Fast Food

I wrote this after my first day working for a fast food restaurant over the summer break before my junior year in high school. That’s far enough in the past that I can’t vouch for the grammar or humor of this article. I can, however, vouch for the fact that up until that point I had never hated a job so much in all my life. The next summer, I worked for a mildly retarded janitor, and it was still a marked improvement from the work environment described below.

I have learned much from my three days as a fast food employee. First of all, I never realized how many ugly people there are in the world. I thought that Mother Nature naturally weeded them out, but apparently she just sends them Royal Burger. Thus, when I was given a choice between taking an order from a kid with a golf tee through his ear and dicing a cow, I chose the mammal without the piercing. You’d be surprised at the sense of satisfaction you get from grinding a cow into paste. This may sound slightly insensitive, but you need to remember the natural order: animals are for shredding, not for living. There are two obvious exceptions: seals are for clubbing and aardvarks are for my amusement in-between cow shredding and seal clubbing. Needless to say they don’t let me in the zoo anymore.

But the fast food business isn’t just fun and games. That’s the second lesson that I learned: there’s always a worse task than the one you’re doing. You’d think that the goop that was once a cow had prepared me for anything, but there was one colloid left that I had yet to face. That colloid was grease. You see, grease lets out an odor that smells like a skunk that has just died after rolling around in its own feces and being sprayed by several other skunks that have done the same. It also looks like the situation I just described. Touching grease can best be compared to bathing in radiation, only the effects of the former will last much longer than the latter. The only way to remove this bye-product of the gods is to use anti-grease agent x, which is also used to peel the paint off cars and to spawn hideous mutants such as the kid with the golf tee through his ear. If you have the misfortune of getting grease on your hands, you have two choices: either use agent x and become a mutant, or leave the grease on your hands so it can frighten your grandchildren. Of course, there will be no grandchildren if you get the grease too close to certain areas. That’s why I chose to become a mutant. Thankfully all that agent x did to me was cause severe third degree burns and induce several hours of unconsciousness. To get through this difficult time, I tried to recall happier moments in my childhood such as that time I was beaten repeatedly by a man with a crow bar.

Perhaps if I would have had some unburned skin left, the rest of the day would have been a little easier. Under the circumstances, it’s surprising that I only blinded one man. If he would have just spoken clearly, we could have avoided both confusion and lawsuits: “I said a pickle on rye, not stab me in the eye!” In my opinion, if customers don’t want to be physically assaulted while ordering their meals, they shouldn’t come to Royal Burger. The police disagreed. So did the judge who banned me from serving fast food for the rest of my natural life. That’s when I learned my third lesson: our legal system is too bogged down to enforce every restraining order. I was back to work in no time.

Upon my return, I was given the one job that I could almost accomplish at an acceptable level: doing dishes. But I didn’t just wash; I waged war. Water and suds covered the walls, and I was in paradise. I loved the implements of washing, especially the almighty hose. It had enough water pressure to make minor water falls, such as Niagara Falls, weep with envy. They would later say that it was a mistake to trust me with such power, but I disagree. After all, how was I supposed to know that it’s not appropriate to use hydraulic power as a means of mass destruction? You might be wondering exactly what I destroyed; let’s just say I’ve never heard a nun swear so much. That’s how I learned my fourth lesson: some old women have a very deadly right hook. Needless to say I love my new job.

Christian Video Games

I don’t really have a preface to explain this one. I wrote it over summer vacation years ago, and it’s here now. That’s about it.

What’s the difference between a crappy game and a slightly less crappy game? The answer is simple: gratuitous violence. That’s why I question the merits of Christian video games. The idea is that games can be fun without violence. That idea is wrong. The epitome of this flawed theory is a game called Catechumen. Because I have never played this game, I feel perfectly qualified to criticize it. According to its website, Catechumen is a nonviolent game in which the player attempts to save his Christian brethren from the evil grasp of the Roman Empire, which is consequently controlled by Satan. This almost comes close to not being completely uninteresting, but the website moves quickly to destroy any such possibility:

[…] [Y]ou initially receive the Sword of the Spirit, which fires bolts at the enemies – which to begin with are Roman soldiers. When you have struck them enough, they do not tumble to the ground. Rather they are encased in light, a chorus gives a quick “Hallelujah,” and they are immobilized in a somewhat humble posture.

This makes perfect sense to me. Whenever I run into a demonically possessed Roman soldier – which happens surprisingly often, my first thought is usually, “Can I somewhat humble him?” The website uses the phrase “somewhat humble” because making Roman soldiers too humble would indicate low self-esteem. Let’s face it: if we’re not protecting the emotional well-being of our enemies, what are we fighting for? If you answered “entertainment,” you’re very wrong. Video games shouldn’t be fun; they should be uninteresting ordeals that force us to learning about concepts such as virtues and the fastest route to Mecca.

