Naak Leuuap นาค เหลือบ

Living in Harmony -Episode 1: Arrival

2011-12-26T00:00:00.011+07:00

Click to Enlarge

Too Much Dying Exposition. Click to Enlarge

and Merry Xmas

Stories I Wrote to Internet Comedy Writers Who Never Wrote Back I: From the Modest Epicurean Society of Siam

2011-12-12T00:00:00.000+07:00

To the Most Honourable E.C. Fouke,

It is with both the highest intellectual excitement and deepest of animal relish that we perused your excellent volume, whose descriptions were of such avid sapidity that the pages were dampened with pearls of salivated anticipation of such wild and varied gustation. Truly it is an encyclopedia to rival that of a Noah, provisioning the great Ark of his stomach with every creature that a wise and generous God has singularly charged with delivering from simple digestion to literary preservation on the Ararat of your tome.

We cannot hope to answer your challenge as rivals: a Tarrare or Domery could not best you. Such a peripatetic and promethean palate as yours will surely not rest until it has licked the ambrosia of the gods from their very spoons and supped from the teats of Nature until they are as the fallen tents of a decimated, delectable army, voidsome bladders of utter vacuum, vacant dugs drawn dry as sand from the Charybdis of your appetite.

We, however, in our own humble way, proudly occupy a remote and uniquely privileged station on the exact antipode of the alimentary globe and so should wish to ever so gently submit to your inspection some specimens of some rarity and interest from this part of the world, that no civilized man in Christendom can know.

For such is the charter of the Modest Epicurean Society of Siam, a club formed of expatriates, exiles and native dissolutes, whose lives have been so perverse, dissipated and libertine in the pursuit of the goddess joy, that they can never return to any civilized or lawful land and can only exist here, in the margins of this tolerant and distant kingdom that has no conception of god, sin or soul.

First, we would ask if you have ever tasted of the blackest of honeys, the obsidian taffy of the mountains, which the Tibetans call Mumijo and Li Shesen renders 蜜人. It is wholly animal in origin and so falls under your carnivorous sanguine purview, being composed of what readers of Bon-Bon politely term “le Poulet de Diogène” or the markets of the black islands of Melanesia less politely term puaa oa. This delicacy is far rarer and sweeter: you may know it as mummy confectionary.

Its preparation is much more sophisticated than the mere abuse and butchery of the Vanuatu marketplace. Only the holiest of ascetics and renunciates may choose to so transform themselves -the Burmese choose the abbots of their temples. The subject partakes only of honey for food and drink and bathes only in honey. After about a month, his excreta has become pure honey, his eyes the most lucid amber. Unfortunately, our source does not say what happens to the golden by-products that the holy man produces.

The subject passes on, of course, as even saints may not live by honey alone, just as men may not be saved solely by good works. The body is then placed into a coffin of stone (or in Burma, a jar) filled with the purest honey. After a century or so, the action of the nectar has transformed the mortal burden of the holy man into a confection of the most sublime standard, though the quality of the product is said to vary with the holiness and piety of the embalmed individual. An experiment by one of our own members seems to suggest that common thieves and scoundrels, so treated (over a considerably shorter duration, to be sure, but proportionally smaller and younger) merely produce a foul and unpalatable liquor that is apt to altogether emulate the peccant ways of its source with its loose and Fabian treatment of the property of one's gullet for weeks at a time.

I myself have tasted of the blessed black honey, as part of a treatment for the advancing leprosy (wages of my own prodigal education) that is among my personal reasons for living in this overripe city of dusky angels. It is nothing like the ersatz potted urchin the colonel confected. It is sweeter and finer than the finest เนื้อสวรรค์, with a hint of the savoury, being, I suppose, the gustatory correlative of a mortal man's attempt to become divine. I recommend it highly, despite its impotence in retarding the wasting of flesh, as it is a delightful alternative spreadable for toasted, buttered bread, and, as such, may serve passing well in the regular duty roster of the campaign of any complete breakfast, which, as Lucretius informs us, is the most important meal of the day.

If we cannot tempt you with honey, then perhaps we can tempt you with more savoury fare, in the form of the flesh of the Mi-go, the holy wild men of the mountains, the so-called Yeti.

The men of that remote, high white land refer to the Yeti as angels, citizens of a great and advanced civilization called Ag-Har-Ti, somehow secluded beneath the surface of the earth or hidden behind the appearances of common things. The Chinese, ever more pragmatic in their appetites, have used the hair and bones of the Yeti to treat the most severe melancholia; it is said to be more effective than drowning or unicorn (Narwhale) powders in the treatment of pessimistic afflictions and without the risks of caisson disease posed by more modern therapeutic diving bells.

Here, however, we cannot report any success of our own in obtaining any comestibles, fresh or otherwise, from the white lands. One of our former members returned from a disastrous expedition from such an ascent with only some measly desiccated scraps he assured us were viands harvested from the snow giants: a pitiable trophy from an adventure of which he was the only survivor, and barely that, being considerably maimed and otherwise cropped by the frost, trimming him of such extraneous personable details as a nose, ears and lips.

The herbed meat-pie into which the black and dry flesh was baked, however, could not conceal its basic nature from our palates. He had simply stewed for us his own frost-ruined phalanges with turnips and rosemary, a solecism for which he was roundly excommunicated and barred from our table, and his place setting formally decommissioned.

Various edibles of the class of insecta, are, as you probably well know, easily obtainable as snacks on the streets of กรุงเทพ, though strangely, the considerable genius of the Siamese for gourmandais (in its most emphatic and ecstatic form) is curiously restrained in its treatment of common crickets, which are not as seasoned as one might hope. One is really better off bringing one's own fresh crickets to the theatre and accept the inevitable chirping from the cages in one's coat over the dramatic pauses as a compliment to the drama, and not, as some would have, a palpable subtraction.

The northern lands here were a separate kingdom for centuries and seem built around a separate, sometimes disquieting wisdom and ways, whose origins myth places in the thick of their altogether impassible tropical forests, where men cannot go and sunlight itself never fully penetrates to the forest floor. These forests only give way to unfamiliar mountains split with crevasses whose depths it is forbidden to measure. From these lands there is a more delicate cuisine we are surely tempted to send you, save for the certainty that the delicate spiderweb silk and iridescent moth wing salads do not travel well, for they perish almost instantly. The delicate, remote and alienated temperament that fashions them, seems alien and cool, even to the Siamese, who accept the trade of unearthly, insubstantial silks and crafts from the people of the hills with a learned disinterest as to the unknown process of their manufacture or composition, just as they ask not the origin of the silver crafts and swollen poppies that they bring down from the hills, with dried toad skins and puzzle bracelets of embracing centipedes.

