Freakazoid! DONUT FEED THE ANIMALS! Written by James Adomian Starring: Freakazoid, Sgt. Cosgrove, The Lobe, Mrs. Douglas, the Pentagon Vaudeville Boys, some generic characters, and Weena Mercator as the Hopping Woman Scene 1: Dexter in his room on his computer. Mrs. Douglas walks in. Mrs. Douglas: Dexter, hun, could you run to the donut shop and pick up a few things for me? Dexter: Mom, I’m busy. Mrs. Douglas: Oh, it’s not good to stay in this room all day long, doncha know. You could get cancer. Dexter: Mom, I’m not gonna get cancer. Mrs. Douglas: Or heart disease. Dexter: Mom, I’m already on my computer 18 hours a day and I haven’t gotten heart disease yet. Mrs. Douglas: That’s because it’s a slow, painful death spanning several decades. Dexter: All right, I’ll go, I’ll go. (Dexter walks out the door.) Mrs. Douglas: Dexter, hun, don’t forget the croissants. Dexter: I won’t, mom. Mrs. Douglas: And look both ways before you cross the street. Dexter: I know, I know. Mrs. Douglas: And stay out of trouble. Dexter: I’m going to the donut shop--what kind of trouble could I get into? Mrs. Douglas: Remember to get sprinkles, hun! Scene 3: Dexter is at The Holy Donut (a donut shop). A big donut above the roof is on its side and looks like a halo. The Lobe is behind the counter; customer in front. Lobe(Dramatic): You’ll never get away with it! I swear you’ll pay for this! Customer: No problem. How much do I owe you? Lobe: Two forty-five. Thank you; come again. How can I help you? Dexter: I’ll have three croissants and a dozen glazed donuts, please. With sprinkles. Lobe: I recommend the bear claws. Dexter: No, thank you, I don’t think I want any bear claws. Lobe: I think you do. Dexter: Maybe some other time. Lobe: What about this time? Dexter: No! Lobe: Please! Pretty please! Dexter: Oh, all right, all right. But I still want sprinkles. Lobe: That’ll be four twenty-five. Dexter(Goes outside, drops donuts): Holy cow, that was the Lobe! Whatever no good he’s up to, I ALONE CAN STOP HIM! The donuts will have to wait! Ahhhhh, Freak out! Freakazoid: Evil, thou hast a name, and it is The Lobe! You hath crossed the path of the Freaked One, and now I will not rest until you are vanquished! (Looks down at his bag of donuts.) Aaahh! Lobe cooties! Lobe cooties! Oh, hi, Cosgrove. Cosgrove: Hey, Freakazoid, you wanna go to the annual Oat and Grit Exhibition over in Shiloh? Freakazoid: Do I? Yes! Of course I do! I’ve been a member of the International Oat and Grit Society for 8 years! Scene 4: Freakazoid and Sgt. Cosgrove at the Oat and Grit Festival. Freakazoid: Boy, am I glad I made it! Those were some grits. Cosgrove: It’s not often you come by a grit like that. Freakazoid: Bbbrrrrpp!! I had too many. Now I have grit gas. Cosgrove: Most people like their grits hot, with butter, but some eat 'em cold, like a cereal. Oh, by the way, word has it down at the docks that The Lobe is operating a missile silo over at the Holy Donut. Might check that out if I were you. Freakazoid: Gee, thanks, Cosgrove. Cosgrove: Don’t mention it. Freakazoid: You wanna come bust him with me? Cosgrove: No thanks, kiddo, I’m gonna mosey over to the Oat booth and check out that creepy Quaker guy. Freakazoid: Those oats hurt my tummy. They’re for horses, y’know. Scene 5: Freakazoid "flies" over to the Holy Donut. Freakazoid: WHOOOSH!! I’m a Rocketman! Burnin’ up my fuse up here alone . . . (Bursts into store.) All right, Lobe, I know something’s up. Lobe (Looks up): What are you talking about? Nothing’s "up". Freakazoid: Don’t gimme that; I know you’re hiding nuclear missiles in here! Lobe: What? Missiles? You must be joking! Freakazoid: Umm, all right, time out. Can I get you to look at this for a second, Hal? (Pulls out script). Hal (director): What’s the problem? Freakazoid: I’m just thinking to myself, call me silly, but I’m wondering if we’re giving away too much of the plot here. I mean, here we are in the first act and we’re already talking about the missiles