Post by Kevin the Pyromaniac on Sept 18, 2007 9:56:25 GMT -5
[The scene opens to a disgusting, greasy and foul kitchen. Near the washing machine is Kevin the Pyromaniac holding a plastic toy baby. He pulls on a string that makes the toy cry, but it is barely audible over the washing machine's spin cycle.]
Kevin: Worthless junk.
[Kevin skips like he's playing hopscotch to the microwave. He clears a line of broken green bottles out of the way, opens the door and tosses the bambino in. He sets the time for six minutes.]
Kevin: That should get rid of it.
[Kevin runs past the washing machine and up the stairs, tumbling as he goes, to his bedroom. The smell of fumes fill the air and there are burns all over his helicopter wallpaper.]
Kevin: God, these fumes!
[Kevin quickly turns on an electric fan and breathes in. After a few minutes the cool air begins to aggravate an old toothache. He holds his face in agony.]
Kevin: Fuck, this is the worst pain ever!
[He scrambles to a large hole in the wall where he keeps his shit and grabs a box of painkillers. He puts the pills in his mouth and throws the box back into the hole. He jumps up and down as the pain eases off.]
Kevin: Wait a minute, what the fuck am I doing? None of this is making sense.
Referee: It's the fumes, they're confusing you. If you were a cartoon you'd have stars around your head by now.
Kevin: What are you doing here?
Referee: I could see where it was going. You'll run downstairs, try to take the molten baby out, burn your hands and fall over for some reason as you get pinned by yet another liquefied inanimate object because you ran out of things to do.
Kevin: What can I do? This is all I know!
Referee: Don't you ever want to win matches?
[Kevin pulls a box of matches out of his pockets.]
Kevin: I have tons of them.
[The referee picks an upturned chair off a table and hits Kevin over the head with it. He makes the cover and the count himself.]
Referee: 123! I win!
Kevin: I can't believe the referee squashed me.
[We cut to a few seconds of a 'Only Retards Do Meth' commercial before cutting to black.]
Kevin: Worthless junk.
[Kevin skips like he's playing hopscotch to the microwave. He clears a line of broken green bottles out of the way, opens the door and tosses the bambino in. He sets the time for six minutes.]
Kevin: That should get rid of it.
[Kevin runs past the washing machine and up the stairs, tumbling as he goes, to his bedroom. The smell of fumes fill the air and there are burns all over his helicopter wallpaper.]
Kevin: God, these fumes!
[Kevin quickly turns on an electric fan and breathes in. After a few minutes the cool air begins to aggravate an old toothache. He holds his face in agony.]
Kevin: Fuck, this is the worst pain ever!
[He scrambles to a large hole in the wall where he keeps his shit and grabs a box of painkillers. He puts the pills in his mouth and throws the box back into the hole. He jumps up and down as the pain eases off.]
Kevin: Wait a minute, what the fuck am I doing? None of this is making sense.
Referee: It's the fumes, they're confusing you. If you were a cartoon you'd have stars around your head by now.
Kevin: What are you doing here?
Referee: I could see where it was going. You'll run downstairs, try to take the molten baby out, burn your hands and fall over for some reason as you get pinned by yet another liquefied inanimate object because you ran out of things to do.
Kevin: What can I do? This is all I know!
Referee: Don't you ever want to win matches?
[Kevin pulls a box of matches out of his pockets.]
Kevin: I have tons of them.
[The referee picks an upturned chair off a table and hits Kevin over the head with it. He makes the cover and the count himself.]
Referee: 123! I win!
Kevin: I can't believe the referee squashed me.
[We cut to a few seconds of a 'Only Retards Do Meth' commercial before cutting to black.]