Narrator. Last time on Shaft the movie, Samuel L. Jackson and Isaac Hayes made a baby.

Chad. That’s not…who are you and why are you at this funeral?

Narrator. Oh…uh, I knew Chris personally.

Chad. So, what’s with the Shaft thing?

Narrator. Side job. Ever since Chris died, I’ve had to take on side projects to keep up the level of work required to maintain my union contract.

Chad. Union?

Narrator. Narrator’s union.

Chad. Narrator?

Narrator. Don’t you recognize me? I’m that guy who sometimes talks when you’re doin’ stuff.

Chad. I have no idea who you are.

Narrator. I played Dungeons and Dragons with you once?

Chad. Nope.

Narrator. I don’t know how to prove to you we know each other, then.

Chad. Wait, we know each other?! From where?!

Narrator. Never mind.

(Beat.)

Chad. Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew Chris?

Narrator. Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?

Chad. What?

Narrator. Sorry, working for another side job. Weird romance story thing. Anyway, I already know how you know Chris. We were mutual friends.

Chad. On Facebook?

Narrator. No, in real life. Which is why I’m at her real life funeral.

Chad. Did you, like, get reconstructive surgery or something? I’ve never seen your face before.

Narrator. I don’t have a face, I’m more of a disembodied voice.

Chad. I was wondering how you fit into those slacks.

SFX. Gavel.

Flavor Fresh. Order. Order in this funeral.

Narrator. You don’t…I…you don’t ask for order at a funeral, you ask for it at a court.

Flavor Fresh. Who’s the priest here?

Chad. You’re wearing leather and S&M gear.

Flavor Fresh. I’m a Judas Priest. Now, is the funeral party just you two?

Chad. I sure hope not…the coffin isn’t even here yet.

SFX. Screech and dramatic car crash. Door opens and closes.

Yiff 1. We’re here!

Yiff 2. We brought the body.

Yiff 3. We had to spruce up her fursuit for the open-coffin showing.

Chad. Guys, I thought we said no fursuit burials!

Yiff 3. But, we did so much work on it!

Yiff 2. Yeah, yogurt farming accidents do not go well with acrylic polymers.

Chad. What’s an acrylic polymer, Yiff?

Yiff 2. It’s the plastic the faux fur is made out of.

Yiff 1. Yiff, that’s brilliant!

Yiff 3. Yeah, Yiff, that chemistry degree was a good idea.

Yiff 2. Well, Yiff, you know I like figuring out new ways to make our faux fur cheaper and more comfortable.

Yiff 1. You’re a credit to furries everywhere, Yiff.

Flavor Fresh. Excuse me, what’s a yiff?

Narrator. I’ve been narrating some furry fanfiction recently, and the word came up. I’m not sure what it means.

Yiff 1. It means me!

Yiff 3. Well, also me.

Yiff 2. It also refers to the existential yiff. Oh, and me.

Chad. Wait, Yiff, tell us what an existential yiff is.

Flavor Fresh. Can we start the funeral now?

Yiff 1. Don’t be so quick! We wanted to do a prayer yiff.

Narrator. A prayer? Is being a furry a religion?

Yiff 3. Furryism isn’t a religion it’s more of a…

Yiff 2. A state of mind.

Yif 1. Furryism is a state of mind. Also we have our own catechism.

Chad. They sure do!

Narrator. What do you believe?

Yiff 1. Allow me to recite the prayer. Maybe it will clear things up:

Yiffs 1, 2 and 3. This is my fursuit. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My fursuit is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my fursuit is useless. Without my fursuit, I am useless. I must wear my fursuit true. I must wear furrier than my enemy, who is trying to be furrier than me. I must outfur him before he outfurs me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my fursuit and myself are defenders of my furversion, we are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, only me and my fursona. Amen.

(Beat.)

Narrator. Wow. You really went to all the trouble of adapting a part of Full Metal Jacket to be your prayer?

Yiff 1. Indeed!

Narrator. That doesn’t really explain a lot. What is a yiff, and why are you so obsessed with them?

Yiff 2. Well, like we said, yiff is a state of mind.

Narrator. What state of mind is it?

Chad. How are you not understanding this?

Yiff 3. Didn’t you listen to the prayer?

Narrator. I did, but it didn’t really explain anything.

Yiff 1. Well...a yiff is like...the truest expression of furversion. It is the alpha and the omega of my fursona. It is the foundation, material and inhabitant of my fursonality.

Yiff 2. And some other words that start with fur!

Yiff 1. Right. Do you get it?

Narrator. I’m kind of unclear on why you keep calling each other Yiff.

Yiff 3. It’s our names.

Narrator. How can you tell the difference?

Chad. How can you not?

Yiff 2. Let me try to show you. Yiff?

Yiff 3. Yes?

Yiff 2. Where are you from?

Yiff 3. The same state as Yiff.

Yiff 2. Where is that?

Yiff 1. We’re from New York.

Yiff 2. Yiff, where did you meet Yiff?

Yiff 1. I met Yiff at the bimonthly walrus suit convention in Albany.

Yiff 3. Ah yes, my wilder, walrus-ier years.

Yiff 2. Oh, had you ever met Yiff?

Yiff 1. The guy whose fursona was a dolphin? Nah, never had the opportunity. I did yiff Yiff once though.

