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Old 05.28.2010, 02:01 PM   #124
invito al cielo
Join Date: Aug 2006
Posts: 3,447
ni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's assesni'k kicks all y'all's asses
CROW: [Brandon] Cool! Domestic violence! Can we watch?

> "No Brandon, it's none of our business what goes on over
> there."

TOM: [grandfather] You get enough of that on FOX, anyway!

> Then suddenly Nora the youngest daughter came running over
> to us. "My momma, my momma, she just shot herself, get some help. Hurry!
> Hurry! Get some help, please!"
> So we did, but when the paramedics arrived it was too late.
> Vida had shot herself in her right temple

MIKE: Almost knocking over the statue of the Angel Moroni.

> with a .32 caliber pistol

TOM: A .32 caliber pistol? There's no such thing!
CROW: Does it make a difference, Servo?
TOM: Look, there are 9 mm, .22, .38, .357, .40, .44, .45, and .50 caliber
pistols, but there are no .32 caliber pistols, at least in the US.
CROW: This guy isn't exactly the paragon of journalistic accuracy... why
worry about it?
MIKE: Actually, Tom, there were .32 caliber pistols, yet they fell out of
popularity due to low performance and competition with other small
caliber arms, such as the .22. Today, the .32 caliber is mostly
used in starter pistols and other blank-firing guns.
CROW: So maybe... the welfare mom reached for a gun, fired off her starter
pistol by mistake, and she was trampled to death by the onrushing
team of sprinters doing the 100-meter dash!
MIKE: Quite possibly.
TOM: Thank you, Mike... hey, how do you know so much about guns, anyway?
MIKE: Ummm... I had a crazy uncle...

> while kneeling at her bedside.

TOM: Damn... almost brings a new meaning to "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep".
CROW: But because she managed to pass her genes on to the next generation,
she does not qualify for a Darwin award.

> Soon after that incident, my grandfather sold the ranch.

TOM: And bought the farm!
MIKE: Tom, I'm not quite sure that's appropriate...

> I haven't been back there since, so I don't know what the family is
> doing or even if they still live there. However, when I had
> previously visited the ranch on weekends something different was
> always happening on the other side of the canal. I witnessed
> parities

CROW: They might be scumballs, but they always error-check their bytes.

> that involved drugs, dirty white people

TOM: "Dirty White People"? Isn't that Michael Moore's latest book?

> who looked as if they hadn't showered in days.

CROW: We prefer the term "hygenically challenged".
TOM: Or is it "differently scented"?

> This community was disgusting and taking advantage of the welfare program,
> when originally it was designed to help less fortunate.

MIKE: [community] And we would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't
for you meddling kids!

> I stereotyped that community as, "white-trash."
> Fortunately by the early 1990's,

TOM: ... that neighborhood had been bulldozed and turned into a mini-
CROW: And Vanilla Ice was fastly redefining the meaning of "white trash"!

> welfare abuse had become such a burden on the taxpayers,

MIKE: The Pentagon had to cut back on $10,000 toilet seats...
TOM: President Clinton had to fill up Air Force One with *regular* gas...
CROW: It was even so bad that John Sununu couldn't afford to get a

> that congress and the president passed legislation limiting the time a
> recipient could stay on the welfare rolls. Free job training was offered
> and thousands began working for a living.

TOM: Unfortunately, then the economy took a huge nosedive and downsizing
companies fired them all, sending them into even worse trouble
because there was no welfare to help them!
CROW: Yeah, if you want to look at the problem *realistically*...

> Although public welfare still exists for the needy, it is hopeful it will
> no longer be abused as a way of life, the way the "white-trash" community
> did in west Fresno.

TOM: The "white-trash" community was arraigned in Superior Court, County
of Los Angeles. In a moment, the results of that trial.
MIKE: Let's just get out of here, you guys.

[All leave the theater.]

[1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...]