Speaking of learning, I first learned about this game from the same place that I learn everything about the world: cable TV in the early hours of the morning. I can’t remember what channel it was on, but the reviews for the game were positive, which was all the more reason for me to make an uninformed attack. After all, the game claims to use an engine similar to Unreal. This is a claim I refuse to accept, mainly because Unreal is not exactly kosher with the Christian video gaming experience. I’m going to play devil’s advocate (also not kosher with Christian video gaming) for a moment and explain why Catechumen has no right to make such a claim by comparing it Unreal’s same-engine sequel, Unreal Tournament.

To begin with, both games are first-person-shooters. That’s about where the similarities end. One game uses non-violence to peacefully preserve Christianity. The other exists for the sole purpose of wholesale slaughter. In Catechumen, the player fights for redemption. In Unreal Tournament, the player uses a weapon called the redeemer, a shoulder-launched tactical nuclear missile that sends enemies to a final destination that probably doesn’t involve harps and wings. In Catechumen,

[T]he warfare involves the use of spiritual weapons, and asks you to run at times instead of fight, and even challenges you to think through where you go and how you approach a situation rather than simply wade into it with weaponry flashing.

In Unreal Tournament, if you’re not wading through corpses with your weaponry flashing, you’re dead. There is no running. In desperate situations, such as when you waded through too many corpses and used up all of your ammo, your only chance is to feign death and hope that the enemy isn’t in the mood for desecrating bodies. Finally, Catechumen is a bland game disguised as an even blander one:

You won’t get to hack and slash in this program, though there are dungeons and dangers that await you.

Unreal Tournament, on the other hand, wears everything on its sleeve. What little plot there is involves competitive killing in a tournament. The religion is blood lust. The symbol is the rocket launcher. The sacrament is death. In short, it’s a spiritually enriching experience for the whole family, just as long as the gore level is set on maximum.

But why stop there? In my opinion, we have not yet explored the true possibilities of video game violence. When I get done playing a game, I should have post traumatic stress disorder. I should receive honorary veteran status from Congress, and veterans who fought in lesser wars, such as World War II, should respect me for the horrific acts which I have both witnessed and committed. Such a game couldn’t be used to desensitize people to violence because it would be more likely to turn them into serial killers. In fact, anyone who played such a game would be deemed unfit for society and would thus be shipped off to live on a small island in the Pacific with others of their kind. For the sake of simplicity, let’s call this hypothetical game Operation Give Peace a Chance, or OGPC for short.

Exactly how violent would OGPC be? For starters, body explosions would be anatomically correct. No more of this poorly animated human chunks business. Instead, after a successful hit with exploding ordnance, spleens and colons would bounce (because all organs bounce) around the battlefield. What’s more, intestines and other shapeable parts would land in cool patterns spelling catchy phrases like “Drink more Pepsi” and “Down with Green Peace.” The violence would be both pointless and misplaced. Opening a door – any door – would result in destruction reminiscent of the day that atom splitting met Hiroshima. I won’t even go into what would happen if a player hit the pause key. As for the plot, it would be non-existent. There’d be guns and there’d be targets. Any further explanation would be redundant. The primary enemies in Operation Give Peace a Chance would obviously be the poor, tired, and huddled masses yearning to breath free. They would be armed with hopes and dreams, and they would be met with claymores and flame throwers. In addition to the traditional carnage-inducing devices that have come to define video game violence, OGPC would also feature unique offensive weaponry. Riding lawn mowers, toilet seats, and badgers would all be used toward the desecration of humanity. And to cap it all off, the theme song would be Louis Armstrong’s It’s a Wonderful World. In short, Operation Give Peace a Chance would be the best selling game of all time, and it would probably bring about the fall of western civilization.

Wanted: Four New Roommates by Tomorrow

In case you’re wondering why I haven’t been updating much over the past few weeks, this article should explain a lot. It will appear in the Observer Thursday.

My desire to be thrown out of school is low to moderate. If you’re in a position of authority and looking for someone to expel today, please recognize the factually inaccurate and highly sarcastic nature of this article and then move on to pursuing the real criminals on campus, like people who used to live with gnome thieves.

(Photos and idea courtesy of http://diy.despair.com/motivator.php, http://despair.com/mis24x30prin.html, and http://images.amazon.com/images/P/B0000U389K.01-A2OEDDFUDDRGX.LZZZZZZZ.jpg)

Due to the recent and surprisingly-bloody fall of the lawn gnome cartel, I need four new roommates by tomorrow or I have to move out of my apartment. My four former roommates were evicted last week for stealing small ceramic and cement figures over the summer. The thefts twice made the front page of the Miamisburg Republican, which I guess means for the last several months I’ve been living with the greatest criminal masterminds this city has ever seen. Their cunning tactics for covering up their crimes included cutting out the article about said crimes and then hanging it up above the stolen gnomes, which were left in plain view in the apartment and on the balcony for the duration of the school year. It can hardly be described as the shock of the century that their clever scheme came crashing down, although it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the federal government and its nine-month long gnome theft sting.

