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WAVE DISSOLVE TO BUBBLES' FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
TITLE CARD: One year ago
We see the Crankyland's Ye Olde Sexxe Shoppe, a wretched hive of scum and whacking. Slater walks up the path to the sex shop, whistling and playing a little bit of pocket pool.
Bickle comes out the front door, carrying a monstrous load of pornographic material. He's easily got four hundred stroke books in his arms.
SLATER: Jesus, Bickle, stocking up for Europe?
BICKLE: Nah, laddie, this'ere's for the drive home.
SLATER: . . . . holy shit.
BICKLE: Aye.
Slater enters the clinic.
We're instantly hit with the competing smells of spilled bong water and sticky magazine pages. The place is pretty nasty. Liquid Sunshine is being wheeled out of the Sex Change operating room, and Olive Drab is being wheeled in.
PIPE walks by wearing a nurse's outfit, pushing a little cart that's full of semen specimins in plastic containers. When he's sure that nobody's looking, Pipe picks up one of the plastic containers and swigs the contents.
PIPE: Ahh, THAT hit the spot . . .
We hear a commotion from the other end of the lobby.
BUBBLES' VOICE: Fine! Then fuck you, man!
Bubbles storms past Slater and out the door. He shrugs, then heads up to the counter. Mendo appears from inside a cloud of bong smoke.
MENDO: Oh, hey, what's up maaaaaaaaaaaaan?
SLATER: Hey, mendo. Listen, I need twenty bucks for some liquour. Cool if I make another donation?
MENDO: Dude, we already got more than enough babybatter from you, man. Sorry, dude, no can do.
Slater pales at the prospect of a night of sobriety.
SLATER: Shit. By the way, who was that ugly looking cunt who just stormed out of here?
MENDO: Name's Bubbles Powerpuff. She wanted a penis implant. I said no can do, little dude. I don't turn chicks into guys, I just turn guys into chicks. 14-year- old chicks, to be exact.
Slater scratches his chin, lost in thought.
SLATER: A penis transplat, eh?
He turns and dashes out the door, almost knocking pipe over in the process. Pipe glares at him and wipes his milk moustache away.
CUT TO:
Slater catches up to Bubbles on the sidewalk. She's muttering to herself furiously.
BUBBLES: It's not fair . . . I'm gonna be the first person in my family without a dick . . . this is gonna break grundle's heart . . . goddamnit . . .
SLATER: Excuse me, sir? Err . . . miss? Err . . . just excuse me, okay? My name's Slater, and I couldn't help but overhear your little problem?
BUBBLES: Yeah? And?
SLATER: Well, I'm an amateur surgeon in my spare time, you know. I can do your little transplant thingie . . . for a price.
BUBBLES: How much?
SLATER: Gimme a bottle of Kamchatka Vodka and we'll call it a deal.
BUBBLES: Doesn't that stuff make you go blind and bleed from your fingernails?
Slater shurgs.
SLATER: Ehh, I work better that way.
Bubbles thinks for a moment. Then she glances down at her hateful, hateful vagina and makes up her mind.
BUBBLES: Deal.
CUT TO:
Bubbles wakes up in a dingy, deserted apartment in the middle of town. She is lying naked in a bathtub filled with ice. She stands up gingerly and looks down. Sure enough, she now has a penis!
BUBBLES: Yes! YES! Finally, my prayers have been answered! I'm finally . . . COMPLETE!
She looks down again, and pauses, frowning.
BUBBLES: It sure is hairy, though . . . Is it supposed to look like that?
EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF BUBBLES' NEW DICK--Sure enough, it's a hairy little bugger, short and tufty, like a little brown Chia log.
BUBBLES: It feels really weird, too . . . I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be this hairy . . .
Suddenly, the bathroom door opens and Slater's pet beagle walks into the room. The dog is whimpering, and bleeding profusely from the hole in its crotch.
Bubbles begins to scream.
WAVE DISSOLVE BACK TO THE PRESENT
Bubbles has a look of steely hatred in her eyes. Her teeth are grinding audibly.
BUBBLES: Slater . . .
Wulfgar paces in a slow circle around her, his voice low and soothing.
WULFGAR: Yes, Swatter. The man who destwoyed your wife, the man who wavaged your boddy, the man who wuined your wespectable weputation. Swatter.
BUBBLES: Do you realize what he did to me, Wulfgar? I still can't pass a fire hydrant without lifting my leg. Dogs follow me around the block. I can't even watch "Animal Planet" without sporting wood.
WULFGAR: Wouldn't you wike some wevenge? Some wetwibution? A chance to finawwy humiwiate Swatter once and fow aww . . ?
Bubbles stares forward, her eyes unseeing, lost in a trance.
