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INT. CAT MANSION--NIGHT
Dusk falls over Crankyland. A cricket chirps in the background. Ponies nuzzle each other under the light of the new moon. A 747 Jumbo Jet with the words "Air Dmagic" plummets out of the sky and into the ground in a brilliant plume of fire. It's soothing.
We follow a mangy-looking bat as it flaps through the air. The bat flies in an open window at Wulfgar's Cat Mansion, and promptly transforms into mia. For some inexplicable reason, she still has a carrot sticking out of her nose- hole. With a sigh of relief, she removes the carrot.
All is quiet in the Cat Mansion.
Then, a kitten lunges out of the shadows and plunges head- first in Mia's gaping nose-hole. Driven mad with hunger at the smell of exposed brain matter, the carniverous kitten begins burrowing inside Mia's head, scratching and mewling frantically.
Mia shrieks. She grabs a tack hammer off the dresser (don't ask why it was there--nobody fucking knows) and begins to smash the hammer into her face.
MIA: Gethh outthha therr, hyou mtherfuther!! Gethh outhha my brhain!!
She smashes her face time and time again. Finally, a limp and bloody kitten slowly slides out of the bleeding nose- hole. It slumps to the ground and lies still.
Mia stares at it, panting heavily.
MIA: Whhut thu THUCK wath that all aboutth?
Once again, the Cat Mansion is quiet.
Mewling joyfully, a hundred more kittens leap out of the shadows and make a bee-line for Mia's nose-hole.
She shrieks.
CUT TO ANOTHER PART OF THE CAT MANSION:
Wulfgar stands in front of his extra-sized mirror, adorned in a Hefner-esque velvet robe that's naturally stuffed with kittens. He scratches his considerable belly and the mass of kittens shifts around with a muffled whimper.
WULFGAR: Ooh, yeah, that's weally hits the spot, widdle buddies . . .
He stares at his enormous reflection in the mirror.
WULFGAR: Tomowwow, my victowy wiww finawwy be compwete. I wiww finawwy be the wuwer of Cwankywand, now and fowevah. I think this cawws fohw a cewebwation . . .
He marches over to a closet and presses a button. The door hisses open, and we see popular novelist STEPHEN KING tied down on a hospital gurney, looking like reheated dogshit. King has been hobbled, his legs missing below his knees, and a typewriter is set up on his bed.
WULFGAR: How awe you doing, my widdle Diwty Biwd? You cockadoodie Diwty Biwd?
KING: Please . . . let me die . . . for the love of all that's good and holy, let me die . . .
WULFGAR: Pewhaps you've changed your mind about pwaying a wousing wound of "Dungeons and Dwagons" wiff me? Hmm?
Despite his weakened condition, King hocks a gob of spit at the insane Cat Bastard.
KING: That game is for fucking FAGGOTS!
Wulfgar frowns.
WULFGAR: What a naughty mouff you have thewe, my widdle Diwty Bird. Pewhaps you need a widdle . . . incentiff?
Suddenly, the door to his room is flung open. Bubbles stands in the hallway, looking bored. Wulfgar freaks out and frantically shoves Stephen King back into the closet.
WULFGAR: Didn't I teww you to awways knock?
BUBBLES: Sorry, sir!
WULFGAR: Did you see anyfing?
BUBBLES: No, sir, I didn't see you playing with your toys!
WULFGAR: . . . GOOD!
Wulfgar takes a moment to compose himself, then turns around.
WULFGAR: What is it, Bubboos?
Bubbles hesitates as Mia runs down the hallway behind her shrieking, beating with a rusty frying pan at the kittens clawing at her face.
BUBBLES: ...anyways . . . I was wondering what the plan is, sir?
Wulfgar smiles.
WULFGAR: The pwan? The PWAN? The pwan, my deaw Bubboos, is that we attack at dawn. It wiww be a cwean sweep, my deaw. Take no pwisonews.
BUBBLES: Come again?
WULFGAR: Pwisonews. Don't take any.
BUBBLES: No sir, never touch the stuff.
There is a long pause. Wulfgar stares at her suspiciously.
WULFGAR: ...wight. Anyway, bettah get some sweep, Bubboos. We've got a busy day tomowwoh.
Bubbles smiles.
BUBBLES: You got that right, sir . . .
CUT TO:
THE CRANKYLANDER'S HOUSE
Nick, Coaster, Slater, Speaker, MEB, Violet Beauregarde, skilly, Hairhead, and Pseudonym are all trying to fall asleep. There's not enough sleeping bags to go around, and it's prodcued some uncomfortable results. While Hairhead looks positively ecstatic at getting to share a sleeping bag with MEB, Speaker and Coaster don't look too comfortable together.