and....bombs and--it’s the surprise ending and all; I mean . . . Lobe: Is my delivery off? I feel like I’m coming off a little flat. Freakazoid: No, you’re fine. I’m telling you, you’re hot. Lobe: So my delivery is OK? Freakazoid: It’s beautiful. Fabulous. You’re zany; you’re kooky; everything. Just maybe a little more . . . uumph. Lobe: Oh, I knew it, I can’t find my motivation. I’m just not cut out for this. (Starts crying). Freakazoid: Lobe, you can’t do this to me. Look at me--dry those tears--you are a good person. We all make mistakes. Now be a trooper. C’mon. We’re all in this boat together. So just grab a paddle and start rowing, because we’re miles from shore, and I’m getting sick of being in the same boat. Lobe: You’re right. I’m just so childish. I’m sorry. Hal: So we’re OK? Freakazoid: We’re all--I think I can speak for all of us--we’re all OK. I just had to get this off my chest. Hal: OK, so where were we? Freakazoid: Oh, right. I know you’re hiding nuclear missiles in here! Lobe: What? Missiles? Freakazoid: You heard me! Now are you going to tell me where the missiles are? Lobe: Maybe, maybe not. Freakazoid: Listen, punk, you tell me where those missiles are . . . or else . . . or else, I’ll ask again. Lobe: No! Freakazoid: All right! Where are those missiles? Lobe: I forgot. Freakazoid: Have it your way. (Goes into kitchen). Ah ha! You have a stash of deadly missiles in their; just as I thought. Lobe: That’s a salad shooter. It slices tomatoes, polishes my nails, and buys airline tickets for me. Freakazoid: What about this? (Pulls sheet off of computer console with words SECRET MISSILE ON/OFF.) Gotcha! Lobe: Really, and what are you going to do about it? Freakazoid: Just....this! (Pulls out chain saw). >>WE INTERRUPT THIS CARTOON FOR A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY ANNOYANCE SYSTEM. THIS IS ONLY A TEST. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! THE EDITORS OF THIS COMIC, IN COOPERATION WITH FEDERAL, STATE, AND CHINESE AUTHORITIES, HAVE DEVELOPED THE EMERGENCY ANNOYANCE SYSTEM TO ACHIEVE MAXIMUM AGGRAVATION IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY. IF THIS HAD BEEN AN ACTUAL EMERGENCY ANNOYANCE, THE PRECEDING WHINE WOULD HAVE BEEN FOLLOWED BY SEVERAL OF JEFF FOXWORTHY’S "REDNECK" JOKES. WE NOW JOIN FREAKAZOID ALREADY IN PROGRESS, WITH SEVERAL PLOT TWISTS HAVING CONVENIENTLY TAKEN PLACE IN THE MEAN TIME.<< Scene 6: The Holy Donut; Freakazoid is tied up with guns pointing at him. Lobe: And so you see, these ten nuclear warheads are aimed at Switzerland! Freakazoid: Uhh, Lobe. Lobe: And there’s nothing you can do . . . Freakazoid: Pssstt!!! Lobe! Lobe: To stop me, Freakazoid! Freakazoid: LOBE! Lobe: Yes? You needn’t shout. Freakazoid: I don’t think you know this, but we just ran a test of the emergency annoyance system, and I think the audience missed some crucial plot development for this scene. Lobe: Oh, drat. I told them not to run that today; I told them . . . Freakazoid: So let’s just take it from when we’re fighting with the chain saw and so on. Lobe: Do we have to do it all over again? Freakazoid: Oh, no....I guess we don’t HAVE to. But it would be HELPFUL to the readers! Lobe: How about a read-through. I mean, I’ve got a dentist appointment at 3:00. Freakazoid: All right. (Pulls out script). I have you now, Lobe.... Lobe: Not so fast . . . if you take another step I’ll use these missiles, blah, blah, blah. Freakazoid: Take it easy . . . just put the donut down . . . Lobe: Sit down . . . and down on line 30--ha, fooled you . . . Freakazoid: Yaddah, yaddah . . . why are you doing this? . . . Lobe: Missiles, yeah, hmm, hmm and....aimed at Switzerland! Freakazoid: Okay, now we can continue. >Hmm-hmm< You fiend! You can’t do that! Lobe: And why not? Freakazoid: Well, duh, you haven’t given away the plot yet. Lobe: Oh, yes, it is in my contract as a villain. OK, but you have to guess. Freakazoid: Switzerland, huh? You must be trying to destroy the United