Alone in his cell, Lewis sat. He was being held in Leavenworth Maximum Security ward, guarded by several military officers. "Who is this asshole?" he said aloud, particularly to one of them who seemed to take strange delight in making fun of him. "It's Lieutenant Colonel Asshole," another guard said. "The other guy who runs this place is General Asshole, and the President is Commander in Chief Asshole." "Very nice" Lewis said. "And very perceptive. But you're wrong on one count. You're all assholes." "Very funny you buttsucking little terrorist." "Same to you pal." On top of the main building of Leavenworth Military Prison, an assassin dropped from a helicopter. Suspense music was playing loudly. He landed on the concrete building headfirst. The music changed into some strange parody of suspense music. "Shit" another assassin said. "Now we have to get another one." The chopper flew away. It came back later, carrying an especially obese assassin. Just as the pilot tilted the chopper for maximum speed, the fat man rolled forward, crushing the pilot and crashing the chopper into the main building, half-rammed into a hallway. Sixteen police pointed their guns at the fat man as he stepped out of the wreck. They started laughing and one accidentally fired. The bullet imbedded itself into the massive folds of fat, but didn't hurt the assassin one bit. Then, he balled himself up and started rolling. He squashed several guards, and then one ran away, lard-ass thundering behind him. Suddenly, the Indiana Jones theme started blazing and Harrison Ford in his Indiana Jones getup jumped in. "This is my job," he said, knocking out the guard. Then, the fat man squashed both of them and the music faded out. The fat man found Lewis' cell, but couldn't get it open. Then, he lit a match and held it to his behind, opening the gas valve. It melted down the door but also melted Lewis' hairpiece, so Lewis killed him. Then, Lewis escaped. At the Whitney University Lab, tempers were rising. Ed Tate was pissed off that Tom Daniels had shot his lab monkey James, even if Tom thought it was an assassin skulking around. "You shot my monkey" Ed half-sobbed. "What am I going to do without my monkey?" "Get a prescription to Viagra" Tom said, expressionless. "Very funny. Do you know how much that monkey cost?" "$665.95. Wait, that's the retail price of the Beast." "No, you bastard!" "$645.00. Damn it, that's the Kmart price of the Beast." "What does parodies of 666 have to do with my murdered monkey! Oh I get it! You think my monkey is the Antichrist!" "666K. No, that's the retirement plan of the Beast." "STOP IT!! NOW APOLOGIZE TO JAMES NOW!!" "Why should I apologize to a dead monkey? He was a psychopath anyway." "YES! But he was still my favorite lab monkey!" "He was your only lab monkey. At least after he killed the others." Dr. Sloan Parker, Dr. Walter Attwood, and Security Director Ray Peterson sat behind a two-way mirror, watching Tom and Ed scream at each other. "Good idea, Dr. Parker" Attwood said. "Putting them into a locked room after Tom blew that scabby primate back to hell." "It's funny as hell," Sloan said. "But was it really a good idea?" "Perhaps. It has given us insights into Ed's attachment to his mental monkey and disproved the hypothesis that Tom doesn't have a sense of humor. Tom does have a sense of humor, only a very odd one." They went back to watching the war of words and wisecracks. "You always hated that monkey Tom! And you always hated me! You hurt me by killing my monkey!" "Well, it's not a total waste." "How so? How can the death of my monkey NOT be a total waste!" "Well, before my kind was discovered, some Mozambican colleagues of mine said that roasted monkey is quite a treat where they came from. And Bill Clinton DID just go to Africa." "Don't you dare eat my monkey! I'll kill you first!" "Is that a threat?" "Yes!!" Tom reached into his pocket, and pulled out a match. Then, he struck it on the back of his hand and threw it into Ed's hair. It ignited all the hairspray and Ed began dancing around screaming, his head a torch. Sloan's jaw dropped, and she turned on the intercom. "Tom! Why did you set Ed's hair on fire?" "Temptation. The bane of humankind and in this case, that hairspray coated mass deserved to die." "Tom! Put out Ed's hair now!" "Fine." Tom calmly walked over to the table, picked up the fire extinguisher, and put out Ed's hair. Ed was now completely bald. Sloan, Attwood and Peterson couldn't stop laughing. Even Tom cracked up