Having been driven from the apartment by the college’s disciplinary system, my former roommates now live as vagabonds on the intramural field, where they are constantly harassed by the free-range lawn gnomes they once attempted to confine. After spending several months living with the most prolific gnome thieves in the history of Jasper County, I still have no idea what lawn gnomes do, but feasting on the flesh of the living seems like a good guess. If I hope to avoid joining my roommates on the gnome feeding grounds, I need to convince four people to pony up several hundred dollars and occupy the rooms the felons left behind.

For those who are interested, let me stress that there are several advantages to living in my apartment. For one thing, there’s plenty of space to store stolen lawn gnomes. For another, there are two bathrooms. Granted, I’ll need exclusive access to both of them at all times, but my new roommates can feel free to use the patio if they really need to relieve themselves. Frankly, I recommend holding it until the end of the year. I’ve been informed that the apartment also has a kitchen, but the space it supposedly occupies is currently so overrun with unwashed dishes and other refuse that such speculation is impossible to confirm. I guess that means anyone who lives with me won’t have access to running water, but as a tradeoff I’ll give you a sword to fight off any bacteria-related monsters that might emerge from the kitchen sink. One amenity I’m sure the apartment has is an adequate heating system. I never did learn how to work the thermostat, but the barrel fire I started in the living room keeps the temperature around 68 degrees throughout the year. Additionally, the second-story location is conducive to all sorts of extreme sports, like bungee jumping and dropping barrel fires on unsuspecting people below.

That’s what’s available in terms of living arrangements. In order to take advantage of them, you’ll have to demonstrate what you have to offer as a potential roommate. My former roommates stole the gnomes before I lived with them, and when they went down for it several months later, I went down, too. To avoid a recurrence of that situation, I’ll have to do extensive background checks on anyone who wants to live with me. I tend to be a fairly laid back individual, so I’ll go ahead and overlook up to one time-out if it occurred before kindergarten. Beyond that, if you’ve ever done so much as had a cavity, you might as well change your name and move to Mexico. Seriously, I’ll rat you out to the toothpaste corporations and they’ll slaughter your entire family. I don’t know why the oral hygiene industry conducts gangland-style hits on potential customers; I also don’t know why fish swim. It’s just what they do. You’ll also be considered ineligible for the apartment if you’ve ever had the flu for more than three days or were born with original sin. That whittles down the field to one potential roommate, but I doubt Jesus will move in with me since he seems pretty comfortable in Seifert Hall.

These requirements might seem daunting, but there’s a good reason why you should strive to meet them: it’s dangerous not to. After getting in trouble for not turning in my roommates for something they did before I lived with them, I now plan to narc on everybody for everything. I’ve already got a few targets on my snitching agenda. The first item on my list is a sign advertising tomatoes that’s posted in front of one of the apartments. I have reason to suspect the residents of the apartment aren’t tomato farmers at all and that their sign is either stolen property or maliciously false advertising. For one thing, I have yet to notice any tomato fields in the vicinity of the apartment, although I suppose someone could’ve nestled a few of the plants among all the marijuana that’s being grown there. Some might argue that the tomatoes could be shipped in from somewhere else to be sold at the apartment, but school policy explicitly forbids the presence of grocers and other professionals of ill repute. I’m fairly confident on that one since campus security shut me down when I tried to open a Kroger in Gallagher Hall last year. I’m also sure that Indiana isn’t known for it’s rolling tomato fields, which means the sign was probably stolen from someplace across state lines. That’s why I got the FBI involved. I expect the tomato sign cartel to crumble shortly, and when it does, everyone who ever walked past the obviously-stolen sign and didn’t report it will go down, too. That category includes almost every student and faculty member on campus who can get around without the aid of a Seeing Eye dog, and even in that situation it would probably be appropriate to have the dog put down and charge the blind person with a misdemeanor. Fortunately for everyone involved, the attorney general might not have enough evidence to prosecute the greatest scandal in the history of American colleges. A few days after the gnome cartel fell to a joint raid by the SWAT team and the Third Armored Division, the tomato sign cartel got scared and hid their stolen property. I’m patiently waiting to see if the sign reemerges. If it does, I’ll either be responsible for the greatest bust of all time or find myself buying a basketful of home-grown tomatoes.