Yiff 3. I remember that! Oh man, his blowhole sure got yiffed good with your yiff.

Yiff 1. Good times were had by all.

Yiff 2. Yiff yiffed me a yiff of that.

Yiff 1. Yiff yiff yiff!

Narrator. I think you’re just making yiff up now.

(Beat.)

Chad. What did you call me?

Narrator. What?

Chad. You called me a dirty name.

Narrator. I said that I think you’re just making stuff up now.

Chad. You called me a yiff!

Yiff 2. I can’t believe you would do that.

Yiff 1. Yeah, this is a family funeral.

Narrator. There’s only two people here! And a boatload of furries!

Flavor Fresh. Can we get on with the funeral, please?

Yiff 2. I think we’ve yiffed enough for now. Let us yiff to our seats.

Yiffs 1 and 3. Yiff yiff yiff.

Chad. Yiff!

Narrator. This is craziness.

Flavor Fresh. This isn’t craziness; this is a funeral!

Narrator. Oh, right. Well, can we start?

Flavor Fresh. Are you three quite done with your humorous antics?

Yiff 1. I suppose.

Yiff 2. I guess?

Yiff 3. NEVEEEEEEEEEEEEER–oh, actually, sure.

Flavor Fresh. Sexy.

SFX. Funeral music.

Flavor Fresh. We are gathered here today to mourn the death of Chris T. Furry, a valuable member of the furmunity and an inspiration to us all. I remember the day Chris came to town she turned more heads than a pimp does tricks. In fact, she had quite the opportunity to become a pimp herself. However, after a mishap involving a non-union whore – yours truly – she had to retire to the world of office work and furversion. I truly miss Chris, if not only for her smile, her bosom, and her sexay thighs, but for her Olympian spirit. Speaking of which, did I mention I’m an Olympic athlete? If I didn’t, I’m an Olympic athlete.

Chad. Sorry to stop you mid-funeral father, but could the service focus more on Chris herself?

Flavor Fresh. Oh. My bad.

Chad. Also, would you mind, like…okay, this might sound a little awkward. But, why is your voice all echoey?

Flavor Fresh. I’m a ghost.

Chad. Oh, nonsense. I mean, ghosts are transparent. You’re only translucent wait, oh crap you’re a ghost.

Yiff 1. OH MY GOD A GHOST!!!

Yiff 2. I’LL NEVER YIFF AGAIN!!!

Yiff 3. Suddenly I’ve found God. And he looks a lot like Barry Manilow.

(Pause.)

Yiff. What?! He does!

SFX. Under the next few lines, the Ghostbusters theme fades in and we hear a car pull up and people get out.

Chad. I don’t think ghosts can preside over funerals.

Flavor Fresh. Oh, come on. Ghost Americans like me have rights, too!

Chad. What kind of a priest are you, anyway?

Narrator. Well, I thought this was a Catholic funeral for the record. That’s why I brought so much wine.

Chad. Yeah, I was going to ask you about that.

Flavor Fresh. Actually, I’m a non-denominational–

Dan Akroyd. STOP RIGHT THERE, CRIMINAL SCUM!!!

Bill Murray. I think what my friend Dan Akroyd meant to say was that this priest is a ghost.

Dan Akroyd. It’s difficult to remember to take my meds sometimes.

Bill Murray. Dan here’s been dead for fifteen years, secretly.

Dan Akroyd. Well, that’s not quite right, Bill Murray…

Bill Murray. Sixteen.

Dan Akroyd. Better.

Narrator. Who’re you guys?

Bill Murray/Dan Akroyd. We’re the Ghostbusters!

(Pause.)

Chad. Wasn’t there a third–

Dan Akroyd. Ernie Hudson didn’t want to renew his contract. Something about pursuing a serious film career.

Chad. But, Ghostbusters 3 is coming out next year and he’s signed on!

Bill Murray. It’s actually going to be a body double. You’ll never tell the difference. Secretly, it’s Lucy Liu.

(Pause.)

SFX. Ghostbusting.

Flavor Fresh. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

(Pause.)

Bill Murray. Our work here is done!

SFX. They drive away.

Narrator. That was inspirational.

Chad. That was horrifying. Who will eulogize Chris?

Yiff 1. I’ll do it!

Yiff 3. No, me me me me me me!!!

Yiff 2. What if we have a moment of silence?

Yiff 1. How about instead we have a moment of furlence?

Yiff 2. That would never work!

Yiff 1. I feel so misunderstood.

Yiff 3. Don’t you mean misyiffed?

Narrator. Can we get this over with?

Chad. Wait, Narrator!

Narrator. Yeah?

Chad. Can you do me a favor?

Narrator. What?

Chad. Narrate me into a dramatic monologue.

Narrator. Uh, sure. Then Chad had a dramatic monologue or something.

Chad. YEAH! It was then I realized my true life’s purpose: to protect the helpless furries of the world as their champion. To avenge my beloved Chris’s death from anti-furry protests, to–

Narrator. Uh, she died in a yogurt farming–

Chad. WHATEVER! To become the world’s greatest furry defense lawyer!

Narrator. We’ll…we’ll come back to this storyline later. Instead, let’s go watch some boring people.

