then looks around. To his shock, he sees a hideously deformed mutant in the corner.
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Err. . . hey, suuper-cool guy . . . do youu like DDDmajic too?
The monster turns and faces him. It's absolutely terrible-- a gigantic, dripping gut of cheese, an pockmarked landscape of acne gone wrong, a smell of sour fish coming from the folds of ass blubber. It's SLOTHROP.
SLOTHROP: Dmajic? Sorry, chap, but I cannot say with any degree of accuracy as to whether or not I am acquainted with the fine young lady in question. Still, be of stout and hearty heart, lad, perhaps the day shall come when the 'twain shall meet! Cheerio!
Mr. Chunkiful begins to scream in mortal terror...
TO BE CONTINUED...
--Slater
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