Crime at this college isn’t limited to students posing as tomato farmers, although that does comprise a large part of it. In apartments and dorm rooms across campus, there are people who possess signs for brands of beer which they neither produce nor are sponsored by. It seems somewhat doubtful that these 20-foot banners were obtained by legitimate means, although maybe Budweiser really did decide to reward some of its most valued underage drinkers with large advertisements usually reserved for outdoor festivals. Furthermore, many student residences boast stop signs and other traffic indicators even though it seems doubtful that dorm rooms qualify as publicly-recognized thoroughfares. I venture nearly every person on campus has at some point seen something that could reasonably be assumed to be stolen. There’s only one solution: expel everybody and get a fresh start. To be honest, most of us are jerks anyway, so it really wouldn’t be a loss for the school. It would also give all of us a chance to start early on our prison sentences for the tomato sign incident.

Rise to Power

Here's an article from my sophmore year when I became features editor. I actually used to respect recommended article lengths back then. What a fool I was. There will be new content on here Monday morning. I promise this time.

As the more astute students on campus have noticed, something has disturbed the natural order of the universe. The signs are everywhere: weather patterns are erratic, cows are giving sour milk, and the local werewolf population is tripling every forty-eight hours. Some try to explain away these events as the work of scientific phenomena or gypsy magic, but the truth is that my ascendance to power is mostly to blame. Despite a solid record of systematic incompetence over the past year and a half, I recently became the new features editor for The Observer.

As everyone knows, to become an editor, you must kill a current editor, or luck out when that editor transfers to another school. Some will claim that Natalie Lapacek peacefully retired from her position as features editor in order to attend Evangel University. My version of the story is better because it involves heavily armed Cuban exiles and a musical interlude performed by an undead version of Bob Hope – but that story is for the next issue.

As the new features editor, I should probably list a series of lofty goals I will never be able to meet. I promise to always be honest, and I can honestly say that pretty much everything I say as editor will be a lie. I can guarantee that the features section will lose all journalistic integrity but gain a marginally unpleasant odor. I think it balances out.

I plan to blame everything on someone else. Find an inaccurate story? Dan Rather did it. Is there a typo? Blame it on global warming. All hate mail can be directed to my home address. My name is Jimmy Carter.

Everything will be done late. The features section will probably arrive two days after the rest of the paper, and even then most of the articles will just be reprinted from an old issue. It’s technically not plagiarism as long as I change the title and add some profanity at the end.

All space not covered by old articles or obscene stick drawings will be filled with vague threats against charities and other non-profit organizations. Whether the cause is food for the starving or education for the underprivileged, I promise to always side against the cause of human decency. If I don’t crush the defenseless, who will?

Finally, I plan to revise the English language as I see fit. All misspellings and grammatical errors are deliberate, without exception. Instead of making me a bad writer, these “mistakes” distinguish me as a linguistic visionary. By following these simple guidelines, I hope to enjoy a long and successful career in writing that lasts until this issue is published, at which point I will probably be fired and exiled to Canada.

Core X: The Pagan Solution

I wrote this with a partner a few years ago for a script writing class. It won an inclass competition and was produced into a 22-minute-long movie by a subsequent class. Try to wrap your mind around that one.

FADE IN:

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

BEN and WALLY sit in the back of class as PROFESSOR X writes on the board. Wally is feverishly taking notes. Ben is leaning back in his chair twirling a pen.

PROFESSOR X

(authoritatively)

Your final Core X paper must be at least twenty-five pages long. It is due in five months. If you fail it, you will not graduate. Do not put this off.

WALLY

(quietly to Ben)

I’m gonna get started tonight.

BEN

Why? It’s not due for 5 months. That’s like a lifetime away.

CUT TO:

INT. BEN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

It is five months later. The paper is due tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. It is 5 p.m. right now. Ben calls Wally.

BEN

Hey, wanna go get some food in the HUB?

WALLY

No, I’m putting the finishing touches on my Core X paper. Do you have yours done?

BEN

Hell no. When’s it due?

WALLY

Tomorrow.

(BEAT)

Are you still there?

BEN

How long does that have to be again?

WALLY

Twenty-five pages.

BEN

That sounds doable. I’m pretty good at math.

WALLY

Core X is a Jesus class.

WALLY

Shit.

Ben hangs up the phone and sits down at his computer.

BEN

(to himself)

Man I’m screwed. But one thing’s for sure: I’m gonna leave Wally out of this. I’ll be a man, sit down, and write the whole damn thing myself. Right now. Oh yeah. Go.

Ben stares blankly at the computer screen. Ben falls asleep and enters a dream sequence.

CUT TO:

INT. BEN’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

In the dream, Ben sleeps with his head on the keyboard. He wakes up and looks at the screen. The page is blank other than the few letters he pushed with his face. He looks at the clock and sees that it is now midnight.

BEN

(panicking)

I’m dead.