Lizzie. Grandma, would you like some tea?

Grandma. Back in the war, when we wanted tea, we had to go out and kill our own British soldier to make it.

Lizzie. But would you like some tea?

Grandma. It wasn’t easy either. Those damn Brits usually hid their tea in a sock back at their castle, so you’d have to sneak up on them while they were at home.

Lizzie. I’ll just make some on the assumption that you’ll drink it once it’s in front of you.

Grandma. Things sure were better back then, yessiree. We didn’t have all this nonsense about “equality” and “atheism” and “America”.

Lizzie. Mmhmm.

Grandma. Why back then, our European wasn’t a union and we were just fine with that! Bring back manorialism, I say.

Lizzie. Right.

Grandma. It was like back in WWI when I fought for the Kaiser. Back then your causes actually meant something.

Lizzie. Here’s your tea.

Grandma. Lemon?!

SFX. Cup breaks.

Grandma. Blasphemy! That’s what those filthy Belgium-lovers have in their tea. I will have none of that! My idea of a good time is throwing Belgian babies up in the air and catching them on my bayonet!

Lizzie. You know, you didn’t have to break the mug. You could have just said no thank you and I could have made you a different kind of tea.

Grandma. That Kaiser sure knew how to keep an army in line. And he always gave us a good little country to rampage through on our way somewhere else. That’s why I liked that young Johnny Hitler so much.

Lizzie. I think his name was Adolf.

Grandma. That Johnny! What a mischievous little fella. Always getting up to his elbows in one genocide or another.

Lizzie. You know, Grandma. Maybe this isn’t really the right century to be singing Hitler’s praises.

Grandma. I’m loyal to every general I’ve fought for!

Lizzie. Well...he’s dead. So there’s not really a way to command your loyalty.

Grandma. So when are you going to take me to go get that new car?

Lizzie. Grandma, I’m not taking you get a new car.

Grandma. But my old one is broken!

Lizzie. It’s broken because you shot it!

Grandma. It looked like a Swede! You’d have done the same thing in my place!

Lizzie. I would not have shot my car with a bazooka. I don’t even own a bazooka.

Grandma. And that’s why you’re a sitting duck for crime!

Lizzie. WHERE DID YOU GET A BAZOOKA?!

Grandma. I’m not telling and you can’t make me!

(Pause.)

Lizzie. Ok, fine, I’ll take you to get a new car.

Grandma. Yay!

SFX. Batman Transition.

Lizzie. This looks promising!

Grandma. General Uncle Chadwick’s Used Cars. I like the way it sounds.

Lizzie. I’m not sure I like that it appears to be in an alley.

Grandma. I’m sure that’s just to save money on hanging the banner.

Lizzie. What?

Grandma. You know...it’s strung up between buildings...So he didn’t have to buy poles.

Lizzie. That doesn’t make any sense, Grandma.

Grandma. I don’t have to make sense! I fought for your freedom back in the War of 1812!

Lizzie. Grandma, you fought for the British!

Grandma. Oh hush. Let’s get a car.

General Uncle Chadwick. Howdy folks! How can I help you purchase a nice preowned American-made car?

Grandma. Do you have any that were perhaps financed using the blood of In’juns.

Lizzie. Native Americans!

General Uncle Chadwick. Naw ma’am, I ain’t got none of those. But I can tell by looking at you what kind of car you’ll be wanting to go for.

Grandma. What is it?

General Uncle Chadwick. Well, I don’t want to get too heavily into specifics right at the moment, but I will tell you this...it can haul several tons of gravel, play the newest Justin Bieber album, and single-handedly eliminate an entire species of owl AT THE SAME TIME!

Lizzie. Well that doesn’t sound too…

Grandma. Sir. Here is a briefcase of all of my money. Show me the car and it will become yours.

Lizzie. Grandma! That’s my late husband’s briefcase!

Grandma. It’s also his money.

General Uncle Chadwick. It’s that car right there. I’ll take that and go.

SFX. Yoink. Running footsteps.

Lizzie. I hate you, Grandma.

Grandma. I didn’t take a bullet in Granada so you could talk to me like that!

Lizzie. YOU SPENT MY DEAD HUSBAND’S LIFE SAVINGS ON A CAR THAT APPEARS TO BE A GIANT TOASTER WITH WHEELS.

Grandma. Just as God intended.

SFX. Laugh Track. Tire squeal. Batman transition. Radio static fades into dialogue.

Fluid. (With radio filter.) So I guess the moral of the story is that teabags can kill. This has been the Frightening News Hour with DJ A Fluid Thing. Next up: Severed Duck, my radio cooking show! Today we’ll be making Denver Omelets. They’re much like Ontario omelets but instead of the maple syrup you use large hats.

Vera. What does that have to do with Denver?

Fluid. It has nothing at all to do with Denver, Vera.

Vera. How did you know I was talking to you?

Fluid. I can’t hear you, I was just trying to freak out everyone named Vera. I just assumed that you would ask what the deal was with the big hats, but they really do use them. You should really avoid using leather hats, that’s just inhumane. Felt hats…they’re just delicious. You really have to run them through your meat grinder first. And make sure to run them through twice. The felt demons might still be alive.

(Pause.)

Vera. Felt demons.