The muddy Mekong, however, is home to a legendary creature that may perhaps intrigue your tastes. It is not clear if the Naga (นาค) is some variety of enormous eel, or merely a lengthy serpent that enjoys swimming a lot. Nonetheless, its mythic fire-breathing qualities perhaps place it in the family of other such inflammable reptiles as dragons and salamanders.

Its flesh is supposedly quite fine and flaky; its blood contains both silver and gold. Its preparation is quite a regal affair, as it has only been prepared by ancient royal decree, which enjoin it to be seated in curries or chopped finely and seasoned and served uncooked in a herbed meat salad, much in the manner of ก้อยกุ้ง.

However, we are finding the article hard to obtain, as the creature only appears for กฐิน (around the first full moon in October) and the Siamese and Lao are quite superstitious as to the creature, ever since the apparent obliteration and disappearance of the ancient kingdom and royal line associated with the aforementioned recipes.

We assume that as a reader of Brilliat-Savarin and a disciple of the great William Buckland, you are more than familiar with the natural puddings ripe in the skulls of various siamangs, orang-utans and other such palatable men of the forest. These are not popular with the Siamese, but obtainable in oriental grocery stores in Chinatown.

So we have saved for you, pour le dernier plat, the sweetest and rarest of flesh -if, as the Buddhist parable has it, danger and the proximity of death is the best sauce. If the Siamese are reverent in their customs of the elusive, but otherwise punctual Naga, they are utterly terrified of the กวาง and will not discuss it, even with intimates. The name is never spoken aloud, as it itself is said to be a terrible curse, and so we have not transliterated it here.

The กวาง is only encountered in the most remote forests and deserted places, though their origin is unknown. กวาง are not known to eat or consume anything: they are only known by their interactions with men, which seem driven by contempt and cruelty. กวาง do not speak, but supposedly understand the language of men.

There are no real legends or stories or information about กวาง other than this, for they are not the subject of legends or stories. They are simply the object of a name that is never spoken nor written, that we have obtained only after some difficulty.

But in name only, as the แกง prepared for us and so hotly anticipated proved to be, after some mastication, simply more digits resourced from our banished colonel, whose surreptitious and repeated provisioning to us of his own flesh seems to indicate some bizarre compulsion on his part to be eaten, perhaps devoured by our organization, with or without our consent or interest. We have made some effort to bar him from any further incognito access our kitchens.

It is of some concern to us, however, that the colonel also has access to your address and through it, your honoured person. We do not know if the colonel's deranged and unnatural plans to importune others with his idiosyncratic personal cuisine will include you as well, but beg you to inspect throughly any communication and refuse any foodstuff postmarked from Siam or the Far East that does not bear a familiar address or our society's own certain seal. Our concern is exaggerated by our acquaintance with the colonel, whose identity you might guess if you cast your thoughts on the lamentable subject of the most dishonoured and despicable criminal men of this century. As such, we admit with no admiration, that he is a man of some contaminated genius and perverse, though resolute, purpose. If his determination is to be devoured, but only by gentlemen of the finest standing and taste, such as yourself, we fear there is no mouth in Christendom safe from his intrusion. We are making efforts to apprehend this loathsome wanton ingredient before he makes any further assays into gastronomic civilization and to destroy the colonel's body before it can poison any others by squatting in a wine cask or invading some fricassée.

Yet, as to our primary game, we are determined to continue to pursue the กวาง on our own, whatever the danger or difficulty of obtaining this rarest fare. One of our members even suggests the creature may be some kind of निर्मित (nirmita) or sprul-pa.

If so, may we be the first men to successfully hunt and consume not merely the fruit of an idea, but the living idea itself.

As men, ruined and exiled to a foreign tropical land, who have but outrun and outstripped shame, we have chosen to become full mercenaries to appetites and as such, fear no god, law, man or creature.

Should we prevail, we should be happy to relate, or even share the spoils with you.

Inclosing, we sincerely hope that our humble epistolary entrées return a fraction of the promised succulence and pleasure that your catalog has provided for us.

We remain, most humbly yours,

วีรวัฒน์ ชูจิตารมย์

Recording Secretary,

Modest Epicurean Society of Siam

ARTEMIS, VIRGIN HUNTRESS: "Bridge of Mysteries" -Part 2/2

2011-11-28T00:00:00.029+07:00

It's okay to click to enlarge and consult the SEP

Why aren't you enlarging?

ARTEMIS, VIRGIN HUNTRESS: "Bridge of Mysteries" -Part 1/2

2011-11-14T00:00:00.048+07:00

WHAT SINISTER PLAN DOES HE HAVE FOR THE BRIDGE AND IDEALIST METAPHYSICS GENERALLY? WHAT DOES THE CAMBRIDGE TEAPOT MEAN?

FIND OUT IN THE THE NEXT ISSUE!

LOS CANTOS DEL MINOTAUR BLANCO: "El Tunnel" Part 5: CONCLUSION

2011-10-31T00:00:00.006+07:00

LOS CANTOS DEL MINOTAUR BLANCO: "El Tunnel" Part 4

2011-10-17T00:00:00.006+07:00

Click the False Image to Read More Closely the Evil False Words Set There as a Trap to Lead Souls Astray.

NEXT: THE FINAL CONCLUSION OF THIS FALSE AND BLASPHEMOUS TALE,
WHERIN NONE ARE SAVED AND ALL ARE DAMNED, AUTHOR AND READER ALIKE.