(BEAT)

Unless…

CUT TO:

EXT. MERLINI – NIGHT

Ben pounds frantically on the front door of Merlini.

BEN

(screaming)

Wally, open up! We’re going to the Witch Doctor.

Ben sees Wally look out the window and indicate that he’s coming to the door. Ben paces wildly as he waits. Wally, who is in his pajamas, slowly walks to the front door and opens it.

WALLY

(sleepily)

What?

BEN

We have to go see the Witch Doctor.

Wally starts to walk away. Ben grabs the sleeve of his pajamas.

BEN

Where are you going?

WALLY

(dejectedly)

I’m sick of your stupid schemes. I’m always the one who ends up failing class or standing by the dead body or slapped with the paternity suit. Not this time.

BEN
Now wait a minute. It’s not my fault the pony exploded like that, and that covers everything but the paternity suit. And you make a great father.

WALLY

(as if they were a married couple)

It’s always excuses with you. What about me? What about my feelings?

Using overly dramatic arm motions, Ben launches into an elaborate speech of why Wally should go on the adventure.

BEN

(dramatically)

But this is all about you. Getting to the Witch Doctor isn’t easy. I’m trusting you with my life because we’re a team.

WALLY

A team?

BEN

(with gusto)

Yeah, a team. As a team, we’re going to cross the Core Plaza. As a team, we’re going to scale the Whispering Wall. And as a team, you’re going to fight the alligators so I can get a Core X paper!

WALLY

It doesn’t sound like much of a team to me. It sounds more like I’m being fed to alligators so you can go to the Witch Doctor.

BEN

Exactly. Let’s roll.

WALLY

Just a minute. I’m gonna get my bullet proof vest.

BEN

Personally I’d go with chain mail.

Wally takes a hit from his inhaler and heads inside to change. The dream adventure begins.

CUT TO:

SERIES OF SHOTS

A) Ben and Wally, who is now dressed in street clothes, sneak across the Core Plaza, hiding behind benches, leaping over low bushes, and in general being overly stealthy. Mission impossible-style music plays in the background.

B) Wally struggles to boost Ben over the Whispering Wall. Ben accidentally steps on Wally’s face, kicks him in the crotch and otherwise injures Wally as he makes it over the wall. As they struggle, two other students casually walk up the stairs leading around the wall. After Ben makes it over, Wally jumps up and down attempting to scale the wall on his own. Finally, Ben reaches his hand back over and indicates that he will pull Wally up. Mission impossible-style music continues.

C) Ben sits at a table in Trail Tree eating a hamburger casually. Wally, who is hungry, reaches for Ben’s fries, but Ben slaps Wally’s hand. Elevator music plays during the shot (last).

EXT. FRONT DOOR OF BENNETT - NIGHT

Ben and Wally stumble to the front door of Bennett. They appear haggard and fatigued – as though they have just finished a long and difficult journey. Wally crawls up the stairs, reaches for the door handle, and collapses. Ben jogs up the stairs past him and pushes the call button on the intercom.

BEN

(into the intercom)

Witch Doctor please.

INTERCOM VOICE

That will be five dollars.

BEN

(to Wally)

I need five bucks.

Still lying on the ground, Wally holds up a twenty dollar bill.

WALLY

(fatigued)

I only have a twenty.

BEN

That’s fine.

The door opens a crack and the hand of a man in a gorilla suit reaches out and takes Wally’s money from Ben. The hand gives 15 dollars back to Ben. Ben pockets the change. The door opens and Ben walks in. Wally stands up and reaches for the door but it closes and locks before he can get to it.

CUT TO:

INT. BENNETT HALLWAY AT WITCH DOCTOR’S DOOR – NIGHT

The sign on the Witch Doctor’s door says “The Witch Doctor is in” in parody of the sign on Lucy’s booth in the Charlie Brown comics. Beads, candles, and other strange tribal objects surround the doorway and indicate that it does not lead to a normal dorm room. Ben knocks on the door. Wally walks up behind him.

BEN

Where have you been?

WALLY

I had to pay the door fee – again.

The Witch Doctor opens the door. He is a white male who wears a large tribal mask. Other than the mask, he wears a “wife beater” and boxers covered by a robe. He has just woken up.

WITCH DOCTOR

(in a regular voice)

What the hell, dude? It’s two in the morning.

BEN

I need a Core X paper.

WITCH DOCTOR

Oh, my bad.

The Witch Doctor coughs, adjusts his robe, and adopts the Witch Doctor persona. He now speaks in a gravelly, more serious voice.

WITCH DOCTOR

(dramatically)

Enter.

CUT TO:

INT. WITCH DOCTOR’S ROOM – NIGHT

The Witch Doctor presses play on his CD player and weird, tribal music fills the room. He bows to the three “gods” of college: a beer poster, a poster of John Belushi, and a poster of a hot girl.