Fluid. Yes Vera, felt demons. I love freaking people out. Now step one: you’re going to want to preheat your oven to about as high as it can go. Now, I know that you all have very different ovens with very different settings. But if you just the dial up as high as it goes, maybe even to the clean setting, you’ll be ok.

SFX. Ridiculous noises.

Fluid. So as you heard, I turned on my oven. Next, you’re going to want to wash the gimp. Now I know what you’re thinking, what if the gimp’s asleep. Well, I guess you’ll just have to wake him up, then. You’re going to want to use the meat tenderizing mallet. Now, I don’t have one of those on hand, so I’m going to have to use this AK-47 here.

SFX. AK-47, gimp squeal.

Fluid. As you can hear, the gimp is now awake, thanks to my AK-47 here. Small aside about this AK47: we bought this rifle under the auspices that it was recording equipment. Technically it is, too, because once we used it to make Simon and Garfunkel write a metal album. You now know that band as KISS. Now, the next thing you’re going to want to do is recalibrate the deuterium nodes on the main deflector dish. You’re not going to want to fire your phasers at the Borg, because they’re near the dish, and the dish could explode, taking out half the kitchen with you, but you are going to want to do something like that. The next thing you’re going to want to do is get all of your ingredients in a bowl and hit them with an inverse tachyon beam.

SFX. Elephants.

Fluid. Finally, turn on your computer, go to Google, search feels good, man on the image search function and print out the first three pages of images. Put them in a blender and mix them in. Serve chilled over fondue.

Vera. Ok…I think I can do that. So first, I’ll take this box of Bisquik. Then I will smash it with a hammer.

SFX. Hammer smash.

Vera. Next I will release the stray cats.

SFX. Meowing. Scratching.

Vera. Smells good. Ok, so then I’ll gather all of that into a bowl and stick it in the oven. But without the bowl. And it’s the trash.

SFX. Thump.

Vera. Then I add a lit torch.

SFX. Flames

Vera. Next, I order out.

SFX. Phone dial.

Pizza Shack. Hello, Pizza Shack. What can I do you for?

Vera. Hello, I’d like a medium goat cheese pizza.

Pizza Shack. Goats went extinct last month, ma’am.

Vera. I’ll take a fifth of Jack Daniels instead of the goat cheese. Do you pour it on in-house, or do I have to do that myself?

Pizza Shack. We do it. That’s a fairly standard order, what with the economic times

SFX. Rimshot.

Narrator. Meanwhile, at DSNT’s bachelor pad…

SFX. Alarm clock. Crash. Animal noises.

DSNT. Yawn. Another awakening from bloodcurdling nightmare, another dollar. Well...that is figuratively. I’m not actually making any money with my writing. Well it’s almost 3 p.m., I should check my mail.

SFX. Envelope shuffle.

DSNT. Good thing I’ve taken to sleeping right in front of my door, otherwise that would have needed to take a boringly long amount of time to happen realistically. Let’s see…porn…porn…credit card bill…restraining order…restraining order…LETTER FROM A PUBLISHER, SCORE! Let’s see what it says…

SFX. Letter opening.

DSNT. Dear Sir, though we were very happy to receive your manuscript “The Origin of the Sexies” and are glad that you are continuing to offer us your work, we regret that we will have to reject your work again. Please don’t take this as an indication that you do bad work, though we are quite baffled by your subject matter. The crux of the matter frankly is that we are a textbook company and you write what you refer to as “evolutionary biology fan fiction.” We are somewhat baffled at your insistence that this is a genre of literature, but we are in the business of publishing, not literary theory so we will leave this matter to you and your deity of choice. Enclosed in this envelope you will find a cease-and-desist order and a photograph of our senior president mooning you. Please do not consider this cease-and-desist order to mean that you should stop writing, it only means that we want you to stop sending us things. For the love of God and all that is holy, stop.

(Beat.)

DSNT. Well I guess that’s fair. Oh, here’s another letter from a publisher! And it’s from Harlequin Romance! I hope they liked “Guns, Germs and Roofies”….Mr. DSNT, what you've sent us is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever read. At no point in your rambling, incoherent manuscript were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in our office is now dumber for having read it. You should probably know that our lawyers have been putting together a case about this manuscript and you will be receiving a letter from our litigatoy team soon. You will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for what you have done to literature. We will not be publishing your novel, and may God have mercy on your soul. 

(Beat.)

DSNT. I’m not sure that really warranted that response. I guess I should probably start working on another manuscript so I can send it to a different publisher…sigh. Well, ok, I guess my ideas for The Shellfish Jeans have been kicking around in my head for a while, I guess I should start that…Ok, let’s begin.

SFX. Machine noises. Under talking, typewriter noises.

DSNT. Alright, so…The Shellfish Jeans, an evolutionary biology fan fiction by DJ DSNT.

SFX. Sexy mood music.