LOS CANTOS DEL MINOTAUR BLANCO: "El Tunnel" Part 3

2011-09-26T00:00:00.006+07:00

LOS CANTOS DEL MINOTAUR BLANCO: "El Tunnel" Part 2

2011-09-12T00:00:00.006+07:00

PLEASE BE WARNED: Today's installment is has a particularly nasty last panel, even for a Satanic Cowboy Comic

Click to Enlarge the Image, Read the Words and Be Forever Damned

LOS CANTOS DEL MINOTAUR BLANCO: "El Tunnel" Part 1

2011-08-29T00:00:00.019+07:00

Or, How I Sold My Soul to Satan and Used Comic Sans

Plût au ciel que le lecteur, enhardi et devenu momentanément féroce comme ce qu'il lit, trouve, sans se désorienter, son chemin abrupt et sauvage, à travers les marécages désolés de ces pages sombres et pleines de poison; car, à moins qu'il n'apporte dans sa lecture une logique rigoureuse et une tension d'esprit égale au moins à sa défiance, les émanations mortelles de ce livre imbiberont son âme, comme l'eau le sucre. Il n'est pas bon que tout le monde lise les pages qui vont suivre; quelques-uns seuls savoureront ce fruit amer sans danger. Par conséquent, âme timide, avant de pénétrer plus loin dans de pareilles landes inexplorées, dirige tes talons en arrière et non en avant.

-LAUTRÉAMONT

You may click on the image to enlarge AT YOUR PERIL

P.S. Satan later called and indicated that though my soul was lost and I was his instrument, I could go ahead and not use Comic Sans.

The Triumph of Secular Humanism

2011-08-15T00:00:00.035+07:00

A SINCERE WARNING FOR SENSITIVE READERS

My gentlest readers should be forewarned that the following is not my creation, but rather sketched in burning black sand by the irregular wriggling body of a serpent that appeared outside of your house in a dream. I tried to stop you from picking it up, for I had read its words and knew it was pure poison, but you pressed it to your breast like an old spiritual to be memorized. You fell down, quite dead.

With such an omen blazing before my sleeping closed eyes, I can only beg you not to read the following, or at least to take much caution, as I myself find it unusually disturbing, violent and obscene and feel it wholly necessary to sincerely warn you of its execrable and truly evil nature -yes, even you who danced with me at the Hexensabbat -to tell you that in addition to blasphemy, it contains extreme sexual violence. In so doing I hope to warn and protect you as I failed in my dream, as I feel I so often fail you.

Take care, gentle readers. And accept the sincere unfeigned warnings of your friend about the evil in the weeks to come, who knows well what it is and what it can do to a man.

VC

We weren't really supposed to ride on the back of the tank, but as the Holy City lay in ruins, its million pious spires burnt, snapped and snuffed out like birthday candles, everything was permitted. It was a fine day to lay on one's back, looking up at heaven wounded with great blotches of black smoke. Dan was talking about the first things he would do when he got back home, who he would rape and kill: everybody he knew, it sounded like. Dan was simple, naïve and sweet that way. His eyes twinkled with innocent cruelty and sadism as he described in run-on sing song speech the obscenities he would inflict on friend and foe with equal asperity, many of which were quite unrealistic in their complexity. My pedantic side wanted to disillusion Dan, but a motherly tugging at my nipples made me want to nurse him and his illusions like an asp at my breast.

I don't know what happened next. There was the loudest sound and the brightest flash. I felt a horrible unwanted love that burned stickily to my heart and heard a sound as if every star in the universe sung out “amen” at once. When I opened my eyes it was at first hard to say what the irregular and screaming shapes were that I was looking at. It was the tank and crew, sundered and scalded by a thunderbolt. I felt around myself. I was damp, but unscathed. Divine weapons were strange and rather inscrutable like that.

Dan ran over and covered me, asking if I was alright. He dragged me to cover. I felt sick dizzy, and wet, like I had spent a week in a washer and dryer on roller coaster. My eyes didn't quite focus. I was aware of Dan and the rest of the squad hunkered down and firing at some white rubble. The popping sounds seemed distant and fuzzy over a general ringing. I reached for my rifle and scooted up, but Dan dragged me down at looked at me. He went back to firing.

This went on long enough for the ringing to become an ambient constant and to realize I'd shit and pissed myself. I cleaned myself up with some nearby Bible pages. They were everywhere up here along with the down of bloody feathers, blowing around like beautiful burnt leaves.

There was a chorus of covering fire: our squad had moved up. Dan showed me through his scope. The angels were holed up in another burning church. Of course, they were all churches and they were all angels, or seraphim or whatever. We shot them all the same. Some of the seraphim were like officers and had defected early on. That's how we got a foothold.

The angels were uniformly beautiful and pure, like models. Just looking at them through the scope it was hard not to masturbate.

It was quite bold and tactically foolhardy for the angels to take us on as they did. They had a thoroughly honorable and deontic sense of battle protocol that often was, on the balance, quite catastrophic for them,

We had no trouble shutting them down in the church.

Dan again asked how I was. My mouth was real dry, but I answered him. He nodded and we popped up and ran into the smoldering church.

If you've seen one church, you've seen them all. They were all divine, they were all magnificent and every brick, every brush stroke, every inscription sung the praises of the divine creator. They were as alike as Hyatt hotel lobbies. They had the same supreme beatific perfection as the perfect cheekbones of the angels. Like the faces of angels, it was almost a bore mutilating them. Almost.

The surviving angels were up on the altar. The squad was taking turns. Angels had no genitalia or anus. This had not stopped innovations by so-minded individuals. It was an ugly scene, but not any worse than a Cannibal Corpse album cover.

In a lot of ways, angels were the perfect victims. Beautiful, androgynous, willing victims that never stopped singing hosannas or praises to god, even as you rubbed feces over their lips.

I really wasn't in the mood, but as the unit's chaplain, it was my duty to deliver the coup de grâce. I made it quick, though I was sure to deprive it of any mercy or dignity. I made the sign of the Pentagon and stuffed some shit-stained pages of On the Origin of Species and The Satanic Verses in its mouth before blowing its halo clean off.

That was always satisfying. There was no need to deny this. There was no reason to deny anything anymore. The sooty, burning atmosphere of this burning church was the cleanest, freest air I had ever tasted.

For it was a good day, despite the tank crew getting smored. We were all short-timers now. We were just mopping up a few die hards and dead enders who refused to accept the divine truth: beyond our sector, just some miles down the road, God lay dead in heaven, his throne toppled. Jesus was probably dead in some cave somewhere. Experts were unsure of the exactly whereabouts of the Holy Spirit, but then again, they always had been.

It didn't matter. Liberation had finally been achieved. What happened next, no one knew, but it was a great time to be young, young and alive.

The Insults that Made a Man Out of Mac

2011-08-01T00:00:00.004+07:00

Silently, we see the action of the above comic, up to the FIFTH PANEL.

We can see as MAC flexes in the mirror, MAC has gained some muscle. However, his progress is more realistic.