WITCH DOCTOR

Before I can give you your term paper, you must first complete three tasks to appease the gods.

WALLY

What gods are those?

WITCH DOCTOR

Beer, babes, and Belushi.

BEN

Sign me up for that religion.

WITCH DOCTOR

Silence. Only if the gods are fully satisfied will they reward you with your term paper. Are you ready for tasks?

Ben pushes Wally forward.

BEN

We’re ready.

CUT TO:

EXT. REFLECTING POND – NIGHT

The scene is introduced by the Witch Doctor speaking in a voiceover to explain the task – as though Ben and Wally are remembering the Witch Doctor’s words. The Witch Doctor is not actually present in the scene. Ben and Wally stand at the edge of the reflecting pond looking toward the center.

WITCH DOCTOR

(in a voiceover)

For the first task, you must retrieve the sacred stone from the center of the sacred pond.

WALLY

This is stupid. There’s no way to get out there.

BEN

That’s where you’re wrong.

(pointing to the goldfish)

See those fish? They’re load bearing. You can tell by how they swim.

WALLY

So you’re saying I can just walk across them?

BEN

Absolutely.

Wally steps out and instantly sinks. He thrashes about wildly.

BEN

Since you’re already in there, would you mind grabbing the stone. Thanks.

Wally continues to thrash about wildly. Ben walks away.

CUT TO:

EXT. COW PASTURE – NIGHT

The Witch Doctor’s voiceover continues as he explains the second task. Wally holds the sacred stone in his hand. He and Ben stand a few yards away from a cow.

WITCH DOCTOR

For your second task, you must use the sacred stone to slay a wild beast.

WALLY

Does this really count as a wild beast?

BEN

Absolutely. That is twelve hundred pounds of killing machine. If it doesn’t trample you to death, it’ll probably eat the flesh right off your bones.

WALLY

Do they really eat flesh?

BEN

Why do you think they have four stomachs? People are big, Wally. People are big.

WALLY
I had no idea.

BEN

Knowledge is power.

(BEAT)

Now get over there and kill it.

Ben pushes Wally toward the cow, but Wally digs in his feet and resists.

WALLY

I’m not getting close to that thing. You kill it.

BEN

Alright, we’ll kill it together on the count of three. One, two…

COW

(voiceover)

Moo.

Ben and Wally drop the stone and run in fear. Wally tiptoes back into the shot, grabs the stone, and runs away again.

CUT TO:

INT. BEN’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ben and Wally stand around a jar on the table. It appears to be filled with specks of dirt, which are actually sea monkeys. The jar is not labeled. Wally stares at the jar for a few moments, sizing up his opponent. He then picks up the jar, shakes it profusely, and sets it back on the table.

WALLY

Take that, sea monkeys! Who’s your daddy now?!

BEN

You killed ‘em. You killed ‘em good. Unfortunately, you didn’t use the sacred stone.

WALLY

Crap.

BEN

It’s alright. I have an idea.

CUT TO:

EXT. IM FIELD – NIGHT

Ben and Wally wear camouflage and dark face paint. The stalk their unseen prey across the IM field. Suddenly, they spring into action and dive onto a stuffed animal sitting on the ground. They dive on it and roll around with it in an apparent scuffle. Finally, Wally pins it, smashes it with the sacred stone, and tears off its fluffy, cotton-stuffed head. He holds up the head and screams with bloodlust.

CUT TO:

EXT. CHAPEL – NIGHT

Ben and Wally stand in front of the chapel, admiring its grandeur. The Witch Doctor continues his voiceover.

WITCH DOCTOR

For your third task, you must retrieve the sacred headdress from the chapel attic.

WALLY

Why don’t we just buy a sacred headdress at Wal-Mart? I think they have ‘em on sale.

BEN

Don’t be stupid. This is Miamisburg. Wal-Mart closes at 10.

WALLY

(shaking his head)

It’s un-American.

CUT TO:

INT. CHAPEL STAIRWELL TO THE ATTIC - NIGHT

Ben pushes Wally up the narrow steps inside the chapel leading to the attic. Wally holds a flashlight. They hear a noise.

WALLY

What was that?

BEN

It was probably some sort of hideous demon guarding the sacred headdress. You better go check it out.

Wally begins walking up the stairs. Ben grabs his arm.

BEN

Are you crazy? You can’t leave me here without a flashlight.

Ben takes the flashlight from Wally and pushes Wally on his way.

WALLY

Then what I am supposed to do?

BEN

Fight the demon in the dark. Do you want it to see you?

WALLY

Good point.

Wally continues up the stairs alone in the dark.

CUT TO:

INT. CHAPEL ATTIC – NIGHT

Wally hesitantly enters the chapel attic. He hears a thud in the distance.