DSNT. As the soft moonlight played across the laboratory, Jared and Richard were putting the finishing touches on their composite theory of oyster gender dynamics. The night glistened with the electricity of both a brilliant theory in the making, and the beginning of an affair. “Mr. Diamond, I am so impressed with your supernatural abilities to create theories out of nothing!” Jared giggled, and said “Well, Richard, you have done half the work. And please, call me Jared”. “I’m not sure that’s true, and you can call me Dick.” “Speaking of that, I have something to show you.” “You know, I have mixed feelings about that phrase. Whenever someone says they have something to show me, I always know something fun is going to happen, but I always end up having to testify in court about something or other. By the way, I like your jeans” Jared, knowing that this was the tipping point that would lead to an evening of wild debauchery said “Thanks, they’re made of shellfish. Some say that shellfish jeans are an aphrodisiac. By the way, can you help me spread this butter…on my thighs?” And thus, their scientific and romantic partnerships both began with a schlort.

SFX. Music fades out. Restaurant noise fades in.

Waitress. Welcome to Black River. How many in your party?

Station Manager. Me.

Waitress. So do you want a table, or is the bar okay?

Station Manager. Well, I don’t really need a table, but do you mind me eating people if it’s at the bar?

Waitress. Eating what?

Station Manager. That reminds me. Are you Jewish? Because I’m a kosher cannibal, so I can’t eat anyone with pig in them.

(Pause.)

Waitress. Hahahaha! You’re so wacky! I’ll put you at this table over here.

SFX. Footsteps. Chair.

Station Manager. Man, I love it when people only hear what they want to hear. I guess in the interest of humanity, I should probably try to eat all of the hipsters first. (Yelling.) Who wants a pair of ray bans?!

SFX. Hipsters take notice (I’m not sure what this sound effect will be. I imagine a collective gasp? Then a general clamor? We’ll see.)

Station Manager. And now for the feeding…

SFX. The feeding.

Station Manager. Yum.

Waitress. Oh my god! You’ve eaten everyone in this entire restaurant!

Station Manager. Well hipsters aren’t very filling at all. Once you start eating them you just keep going. It’s intoxicating, in a way.

Waitress. I’m going to need you to leave.

Station Manager. Whatever. I’m done here anyway.

SFX. Footsteps. Door open. Carnival noises.

Clown. Hey pretty lady, would you like a balloon animal?

Station Manager. I’ve always wanted to eat a clown!

Clown. What?

SFX. Station Manager eats a clown.

Station Manager. Ughhhhhh. That clown tasted funny.

Parent. You’ve ruined our child’s birthday party!

Station Manager. Too much greasepaint…

Parent. Well where are you going? You haven’t even finished eating everyone here yet.

Station Manager. Thanks….but I couldn’t possibly…

SFX. Carnival noise fades out. Footsteps.

Station Manager. Oh man. That clown was bad news. Maybe I should be more careful about the people I eat.

SFX. Lion roar combined with bicycle horn.

Station Manager. Oh dear, my stomach is making strange noises.

SFX. Elephant combined with crickets combined with airplane crash combined with jewsharp.

Station Manager. Maybe I really can’t just tell who I should eat anymore. Maybe I should cut back on eating people….

SFX. Gunshots combined with jet sound combined with horse whinney.

Station Manager. …altogether. This just isn’t working out. But what will I eat? Hmm…I guess I once ate a dolphin that was pretty delicious. I also like whales. Maybe I should become a blowhole-tarian. And also lawyers. Pretty much anything with a blowhole. This is sure to work out really well…

Narrator. Elsewhere, we return to the boring characters and their stupid boring toast truck thing. Whatever.

Lizzie. Grandma, please put the shrunken heads away.

Grandma. No! They’re necessary to complete my pre-victory dance.

Lizzie. Pre-victory dance?

Grandma. Yes! We’re going to battle today!

Lizzie. Oh, did the economy finally crash? If so, I had some TV stores I was planning to ransack.

Grandma. No! Well, not today. But Operation Punch All The Goats To Death was a nice precursor to that.

Lizzie. Darn. And I wanted a 32-inch plasma screen. Next week, I suppose.

Grandma. Yes, after Operation Punch All The Goats To Death 2 is done.

Lizzie. But we already punched all the goats to death.

Grandma. Or are they?

Lizzie. Yes, they are. It caused quite a stir. Mostly among goat cheese aficionados.

Grandma. They’re just little girls and Michael Jackson impersonators, their opinions don’t matter, anyway.

(Beat.)

Lizzie. Oh! Crap! It’s 2 p.m.!

Grandma. I’ll get the radio!

SFX. Crashing. Radio switches on.

Fluid. This has been the Frightening News Hour with DJ A Fluid Thing. Next up: Severed Duck, my radio cooking show!

Grandma. This is my most favorite hour of the day!

Fluid. Today we’ll be preparing the most dangerous flat food: hot cakes. Make sure to emphasize the pause between hot and cakes. Hot. Cakes. That’s the way the queen says it, so that’s the way I say it in my perfect Queen’s English.

Lizzie. Oh, A Fluid Thing, you’re so cultured.

Fluid. Tally, ho, Lizzie! Quite right.

Lizzie. Oh, my god! He could hear me!

Fluid. Ha! Just kidding. I just wanted to freak out everyone named Lizzie who had a verbal response to my previous sentence.

Lizzie. Dammit!

Fluid. First up, you’ll want to take a long, hard field trip under your kitchen sink. Extract every item in a yellow, orange, blue, red, green, or mauve box. In-between shades are also acceptable. Now, take the contents of these boxes and put them in your sink after closing the drain cover.

Grandma. Quick, go do that!