Nations! Lobe: Switzerland isn’t a member of the United Nations, you simpleton. Freakazoid: OK. How about the world banking system? Lobe: Good guess, but nnooooooo. Freakazoid: The chocolate industry? Lobe: Bingo! Freakazoid: The BINGO industry!!??!! Lobe: No, no, no! I mean bingo you got it, not bingo the game. Freakazoid: Yippee! I win, I win! So it is the UN, huh? Lobe: NO! The chocolate industry! I will wipe out the Swiss chocolate industry! Freakazoid: With the quicker, thicker picker-upper? Lobe: Wipe out--destroy!! Freakazoid: You would destroy all those lovable knicker-bocker-wearing peasants? What good does that do you? Lobe: The donut shop, of course--with the Swiss out of the way, I will expand into a chocolate monopoly! (Maniacal laugh). Freakazoid: It will never work, Lobe! Lobe: Why do you say that? Because nothing can replace Swiss chocolate? Well, I’ve accounted for that . . . Freakazoid: No; these are chocolate donuts you’re talking about! Donuts alone can’t take the place of the thousands of different types of chocolate in the world today! Lobe: Poppycock! Freakazoid: Lobe, Lobe, Lobe, Lobe, Lobe--when are you going to learn that donuts alone can’t meet the public demand for chocolate yummies? You have to realize that it’s a two-way street. There will always be a demand for milk, dark, and German chocolate. We are a multi-chocolate society. Lobe: Nonsense! You’re just trying to discourage me! Freakazoid: OK, suit yourself. You’re just gonna have to learn the hard way that you can’t sell an inferior product and expect to dominate the market . . . you just can’t. Lobe: Oh, really? Then how do you explain Microsoft Windows, hmmmm? Freakazoid: Gee, ya know you do have a point! Lobe: I suppose I do. And now back to forcing you to watch the destruction of the most peaceful nation in the world! Ooohh, it sends shivers up my cortex! (Pulls switch marked "Nuclear Missiles: Do Not Touch") Freakazoid: NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! (A huge silo rises out of the donut shop, right through the donut halo, and launches three missiles.) >>BUM BUM BUUUMMMMM!!!!<< Scene 7: Pentagon; generals and admirals, etc. debate the missile crisis; all in shadows around conference table; Emmett Nervend is sitting at the table. General Ceasefire: So, gentlemen, what do we have? Admiral Effort: We have one confirmed; possibly two, sir. Secretary Temp: I’m sorry, two what? General Ceasefire: So the cap’s off the toothpaste, then? General Patent : Affirmative, the cap’s off the toothpaste and it’s being squeezed from the middle, sir. Secretary Temp: Toothpaste? What are you talking about? General Ceasefire: So what exactly is our position? General Patent: I’d say we’ve got an illegal left in a one-way zone, general. General Ceasefire: Give me the figures. Admiral Effort: In approximately ten minutes, ten million people in Europe’s tenth largest economy will be heated to ten thousand degrees Fahrenheit. General Ceasefire: Sounds like a big ole fashioned fish fry. What course of action do you recommend, admiral? Admiral Trait: Me? Why, General, they just pay me to sit around this table and look grim and bloated. I wouldn’t know. Admiral Effort: Well, the last thing we want is some nuclear crisis on our hands.... General Ceasefire: Admiral, with all due respect, I’d say this is a nuclear crisis! Secretary Temp: What am I going to tell the President? General Patent: Tell him the fire is in the hole and the fox is in the bag. Secretary Temp: Fox? Who? Listen, I need something the President will understand. Admiral Effort: (Looks around). OK, the enemy . . . uh . . . caught us with our pants down? Secretary Temp: That should be sufficient. General Ceasefire: What are our options? General Patent: I recommend we activate the Charlie Bravo Foxtrot Delta Elite Attack Squadron. Admiral Effort: Negative. I think that’s a Lego set, sir. General Patent: Then I propose we move the fifth corps into position here; with the Recon