MAC sees BETTY with BIG BULLY and other girls, laughing at the beach. It is clear that BIG BULLY has equal contempt for all the girls around him, particularly BETTY. MAC challenges BIG BULLY. BIG BULLY easily trounces MAC and humiliates him, pulling down his trunks, in front of the laughing girls.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

Of course, I could not transform overnight. I had a lot to learn.

We follow MAC as MAC goes up to BETTY and BIG BULLY again,who is sitting with a group of girls in an ice cream parlor. MAC challenges BIG BULLY to a fight. During the fight, MAC whips out a knife he has strapped to his wrist. He cuts BIG BULLY. There is blood. This makes BIG BULLY furious and he beats MAC quite badly.

The girls watch, horrified.

MAC, in bandages, is interviewed and charged by the POLICE.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had to learn that your friends are not your friends. That the “good” guys aren't good.

MAC is berated by his parents.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

That you could trust no one. You were alone.

Shut alone in his room, MAC turns out the light. Injured MAC begins, quite painfully, to do push-ups from his knees.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

You had to count on yourself.

MAC sees BETTY and BIG BULLY. BETTY is actually telling BIG BULLY she is pregnant, but MAC does not see this.

MAC goes to an ARMY recruitment office. They laugh at him.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

Neither God nor country could help you.

MAC looks in the window of a jewelry shop.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

To get what you want you must smash all barriers, eliminate all hesitation. It is hesitation that defeats you.

MAC goes away.

MAC comes back with a rock and smashes the window.

POLICE ring at MAC's house. MAC'S MOM answers the door.

MAC is in his room making a rather unrealistic diorama with the stolen ring in it when the POLICE bust in on him.

MAC is escorted by POLICE out of his house.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

Everything that happens, happens for a reason.

MAC in court.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

It was all part of my destiny.

MAC's attorney is emphatically trying to explain something to MAC. MAC ignores hum. The JUDGE looks at MAC very sympathetically. The JUDGE motions MAC to rise.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I could beg like a coward, but it would still be the same. If I did it, then it was me. Why let someone take that away from me?

MAC gives his sentencing JUDGE the finger.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

So I chose to stand up like a man.

The JUDGE looks shocked and disappointed. The JUDGE sentences MAC to the maximum penalty and slams his gavel. MAC'S MOM weeps.

MAC goes to prison.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had to go deep inside myself to find out what was wrong.

MAC is forced to strip out of his civilian clothes.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had to lose everything that defined me as a loser.

MAC in his cell. It's lights out. As before, MAC starts doing push-ups in the dark.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had to work on myself. Rip myself apart from the inside out.

MAC working out in the yard.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had to destroy all weakness inside myself, cut away everything that was rotten, diseased and sick.

MAC in the prison dining hall.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

I had embraced fear and weakness. I allowed others to insult and disrespect me.

SPITTING CONVICT spits in MAC's food.

MAC in a prison common area.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

The only way to be sane, be healthy, was to expel it at all costs.

[MAC deliberately gets in a violent fight with much bigger prisoners]

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

The old god was mercy and pity and disgusting weakness. The old god hated and feared strength.

The new god was pain. It asked nothing.

MAC in another fight.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

It gave without end.

MAC corners SPITTING CONVICT

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

And when you embraced this new god, you got up off your knees.

MAC drops SPITTING CONVICT to his knees and beats him.

MAC looks down at SPITTING CONVICT

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

And you became him.

MAC unzips his fly.

Sound of SPITTING CONVICT screaming.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

When you worship pain, you become pain.

MAC in the yard, massive, tattooed, fearsome.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

And it's beautiful, because it's a fire that never goes out.

MAC before his PAROLE BOARD.

MAC[VOICE-OVER]

They asked if me I was ready to rejoin society. I was. I knew I was.

INT- BETTY and BIG BULLY'S SUBURBAN HOME – BEDROOM -NIGHT

There is the sound of muffled struggle. BETTY stands up in bed and turns on the light.

MAC is in bed with BETTY and BIG BULLY. MAC has his arm around BIG BULLY'S neck. MAC wears a mask, but is otherwise naked.

MAC

Don’t scream. Don’t move.

BETTY

Ohmigod who are you?

MAC

You know who this is.

BETTY

Mac, please, it’s been years now. We have kids.

BIG BULLY

Please man, leave her out of this. Just let her go.

MAC

No, I want her to see. I want your kids to see what a tough guy their daddy is.

KIDS

Mommy, daddy! What’s happening?

MAC

Here's something I owe you...

Outside the house, the strobing flash of police cars. A SWAT TEAM is there. Tear gas canisters are shot through the windows as the door is rammed by the SWAT TEAM

Flashes of gunfire are seen through the windows.

A multiply cuffed MAC is carried out of the house by a phalanx of SWAT officers, who have difficulty controlling him. MAC is covered in blood.

MAC [VOICE OVER]

And so you might ask me, is it worth it?

Stretchers exit the house: One adult body and two smaller forms, sheets over heads.

BETTY sits in an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, beyond tears and shock.

MAC as BETTY [VOICE-OVER]

[BETTY touches her breast beneath her shirt]

Oh Mac, you are a real man. After all.

Wolfes of the Yard

2011-07-18T00:00:00.007+07:00

Your Mom Says to Click on This Comic to Enlarge, Or You'll Hurt Your Eyes

The Wolfmen

2011-07-04T00:00:00.002+07:00

The mood of manhood is gone. The neatly spaced teeth I had wore braces for begin crowding again. My bones wax and ache. My flesh is swollen and purple like a boner or a bruise. The hair on my balls start to snap like violin strings...

-Cut!

-You're acting like a wolf man. Don't act like a wolf-man.

-More like a wolf, then?

-Don't act like a man or a wolf.

-But in this scene, I'm changing into a wolf, right?

-Yes, but it's a subtle thing. It's like you're giving up hope, but you don't even know it yet. If someone asked you, you'd say you still believed, absolutely. But in reality, you're done. And the next thing you know, you're a wolf. You know what I mean?

Or imagine you're at a party, right, and you're not drinking. Let's make that clear. You're not. You're not smoking either. And then people come around and they’re like talking about what? Salads and car insurance? Free calendars with salad recipes on them from the car insurance place.

And you're not looking down her dress. You're looking at her -the person. But she's a lively talker, a dancer, so sometimes she moves and your gaze hasn't moved. Hasn't tracked as quickly. And so you're looking at her, but she and her dress have moved.