SFX. Crashing under the next bit.

Fluid. Next up, you’ll want to fill the sink halfway with water.

Lizzie. Yes, sir!

SFX. Water running.

Fluid. And, finally, if you have a central air system or climate control in your house, just hack into the system and turn the house’s temperature down to thirty degrees below zero until the sink is frozen. Serve tepid.

(Pause. Lizzie is crying.)

Lizzie. That was the most beautiful art form ever broadcast over a radio.

Fluid. And, that’s how to make hotcakes. Quick aside about hotcakes: I once tried to sell some hotcakes. It was part of an ill-conceived business venture I was part of with some Romanians…story aside, the point is hotcakes don’t sell nearly as well as advertised. You’d probably be better off trying to sell toast or something. You know, because of breakfast. Everyone always says, “Oh, toast! That’s an acceptable part of some of my mornings.” And, that’s all I have for you today. Next up: an hour of my five-minute speech on oxygen politics. I’m just going to play it over and over again, so make sure to memorize it.

SFX. Radio switches off.

Grandma. Well, that was disappointingly short. Just like my six year tour of Grenada.

Lizzie. You know, A Fluid Thing has a point: we should sell toast.

Grandma. I don’t think he directly suggested that.

Lizzie. WAIT! So, you frivolously bought a toaster truck earlier.

Grandma. Yes, I did. It’s part of my plan to get revenge on that filthy hippie James Carter for pulling us out of Grenada so soon.

Lizzie. Wasn’t Reagan the president who–

Grandma. YOU’RE A PINKO, AREN’T YOU?! I ALWAYS KNEW IT!!!

Lizzie. Grandma…

Grandma. I suppose I’ll be retrieving my mace…

Lizzie. Wait! The toast truck!

Grandma. I suppose the hippie punishment can commence later. But remember, I didn’t fight tooth and nail against the Americans in the Cold War just to see my granddaughter become a Commie.

(Pause.)

Lizzie. I’m not going to go into what was wrong with that. So, how’re we doing this toast business?

Grandma. I don’t know, it was your idea.

Lizzie. IT WAS THE FUHRER’S IDEA!!!

(Pause.)

Grandma. Don’t you mean–

Lizzie. I meant what I said.

Narrator. Meanwhile, in WOBC…

Fluid. I just got a strange feeling that I’m a Nazi. This hasn’t happened for at least three months. Maybe I need to lower my cholesterol intake.

SFX. Phone rings and picks up.

Fluid. WOBC.

Chad. Hello, Mr. Thing. My name is F.M. Chad Wickington, and I’m calling you on behalf of my client, George Foreman.

Fluid. Chad? Ha! Nice prank.

Chad. Sir, I assure you this is not a prank. And I prefer to be called Mr. F.M. Wickington, if you would.

Fluid. Oh, ha.

Chad. Your popular, nationally-syndicated radio program has caused the injury of over ten innocent Furry Americans!

Fluid. Which one? Oh, was it that one where I taught a lesson on how to kill furries? That was nationally syndicated? Sheesh.

Chad. Your cooking show. What is this about–

Fluid. Uh, slip of the tongue. I meant to say the show that DSNT DJed where he did that. Yeah. But, don’t worry, he was fired.

Chad. I don’t know this “DSNT” person, but I’m glad to hear that. Now–

Fluid. Okay, wait a sec. You know both of us quite well.

Chad. Sir, I’m afraid–

Fluid. We played D&D together? I saved you from two cults?

Chad. Sir, this is a legal summons to appear in court tomorrow. We’ll see you there.

Fluid. Okay, but this is a joke, right?

Chad. Nnnnnnnno. No, it’s not.

Fluid. This isn’t a very funny joke.

Chad. AN SUIT IS BEING BROUGHT AGAINST YOU, OKAY?!

Fluid. An?

Chad. George Foreman and the FAA have brought a class action suit against you.

Fluid. The Federal Aviation Administration?

Chad. Furry Association of America.

Fluid. Can you prove this is a legal summons?

SFX. I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.

Fluid. What.

Chad. President Obama is on our side here, Mr. Thing.

Fluid. That was a sound clip.

Chad. No, President Obama is here right now.

Fluid. Prove it.

Chad. No.

Fluid. THEN I’LL SEE YOU IN COURT!!!

SFX. Phone hangs up.

Fluid. Wait, I think I did that wrong.

Narrator. We return to Station Manager, having a crisis of faith. She’s gone to her most trusted friend, Vera for advice. Well, actually, she would’ve gone to Fluid first but he was too busy on the phone with fans and lawyers. And, she would’ve even gone to DSNT, but the restraining order she got on him works both ways.

Station Manager. And then I ate the whole clown.

Vera. Sounds normal for you. I’d advise–

Station Manager. You know what, Vera? I don’t need advice today. I just need to talk to someone.

Vera. Well, when you’re having days that make you feel like rejecting advice, I’d advise–

Station Manager. NO ADVICE EVER AGAIN.

Vera. Why not?

Station Manager. The last time you gave me advice…

SFX. Flashback. Bees.

Station Manager. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BEES?! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!

Vera. Don’t worry! They’re very benign. Just spray the bee friendship spray I brought and they won’t bother you.