after a few minutes. The only one who wasn't laughing was Ed. Some time later, they quit laughing long enough to let Tom and Ed out. "Where's the universal Ed's Hairpiece" Ed asked, enraged. "In the closet over there" Tom said, smirking. Ed walked over to the closet and opened the door. A boxing glove on a spring shot out, clonking Ed in the head. Everyone else cracked up except Ed. Ed just got madder. "Anyone for pizza?" Sloan asked, trying to salvage the situation. Everyone agreed. Exercise and food, two great remedies for stressful situations. At the pizza place, Ed grazed on that damn pineapple pizza he always ate, while everyone else opted for more conservative choices, such a pepperoni, sausage or cheese. "And then he says, "honey can I borrow seventy dollars?"" Tom said, and everyone laughed. Even Ed. Ed began to think some variety of Tom-destroying wisecrack, but then... Three assassins barged in, waving machine guns in the air. Bozo the Clown came out of the kitchen carrying a large pizza, and he took a look at the three party-crashing characters menacingly waving guns. "You need a smile," Bozo said, hitting one in the face with the pie. The other assassins started firing, killing Bozo instantly. "Shit" Ed said. "I always liked Bozo." "Run" Tom said, and they ran. Tom picked up a plate and threw it Frisbee-style into one of the assassin's faces. It broke his nose and left the rest of him a bloody mess. "And Tom Daniels of America wins the discus event" Tom said in a copyrighted announcer voice. Then, he picked up several more plates and threw them, mostly missing. Then, the assassins finally clued in and began firing. Tom ducked into the kitchen, and a few minutes later, they began barging in. Tom was ready for them, throwing a huge baguette like a javelin, aiming right for the lead assassin's head. It knocked him out. "And Tom Daniels of America wins the javelin event!" Tom yelled again, picking up another baguette. An assassin opened up with his gun, destroying the loaf of French bread before Tom could throw it. "Uncultured barbarian" Tom growled, and hurled a hot pizza right out of the oven onto the assassin's face. He screamed through the pizza and jumped through a closed window. The broken-nosed assassin was the only one left, and Tom could get a gun now. Tom grabbed a gun off the body, and pointed it at the stumbling assassin out in the restaurant. Then, he fired. It was a squirt gun. Tom grabbed the other gun off the KO'd assassin and fired. It was a real gun this time, and the assassin died. "That was a weather balloon reflecting the exploding swamp gas refracting the light of the planet Venus" Tom said to the astounded customers. "Nothing unusual." Sloan was somewhat stressed by the event, and began walking home. Tom could sense something ominous, and followed at a discreet distance. Ed saw that, and began to get suspicious. Sloan walked into her apartment, immediately noticing something odd. The closet door was partly open, and she remembered closing it completely. Cautiously, she walked over to the closet and opened the door. It was Tom, with an evil expression on his face. He also had a mustache, glasses, devil horns, exaggerated ear hair, and a pointed tail. Then, he realized it was a picture, a photograph with all alterations drawn on in ridiculously outstanding marker. "Do you like my artistic talent?" a smooth voice said from behind her. Sloan turned, half-expecting a joke. It was no joke. It was Lewis, pointing a gun at her. "Lewis? What the hell are you doing here?" "Fully intending to tie you up in a corner, mess with your hair, and make disgusting innuendoes about your relationship with Tom Daniels. That always happens when you and I encounter each other, and I'm the one with the gun. But then, I had another idea..." Sloan screamed as she saw in his eyes what he intended to do. Tom heard a scream, and began running. He suspected someone had laid a trap for Sloan in her apartment. When he arrived, he observed Sloan hanging from a ceiling fan upside down, still alive but looking rumpled in general. He saw an open window, and something written on a counter. I'm coming for you, Tom Daniels. Lewis. He saw that joke photograph of him in the closet, and putting two and two together, Lewis himself had jumped Sloan in her apartment. Coupled with Sloan's rumpled, beaten-on appearance, it meant... I'll kill that son of a bitch, Tom thought, tears filling his eyes. I'll rip his eyes, toes, fingers and balls out, and make