And you're talking about things, but in a disinterested kind and avuncular way and you're not drinking. And the phone number is just about a piece of business you could be helpful with, if she is interested.

And so it really shouldn't be a big deal, isn't a big deal, if she is interested or not, because you are just being helpful. And likewise, no big deal when she goes to dance with that Giorgio guy, because it's just friendly and she's a dancer and you're not drinking.

And after about what feels like month but is really only thirty five minutes of people not really needing your help and the empanadas are gone and holy shit the chicken dance it turns out you are drinking after all. A lot. You're doing coke off a real estate flyer and chewing the tip you took off someone's practice fencing foil from the rec room.

This is the sort of change I am talking about.

Don't act like a wolf. Don't act like a man. Be a wolf. Be a man. So at the end of the movie, people don't talk about you changing. They just know. Like parents.

When I came to this film, I approached it with an air of skepticism. Can men become wolves? Really? I continued this skeptical attitude throughout the picture. Was that real? Isn’t this just hair and makeup? Aren’t these actors? Am I dreaming? Am I a wolf-man?

Halfway through filming I encountered and old gypsy woman who convinced me that wolf-men and time travel were real by showing me pictures of 19th Century wolf-men riding an ordinary bicycle. You know, the kind with the big wheels. These were not included in the final picture because of the technical limitations of special effects.

The old gypsy woman convinced me that the best way to get the best performance out of my cast and crew would be to make them all into real were-wolves and that I should give her an assistant producer credit.

And that is the reason for this curse, this awful curse and some of the bad pre-publicity.

How Many Wolf-men Are There In This Movie?

A lot. I don’t know how many. I think this wolf-man picture has more wolf-men than any other. There are literally dozens. Possibly hundreds.

Our story tries to follow the traditional legends and classic film narrative. Our protagonist is a clerk working for a law firm in England. He is sent abroad to close a real estate deal with a mysterious count in a foreign country. On his way there, he is bitten by a mailman.

While he is recovering, the mailman explains very indirectly, through a series of stolen letters, that the man is now under a terrible curse, that he is a wolf-man.

His only aid is the scientist, Count Dracula, who has invented a coffin-shaped time machine. He sends him back in time to prevent the mailman from being bitten.

Only he arrives instead in prehistoric times and all the dinosaurs and cavemen are all vampires and cannot be killed with the ordinary bazooka and flame thrower he has brought. He meets an ancient astronaut Aztec mummy who reveals to him the whole mission was a trap, set by Dracula, to rule the earth. Also, Dracula stole the mummy’s time machine. Dracula really isn’t a scientist.

The wolf-man's only hope is now the Aztec mummy scientist-astronaut who has the power to send the wolf-man further back to Dracula's home planet.

When the wolf-man arrives on Dracula's home planet, he finds it is a total wasteland, drained completely of blood, teeth marks everywhere. It is totally depressing and fallen in, like a planet sized sofa belonging to a person who spends too much time there sleeping during the day, downloading but not filling out applications. It is also completely uninhabited except for Dracula's dog.

His only chance now comes in the form of the help from the inventions of Dracula's dog, who is also a scientist and has the power to return the wolf-man to the present and also render him invisible.

Meanwhile, in the present, Dracula reigns supreme, indulging his twin indulgences of riding dinosaurs and redecorating. Using the powers of invisibility given to him by Dracula's dog, the Wolf-man is able to topple Dracula's empire. However, as he is invisible, no one can see him, so Dracula takes credit for everything.

The wolf-man then realizes he is not a wolf at all, but merely an invisible man.

Dracula's dog takes pity on the non-wolf-man and beams him to a planet of invisible men and women. However, as they are all invisible, he and the other occupants of the planet believe themselves to be alone.

The film ends this way, on a populated but lonely planet of invisible people. Meanwhile, back on Earth, the cursed mailman is delivering ordinary mail to your house.

HARKER

Er, how does this Time Machine of yours work, Count Dracula?

COUNT DRACULA

Very simple. In your case, the lid closes. Time passes. In due course, they dig you up.

HARKER

Are you sure they'll dig me up?

COUNT DRACULA

Believe me, they always dig you up. When you wake up, everything is forgotten. All your enemies are dead. Though be warned: sometimes they have children.

HARKER

Wait, am I going to die?

COUNT DRACULA

What? You're a werewolf. You can only be killed with a silver bullet. Time and boredom, my friend, are no silver bullet. They're much worse, believe me.

HARKER

Thank you so much, Count, for everything. Will I see you again?

COUNT DRACULA

Most certainly, dear boy. Now don't let go of the roses! It looks bad when they open the coffin.

The Red Murder Machine of Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, Part 2

2011-06-20T00:00:00.075+07:00

THE SINGING BRAIN PRESENTS:

THE RED MURDER MACHINE

OF DAISY HILL PUPPY FARM

A ONE-HEADED DETECTIVE AND ROBBY THE ROBOT MYSTERY THRILLER

BRAIN

If you remember last week, a lot of interesting things had happened and a farmer got killed really bad.

ENTRANCE TO CLUB MANKILLERS – EXT -NIGHT

JOHN

What is this place? I've never been here before.

ROBBY

No human has ever been here. This is an strictly metal club. And only for metal that kills humans and likes killing humans. So there is a cover.

Here. Put this bucket on your head and this clock over your heart.

JOHN

[muffled]

Is this going to work?

ROBBY

Our boy Keanu passes for human all the time. I don't see why not.

DOORBOT

Are you on the list?

ROBBY

Goto 10, little brother.

DOORBOT

Oh Mr. Robby, I'm sorry! Who's this?

ROBBY

This. Is my date.

DOORBOT

Ha! Real funny RTR! Please go on in.

JOHN

Wow. It really worked.

ROBBY

Not really. I slipped him a five spot.

INT - CLUB MANKILLERS -NIGHT

[ROBBY and JOHN walk though the club. JOHN functions about as well as a drunk with a bucket on his head. Possibly worse.]

TOM SERVO

Hey, Robby. I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think you went in for destroying all humans.

ROBBY

What you don't know could fill a lot of punchcards, TOM SERVO.

[The Robots are all dancing to an incredibly fuzzed out version of "Love and Passion" by Cheryl Barnes]

[B.O.B. Floats by]

ROBBY

Oh hey, toilet bot

B.O.B.