SPEAKER: This sucks. Why can't I sleep in skilly's sleeping bag? She's all by herself over there.
An angry-looking Psuedonym walks by, covered in pussy slime.
PSUE: I wouldn't recommend it.
A satisfied burp comes from inside skilly's sleeping bag.
HAIRHEAD: Man, it's hot in this bag. Think I'll just take off my shirt.
He pulls off the shirt slowly, blatantly humming porno music under his breath. MEB rolls her eyes and punches him in the kidneys. Hairhead yelps.
NICK: Hey, would you fuckers keep it down over there? It's almost dawn, and I still haven't fallen asleep yet.
SKILLY: Hey, Nick, you're gonna keep your asscheeks clenched pretty tight tonight, right?
Nick shrugs, looking confused.
NICK: I guess so. Why?
Skilly looks worried.
SKILLY: Oh, no reason.
Nick lets out a long, ripping fart. Skilly screams and dives out the window. Several minutes later, when the house still hasn't exploded, she sheepishly walks back in the door.
VIOLET: Is Slater still alive over there?
Coaster looks over at Slater, who's passed out face-down in a bucket of Everclear. An occasional air bubble rises to the surface, but not very often.
COASTER: For the time being.
VIOLET: Damn. I was gonna take his sleeping bag if he was dead.
There is a brief lull in the conversation.
HAIRHEAD: Yeah, it's kinda weird how none of us have really died yet. I mean, I figured that I'd be the first one to go, since I was just kind of a secondary character all this time. But here I am, and . . . holy shit, babe, why didn't you say so?
MEB stares at him.
MEB: What are you talking about?
Hairhead winks at her seductively.
HAIRHEAD: Yeah, baby, I knew you was a dirty ho . . . awww, HELL yeah . . .
He closes his eyes, lost in ecstasy. Confused, MEB pulls away the blanket.
The Retard9000 is stroking Hairhead off, grinning dementedly. A few sparks shoot out of its crushed head.
RETARD9000: Whackadoodle . . .
It suddenly rears up with a roar, still clutching Hairhead, who is now shrieking like a fat woman at boot camp. The RetardBot begins swinging Hairhead around in the air like a lasso.
NICK: Holy shit!
COASTER: Whooooiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!
Hairhead continues to scream. There's a sudden ripping noise, and he goes flying against the wall. He slowly slides the floor, unmoving.
MEB lunges across the room in a combat roll. She grabs a pistol, pivots around, and unloads the full clip into the retard. It steams toward her, furious. She freezes, staring into the retard's insane eyes. It bears down on her . . .
. . . until it trips over Slater and goes flying into the liqour cabinet beside her. Bottles explode in a shower of glass and alcohol. Slater sits up, rubbing his head. He glances over at Hairhead's corpse and shrugs. He glances over at the ruined liquor cabinet and shrieks.
The Retard9000 turns slowly, murder in its eyes. It advances again towards MEB.
Suddenly, a flare crackles to life in the dark room. Nick waves the flare back and forth slowly. The retard9000 follows the flare's movements with its eyes, hypnotized. Nick remains perfectly still.
A second flare sparkles in the dim light, this one held by Psuedonym.
Nick turns slowly, his eyes wide.
NICK: Psue, FREEZE!!!
PSUE: It's okay! Get the kids!
She turns and begins to run, still waving the flare. With a roar, the Retard9000 crashes after her, huge and terrible.
Nick and Coaster race to the other side of the room and begin pushing Crankylanders out the door.
Glancing over her shoulder, Psue tosses the flare away. The retard follows it with his eyes, then turns back to Psue and roars. It's still right behind her, and gaining. She screams. The Retard9000 lowers its massive head and rams her, sending her flying through the air. She lands in a heap in the middle of the ammunition. The Retard bends over her, studying her carefully.
Psue opens her eyes. Her tightly-clenched fists slowly open, revealing another road flare.
The Retard9000 stares down at her. In slow motion, a drop of liquor runs down its ravaged face and freefalls off into space.
PSUE: Smile, you son of a b--
She lights the flare.
The house explodes, taking all of the guns and ammunition with it. The remaining Crankylanders are flung through the air.
For a few moments, all we see is smoke.
Speaker emerges from the smoke, covered with soot and ashes. Coughing, he crawls over to Nick and shakes him. Nick stirs to life.
NICK: How many . . . of us . . . made it?
Speaker shakes his head.
SPEAKER: Not sure. But--
Nick suddenly raises his hand, silencing him.
NICK: Listen.
In the distance, we hear a familiar jingle.
JINGLE: Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow moew, meow meow meow meow MEOW meow meow meow . . .
The CatMobile roars around the corner, heading in their direction.
SPEAKER: Sweet Buttered Christ . . .
TO BE CONTINUED...
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