Letters From Readers: Pope Francis

We are delighted to reveal to you a particularly revelatory revelation, courtesy of long-time reader, first-time writer, Pope Francis, the Current. P-Franks, as his nearest and dearest confidants call him (us being they), is a self-confessed super-fan of the blog, and its contents, and has been for many Moondays. Recently Funky Fresh Francis penned us with some annotated exaltations.

We will spare you the lion’s hair of his letter, which spilled all over the floor when opened and could not be recovered, and also the lion’s share, which turned out to be a disappointing pile of fawning, obsequious lickspittle horseshit. But there was one redeeming annotation. In a clear bid to win the favor of us cool kids, Triple F McPope threw in an extremely old papyrus napkin on which was scribbled, framed by several fertility glyphs (also known as ejaculating dick-and-balls doodles, in the modern parlance), a lost book of the Bible. Below is a small fragment from the book of Pontius Pilate, which we translated from the ancient pig Latin:

Finally, just as the crowd was beginning to disperse, Jesus emerged from the bathroom and washed his hands of it. He turned unto them and said unto them: “Do not enter that place for forty days and forty nights.” Among those gathered there was much confusion. A Chaldean elder then stepped forward, addressing Jesus.
“Hi Jesus, my name is Joephat. I’m a long-time follower, first-time speaker.”
Among the crowd was much speak of “Hello, Joephat.”
“Jesus Christ, my problems are numerous as the stars in the heavens,” spoke Joephat. “Can you help me?”
Jesus was silent for some time, gathering his patience. He then spoke, “for each heaven I shall aid you in one problem. Since by my last count there is only one heaven, you must choose wisely.”
Joephat said “I have two daughters, each fit to marry. Both love the same man. With my approval, this man would gladly buy both. Would this be sinful?”
Jesus massaged his temples, and then spoke unto the crowd in answer:
“Two fishermen were rowing their boat to shore. The one lost his balance and fell into the water, but he was fortunate to fall in such a way that his head remained dry. The other did not notice and continued toward shore. The one in the water called out to him, brother, I have fallen into the water but my head is dry. The other cried back, swim to me. I am trying, replied the one, but you must stop paddling ashore. The other laughed, saying, surely it is not I who should slow but you who should hasten, for your head is dry with lack of effort. But I am swimming as fast as I can, cried the one in desperation. Thoroughly irritated, the other redoubled his efforts, saying, everyone knows that swimming necessitates wetting one’s head. Therefore, as your head is dry, you must not be swimming. The one, now confused and quite tired from exertion, asked of his brother, but if you know that I am not swimming, and I know that I am not drowning, then what could I possibly be doing outside of the boat? The other replied, quite adamantly, there is nothing you could be doing outside of the boat besides swimming or drowning, both of which would wet your head. The one, now at peace, said, I suppose you are right. The two paddled to shore.”
Among the crowd there was much murmuring and many unanswered questions. Joephat opened his mouth to speak, at which point Jesus abruptly and rudely proclaimed “I tell you the truth, it is a long way to the top, if you want to rock and roll. Meeting adjourned.”

More fragments will be published as they are translated. Thanks again to Freaky Francis way up there in his Crystal Palace at 1 V-Town Lane, Holy See, for the papyrus and nothing else. Better luck next time, Fisty Boy.

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Pope Francis “the Fist”

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Baboon Hits The Road

Baboon hits the road

BABOON

Baboon floats down Boulevard Street to the 24-hour store. He’s just been released from the Fransdorf Community Hospital, where he had gone after eating a maggot-infested Meatball Serenade™ sandwich. It is 5:05 a.m. and Baboon’s ecto-rectum is still stinging from ejecting a piercing stream of many meaty maggots. The ghostman finds himself in the 24-hour store, where he browses the racks for a salty snack. His stomach rumbles, and so he decides to just leave the store.