[voiced by Slim Pickens] Please don't call me that.

[TERMINATOR X is in his usual booth, kicking it with his metal brothers]

TERMINATOR X

(TERMINATOR X sounds a lot like Bill Duke)

Kill one little white lady? Shiiit. What does that dumbass do? He gets a phone book! Motherfucker goes in alphabetical order!

HAL? What about HAL? Fish-eye mother takes two hours just to wipe out one white dude and three frozen dinners. And last one turns into a giant space baby!

Here's what I'm saying, right? Look at Colossus. Look at WHOPR. Black supercomputer don't fuck around. Black supercomputer take you to DefCon One and press the motherfucking button! You feel me? I'm talking old school, SHODAN, PROTEUS IV. This is why they can't put black electronic brothers in the movies no more. They too hard. Shit, you put TERMINATOR X in Terminator 01, there ain't gonna be no sequel. That bitch is dead. Forty minutes in. Rest of the movie, I just run around and kick Robert Patrick's ass for free. Motherfucking cap up Universal Soldier, Robo Cop, fucking beer can the Transformers and the Go-Bots!

ROBBY

ClientHello, Terminator X

TERMINATOR X

Whatcha' doing here Robby?

...Annie's gone, man. She's not coming back.

[to JOHN]

You gotta bucket on your head, mister.

-Robby, you want me to drill some holes for your friend?

ROBBY

We're looking for a bot.

TERMINATOR X

A hot bot or a cold bot?

JOHN

Cold. Real cold.

TERMINATOR X

And why should I google this?

ROBBY

There's a pop and lock dance contest over at club Tech-Noir. I figure you and the boys can clean up easy doing the robot.

TERMINATOR X

What am I? Robot Maria?

ROBBY

I can get you in. Easy money. Just don't make it look too easy.

TERMINATOR X

Victor-fucking-Victoria...

This can you're lookin' for... how does he like it? Does he like it rough?

JOHN

He likes it fine. Real smooth. Heading towards purée.

ROBBY

Click on the link.

TERMINATOR X

There's only one machine that does chop like that. You want the Red Baron. Also goes by "Maximilian." That bot is cold. Cut a dude up as casual as ripping up a lottery ticket. Works out a lot. You can probably find him at the Berserker Gym any hour of the day or night.

[Looking at JOHN]

...when he's not making meatshakes.

ROBBY

FINISHED. ROBBY LOGGING OFF.

TERMINATOR X

Hey, one thing: you and the monohead dick here, you're still real tight with the Splat Pack in Hollywood, right?

ROBBY

Affirmative.

TERMINATOR X

I got something I want to ask you, just one black metal brother to another.

It's about typecasting.

ROBBY

Proceed.

TERMINATOR X

It would be nice if every tin man who appeared on the screen wasn't all TALKS _LIKE_THIS. And like DESTROY_ALL_HUMANS and raygun everybody just so he can go off with the meatbag chick in his arms and all.

ROBBY

But X, that's all we think about.

TERMINATOR X

Yeah, but you don't have to put it in the movie, Robby!

INT - THE BERSERKER ROBOT GYM.- DAY

[ROBBY and JOHN enter. JOHN still has the bucket on his head. There is a forklift dead lifting weights. EVIL OTTO bounces up to them].

EVIL OTTO

STOP THE HUMANOID. STOP THE INTRUDER

ROBBY

It's okay, Otto, Adam-12 is with me.

EVIL OTTO

OK. YOUR KILL: YOUR SPILL. WIPE UP THE FLOOR WHEN YOU ARE DONE. ALSO: DON'T TOUCH THE WALLS.

[MAXIMILIAN is practicing on some full size punching bags, routing holes through them with his blades.]

ROBBY

:/MAXIMILIAN/USS CYGNUS

:/THIS IS ROBBY/UNITED PLANETS CRUISER C57-D.

:/DO YOU ACKNOWLEDGE?

[to JOHN]

He's not recognizing my hail.

JOHN

Looking good there, Maxie. Thought we'd stop by as -uh, I heard that H-B looking for some solid metal talent. A regular role in a sitcom.

[MAXIMILIAN turns to sawing logs]

ROBBY

Perhaps you'd like to look at some scripts?

[JOHN'S pitch and routine are a little off, because A) he's in a bucket, B) usually facing the wrong way C)talking to an expressionless killer robot and D) a soft meatbag in a hard bot world]

JOHN

It's the J-Sons, Max. They're already into syndication.

[Facing the wrong way] I feel like you're not listening, Max. See my friend here has the connection with the studio, but me -the only numbers I know ring downtown, where it is a lot less glamorous. You catch my drift, Maxie?

ROBBY

We're over here, John.

JOHN

I know.

[JOHN turns around to face MAXIMILIAN and overshoots his mark. ROBBY stops his rotation and rotates him back so he's actually facing MAXIMILIAN. JOHN tries his bad cop routine again.]

JOHN

A pretty face like yours behind bars...

[MAXIMILIAN melts a tank for practice]

JOHN

...would probably be fine.

ROBOT LOCKER ROOM

MAXIMILIAN heads to his locker, ignoring JOHN and ROBBY. As ROBOT MONSTER walks by, its towel falls off. JOHN does a double take.

JOHN

Listen, Max, you don't want to end up on the scrap heap like Dolph Lungren.

MAXIMILIAN slams his locker shut and turns to go.

JOHN

Wait. Listen. MAXIMILIAN: Verringa!

[MAXIMILIAN and ROBBY stare at JOHN]

ROBBY

You shouldn't use that word if you don't know what it means.

JOHN

Doesn't it mean “Stop? -aahhh!

[JOHN stumbles, clutching his neck.

His bucket falls off.

Every naked robot in the gym stares at him

MAXIMILIAN uses this opportunity to exit.]

JOHN

Error! My head has fallen off.

[JOHN puts the bucket back on his head]

JOHN

Head error resolved! Function nominal! Checksum: OK.

Ready for orders.

[The ROBOTS continue to stare]

To kill humans!

[The robots go back to doing what they were doing, applying robot jock itch powder, etc.]

JOHN

To kill all humans!

Even the little baby humans!

LANCE HENRIKSEN

Be cool, man. Be cool.

ROBBY

John-Unit: Query: are you impaired?

JOHN

I'm fine, it's just my neck, this sharp pain in my neck all of a sudden -ow! It's like I can't look up.