Station Manager. I guess that’s not a terrible idea.

SFX. De-flashback.

Station Manager. Let’s not talk about that any more.

Vera. On the bright side, we got free welt cream for five weeks.

Station Manager. More like on the RED, SWOLLEN, NEAR DEATH SIDE.

Vera. I’d advise–

Station Manager. So, after I ate the clown I felt really strange. It’s like I’d never eaten Amelia Earhart. I think that clown was a wake-up call that I’ve been possessed by a demonic sorceress and I need serious help.

Vera. What do you plan to do? Therapists are expensive.

Station Manager. For now I’m only eating creatures with blowholes and lawyers. But, honestly, I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve killed so many people…

Vera. Well, there’s always suicide.

Station Manager. Hmm…

Narrator. Five minutes later…

SFX. Wind.

Station Manager. I’M GONNA DO IT! I’M GONNA JUMP!

Vera. No, Mora! You have so much to live for!

Station Manager. No way! I’m a mass murderer!

Vera. Uh…think of the distress you’ll cause the repair crews when you break the sidewalk!

Station Manager. I don’t care!

Vera. Uh…your sorceress powers will prevent you from dying?

(Beat.)

Station Manager. Oh, you actually have a point.

Narrator. Five minutes laterer…

Vera. The way I see it, the only way for you to be killed is to be thrown into a volcano. And, as we all know, furries murder their enemies in this fashion all the time. So, you’ll just have to get a furry to kill you!

Station Manager. Can’t I do it myself?

Vera. I dunno. Do you know where to find a volcano?

Station Manager. No…

Vera. Exactly. So, you’ll have to anger the furries. Do something so horrible that they’ll never forgive you! And then you’ll be able to die a heroic death!

Station Manager. But how do I anger furries? I feel like they’re impervious to insult at this point.

Vera. You’ll have to assassinate someone influential in their community. A furry defense lawyer perhaps.

Station Manager. That could work. I do still eat lawyers.

Vera. Exactly! And then the furries will kill you.

Station Manager. I don’t know if I actually want to go through with that…maybe I’ll just anger the furries for kicks. Also, a lawyer in a fursuit does sound delicious…

Vera. Sounds fine to me.

Station Manager. We’ll have to research furry defense lawyers to kill.

Vera. To the internet!

Station Manager. Make sure not to do an image search.

Narrator. Meanwhile, Phil Collins is at his first gig of Genesis’s reunion tour. Sadly, Steve Hackett, Peter Gabriel, Tony Banks, and Mike Rutherford had previous projects, most of which involved merely not being there. Also, Mike was spending most of his days wearing a sombrero and singing songs about alpaca-flavored ice cream in the local insane asylum.

Phil. Hello, Cleveland!

Hall Monitor. But, we’re not in Cleveland, mister.

Phil. Oh. Thank you, sir. Hello, Grenada!

Hall Monitor. I’m 12, female, and what is Grenada?

Phil. So, you look like you’re in charge, chap. I assume you’re the tour manager. I’m here to do the concert. Where is the beverage table? I could use an Invisible Touch right now.

Hall Monitor. What’s an Invisible Touch?

Phil. It’s a fantastic drink consisting of vodka, vodka, and a little rubbing alcohol. So, you know, it’s not funnily colored or anything.

Hall Monitor. My mommy told me not to drink rubbing alcohol after my daddy drank it to sleep.

Phil. I understand your loss, son. I see myself as a father figure to you, in fact. One time in Vietnam I was a father figure to several prostitutes. But by “father” I mean “customer” and by “figure” I mean “abusive.” I was never allowed in that massage salon again.

Hall Monitor. Ow. Ow. My brain. Ow.

Phil. And then I beat everyone there senseless with my drumsticks. The next year I founded Genesis.

Phyllis. Honey, why are you talking to that young man about your war experiences? You were never good with children. That’s why I divorced you!

Hall Monitor. My mommy and daddy were going to get divorced because of me, but then daddy just drank himself to death with rubbing alcohol.

Phil. Phyllis, honey, I’m just lecturing this young boy on the merits of hard work.

Hall Monitor. That’s why I have to go to therapy, now.

Phyllis. But you’re talking about brothels and other raunchy, non-child-appropriate things! Next thing you know you’ll be talking about divorce! And you know how kid-unfriendly we get when we talk about divorce…

Hall Monitor. Mommy told me it was my fault daddy killed himself.

Phil. Say, Phyllis, what say you and me get another divorce right onstage at the gig today?

Hall Monitor. I had to take this hall monitor job to help mommy pay for her meth.

Phyllis. Oh, yes, honey!

Hall Monitor. I really shouldn’t even be letting you roam free with wigs like that, mister, they’re against school policy.

Phil/Phyllis. What wig?

Hall Monitor. HOW DID YOU SPEAK WITH TWO VOICES AT THE SAME TIME?!

Phil. What are voices?

Phyllis. During my last hysterical pregnancy, Phil and I went to a Lamaze class that turned out to be a seminar on circular breathing. And, suddenly we learned to talk at the same time.

Phil. Yes, indeed, honey.

Hall Monitor. We? You’re just one man putting a wig on and taking it off.

Phil. What are wigs?

(Pause.)