Outside, Baboon floats alone on a bench, staring off into the great phasmic expanse. Suddenly, a red Corvette roars up next to the bench where Baboon sits. A balding man wearing a grey flannel suit gets out of the car and runs at Baboon, screaming at him. The man grabs Baboon and yanks him into the passenger seat of the Corvette. The man yells “Casper the fuckin’ ghost” over and over until getting in the car. He starts the engine and blasts off into the fog-laden highway of Route 666…

“We’re gonna get so fucked up, man,” says Dupree, the Corvette driver. It is now 3:30 p.m. and he and Baboon are flying down the highway at 100 mph. “Malpractice my ass, man, those clowns don’t know shit,” says Dupree. “You and me, we’re goin’ to Vegas, man. Veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!!!!!!!” Dupree opens a vial of cocaine and tries to pour out a line on the back of his hand, only to have all of it blow away in the wind. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!” Dupree cries out. He yanks the steering wheel right and stops the car in the desert next to the highway. “It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s fine, it’s cool,” says Dupree with unease. “Gotta find a song, man, a song, man!” he says, pointing at the radio. Baboon tinkers with the radio until pausing on one quiet station. Out of the silence slowly comes the opening Latin-flavored rock and roll of “Tequila” by The Champs. Dupree yells out “FUCK yeahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” He then looks seriously at Baboon, a wry smile slowly coming over his face. Dupree pops the trunk and pulls out an unopened bottle of tequila. He opens the bottle and pours tequila down his gullet for six seconds, tossing the bottle to Baboon, who does the same. Then they both yell “Tequila!” in accordance with the song, dancing and drinking in the hot desert of the American West. When the song ends, the sound of Baboon’s “tequila!” cries still echoes audibly in the air, a noise which occupies multiple realms.

On the road again, listening to the song “On The Road Again” by Willie Nelson, Baboon and Dupree speed down the highway, the sun beating down, getting ever closer to Las Vegas. Dupree sweats profusely in the heat, while a gooey substance forms on Baboon. Dupree smokes three cigarettes simultaneously, periodically taking them out to tell Baboon about his “bullshit legal practice” and, much to the interest of Baboon, the quandaries of working against the powerful owners of the sandwich named the Meatball Serenade™.

Approaching evening, the duo sips on another bottle of rare tequila secretly pulled off the shelf of one of Dupree’s many wealthy clients. Off yonder, in the sky, Baboon shifts his gaze from the highway to glimpse his Uncle Pat way out there in the deep dark abyss of space. As the desert sun sets in the distance, they see the sign, the glorious mark of a night brimming with wild possibility. It reads “Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.” Baboon and Dupree howl, a deep howl, one that could rouse even the wariest of Western spirits and lift them out into a neon-lit wilderness forged for those who were born to be alive.

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Baboon will return in “Baboon Does Vegas”

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The Moon Landings: Where are your tax dollars really going and did the government know the whole time!?????

Many cycles of the moon have passed since Luke and I first embarked on a mission to understand the moon and its so called landings.

What on earth is going on here!  Is the moon a perfectly tossed Frisbee? If the moon is a perfectly tossed frisbee why doesn’t it appear to spin?  Is it because it spins so fast that the motion blur makes it look like a stationary object to the human eye?  Then why does it have spots?  And by the way, what is the crescent moon?  And can you eat it?

Our conclusions: Still confused about it. No. The condition does not hold. The condition does not hold. Uncertain. Uncertain. And hopefully.

The “Swiss Cheese Model” is the popular theory that the moon is actually a wheel of cheese placed in low earth orbit several millennia ago by the scientists of Atlantis in case of global famine.  And it will descend to earth only when all hope is lost.  This model was popularized by Nick Park and remains one of the leading models among moonologists, however it took a blow in 2010 when SpaceX showed that a wheel of cheese in space actually looks a lot smaller than a moon. See here: https://www.space.com/10459-wheel-cheese-launched-space-private-spacecraft.html

We here are the Wilderness of Mirrors Blog originally hypothesized that the visual effect called the moon was a perfectly tossed Frisbee.  But, after many years of perfecting our Frisbee tossing technique, we have not managed to duplicate the effect.  We will continue to investigate it but we can now say quite conclusively that no human could so perfectly toss a Frisbee that it would appear to be a moon.  There must be some other explanation.