assault group Overlord in support here. (Pushes markers into place on war map with a stick or staff). Secretary Temp: To gain maximum strategic position? General Patent: No; I just love playing with these little green army men on my big map. General Ceasefire: Gentlemen, tell me who we’ve got. Admiral Effort: What about that Navy Seal cook who always bails us out....was his name . . . Seagull? General Patent: Negative. We buttered that bread long ago. But there is an Alpha-Romeo operative in this quadrant. General Ceasefire: Do we have a picture, general? General Patent: Negative. General Ceasefire: None? General Patent: No, only negatives. General Ceasefire: Let’s see them. (Looks at negatives of Freakazoid making a silly face.) Admiral Effort: Well, do we have our man, General Ceasefire? General Ceasefire: Affirmative. Secretary Temp: What are the odds of success? General Patent: I’d say we have a 1 in 10 chance; or maybe a 10 to 1 chance; I can never tell which. Admiral Effort: I gotta get a piece of that action! What do you say--double or nothing the nut pulls it off. General Patent: You’re on. (They place bets on the war map.) General Ceasefire: (On the red phone) Get me the President. No, I don’t want to talk to Newtie, I want the President! Scene 8: Back at the Holy Donut Lobe: There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Freakazoid! The missiles are three minutes away from Zurich! Freakazoid: Hmm, ya don’t say. Lobe: What? I said the missiles are three minutes away from Zurich, Switzerland! Freakazoid: That’s nice. Lobe: What do you have under your sleeve, Freakazoid? Freakazoid: Nothing. Well, I guess I did swipe a donut. Lobe: No, tell me what is it? Freakazoid: Oh, nothing you’d care about. Lobe: WHAT?? Freakazoid: Let’s just say I found a hole in your donut scheme, Lobe! Lobe: Oh, ha, ha--how droll! Freakazoid: There’s just one variable you didn’t count on. Lobe: Well, isn’t that clever. I suppose you resort to trickery because time is running out and you’re ten feet away from the switch. Well, it won’t work. Freakazoid: Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . . (Police helicopters open fire on the store. Cops burst in from all windows, vents, doors.) I mean, who in their right mind would use a donut shop as a front for terrorist activities? You must be a dum-dum. Lobe: Oh, what was I thinking? Ohhh, boo-hoo! Why does he always get the better of me? (Escorted away by cops). Cop: (Picking through the donut-strewn rubble) Say, sarge, can we have some of the glazed kind? Freakazoid: Well, Cosgrove, you guys sure saved the day! Cosgrove: Don’t mention it, Freakazoid. We had the Lobe covered all along. Threatening a peace-loving nation with nuclear annihilation is one thing, but messing with donuts is another can of worms altogether. Oh, by the way, those missiles are still rocketing towards Switzerland. Might wanna do something about that if I were you. Freakazoid: Holy donuts, the missiles!! (Pushes the switch back to "lock" position; missiles are shown turning around). WHEEW! That was close! (Leans on the switch to send missiles back to Switzerland). All in a day’s work for FREAKAZOID! (Last frame is mushroom cloud). THE END.... OF THE BEGINNING.... OF THE END.... OF THE BEGINNING.... OF THE END.... OF.... THE END.... Story ©1997 James Adomian (so don't steal it from me and say it's yours, you dirty rat) Freakazoid, Dexter Douglas, Mrs. Douglas, Sgt. Cosgrove, The Lobe, Weena Mercator, and Emmit Nervend are all property of Warner Brothers and Amblin Entertainment. I used them without permission, but I'm poor and I love the show, so don't sue me. The Pentagon Vaudeville Boys, Customer, Hal and Cop are mine, so na-nah na-nah boo-boo. If you're angry at me for knocking Windows, then don't respond with angry e-mail. Instead, I challenge you to write a better Freakazoid episode that knocks the Mac. If that's not up your alley, then come to my house and kidnap me and force me to use Windows.