Phil. Speaking of Vietnam, you remind me of Ming Li. Can I offer you five dollars to do something for me?

Hall Monitor. I NEED AN ADULT!!!

Phil. How, lucky! I’m already an adult!

Phyllis. Me, too!

Hall Monitor. I think you should probably speak to the Cafeteria Lady.

Phil. Oh, is she the tour manager? I really need to know about the beverage table, see…

Phyllis. Don’t let him drink! He’ll beat me with his drumsticks!

Phil. I only beat you because I love you!

Phyllis. Call the police!

Phil Fish. What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?

Phyllis. My husband is abusive! He beats me with his drumsticks!

SFX. Whacking with drumsticks.

Phyllis. Ow, ow, ow, ow.

Phil. I do not! That’s a damn lie!

Hall Monitor. Can I go now…?

Phil Fish. Sir, I’m going to need everyone to calm down.

Phil. You need to get this harpy under control! I’m glad you’re here to help.

Hall Monitor. I really need to get back to class.

Phil Fish. Sir, I need you to calm down. If you do not comply, I will be forced to use less than lethal force.

Hall Monitor. What’s lethal force? And why are you now three people?

Phil Fish. He’s being belligerent and unresponsive to my commands!

Phyllis. Make him stop beating me!

Phil. SHUT UP WITH YOUR INCESSANT NAGGING.

Phil Fish. Sir, I’m going to use these tasers on you if you don’t calm down.

Hall Monitor. I’m not doing anything.

Phil Fish. That’s it! PHIL FISH TASER ATTACK!!!

SFX. Multiple tasers.

Phil Fish. You all saw him attack me, right?

Cafeteria Lady. What was that?

Phil. Oh, are you the tour manager?

Cafeteria Lady. No, I’m the cafeteria lady.

SFX. Crackling and smoke.

Cafeteria Lady. Why is there a charred corpse on the ground? Also you appear to be holding sixteen tasers.

Phil. What an excellent question! I would like to answer it with another question: where can I put my extra drumsticks?

Phyllis. And I’d like to know where the green room is! I want to wait there for my husband so I can divorce him right before he goes on stage.

Phil Fish. And I need you all to stick around for questioning.

Cafeteria Lady. Um. I don’t understand the wigs. But I do know that I need to call the police. You just murdered a child.

Phil. That slimy lizard-person was trying to prevent me first reunion concert from happening!

Phyllis. I’m going to need some lipstick.

Cafeteria Lady. Concert? Wait, are you Phil Collins?

Phil. One and the same!

Cafeteria Lady. Are you insane?!

Phil. I can’t rightly say.

Phyllis. Are you threatening my husband?!

(Pause)

Phil Fish. I’m going to need a semen sample from everything in this room.

Cafeteria Lady. WHAT?!

Phil. Please, and this is of the utmost importance you understand, I need to know where the beverage table is!

Cafeteria Lady. Milk is twenty cents. Chocolate milk is fifty.

Phil. Fifty dollars for chocolate milk!?

Cafeteria Lady. Fifty cents.

Phil. Well, I’d love some chocolate milk. Do you have change for a pound of turkey?

SFX. Splat.

Phyllis. Don’t make him ask twice!

Cafeteria Lady. Why did you throw rotten turkey at me?

Phil. I’d like two cartons of chocolate milk, please!

Cafeteria Lady. Listen…what is going to make you go away?

Phyllis. Don’t you try to turn down my husband!

Phil Fish. And you can’t be running away from the scene of a crime. I still need that semen sample.

Cafeteria Lady. Can you just…do your concert or whatever and leave me alone?

Phil. Sure thing! I’ll just change into my one-man-band-suit

SFX. Rips.

Phil. I had it on under me clothes!

Phyllis. Knock ‘em dead, honeybunch! We’ll divorce lots when you get back!

SFX. Running. Screaming children. Hitting drumsticks on stuff. Phil singing a wild, drunken version of “Something Happened on the Way to Heaven” Fade in typewriter noises and some kind of goofy music.

DSNT. …and so after their frenzied bout of lovemaking, Jared and Richard’s thoughts turned gently towards thoughts of oysters. In prehistoric oyster-world, two oysters were become better friends and hopefully, lovers. Oyster one said to oyster two
-Oh Jimmy, you have such superior genes. I know I want to make a new generation with you.
Oyster two responded with
-it’s very kind of you to say so. I’m unsure about your method of locomotion, though.
-I thought you might be curious about that, so allow me to explain it to you. As you know, all generations of oysters previous to me had to get around by hopping onto the back of a passing guppy. See, now, we can open and close our shells really fast
-But forming a symbiotic relationship with guppies is one of the biggest parts of being an oyster
-But now I don’t have to depend on guppies for food, or reproduction
-Oh my. Do you want to have my oysters?
-Wait, which one of us is the male?
-I don’t know
-Let’s have hot oyster sex
-Oh yeah baby. Pass on those superior genes.
And thus they had hot disgusting oyster sex. It was like two balls of phlegm in shells having sex. But somehow sexier. And this thought sent Jared and Richard over the edge into another attempt at playing Oil Madness.

Narrator. Join us again next week for the conclusion to this compelling story: Season 5, Episode 2: Sherlock Holmes 4 – This Time It’s Personal!

Everyone. DERP!!!