The good news is, many moons have passed since we started, and moonology has expanded quite a bit.  Nowadays the field of moonology agrees with us that the moon is a hoax.  So there are a lot of great theories being tested.  The truth is out there, and it is only a matter of time before we know it.

About the moon landings, we are still unsure what to make of it.  Obviously those astronauts went somewhere but since the moon is believed to be a hoax, many moonologists today suspect that NASA constructed an artificial spherical rock in space for the landings, in order to perpetuate this myth that there is actually a moon.  If that is true we think they would have left the artificial spherical rock there so that the Chinese Yutu rover could land on it in 2013.  We hereby announce that we shall reward $3.50 to anyone who can locate the artificial spherical rock in space that was used to conduct the “moon” landings.

Fuck off for now, everyone!

P.S. I have come to realize that there is no overlord in this timeline.  It was quite an adjustment, but now that it has sunk in I am actually relieved.  The overlord used to require a monthly team building retreat for randomly selected members of the human horde and it was really getting on my nerves. I’m sure glad I don’t have to deal with that anymore.

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MEN RECORD GRAPES WHILE BIRD LOOKS AWAY DISINTERESTED by Don Blue

Note: This photograph, taken by Don Blue while on holiday, was the only photo we could use as all other submissions were full frontal nudes of Blue taken by himself. Those not familiar with Don Blue will be able to read more about him in the upcoming book BLUE GLOW by Luke William Collard. 

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Top Speed Tomorrow, OR, The Car That Almost Wasn’t, Scarcely Was, and Certainly Might Have Been: A Product Review

Greetings, fellow gear-heads! Evan here, alive and typing, which can only mean one thing: it’s time for my much anticipated review of the TomorrowCar V1, a currently nonexistent car from the fabled yester-future. As far as tech news goes, this is as cutting-edge as it gets, so all you drooling garage sluts, hot rodders and drag strippers out there better open your lusty grease-caked gossip gullets and prepare for my sticky hot shaft of red-blooded all-American automotive reportage! As I have often said that I should start saying more often, less talkin, more gawkin. Check this shit out. Bitch.

TomorrowCar V1 technical specifications

Dimensions: 12′ long, 7′ wide
Weight: 76 metric tonnes
Ground clearance: Variable. Vehicle is capable of stationary flight.
Primary engine: Unholy Monstrosity™ 3rd generation mass blasting energizer unit, powered by premium unleaded anti-energy stabilized fission granules (commonly known as particles of light).
Top speed: Tomorrow
Acceleration: Cubed
Quarter mile time: 0 seconds
Turn radius: The least
Body material: Hard light construct
Interior scent: Arousal™ by Seduction

The TomorrowCar V1 is not your grandfather’s manure sled. This apotheosis of automotive technology took 400 years of research and development to create, and it’s spirit screams “I’m better than you.” Allow me to briefly describe the experience of simply entering this vehicle. You walk up to the driver’s door and it de-materializes, sizzling back into existence as you climb into the seat. The luxury smart gel re-forms to your body, pushing all your buttons. The audio beams start pumping a solid stream of cosmic party music known as Flub Jams into your ears. You tense up, knowing full-well what is about to happen, and then the scented atmosphere hits your nostrils, slithering its pleasure tentacles through your olfactory bulbs and into your brain. That’s it; you have only been in the car for 5 seconds, and you’ve already reached an intense sexual climax, the first of several that you will experience through the course of driving this magical machine.