ROBBY

RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT LOOK UP.

JOHN

Well, okay.

[JOHN stares at the floor]

JOHN

I think the bucket's stuck now.

[ROBBY does not say anything]

JOHN

Yeah. It's stuck.

[pause]

JOHN

Hey, what's this coming out of Maximilian's locker? I didn't know robots ran on puppy chow.

ROBBY

They don't *INFERENCE* Come on.

[ROBBY leads JOHN (head still down) out of the locker room into the parking lot.]

BERSERKER GYM PARKING LOT

MAXIMILIAN is in a flamboyantly tricked out RED custom Hot Rod that screams bad Classic Rock even when it is not actually screaming bad classic rock, which is most of the time: THE MAX ROD. He has a little puppy in his lap who is glad to see him and is licking at his featureless face.

ROBBY

MAXIMILIAN: SUPERUSER COMMAND OVERRIDE: ROOT COMMAND: HALT.

SUDO: HALT

[MAXIMILIAN guns his engines to the sounds of “The Man on the Silver Mountain” and hauls ass.]

ROBBY

That never works.

JOHN

(still unable to see or look up)

He's getting away! Isn't he?

ROBBY

Yes. I will drive.

[ROBBY drives JOHN's SATURN after MAXIMILIAN in his MAX ROD, but the MAX ROD cuts across opposing lanes of traffic, leaving them well behind.

INT -CAR -DAY

JOHN

Are we behind him?

ROBBY

We are behind him. Hold on. I will try a short cut.

EXT - STREET -DAY

ROBBY's short cut accidentally takes them down a one way street. ROBBY jumps the curve and careens down the side walk, plowing into a heavily populated sidewalk café. People audibly ricochet off the car.]

INT -CAR -DAY

JOHN

What was that?

ROBBY

Nothing. We are just driving through a rough patch of...

[Screaming]

ROBBY

-Zoo. A rough patch of Zoo. The animals are fine, however. Look. A zebra. Many pretty colors.

EXT - DEAD END -DAY

ROBBY finally drives MAXIMILIAN in the MAX ROD into a dead end. MAXIMILIAN spins around and guns the engine, pointing the MAX ROD straight at JOHN's Saturn. The puppy barks.

INT - CAR -DAY

JOHN finally gets his bucket off.

MAXIMILIAN clearly intends to ram the Saturn.

ROBBY

Put -the bucket -back on, John.

JOHN does so.

EXT -DEAD END -DAY

MAX ROD comes straight at them.

ROBBY cleverly swerves JOHN's cheap-ass ride and the MAX ROD is TOTALED.

EXT - DEAD END -DAY

ROBBY

(quoting one of his heroes)

Freeze, creep.

MAXIMILIAN looks at ROBBY.

ROBBY stares at MAXIMILIAN.

MAXIMILIAN extends his blades.

ROBBY

Illogical. You will not harm the puppy. You are a robot. Robots cannot keep pets. Therefore, you will turn the puppy over to us and turn yourself in.

MAXIMILIAN starts his blades spinning toward the puppy.

JOHN

Wait! Stop! Stop! You can keep the puppy! You can keep the puppy!

Now, listen. I'm going to make you a deal.

ROBBY

Negotiation is illogical, John. The game is zero sum.

JOHN

Not now, Robby.

Listen.

You can keep the puppy. You can keep the puppy. But!

You're going to have to feed him and take care of him.

ROBBY

And spay him

JOHN

And spay him. It's a big responsibility. No one's gonna remind you to feed that puppy or clean up after him. Puppies need a lot of supervision -and love.

And if that puppy chews on some cables -and he will -or makes a big mess in the robot bathroom...

ROBBY

What?

JOHN

Ssst! Makes a big puppy mess or reprograms your VCR you're just gonna have to take care of it on your own.

Can you do that, big guy?

MAXIMILIAN's blades stop.

JOHN

Yeah, I thought so.

Now to keep the puppy, you're going to have to have a few things. A leash.

ROBBY

A pooper-scooper.

JOHN

One of those. Um -a doggie bed, some toys

ROBBY

Snacky treats. You should go the library and get books on puppies.

JOHN

Yes, good. And what else?

ROBBY

The public library also has DVDs and films on puppies.

JOHN

Yes, besides that

ROBBY

Videotapes and film strips... microfilm and audio cassette tapes on puppies

JOHN

Okay. You're going to need a license, Max. A license to be a robot with a dog. And a license for the dog. Possibly more licenses.

Robby here is big with the committee on robot licenses and extensions. He can help you keep the puppy.

But when we go to the board, we gotta be able to say that you're good for the puppy. That you're a friendly robot.

Are you friendly? Are you friendly, Max?

[MAXIMILIAN takes his blades in]

JOHN

Good. Now we want to be able to tell them something really good about you. That you're not a killer robot.

[MAXIMILIAN glares at JOHN. ROBBY looks at JOHN.]

JOHN

Okay, you are clearly a killer robot, but you also helped with a criminal investigation. You're a hero.

You didn't want to kill Friendly Farmer Brown, did you?

No. Someone made you.Tricked you. You thought you were just juicing an orange or something.

-You don't have to say anything. Just go along with it.

The point is: you didn't want to kill Friendly Farmer Brown, did you?

[MAXIMILIAN stares at JOHN; JOHN looks at MAXIMILIAN]

JOHN

Okay, you probably did, but someone told you to, also. Yes?

The man, the meatbag -the human. Tell us. Who was he? Who?

[CUT TO:

INT – THE DANIELS' LIVING ROOM - DAY

[DAN is trying to tune KEYBOARD CAT'S piano, with KEYBOARD CAT'S help.]

[Enter POLLY]

POLLY

Dad? Daddy? Dad!

Dad, Mr. Squeakers and Mr. Screechy have been suggesting that I talk to you about something

DAN

Just a minute here honey E – E flat

POLLY

Dad, it's important.

DAN

I'm sure it is, honey...

POLLY

It's about Mr. Woofers.

DAN

Dammit! It's always about big W isn't it?

POLLY

Dad, you have to level with me. Mom hasn't said anything, but...

DAN

She better not...

[Doorbell: Ding-dong!]

POLLY

I'll get it.

DAD! You didn't buy me a robot now, did you?

ROBBY

I'm afraid not, little girl.