BUBBLES: Yes. Wevenge. Wetwibution. Humiwiation. Yes.
WULFGAR: I will suppwy the necessawy artiwewwy and ammunition, and you will be my Angeww of Death! You will vanquish my advewsawies, and bwing justice to Cwankywand, and you will do it aww in my hawwowed name . . .
BUBBLES: Yes. Angel of Death.
WULFGAR: And in wetuwn, aww I ask is that you bwing me the head of skiwwy.
Bubbles' eyes suddenly snap into focus and she frowns.
BUBBLES: Skilly? What'd she ever do to you?
Wulfgar shakes his head sadly.
WULFGAR: skiwwy, skiwwy, skiwwy. . . my muse, my inspiwation, my uwtimate undoing. She cweated the monsteww you see befowe your vewwy eyes, Buboos.
Wulfgar looks into the distance, lost in memories.
AND . . . STAR WIPE TO FLASHBACK!
We see a much younger Wulfgar, pimply and awkward, but still slightly under 400 pounds. He's wearing a tuxedo and cat slippers, which are actually just cats with Wulfgar's feet buried in their assholes, mewling frantically. The setting is the Cranky High Senior Prom. Wulfgar sidles over to skilly, who's wearing a Quiet Riot tee-shirt and chain-smoking a dildo. Wulfgar gulps nervously, his face bright red.
WULFGAR: Excuse me, skiwwy? Would you wike to dance the wobot wiff me?
Skilly stares at him, confused.
SKILLY: What?
WULFGAR: Nevvah mind . . .
Crushed and humiliated, Wulfgar quickly waddles away.
AND . . . STAR WIPE BACK TO THE PRESENT!!
Wulfgar's lip has culred in a sinister snarl.
WULFGAR: Yes, she cweated the wavenous cweature of the night you see befowe your vewwy eyes. She turned me fowevvah to a wife of cwime. And for that, skiwwy must DIE!
He begins to laugh, a horrible, high-pitched yowling. Bubbles shrinks away from the insane laughter.
Mia enters the room, smiling vacantly. She is holding a carrot in one hand and her prosthetic nose in the other.
MIA: look what i can do!
Mia sticks the carrot in her nose-hole. She smiles proudly.
CUT TO:
Slothrop and CFL are sitting on the street corner, talking.
SLOTHROP: You know, now that I've gotten to know you Aron, I'm surprised. My entire life I've been terrified of black people, but you guys aren't so scary!
CFL: Thanks. I guess.
SLOTHROP: Hey, where'd my wallet go?
Sheepishly, CFL hands the wallet back.
SLOTHROP: Thanks. So, anyway, how long do you think the authors are gonna be able to milk this flashback sequences bullshit in order to mask their inability to come up with anything new?
CFL: Well, I'm glad you asked. See, I've been formulating a seventeen-stage evaluation of the situation which shows a dedication for the eradication of instigation--
SLOTHROP: Hey, wait!
Slothrop reaches over and pulls off CFL's fake moustache and phony glasses.
SLOTHROP: I knew it! This entire time, you've really been the Reverand Jesse Jackson!
Jesse Jackson hangs his head.
JESSE JACKSON: It is true, I cannot lie. This is a charge I can't deny.
Suddenly, mercifully, his head is forcibly torn from his body. Retard-in-the-Theater stands over him, shrieking and belching smoke. The shotgun blast to his gut has exposed layers upon layers of complicated mechanical wiring. He tosses Jesse Jackson's head aside casually.
SLOTHROP: Holy shit, you're a fucking robot!
RETARD9000:
FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
!!!!!!!!!!
The Retard9000 brings its fist swinging down, splitting Slothrop's head into two fuzzy sections.
Suddenly, and for absolutely no good reason, a Ferrari smashes into the Retard9000 and the two dead bodies at better than ninety miles an hour, plowing all three of them into a concrete wall with a sickening THUD. The vehicle groans, then dies.
The Wreck crawls out the window, coughing and brushing shards of glass off his shirt.
WRECK: Well, c'mon! Who didn't see THAT coming?
A kid pulls up on a motorscooter, staring at the carnage with wide eyes.
KID: Dude, you fucked up your Ferrari . . .
The Wreck looks up slowly, grimacing in his best Nic Cage fashion.
WRECK: It . . . wasn't . . . mine.
Then the cheesy parody is ruined by the enraged Retard9000, who tears his way through the Ferrari, The Wreck, and the kid, in that order. Covered in blood and shooting sparks of electricity out of his eye sockets, the TardBot leans back and howls at the moon.
RETARD9000: HEEEYYYY MAAAAAAAAAN! THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!
The Retard stalks away down the street, looking for blood.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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