Graffiti
[Open to… where are we? Well, it’s dark. Very dark.]
KtP: This is so cool, finally some revenge on them idiot people.
BtK: Yeah, and then we can steal some of their bikes and cars and stuff.
KtP: And set some on fire!
[Kevin the Pyromaniac and his new manager/lackey, Bruce the Kleptomaniac, are hidden somewhere. A light flickers on and Bruce’s stolen torch guides them through the thick black night. They walk for a while until they stop at a large sign reading ‘The Parts Unknown High School.’]
KtP: You got the spray paint?
BtK: Yeah, I stole it from some teeny-bopper ‘sk8a boi’ along with his sandwiches and flask of warm milk.
KtP: Brilliant! You get to work writing this message whilst I set up the fire.
[And so the two innocent teens go to work vandalizing the school sign, with such slogans as ‘this high skool sukz0rz’ and ‘this skool is full of n00bz’. Unfortunately a young man steps out from inside, a jacket draped over him as well as a sports bag over one shoulder. His blue eyes piercing through the night and spotting the two drop-outs making mischief.]
Jock: Hey, what the hell are you two doing over there?
KtP: What’s it to ya?
BtK: Yeah?
Jock: My name is Dawson Creek and that is my school’s sign you are defacing!
KtP: I don’t believe you, if you really go to this school why are you here so late?
BtK: He’s a janitor!
DC: No, I am no janitor. I was getting in some extra training after school; I am on the school’s wrestling team.
[Dawson drops his bag to the ground and dashes over to the two hoodlums.]
DC: Hey, I know you guys! You’re those drop-outs who wanted to go fulltime for some pro-wrestling league.
KtP: Hey! Not some pro-wrestling league… THE pro-wrestling league. Brawlers on a Budget bitch, read it and weep.
DC: Read what and weep? And… isn’t Brawlers on a Budget that weird thing on Comedy Central on Sundays?
KtP: Yep, the best pro-wrestling league in the worl… UNIVERSE!
DC: The same Brawlers on a Budget that had a champion under the age of 5? The same league that had a championship title win itself? The same BOB that has seen a respectable Harvard graduate turned into a zombie, twice!? The same federation who’s first grand slam champion was stoned out of his gourd upon earning that prestige?
BtK: Yep.
DC: What happened? Couldn’t you get onto the real wrestling team at school? Is that why you dropped out?
KtP: Pfft. I went to the try-outs, walloped a guy with a barbedwire encased steel chair after setting it on fire and I get sent the fuck home. That ain’t what I’d call real.
DC: You are retarded beyond belief.
KtP: Quick Bruce, get him!
[Bruce then proceeds to spray a green mist of paint into Dawson’s eyes, sending him screaming to the ground below. A pyromania style wedgie later, and a big gasoline fire around the defaced sign, the duo of teens with impulse disorders run into the distance to steal stuff and set it on fire.]
*A few days later, under darkness of another night, three – no, four – people approach the same sign. One of them is humming a certain song that goes as follows: “doo-doo-doo, doo, doo, doo-doo-doo doo-doo-doo-doo-doo.” This stops when another one of the people slaps him across the back of the head.*
Person 1: Here we are… damn, that sign’s STILL defaced.
Person 2: …
Person 3: Well, that’s what we’re here for. Who brought the paint?
Person 1 (Paradox): I did. And might I say you’re getting the dry-cleaning bill for my mesh coat.
Person 3: Shut it, Paradox. Who’s got the brushes?
Person 2 (Meat-Puppet): I do… oh, wait…
*The second person waves four brushes over his head.*
Person 3: Okay. And who’s got the rollers?
Person 4: FOR GREAT JUSTICE.
Paradox: I hung them on the front of Black-Robed Fellow over there. Now what’s this all about, Mylisiv?
Queen Mylisiv: Sir Zeno had an idea, one I personally like. Now, follow my orders…
*After thirty minutes of disgruntled grumbling from two parties, there’s a period of frantic activity. Dawson Creek tries to stop it, but gets decapitated. Finally, as the sun rises, a new piece of graffiti is on the sign…*
DIMENSION Z: THE GATHERING
COMING SOON, GOD WILLING