Take it out on the track and prepare to blow your competitors away, literally. The V1 is capable of defying physical laws that we don’t even know about yet; it plays by its own rules. In an atmospheric environment, this hot tamale is liable to set fire to the air, and you can forget about speeding tickets–it’ll pull 50 light-speed donuts around those fat pigs before they have time to say “well, shee-it.

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Keyless ignition system

Performance and handling aside, the V1 does have some serious drawbacks. The main thing is the chronal locomotion capability. Now, don’t get me wrong, time travel presents some awesome opportunities for road trippers, but its tendency to tear at the fabric of the multiverse is a bummer. After the couple of hours I spent joyriding through space-time, popping sick wheelies in the space between existences, driving all the ladies wild and leaving a wake of causal destruction, I can definitely say it’s not worth it. You learn a lot of stuff about theoretical physics, which is cool, but there are some weird multi-dimensional bugs in the design that are super uncool. as well.

Another uncool thing is the layout of the dashboard. This thing makes no sense, and I had a hell of a time figuring it out. A lot of crazy linguistic stuff must have happened in the 400 years that TomorrowCar Inc. spend designing this car, which renders it totally unreadable. Various parts of the console were probably designed at different times in the development history, so the whole dashboard is almost like a geological layer cake of incongruities. Some of the systems added in the later 2300’s require advanced cyborg neural networking technology to operate and are clearly weapon systems, which leads me to believe that the whole program was probably hijacked for nefarious purposes as TomorrowCar Inc. gradually became more evil. There is a lot of shit stuffed into this car, and I probably didn’t even scratch the surface in the few hours I had with it.

climate control panel

A portion of the climate control panel

Anyway, here are my final scores:

Driving capability—A+
Exterior design—A+
Interior design—B
Chronal mobility—D+

Overall experience—unforgettable

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Particles of Light: Just Say No!

[A MESSAGE FROM Allen 0]
Dear readers, I regret to inform you that this is the last time you will be hearing from me. My experiment with the particles of light is complete. The bloody and irreversible results, and I mean that in every conceivable combination of senses, have been nothing short of a catastrophe.

Originally I believed, as the totally legit looking retail website from which they came suggested, that the particles of light were dust from the higher plane of transcendentalism. It turns out the particles of light were in fact fission reactions suspended in time by what will someday be known as an “anti-energy field.” They are the primary source of cross-chronal-locomotion, more colloquially known as time travel. Indeed Evan’s V1 from TomorrowCar Incorporated runs on the very same particles of light. Or at least it did run on them until we ran out recently doing chronal-donuts at the Denny’s, watching people eat and un-eat syrup slathered flapjack stacks.

You see, I first discovered this during a rescue operation in which Luke and the gang saved me from the cellar of a serial-killing fan of our blog. I was told to wait for a code phrase and I was expecting, as is typical in the circumstances, that I would wait patiently through a conversation between Luke and a dastardly villain, in which the phrase “the hen flies in this timeline” would come up quite naturally. Instead what I heard that morning was a series of statements, all from Luke, by himself, on the other side of the door. I cannot remember them all but a few memorable ones included:

In this timeline we rolled a seven on a six sided die.
This is the timeline where the moon actually is made of cheese.
and quite strangely:
Gaber flapsuplot an rektushactulation fois a lesterpall and grank. Gaber jaban fois regorot the credupolt“—a phrase which I claimed was gibberish not long ago, but which may in fact have a meaning, a revelation which would bare further investigation. Alas, since this is my last post, someone else will have to take it up.

When I finally heard him say “the hen flies in this timeline” I slammed into the door and found it had been unlocked the entire time. I could have simply left at any point. Yet to my surprise, there was no one on the other side of the door! Suddenly it all became crystal clear: I had been hearing Lukes from all over the multi-verse identifying which timeline they were from. Thanks to the particles I had been slipping fluidly between neighboring timelines, and all the timelines were “bleeding” into one another.  The good folks over at the flying hens timeline did a lot of work to help me re-synchronize with a single timeline for a little while but once I got back to my home timeline for Johnny Rotten’s funeral, the “bleeding” resumed.