him eat them. Then, I'll shoot him several times and let him bleed to death. He called the others. Ed was the only one who seemed suspicious of Tom's explanation of the occurrence, but he didn't show it. They took Sloan to the lab, only to find it overrun with several suspicious individuals. Only one person was recognizable, Lewis. Thus, the others were probably Lewis' assassins. "Good afternoon, morning, or evening; whatever the hell it is," Lewis said smoothly. "You little..." Tom sputtered. "No, actually you are wrong. The only time I touched her was when I hung her from the ceiling fan and spun her around a few times, whacking her every so often, all the while making disgusting innuendoes about her relationship with the prodigal son. Knowing you, Tom, you'd be the first to find her, and knowing Ed, he would blame you. Thus I sowed discord, and I reap easy prey." "Turn off the music, close the bar; the party's over" Lewis continued, his evil sense of humor still with him. "Boys, give them a decent death." That was when Tom made his move. In a rapidly moving flash of death, all of the assassins had their necks broken, and Lewis had a gun pointed at his head. He seemed visibly shaken, but he still kept his debonair manner. "Mr. Daniels, there is something that you should know about us" he hissed, drawing a card from his pocket. "I am your father's brother's, nephew's sister's cousin's former roommate." "Then what does that make us?" "Absolutely nothing. WHAT THE HELL! This is wrong damn cue card. This is yours" he growled, tossing it to Rick Moranis in his Dark Helmet getup. "This is the right one!" He pulled out a cue card labeled LEWIS in bold letters. "Tom, I am your father." "Yeah, yeah, and my head screws on." "I could test your theory, but that would be lethal. I really am your father." "Damn you." "And you too. Thus, won't you join your dear old Dad in taking over the world?" "Why don't you crawl into the deepest shit-hole you can find and die?" Then, Tom began firing his gun. Lewis was hurled backward by the force of the depleted-uranium bullets. He crashed through a table and landed in a tangle of computer cables. "You shot me" Lewis growled. "You shot me right in the arm! Why did you shoot me in the arm..." Tom shot him again, finally killing Lewis. "Moving on" Tom said. "Oh my God! You killed Lewis! You bastard!" another assassin wearing a coat and a winter hat screamed. Tom shot him. All the while, Sloan had regained consciousness. "What the hell happened?" "Well, Lewis hung you upside down and made disgusting innuendoes about our relationship, then he declared he was my father, and I shot him several times, only he wouldn't die, so I had to shoot him again." "That it?" "I guess." They never noticed Lewis' car driving away, with its license plate reading WE DON'T BRAKE. (Laugh Track Roars)
As credits roll, screen divides in half and the Seinfeld music stars playing. You see Tom and Sloan in her apartment. Tom is standing about raving 'the 8-Ball knows all', pointing to his new jacket with the 8-Ball emblazoned on it, when Ed, his hair-done Kramer-style, barges in uninvited. "Hello" he says. "I've got a scheme to kill Lewis and defeat the new species!" "What?" Sloan asked, hair done Elaine-style. "Pretend to be a handicapped person in order to get a job?" "No. Order him a pizza, and put poison in it!" Ed cracked up. "Very funny" Tom said. "You STILL haven't apologized to James yet!" "Damn your damn monkey." "Don't be cruel," Ed said in an Elvis voice. "To my deceased monkey..." "Tell your dead monkey to throw itself into a blender and hit frappe." "Be nice to my monkey" Ed declared semi-forcefully. "What's that strange sound?" Sloan asked, quite mystified. Suddenly, a mail truck slammed through the wall and the fat assassin from the beginning of Prey: The Comedy is driving. He looks suspiciously like...God Forbid! NEWMAN!! Laughing evilly, he drives roughshod through Sloan's apartment until he drives through the other wall. "That's not something you see every day," Tom said. "That's not funny" Ed declared. "Does anyone notice Ed looks like a duck? Maybe we should call him Howard the Duck." "You're a big piece of chickenshit, Tom." "Well, I can take chickenshit and make chicken salad, unlike you, who eats the chickenshit straight." Ed grew massively enraged, and jumped on Tom. Tom flipped him easily through the hole in Sloan's apartment. The credits stop rolling. Scene ends.
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