(FADEIN: The Bronx, N.Y. It's a hot summer day- yeah, that's right, SUMMER! If this Halloween Masquerade battle royal can happen in f*cking December, then this promo can sure as f*ck happen in summer! Anyway, PROBLEM CHILD sits patiently on the sidewalk surrounded by little kids screaming and yelling. In the distance, ice cream truck quality audio of 'It's a Small World' can be heard, as the ICE CREAM MAN approaches PC's block. The kids flag him down as PC groggily emerges from the sidewalk with two crinkled dollars in his hand. One by one, the children order their summer treats, until finally it's PC's turn)
ICE CREAM MAN: Aren't you a little old to be buying from me?
PC: Aren't you a little broke to even care?
ICE CREAM MAN: Good point. What'll it be?
PC: Gimme a firecracker. No! Smokebombs. No! Sh*t. I don't know what I want. Hmm...
(Suddenly, PC spots a picture of a cookie-style ice cream bar labeled: "SUPERSTARS OF THE CSWA!")
PC: Holy f*cking period blood. I'll take one of those!
ICE CREAM MAN: You sure about that? I hear the owner don't like it when you mention other organizations, 'specially the CSWA.
PC: Do I look like I give a f*ck? Gimme the ice cream bar, before I pay one of those kids my two dollars to tell the cops you played the broken-glass-on-head game with 'em.
ICE CREAM MAN: Here...enjoy your ice cream, ya sick f*ck. Now get the hell away from me!
(The ice cream truck makes it's way down the road as PC stares up at the sun with squinted eyes. He turns his attention back to the 'SUPERSTARS OF CSWA' ice cream bar, which features an individual CSWA superstar on the cookie portion of each bar! PC opens with anticipation to see who he got)
PC: COOL! MIKE RANDALLS!
(He takes a bite. Chewing with ferocity, his eyes look dead for a moment. Slowly, he swallows the chunk. A second passes...two seconds pass...three seconds...and his hand begins to shake, until it drops the ice cream bar onto the pavement. We now see through PC's eyes)
PC: Oh sh*t...not again...
(The sky, the sun, the apartment buildings...all of it begins to swirl and blend into rainbow colors. Faster and faster, like a pinwheel, they cycle circular...until PC finds himself standing in a red desert illuminated by a purple night sky. Straight ahead is MIKE RANDALLS sitting Indian style in front of a fire, where he's cooking snake meat impaled on a large hunting knife. He spots PC...stands up...takes a bite of the snake meat off his knife...tosses the knife into the sand...and speaks)
RANDALLS: You ate the ice cream bar, didn't you?
PC: Yeah dude! Are you...pissed?
RANDALLS: Truthfully?
(PC gulps)
RANDALLS: Yes. (Sighs) But as is the custom, I am obligated to lead you on a life-altering journey through the inner dimensions psychological neurotransma-blah blah blah. Look, I'm taking you on a f*cking journey, alright?
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
PC: (startled) Who the F*CK was that guy?
RANDALLS: Oh, that was Peter Frampton. He'll be narrating this excursion of ours. Before we begin, do you have any questions?
PC: Are you really Mike Randalls? 'Cause you f*ckin' look like him.
RANDALLS: No, I am your mind's interpretation of Mike Randalls. All of my words, my actions, and even my physical appearance are simply neurons being transmitted from your cerebrum to your medulla oblongata, resulting in a real-time psychological projection of your IDEA of Mike Randalls. Simply put: you are imagining me, and I am only capable of providing feedback generated from your own mind.
PC: Soooo...basically this is just one big f*ckin' rip-off, is what you're telling me?
RANDALLS: Careful, PC. I may be just a figment of your imagination, but even a dream-state Mike Randalls can revoke your right to walk.
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
PC: Lead the way! Haha, I said "The Way."
(Randalls turns, draws a blue rectangular door with both his index fingers, and steps inside, inviting PC to do the same. Once through, the two men find themselves inside a run-down 1970's strip club)
(CUEUP: "That Smell" by Lynyrd Skynyrd)
(A woman in high heels dances on stage, bending over to expose her anus as Japanese businessmen throw dollar bills at her feet)
PC: Who the hell is that?!
RANDALLS: Your mother, dipsh*t.
PC: Awww, WHAT THE F*CK! Did I really need to see that? Her asshole looks like a corroded nickel!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
RANDALLS: Don't question the journey, just walk the path and observe.
PC: F*ck that! All I wanted was a damn ice cream bar, and instead I get stuck on 'Mike Randalls' Bogus Journey.'
RANDALLS: The only reason I don't decimate you right here and now...is because you're incapable of imagining the ways in which I can hurt you.
PC: Wow, who woulda thought ignorance would one day save my life? Take that, public school system!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
(Randalls draws another rectangular portal with his fingers)
RANDALLS: Come on...
PC: Time to leave? Already?!
RANDALLS: You really want to stay and watch your mother put out in the back of the manager's monster truck?