[SOL Bridge. The TV and SNES are back, and it looks like Crow is playing a
game that looks like the Harvest Moon he was playing earlier, but the farmer
is sitting inside his house and the little TV is showing a tiny sprite-based
episode of.... Jerry Springer?]

MIKE: [entering] Well, hey, it looks like Crow has gotten over his video
game heartache. Back to the old farm, are we?

CROW: Well, not exactly. I was so inspired by the people in the essay
that I decided to reprogram the game. I give you "Harvest Moon--
West Fresno Edition!"

MIKE: Show me the game, my good fellow.

[Several moments pass. Nothing happens on the screen.]

MIKE: I thought you were going to show me the game, Crow. Nothing's

CROW: Exactly! I don't have to do anything if I am on welfare! In fact,
if I do any work, they stop my welfare check! Then the Child
Protective Services come and take my children away! It's a straight
road to "GAME OVER" from there! But if I sit here and watch TV
for the next 40-60 hours, I win the game!

MIKE: You have children?

CROW: Yeah, they're probably out boozing and whoring somewhere.

MIKE: Euhhh... Do you do *anything* in this game?

CROW: Well, I can push the "A" button to smoke a joint. [Crow pushes a
button and the farmer on the screen rolls himself some major
doobage.] Oh, and you can hit "L" and "R" to change the TV
channels. Try it, Mike.

[Mike takes the controller and pushes the shoulder buttons. The little TV
inside the TV changes from Jerry Springer to Dukes of Hazzard to Hee Haw to
wrestling to tractor pulls, then back to Jerry.]

MIKE: Crow, this game is completely worthless! What's the point of
playing it if all you do is sit around and do nothing?

CROW: Oh you and your complaints, Mike! You didn't like the first game
because all it had was pointless busywork, and now you don't like
this game, even though it's the exact opposite! There's no pleasing
you, is there?

TOM: [wheeling in] I don't know about you, Mike, but I love it! In
fact, it's so fun and easy even I can play it!

MIKE: Tom, you don't have working hands.

TOM: Exactly, Mike, exactly. [Mads light flashes] And speaking of
welfare mamas...

[Castle Forrester.]

PEARL: Man, I wish I would have known about that "welfare" thing before
I killed my son... oh well. I guess I can always apply for that
National Endowment for the Arts grant by covering Bobo in live
scorpions in front of an audience...

[A frantic, ape-like scream emanates from off camera.]

PEARL: But it seems the English essays aren't breaking your spirit as well
as I'd hoped. No bother. I've just found a "Lord of the Rings"
fanfic that will utterly obliterate any sense of self you once
thought you had.

[SOL Bridge.]

MIKE: Heh! It couldn't be any worse than "Cutey Hobbit Flash", could it?

TOM: Or "Gimli 1/2".

CROW: Yeah... if we could stand "Sauron Does Dallas", we can take

[Castle Forrester.]

PEARL: Oh, how little you know... [rubbing her hands together gleefully]
This fic is so bad, you might call it the "Manos: Hands of Fate" of

[SOL Bridge. Tom and Crow are shaking terribly, jaws clattering in fear,
muttering things like "Torgo, no!" under their breath.]

MIKE: [oblivious like always] I don't think I've seen "Manos". Is it
any good?

[Castle Forrester.]

PEARL: You might... say that. But as for this fic, it's a delightful
little romp where Legolas goes to Canada and hangs out at the mall
with two teenage girls... and oh, did I mention it's 12 parts long?

[SOL Bridge. The man and the bots stand silent, staring wide-eyed into the
camera, giving off a "I think we're in for a world of hurt" sort of look.]

[Castle Forrester.]

PEARL: Now that I've gotten your attention, I think I'll send it to you
in its 120 kilobyte entirety *right now!* Now where's that--


[Bobo runs in, screaming and thrashing, covered head to foot in fire ants.]

PEARL: What the--


PEARL: Well, it isn't scorpions, but... [evil grin] Now where did I put my
application form?

[Fade out. Credits roll.]
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