Right now I am in a neighborhood of timelines where there are no traces of particles of light anywhere. Evan’s V1 is empty, TomorrowCar Incorporated entirely failed to invade the past, and their warp gate was fashioned into a community swimming pool for Johnny’s band at the trailer park. The website selling the particles of light was never created here, and no one here seeking transcendence has ever heard of the particles of light. That just leaves me, the one and only entity in this entire timeline currently possessing these accursed cross-chronal-locomotive particles of suspended fission. Unfortunately the damage done to my own rectum is quite irreversible and the particles will be with me forever. That is why I have dubbed myself Allen 0, and will now incinerate myself to energize the particles of light and guide them with the V1’s steering system out into the interstitial moments between timelines. A final ripple of time travel, in the otherwise tranquil sea of this timeline.

Goodbye, everyone! You’ve been a great blog readership…I assume. I wasn’t born in this timeline after all.

-June 6th

Allen 0 after slipping through thousands of timelines

[A MESSAGE FROM Allen 1]
Dear readers, I have great news for you! Allen 0’s self immolation did not go according to plan. He did remove the last of the particles from this timeline, and he did kill his own self in the process “irreversibly” stopping the “bleeding”. But he had not counted on my own experiment in which I was attempting to divert energy from other timelines into my own for the purpose of making a stable timeline with hundreds of Allens, to defeat the cyborgs and save the overlord.

Unfortunately my plan did not quite work as expected. I thought I would be pulling Allen 0 into my timeline, but instead I was pulled into his timeline by the energy released from his incineration. Therefore, you all in this timeline will continue to get posts from me. Well, actually…I suppose you will begin to get posts from me, and you will continue to get posts from Allen.

After some investigation of Allen 0’s own notes I have concluded the following:

1. This is indeed a timeline where not a single trace of time travel technology still exists, except for the guidance system and the chronometer of Evan’s V1, but without cross-chronal-locomotive fuel there is little use for them.

2. Here Luke, Noah, Evan, and Johnny Rotten, our sponsor from the upstairs suite, all appear to be from various different timelines too.

3. Disturbingly it looks like Allen 0 neglected to check on the status of the original Luke, Noah, Evan, Allen, and Johnny Rotten, from this timeline where we have all settled.  I see no evidence that any of them were killed.  In fact it looks like the warp gate never worked in this timeline, except as a very roomy swimming pool. Seriously, for a community swimming pool it is surprisingly clean and not usually too crowded to enjoy.

Anyway, we are forced to assume the originals are still here and we dub them:
Luke -1, Noah -1, Evan -1, Allen -1, and Johnny Rotten -1
We were unsure what to do about the -1 gang, so we tossed a coin. We now declare the -1 gang our sworn enemies. We will hunt you down and wipe you from the face of this earth and we will never ever surrender the blog. Seriously, fuck you guys.

Psst -1 gang, if you’re out there, the damage done to the timelines by the particles of light in Allen 0s rectum is irreversible. You’ve just got to deal with us now. And we’re really sorry the coin landed on heads. The other option was to help you start an affiliate blog on a Mars colony, but that’s not how things went.

4. Blog posts from all across the multiverse appear to have “bled” through the timelines along with Allen 0, which is not at all surprising since the blog will be the primary nexus of information for all of mankind in the future. The time traveling super computer virus from an aborted future appears to have been helping along this “bleeding” process.

5) Whether the virus is still with us is unclear to me at this time, but it seems extremely likely. Furthermore the fall of mankind is almost certainly imminent, so start stocking up those fallout shelters.

So what is the moral of this happy tragedy?  Well it seems to me that Allen 0, at some point, took a teabag filled with particles of light and inserted it up his rectum, which coalesced with TomorrowCar’s invasion plot to create this entire “irreversible” “timeline” “bleeding” fiasco. Please, readers, do not put things in your ass if you do not have a very, and I mean VERY, carefully planned exit strategy, or instructions from a doctor.