WALLY

(with bravado)

I’d sure hate to be a demon right now.

There is scuffling in the distance.

WALLY

Yep, wouldn’t wanna be a demon. Not with this guy walkin’ around up here. I’m a twelve hundred pound killing machine.

The scuffling gets louder.

WALLY

(with even more bravado)

To be honest, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while since I killed something. They haven’t let me near a gun ever since I went all Rambo on Canada.

A dark, humanoid shape fills the door the costume room in front of Wally.

WALLY

Plus I’m covered in chiggers. You don’t want to mess with those.

The dark shape takes a step toward him.

WALLY

(scared out of his mind)

Don’t hurt me. I’m pregnant. It’s a girl.

The shape hits Wally in the head and knocks him unconscious.

CUT TO:

INT. CHAPEL STAIRWELL – NIGHT

Ben hears Wally hit the ground.

BEN

(yelling towards the attic)

I got your back Wally. Show that demon what’s what.

Time passes. Ben remains alone on the dark stairwell with only his flashlight to entertain him. He uses it to make shadow puppet on the wall.

BEN

Awesome. I made a duck.

(BEAT)

(yelling up the stairs)

Hey Wally, check out this duck I made.

(BEAT)

Fine, be that way. It was cool, and you missed it.

Ben stops making shadow puppets.

BEN

(to himself)

Alright, alright. I know what I hafta do. I have to go back to my room and write that paper.

(yelling up the stairs)

It was good knowing you Wally. It’s really for the best, though. I have just the place for your stereo in my apartment.

A light suddenly turns on in the chapel attic. Ben sees it and decides not to abandon the mission and walks up the stairs.

CUT TO:

INT. CHAPEL ATTIC – NIGHT

Ben walks up the stairs and sees that the light is coming from the costume shop. He walks in.

BEN

Wally, where the hell are you? You missed a totally bitchin’ shadow puppet.

(BEAT)

It was a duck.

(BEAT)

Not to mention the fact that you’ve been up here for like fifteen minutes and I still don’t have a sacred headdress.

Ben sees Wally lying on the ground. He walks over to his fallen comrade and stands over him.

BEN

Are you okay?

He nudges Wally with his foot. When Wally doesn’t respond, Ben nudges him a little bit harder. Then Ben kicks him. Wally remains motionless.

BEN

Alright, you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment so I’ll check back with you later.

Ben turns around to leave. The costumes on one of the racks rustle.

BEN

Who’s there?

(BEAT)

(motioning to Wally)

Because you can have your kill. Honest. I’m not even hungry.

Professor X steps out from behind the clothing rack. He is wearing a pink scarf around his neck.

PROFESSOR X

Hello Ben.

BEN

How do you know my name?

PROFESSOR X

You’re in my Core X class.

Ben stares blankly.

PROFESSOR X

You know, the class about Christian humanism.

Ben continues to stare blankly.

PROFESSOR X

The class where you made a presentation entitled “Is Jesus Christ the new Miller Lite?”

BEN

(nostalgically)

Great taste, less filling. Make it Jesus time.

(seriously)

But you gave me an “F.”

PROFESSOR X

I’m a Zima man.

Professor X throws part of the pink scarf over his shoulder.

BEN

You definitely scream “manliness.”

(pointing toward the door)

So I’m gonna go now.

PROFESSOR X

I can’t let you leave. You know my whereabouts.

BEN

You’re a professor, not Osama Bin Laden. Get a grip.

PROFESSOR X

I have a grip. Hiding up here is way cheaper than paying alimony.

BEN

And the scarf…?

PROFESSOR X

It gets cold up here.

(BEAT)

And I look good in pink.

BEN

(pointing to Wally)

You’ve explained everything but that.

PROFESSOR X

He broke into my house.

BEN

Which is actually a creepy attic above a creepy church on a college campus. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that’s not normal.

PROFESSOR X

Exactly.

BEN

Everything seems to be in order here. I’ll just be going.

PROFESSOR X

What about your friend?

BEN

(unconcerned)

He’ll wake up eventually.

Ben remembers his mission.

BEN

So have you come across anything sacred around here?

PROFESSOR X

Nothing sacred per se, but I am rather fond of this scarf.

Ben grabs the scarf.

BEN

Yoink.

Ben runs away.

CUT TO:

INT. WITCH DOCTOR’S ROOM – NIGHT

The Witch Doctor, who still wears his mask, sits in a chair playing Duck Hunt on Nintendo. He misses the ducks and the dog pops up and laughs at him. The Witch Doctor throws down his light gun in disgust.

WITCH DOCTOR

(in a regular voice)

That’s bullshit, dog. I killed that duck and you know it.

Ben walks into the room. The Witch Doctor is obviously startled and rushes to turn off the Nintendo.

