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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...
PART SEVEN
INT. THE CAVE
HAIRHEAD, WULF, SPEAKER4DATA, SKILLY, AND PSUE are gathered around a mold-covered, decrepit skeleton, outfitted in a leather jacket and a battered old fedora. Psue takes his wallet and stares at it.
PSUE: Hmm . . . RICHARD COBBLEPOT.
HH: Richard Cobblepot? I remember reading about him, back in the old Crankyland threads. He used to be a pretty big name!
WULF: Wasn't he an asshole?
HH: Oh, yeah, defnitiely.
SPEAKER4DATA: But guys--if this Richard was such a big name, and he didn't make it, what chance do we have? Huh? What chance do we have?
HH: Well, we're not assholes, for one thing . . .
WULF: *I* am.
At this, Skilly suddenly looks interested for the first time. She stares at Wulf with a hungry look in her eyes. He stares back, sligtly uncomfortable.
Psue casually removes all of Richard's credit cards and slips them in her pocket. Speaker4data stares at her. She shrugs.
PSUE: Student loans, you know?
They continue walking down the corridor.
A few seconds after they leave, we hear footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. And arguing--a LOT of arguing.
MIA: hey look at all of those bats up there on the ceiling do they make you horny, nick the perv, i bet they do, because you have a face like a bat.
NICK: Mia, I'm gonna fill every disgusting orifice on your disease-ridden body with guano and then set you on fire if you don't shut the fuck up . . .
GODMOTHER: Quiet, you two! There's something up there!
The three Fratellis appear. They gather around Richard's skeleton and stare down at it.
GODMOTHER: Richard Cobblepot . . .
NICK: So that's what happened to him . . .
MIA: does that make you horny, nick the perv, i bet it does
NICK: If I got horny looking at a disgusting pile of bones, I'd be after you, bitch.
GODMOTHER: Shut up, both of you! There's voices behind us. Let's hurry up and get out of here!
The Fratellis hurry off.
A few minutes later, the trolls appear.
X-MOUTH: And so I wrote *another* letter to President Reagan, telling him how much I respected him, and he didn't respond to that one either! And so I wrote back and said, hey, asshole, who do you think you are, that you can just go around forgetting things, like writing back to your bestest buddy? And then the Secret Service wrote back and threatened to ...
DARKER CONQUEROR: Hey, look, it's a skeleton.
HATE GUY: It's yo mamma.
DARKER CONQUEROR: Hey, that was pretty good!
While Darker Conqueror stops to write this new bon mot down in his insult notebook, Liquid Sunshine darts forward, a look of ecstatic bliss on his spastic face. He promply begins to have sex with the skull. The others watch him with horrified fascination. After a moment, they begin to offer advice.
X-MOUTH: Use your fist! Your fist!!
HATE GUY: No, you've got to discipline it! Spankings!
X-MOUTH: Call it a slut!
DARKER CONQUEROR: (still having trouble with the insult notebook) Y-O-M-A-M-M-A . . .
X-MOUTH: Baaaaaa!
LIQUID SUNSHINE: Quiet, you fuckers! Can't you see that I'm going against the norms of a regulated and morally-controlled society? This is daring, avant-garde nonconformism!
<long pause>
X-MOUTH: It looks like you're just fucking a dead skull to me.
HATE GUY: Yeah.
DARKER CONQUEROR: Yo mamma!
Sighing, Liquid Sunshine stands up, brushes the bone splinters off his prepubescent penis, and starts off down the cave, grumbling at how unappreciated he is.
LIQUID SUNSHINE: Nobody realizes how daring and cutting edge I am. *THAT*'s why I hate fanfics . . .
The other trolls follow him.
A few moments later, our final band of retarded travelers appear--Mr. Chunkiful and Slothrop. Apparently, in between episodes, they figured out a way to escape from the Fratelli's house.
Apparently.
Anyway:
SLOTHROP: So, as I infer it, you are indeed implying that the correct vernacular for referring to a woman's erogenous genital nether-regions is truly the term "snapper"?
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Yuppy-doo! Snappper! Pppppppppp!
SLOTHROP: Indeed. Quite fascinating. I do say, old chap, do you have any inkling of our present subterranian topological location? Or, to put it in distasteful layman's terms for the benefit of those deprived of the sublime art of pretention, where are we?
MR. CHUNKIFUL: Snapper-doo! Quartter in my braain! Pppppp! DDDDmajic, here i cum!
SLOTHROP: Quite right. Lead on, my world-weary companion. Lead on.
They head out of sight, futher down the tunnel, toward the inevitable bloodbath that's coming whenever the author runs out of ideas . . .
PART EIGHT
INT. CAVE
Our intrepid band of Crankies emerge from a passageway. They are dirty, tired, and dishelved.
HH: What's "dishelved" mean?
The others shrug.
WULF: Fucker's using a thesaurus, probably.
SPEAKER4DATA: Hey, guys, I gotta go to the bathroom. Can we take a pit stop?
HH: Sure. Okay . . . this cave over here is the Little Boy's Room, and that cave over there is the Little Girl's room. Got it?
SKILLY: *ahem*
HH: Oh, right, sorry. And that cave over there is the Insatiable Whore's Room.
SKILLY: Thanks.
The Crankies break up. HH and Speaker4data head into the little boy's room, Psue into the little girl's room, and Skilly . . . well, you get the picture. Wulf stands in the middle of the room, clearly torn between his need to urinate and his mad desire to make sweet monkey love to Skilly. He sits there for so long, lost in contemplation, that he actually forgets which cave is which.
WULF: Aw, shit. Something embarrasing is gonna happen to me soon. I just know it.
Crossing his fingers, Wulf drops his pants around his ankles and heads into one of the caves. There is a moment of silence, then we hear a terrible shrieking.
HH: Ouch! Why? What'd I do??? What'd I do???
SPEAKER4DATA: Jesus, Wulf, he's your *brother*!!!!
Wulf hurries out of the cave, pulling up his pants as he goes. He has a rather sheepish expression on his face.
WULF: Uh . . . sorry, bro. Just playing with you, you know?
HH'S VOICE: (weak) It hurts so bad . . .
WULF: Err . . . now which cave was Skilly in again . . .?
PSUE'S VOICE (hopeful) This one!
WULF: Nice try, bookworm!
Laughing like a maniac, he drops his pants and runs into the third cave.
WULF: Skilly? Skilly?
Suddenly Wulf begins to scream--a high-pitched, keening noise. This is followed by inhuman screeching and wailing, and the sound of rending flesh. The other Crankies rush out of their respective caves and stare into the darkness apprehensively.
HH: What is that? What the fuck is that?
SPEAKER4DATA: I recognize that sound. It's the mating call of the fearsome Monkey Butler.
PSUE: Jesus . . .
Suddenly, the horrible sounds of torture disappear. Skilly emerges from the cave, nonchalantly picking her teeth with a fragment of Wulf's shattered pelvis.
SPEAKER4DATA: Or it could just be Skilly.
SKILLY: I *told* him he couldn't handle me. . .
Psue goes to Hairhead and puts her arms around him.
PSUE: Are you okay, kid? You can cry if you want to. It can't be easy to lose your brother like that . . .
Hairhead looks incredulous.
HH: Cry? Over *that*? Jesus, lady, this is just a fucking fanfic.
PSUE: Oh.
HH: Let's get going, okay?
Skilly burps. Not through her mouth.
SKILLY: Fine by me.
The remaining Crankies head down the tunnel, getting ever-closer to the treasure of One-Eyed Cranky. . .
COMING SOON: The Booty Trap
--Slater
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