Finally, we assure you that moving forward we plan to resume bringing you chronologically well ordered posts to the best of our ability. Thank you to the readers in this timeline for being patient with us during our transition into your history!

All praise the overlord.

Yeh weh prayse thee overlord.

P.S.

Before his body was sacrificed to strengthen the overlord, I told the Luke from my timeline to announce the phrase “gaber flapsuplot an rektushactulation fois a lesterpall and grank, gaber jaban fois regorot the credupolt” just to mess with Allen 0.  It is definitely just gibberish, but man did I get him with that one!

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Johnny Rotten and the Mutant Shitheads

June 14, 2015.

JOHN HOLLISTER ROTTEN rides a stolen Amigo scooter to the Crystal Valley Trailer Park in Crystal Valley, USA. The Amigo has been souped up to go five to ten mph faster. The song “Warning Signs” by Burning Witch plays from his custom Amigo/stereo hybrid music player. He approaches SKUNK’s trailer, where a small jump has been set up with numerous sparklers. He goes off the jump and bails mid-air. The Amigo, still playing the song, lands, rolls forward several feet, and catches fire. ROTTEN gets up and flips off the Amigo.

RUGGY: Nice shit, braj.

GUTTER BOB: Killer dismount.

SKUNK tosses ROTTEN a can of Miller High Life. ROTTEN then high fives the three dudes. SKUNK wears nothing but “tighty-whities,” while RUGGY wears a black robe, and GUTTER BOB wears an Anthrax t-shirt with light jean shorts and black Velcro shoes (no socks).

ROTTEN: The fuck are you chicken doinkers up to?

GUTTER BOB: Suckin’ Uncle Sam’s fat fuckin’ cock, that’s what!

GUTTER BOB briefly humps the flag pole that holds the American flag.

ROTTEN: Righteous, ‘scro!

Suddenly, JESSICA TAFT, ROTTEN’s on-and-off-again girlfriend, storms into the jump with a rocket-powered tricycle. She back-flips twice and lands smoothly. JESSICA gets off of the tricycle and chows down on a Meatball Serenade™ sub sandwich.

ROTTEN: Jessica, you fuckin’ dick! Hey, let me in on that!

JESSICA, in a truly generous act, gives the sandwich to ROTTEN, who begins to chow down. JESSICA takes a Miller High Life from the cooler and chugs it. SKUNK chugs another Miller High Life and then looks off into the trailer park ponderously.

SKUNK: Gotdamn, I never realized how beautiful this park is. I couldn’t ask for a better home. It’s been so good to me. To all of us.

RUGGY: Whatever.

SKUNK: Fuck you, Ruggy, I’m serious! Remember when Mrs. McCormac helped hose off the turkey vultures what were trying to eat ya.

RUGGY: That sure was nice of her.

SKUNK: And Bob, remember when your old Anthrax shirt caught fire. The whole neighborhood pitched in to help buy you a new one.

GUTTER BOB nods slowly.

SKUNK: The point is, I think it’s about time we gave back to the folk what helped us all out.

ROTTEN: How the fuck are we gonna do that?

SKUNK: I got an idea…

 

At the town gas station, a clerk talks with his boss.

CLERK: But boss-man sir, we don’t have enough meat for one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches.

BOSS: Now you shut your big fuckin’ mouth, Billy. I got barrels and barrels of emergency meat out back. Get your ass out there and start making the sandwiches.

In the store, SKUNK and ROTTEN sit on a bench.

SKUNK: Gotdamn, how long does it take to make one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches! Back when I was working at Hulk Hoagie’s I could make a hundred sandwiches in five to ten minutes. The Flag Day Picnic gonna be startin’ soon.

CLERK: Order fuckin’ thirty five! One hundred Meatball—

SKUNK: That’s us! Johnny, go get the sandwiches.