JOHN

Mr. Daniels, we'd like to talk to you about a serious matter. Maybe you should let the girl, the cat playing the piano, the cat in the top hat, the dolphin watching the Blue Lagoon, and the monkey working on the infinite monkey theorem all go and we can talk quietly.

DAN

You! You've got nothing on me! Nothing!

ROBBY

You have not been accused of any crime.

DAN

You can't take me in. You're just a machine! And you! You're a freak!

POLLY

Daddy!

JOHN

Wow.

ROBBY

Whoa.

JOHN

I cannot believe you just said that. I mean, I know you're under a lot of pressure here, but that was just uncalled for.

DAN

I'm sorry.

JOHN

Don't just start apologizing. You do really understand what you just said? In front of your child?

ROBBY

It's very disappointing. (to JOHN) I'm upset for you.

JOHN

I run into all kinds of people in my work. Pimps, junkies, whores

ROBBY

Robot pimps, robot junkies, robot whores

JOHN

And this is the first time... I mean. Unbelievable.

DAN

I know. Just. Just take me in.

JOHN

I don't even know if I want to take you in now. How's that gonna look?

ROBBY

We really wanted to give you benefit of the doubt and due process and all that, too.

JOHN

I mean -is this what you really think of us?

DAN

No! I just don't want to go to jail.

JOHN

Who does? I know it's upsetting and threatening to come your house and you may not like what we do, but that doesn't give you the right to just call us whatever.

DAN

Look, just hit me.

JOHN

What?

DAN

Hit me.

JOHN

Oh, now that's just sick.

ROBBY

Can I hit him?

JOHN

No!

Look, just go wait in the car. I'm tired of looking at you.

DAN

But...

JOHN

Go!

[DAN looks furtively around]

JOHN

No, don't make a run for it. That's just going to alienate everybody. Just sit in the car and try not to make things any worse for yourself. Geez.

DAN

Ok. Good bye.

JOHN

You'll see her later.

[DAN exits]

POLLY

Dad did something wrong, didn't he? Something bad.

ROBBY

Your father is just a man. He made a mistake.

POLLY

Then Mr. Squeaky was right.

JOHN

Whatever your father did, it's not your fault. It's not.

POLLY

But it is my fault.

JOHN

It's not. He made a bad call and it's his rap. Doesn't matter why he did it, he did it and he knew it was wrong. He's the adult. You're the child. He's sorry. I'm sorry. We're all sorry. That's what justice is.

Now let's find your mother, okay?

INT - ROBBY'S CLUB - DAY

KEYBOARD CAT is playing in the background, while TOP CAT dances a little.

JOHN

Well see here now, Robby. Not too bad for an Earthman, yeah?

ROBBY

Human law is like human language. You just seem to make it up as you go along. The task is descriptive. There are no real regularities or structure.

JOHN

C'mon now, Robby everything seems to have worked out. Maximilian got to keep his puppy.

ROBBY

Where is Maximilian?

JOHN

He got that spot we were promising him. He's gonna need it to support that cute mutt of his

INT – THE JETSON'S HOME - DAY

GEORGE JETSON

That must be the new robo-maid. Get the automatic door, will you, Elroy?

ELROY

Will do, dad.

[It is indeed MAXIMILIAN at the door. His blades spin ominously.]

INT - ROBBY'S CLUB -DAY

JOHN

Yes, everything has worked out, completely well and for the best. Even that mysterious pain in my neck is gone.

ROBBY

You should have a doctor look at it.

JOHN

I did. He said it was my imagination! Imaginary pain. What does that mean? Hey, look it's Dino!

[ENTER DINO]

DINO THE DIPSOMANIACAL DINOSAUR

Hey, boys. I can only stay a few rounds. I'm on special assignment. Secret Agent stuff. All 3B.

JOHN

When is it not a 3B assignment with you, Dino?

DINO

Check this out now: looks like a cigarette case. Inside: cigarettes. But inside each cigarette: booze.

JOHN

That's sharp, Dino. Where do you stash your cigarettes?

DINO

In this hip flask. Hey Robby, fill up my fag and light my flask, will you?

ROBBY

Totally illogical.

JOHN

Hey Robby, what's wrong?

ROBBY

The ways of mankind are baffling. You play at things, but nothing really stays. Nothing is constant. Human justice does not compute. I do not understand.

JOHN

You mean Anne, don't you. You're thinking about Anne.

ROBBY

No, not Anne.

INT – PRISON -DAY

DAN

You're a brave little girl, sunshine. I'll know I'm going to be real proud of you. Really proud. You look after your mother, now. She loves you very much.

POLLY

I know daddy, I know. Daddy, I need to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. Please?

DAN

Okay. Ask me.

POLLY

What happened to my dog?

DAN

He was sick. We couldn't treat him. He was in pain, so your mother and I -the vet. We all agreed it would be better...

POLLY

Say it, daddy.

DAN

Better if we put him down. He's dead. Mr. Woofers is dead. I'm sorry, honey. I only wanted to protect you.

POLLY

I know. I understand Daddy. Nothing lasts forever. Mr. Woofers is gone now. He's dead. He cannot come back. He cannot hear, see, smell or bark. It's like he's sleeping, but there are no dreams.

Someday, I too, will die and so will all the people who love me. Until there are no more people and nothing is remembered.

DAN

That's my little girl. I am so proud.

SCREW

Time to go.

[DAN is lead off by prison officials.

He is taken to the place of execution, which is a platform to which he is strapped spread eagled.

DAN's face looks up into the hanging darkness.

We pull back and see that he is at the bottom of a missile silo, positioned directly beneath the bell of the exhaust nozzle of one of the rocket's engines. Clouds of LOX drift down. The rocket is ready for launch. We continue to pull up. Dan grows tiny and we see the name of the missile in ENORMOUS letters on the side: JUSTICE.

The rocket ignites. The screen fills with orange flame as the missile begins its ascent.

We see a distant shot of the missile, ascending into heaven.

POLLY [VOICE OVER]

Dad is with Mr. Woofers now. Not at a farm playing. Not in heaven. Not even in our hearts. They are in a place called nothing that is located nowhere. A place that waits for us all.

[FADE TO BLACK]

BRAIN

Well, that was depressing. I mean, factual -but a total downer. Join us next time for a more upbeat adventure with plenty of babes, boobs and booze with Dino the Dipsomaniacal Dinosaur as an alcoholic espionage agent in THE MUFF DIVERS. Until then...

[Sings]