PC: Umm...one part of me wants to say 'Yes' just so I can see the monster truck...but given the circumstances, I gotta say NO!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
(Randalls and PC step through the portal to find themselves inside a dumpy white trash apartment. It's decorated for Christmas, with a big lit-up tree in the corner. PC realizes it's 1982, and he's inside his family's old apartment. He sees himself as an 8 year old, sitting on the couch as his mom walks into the room to hand Santa Claus a beer. And by Santa Claus, I mean Michael Clarke Duncan from 'The Green Mile' in a Santa outfit)
MOM: Here you go baby...anything else I can get you?
MCD: Yeaahhh b*tch, gemme some chocklid chip cookays. And you best take the tampon out, cuz I'm lookin fo some CRIME SCENE f*ckin tonight!
PC: Holy sh*t! He can't talk to my mom that way! Ok, yes he can, come to think of it.
KID PC: Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home!
MOM: Sh*t! You gotta hide, Michael!
MCD: I ain't goin' muthaf*ckin' NOWHERE! Let him see this sh*t, it's time he knew!
(PC's mom runs out the door, yelling)
MOM: TERRY! TERRY WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PARKING THAT G*DDAMN MONSTER TRUCK IN THE DRIVEWAY!
PC: Oh no! She married the strip club manager!
RANDALLS: Nah, they never married, but he is your father.
TERRY: Damn it woman, I'll park my monster truck any damn where I please! Hey...it's Santa!
MCD: HO HO HO!
TERRY: Ho ho ho to you too, Santa!
MCD: Nah b*tch, I was callin' fo' yo woman! Santa wants his milk n' chocklid chip cookays! GET IN HERE, WHITE OPPRESSOR! SERVE ME MY TREATS, THEN SUCK MY BLACK FEET!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
KID PC: Mommy, I'm scared!
MCD: Heh heh heh! So is SHE! Cause she knows the size of this rattlesnake, COMIN' TA GITCHA! I'ma fill her with Christmas JOY!
TERRY: You think I'm gonna let that happen, Michael? Think I'm gonna just...let you walk right in here, talk to my kid that way, and fill my wife with creme filling like she's a g*ddamn hostess cupcake? Well..
MCD: WHAT WHITEBOY, WHAT?! YOU GONNA SAY SOMETHIN'?!
TERRY: Yes, I am. Hunny, have a nice life...and son...well...um... (leaves)
MOM: Whatever, LEAVE THEN! Michael's gonna take care of me, aren't you Michael?
MCD: Maaaan, I ain't fatherin' that kid for SH*T!
PC: Make it stop! Make it stop!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
RANDALLS: You're the one who bit into the ice cream bar. I was minding my own business, seeking salvation in the desert; you think I chose to be doing this right now?
PC: (crying) I've learned my lesson! I wanna go home! I promise, I'll never make fun of WFW............
RANDALLS: ...
MCD: ...
MOM: ...
PC: ........NE, ever again! I'll stop harassing Jason Payne! I'll even be a good tag team partner to Cameron Cruise! Please! Please! PLEASE!
RANDALLS: Alright, stop whining. (draws a new portal with his fingers) Here, walk through this and leave me the hell alone. I have more important things to do.
PC: (sobbing) You're still my idol, Mike.
RANDALLS: LEAVE!
PC: No hard feelings dude.
(PC steps through the portal and awakens on the side walk next to his melted ice cream bar. He looks at the cookie portion, ants crawling over it, with Mike Randalls on the cookie portion, head bit off. He picks it up)
PC: That was some trip, Mike. You take care of yourself, man.
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
PC: No, seriously? You can't follow me, Peter Frampton. I'm not even kidding, go hang out with Mike Randalls in La La Land.
V/O: Michael...never speaks to me. It's like I beckon for him, but he's oblivious...always preoccupied psychologically. I miss him. We never talk anymore...
PC: PETER! This is f*ckin' freaking me out man, seriously! Jesus, I wonder if this is happening to anybody else right now...
(PC looks over at a child, staring into the distance, ice cream all over his face. The child is holding a TOM ADLER edition 'Superstars of the CSWA' ice cream bar, with a bite through the side)
(CUTTO: Seeing through the child's eyes, he finds himself in front of a suspicious looking vehicle with TOM ADLER at the driver's seat)
ADLER: Look, just let me give you a ride, it's getting late. My house is really neat, and you'll LOVE the basement! I've got a lot of cool stuff down there: candy, bicycles, rollerblades, Nintendo, a swimming pool, rollercoasters, Disney Land, it's fantastic! You'll love it!
CHILD: OH BOY! ROLLERBLADES AND NINTENDO AND DISNEY LAND! OK MISTER, LET'S GO!
ADLER: (Unlocks his doors) That's right, get in.
PC: NO! Hey kid, don't get in that car! Stay away from the bad man!
ADLER: We're gonna go to my basement now...and have ourselves a grand ol' time. (Snarls) Mmmm yeah, you can watch daddy hurt himself...(moans and speaks in a femme voice)...with wires and shock devices! I've been bad! Stroke my chest hair, make me feel grizzly!
PC: NOOOOOOOO!
V/O: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH YEAH YEAH!
(Adler peels out in his sports car, laughing in the distance as we get a view of his license plate which reads: JAMESBONDAGE)
(FADEOUT)