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Chores suck!

October 31st, 2003

(The scene opens to the smell of freshly cut grass. What? You can’t smell through your screen? Fine! The scene opens to the sight of freshly cut grass. Every American under the age of 13’s soon to be favourite Pyromaniac, Kevin, trudges into site, pushing a noisy lawn mower with difficulty.)

Kevin: For the love of Pepsi, this is a waste of time. I should be out setting junk on fire and stuff, not doing chores!

(Kevin’s father pops his head unnaturally out through the door, his hair combed back and a pipe in his mouth. He takes the wooden instrument out of his lips and grins the cheesiest grin ever in this promo.)

Kevin’s Father: Hey sport, how are the old blades of grass coming along?

(Kevin curses under his breath a few times.)

Kevin’s Papa: What’s that sport?

Kevin: You suck Dad, I should be out runnin’ wild on all my Pyromaniacs, when you’ve got me in the frickin’ yard doin’ crap chores. Why does everything happen to me?

Kevin’s Old Man: Now, sport, that’s not the right kind of attitude if you’re trying to cut grass.

Kevin (the sarcasm almost physically dripping from him): Oh yeah? I reeeaaaallly wanna know what is.

Kevin’s Pa: Well that’s the spirit! I’ll tell you what the real secret is to cutting grass.

Kevin: Oh yeah? And, like, what is it?

Kevin’s Dad: Singing!

(An old, poor quality song stolen from a 1930s musical begins to play as if from nowhere as Kevin’s Pappy begins to dance his way towards him. Kevin stares in absolute horror.)

Kevin: Oh no, not old people music! I gots to get me some nu metal and fast.

(Kevin’s imagination, he IS a kid, runs rampant as he speeds away from his Daddy with the lawn mower as his Pyromaniamobile and the Batman theme tune swirling in his head. A good guess would be that this is because he likes to melt things and the fumes have done things to his mind.)

(After 8 minutes of nothing but footage of Kevin pushing a lawn mower in a meandering path through pedestrians, he stops. He reaches into his pockets and lifts out a CD player, forces the earphones into the holes on each side of his head, and puts the ‘music’ onto full blast. His teeth rattle as the sound of ‘poorly played electric guitars and drums hit randomly by sticks’ consumes his brain… he loves that band.)

Kevin (screaming due to the loudness of his music): PYROMANIA~!!!1

(Kevin whips out a box of matches and sparks forth Prometheus’ gift.)

Kevin: Huh?



(Kevin grabs a squirrel and tries to light it’s tail, but it bites his hand and scampers away. Kevin stomps his foot and curses before lightning another match. He is unsuccessful at finding anything to light so he looks at the camera. He forces the match at it and tries to melt the plastic around the lens.)

Clive: NO! Don’t melt the camera!

Kevin: Oh, sorry… I mean, yooooo!

Clive: *sigh*

(Kevin scratches his head for a moment before lightning yet another match and pointing his free index finger at the screen.)

Kevin: BOB, you had better get ready!

(Kevin wipes a globular sphere of snot from his nose with his sleeve before hulking up.)

Kevin: I’ve been complaining, taking my ridilin and saying my swears! All I’ve got to ask you is… whatcha gonna do BOB?!

(He proceeds to tear away his ‘Send Us Money’ t-shirt and hulks up a bit more.)

Kevin: Whatcha gonna do when Pyromania runs wild on yoooooouuuu?!?!?

(Kevin takes one of his matches and sets his baggy jeans alight, fanning the flames in an exhibition to BOB of his hardcore abilities. As his body is consumed in flames he points at the camera once more and weakly squeals.)

Kevin: Kevin The Pyromaniac is coming!

Clive: Ewwww!

Kevin: To BOB!!!

Clive: Oh.

(The camera fades out as Kevin stops, drops and rolls.)

Fin… thank God.

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