WITCH DOCTOR

(dramatically)

Have you retrieved the sacred stone.

Ben puts the scared stone on the Witch Doctor’s desk.

WITCH DOCTOR

Have you slain the wild beast?

Ben puts the severed head of the stuffed animal on the desk. The Witch Doctor shakes his head disapprovingly.

WITCH DOCTOR

Have you retrieved the sacred headdress?

Ben puts the scarf on the desk.

WITCH DOCTOR

(in a regular voice)

What the hell, dude. I didn’t ask for the sacred neck warmer.

Ben wraps the scarf around his head to illustrate its potential as a headdress.

WITCH DOCTOR

Fine.

(dramatically)

You must now worship the Noll Tree using the sacred items.

BEN

Wait a minute. You said three sacred tasks, not four.

WITCH DOCTOR

I’m a Witch Doctor, not a math major. Now go.

CUT TO:

EXT. BENNETT – NIGHT

Ben walks out the front door of Bennett. Wally is sitting on the steps.

BEN

Hey, you’re not dead.

(BEAT)

I’m still keeping your stereo. Let’s roll.

CUT TO:

SERIES OF SHOTS

A) Ben and Wally stand shirtless in front of the Noll Tree. Ben has the pink scarf wrapped around his head. He holds up his arms as though blessing the tree. Wally kneels down and bows profusely.

B) The Witch Doctor sits in his chair in front of the computer. He wears reading glasses over his tribal mask and types quickly.

C) Ben and Wally walk away from the Noll Tree with their shirts slung over their shoulders. They have just completed the ritual.

D) The Witch Doctor types even more quickly as though he senses their approach. His hands are moving too quickly to accurately press keys. He finally begins slamming his fists on the key board to go even faster.

E) In the Bennett hallway, Ben reaches for the doorknob to the Witch Doctor’s room.

F) The Witch Doctor staples the pages together (last).

INT. WITCH DOCTOR’S ROOM – NIGHT

Ben and Wally enter the Witch Doctor’s room. The Witch Doctor hands Ben the finished paper.

WITCH DOCTOR

(dramatically)

The gods have smiled upon you. Take your term paper and leave me to my tribal hunt.

Ben takes the paper. He and Wally leave. The Witch Doctor picks up the light gun and prepares to play Duck Hunt on his Nintendo.

CUT TO:

EXT. BENNETT – NIGHT

Ben and Wally walk away from Bennett. It is nearly dawn. Ben looks over his paper. He reads some sections aloud.

BEN

What is this crap? The gods write at a third grade reading level.

(reading)

Martha Stewart and Stalin were half brothers twice removed.

(BEAT)

They often picked up chicks in a monster truck named “Bros Before Hoes”

(BEAT)

To conclude, Christianity is good, but liquor is quicker.

WALLY

What are you gonna do? It’s almost daylight. We have class in two hours.

BEN

It’s alright. Graduating’s overrated.

CUT TO:

INT. BEN’S APARTMENT – DAY

Ben wakes up, still sitting at his computer. His face is covered with drool and the imprint of computer keys. His entire adventure with the Witch Doctor was a dream. The computer screen is full of text.

BEN

Sweet. I wrote a paper in my sleep.

(BEAT)

(reading aloud)

In conclusion, Christianity is good, but liquor is quicker.

(disappointed)

Crap. I didn’t dream that paper.

(BEAT)

And this one’s even worse. At least the Witch Doctor could spell.

Ben gets up from his computer.

BEN

I’ve got an idea.

Ben heads out the door.

CUT TO:

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

It is two weeks later. Ben and Wally sit in the back of class. Professor X stands at the front of class holding a stack of papers.

PROFESSOR X

I’ve finished grading your papers. Most of them were okay, but one student failed and will not be graduating.

Ben smiles to himself. Professor X begins to hand back the papers.

BEN

(to Wally)

I have a confession to make. I stole your term paper and put my name on it.

Wally looks stunned. Professor X hands Ben his paper. A huge, red “F” is emblazoned on the cover.

BEN

What the hell?! What kind of a crappy paper did you write, Wally?

WALLY

I also have a confession to make. I knew you were going to steal my paper, so I made a fake for you to take instead.

Professor X hands Wally’s paper back to him. It has an “A+” on the cover.

PROFESSOR X

Good job, Wally. You wrote the best paper in the class.

Professor X continues to pass out papers. Some students leave the classroom.

WALLY

At least you have twelve months to write your next Core X paper.

BEN

(dejectedly)

I guess.

WALLY

Are you going to start this one early?

BEN

(returning to his usual self)

Hell no.

Ben and Wally are the last students to leave the classroom. Professor X closes his briefcase and leave the room. A pink scarf hangs out of his briefcase and drags behind him.

FADE OUT.

THE END.