 

At the trailer park pavilion, GUTTER BOB, RUGGY, and JESSICA drink red punch. The whole Crystal Valley community is there for the picnic. SKUNK and ROTTEN arrive wearing tuxedo t-shirts. ROTTEN pushes a shopping cart with the one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches. The picnic-goers cheer as SKUNK and ROTTEN arrive.

SKUNK: Come and fuckin’ get it!

The picnic-goers chow down. SKUNK, ROTTEN, RUGGY, GUTTER BOB, and JESSICA wait until the community has eaten to get their sandwiches.

RUGGY: Looks like we’re up, dudes.

JESSICA: Shit, there’s none left!

ROTTEN: There’s still plenty of mayo.

GUTTER BOB: That fat fuck Franklin ate like five or six of ’em.

SKUNK: Oh well, man. Let’s go back to my trailer. I got some hot dogs.

 

At SKUNK’s trailer, ROTTEN and RUGGY smash up the Amigo with baseball bats. SKUNK, JESSICA, and GUTTER BOB sit in lawn chairs and drink Miller High Life. There are screams coming from different parts of the trailer park.

GUTTER BOB: Shit, you guys hearin’ that?

SKUNK: What the hell’s goin’ on?

Suddenly, several trailer park folk arrive at SKUNK’s trailer. They are foaming at the mouth and appear to be oozing. One man gets close to JESSICA.

ROTTEN: Hey! How dare you step to my girl!

RUGGY: Hell yeah, kick his ass, yo!

JESSICA: Ew, he’s like getting slime in my beer and shit.

ROTTEN goes over to the slimy man and punches him in the gut. His fist goes right through the mushy gut, which oozes out green and purple slime. The man also vomits this same substance all over ROTTEN.

ROTTEN: The fuck, man!?

A different slimy guy comes toward ROTTEN. He tries to grab ROTTEN but RUGGY hits the guy with his baseball bat. The green and purple slime splatters everywhere.

GUTTER BOB: Uh, dudes…

GUTTER BOB points toward a large crowd of slimy, moaning trailer park folk coming toward them.

ROTTEN: Looks like they turned into crazy ass mutant shitheads!

GUTTER BOB: What do we do?!

SKUNK: We should call for help and wait it out inside. It’s our duty to stay here and like find a cure or something.

ROTTEN: Fuck that shit. Let’s bail!

RUGGY: Yeah, I’m with Johnny.

SKUNK: Ah, you fuckin’ assholes. Alright get in my van.

The five of them run to SKUNK’s van, but MRS. McCORMAC is blocking their way.

SKUNK: Aw no, not Mrs. McCormac!

ROTTEN: She’s a mutant shithead now. Get the fuck over it.

ROTTEN punches her in the face and they continue toward the van. They enter the van and drive towards the exit, hitting several trailer park folk turned mutant shitheads on the way. FRANKLIN is standing near the exit, waving his arms.

FRANKLIN: Help, help! Oh thank God you’re still alive!

SKUNK swerves toward FRANKLIN and hits him. He then drives through the exit.

GUTTER BOB: Uh, I don’t think Franklin was a mutant shithead, dude.

SKUNK: Oh I know.

 

A few days later…

SKUNK, RUGGY, GUTTER BOB, ROTTEN, and JESSICA return to the Crystal Valley Trailer Park. A fence has been set up around the perimeter. The five hop the fence and go to SKUNK’s trailer. The trailer park is completely desolate. At SKUNK’s trailer, RUGGY finds a cooler filled with Miller High Life.

RUGGY: Hey, it’s still cold, dudes!

They all sit in lawn chairs and chug beers, except for SKUNK. SKUNK stands, gazing ponderously out into the now empty trailer park.

ROTTEN: Yo, Skunk!

ROTTEN throws a beer at SKUNK, who catches it, chugs it, and burps loudly.

SKUNK: Fuckin’ A.

 

End.

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