The scene: Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Future Moose is silently packing up the Moosemobile, Cookiethulhu is cleaning the windows and Old School Zero looks over a map. In the back seat of the Moosemobile Señor Weaselo lies in a fetal position, occasionally making whimpering sounds. Otto’s Brain comes rolling up.

Otto’s Brain: Hey, guys.

Future Moose (absently): Oh…hey, Otto.

OSZ (looking up, then quickly going back to inspecting his map): Oh…um, hey.

Cookiethulhu: Hello, old boy.

The uncomfortable silence resumes. Finally, Otto’s Brain pipes up.

Otto’s Brain: Really, guys? We’re not gonna talk about this?

Flashback to: The previous night. Future Moose, Old School Zero, Cookiethulhu and Otto’s Brain are walking into Chi Chi’s Beer Palace with Señor Weaselo and La Araña Discoteca.

Señor Weaselo: You think he might be here?

OSZ: Four words: Bikini Jell-O Wrestling Night. Trust us, that’s like a dog whistle to Rob.

Inside the bar it’s basically every 1980’s Spring Break movie ever. And also that part in Running Scared when Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines go down to Florida and it’s all sun and alcohol and bikinis, and when they go back to Chicago to chase Jimmy Smits you’re like, “What? Dudes, it’s, like, snowing there, man! Why would you ever go back?”

Future Moose (snagging a bottle of vodka from a roller-skating waitress): This is my kind of place!

Cookiethulhu: Right-o! Why, all this debauchery reminds me of Rome, back when Cal was running things.

OSZ: Cal…?

Cookiethulhu: Caligula, old boy. Now there’s a man who knew how to throw a party!

Otto’s Brain (rolling past the others): Hey, make way, guys! I wanna get a front row-seat for the wrasslin’!

OSZ: Eh, it’s probably fake, just like…

OSZ notices Señor Weaselo and La Araña Discoteca staring at him.

OSZ (uncomfortably): Umm…tennis…?

Future Moose (gulping vodka): Yeah. Nice save there, pal.

The five make their way to the wrestling pit, where two women are kicking the crap out of a poor guy who probably thought rolling around with two bikini-clad girls in a squishy mass of lime Jell-O sounded like a fun time. As it turns out, the management at Chi Chi’s Beer Palace take their Jell-O wrestling seriously.

Otto’s Brain (enjoying the spectacle): Hey, whatta roundhouse kick!

OSZ (wincing): Merde. That reminds me of the time CB was trying to teach Muay Thai to Brocky.

Otto’s Brain: It’s always tough to see a grown man cry.

The referee finally breaks up the one-sided buttkicking, to the boos of the crowd.

Referee: And yer winnahs…the Sensational Sinn Sisters!

The crowd cheers as the girls exit the pit. The guy is dragged out and left in a heap by the bar.

Referee: And fer our next match…it’s the man himself, the one and only, the undefeated…Wolfman Rob!

The crowd erupts with a roar as Wolfman Rob trots to the ring, clad only in bright green swimming trunks.

Referee: And his opponent…

Señor Weaselo (jumping into the Jell-O pit with La Araña Discoteca): El Hombre Lobo Rob will face us tonight!

Wolfman Rob (grinning): Well, hell, it’s good to see you guys again! Hey, is Fozz with you? He owes me a couple o’ beers!

Future Moose (from outside the pit): Good luck collecting those.

Señor Weaselo: This is between you and us, El Hombre Lobo! For the honor of El Dragón Rojo!

Wolfman Rob: Red Dragon? That’s a name I ain’t heard in a long time! Say, how’s that purty li’l wife of his…?

In unison the luchadores launch themselves at Wolfman Rob. A double-dropkick sends Rob flying into a mass of Jell-O, which sprays out over the crowd.

Wolfman Rob (still grinning): Hope that ain’t all you boys got! I came here to wrassle, not dance!

Wolfman Rob charges the luchadores, clotheslining both. The fight then begins in earnest. The crowd roars its approval as the three men slip and slide in the Jell-O. The luchadores have the advantage of numbers, but they soon find out that the Jell-O pit is truly Wolfman Rob’s element. His bodyslams and suplexes stun the masked men and leave them sprawling in green Jell-O. In the tussle, however, Wolfman Rob’s swimming trunks get pulled down below his hip, revealing a birthmark that looks like a Mudflap Girl on his right buttock.

La Araña Discoteca (staring in disbelief at the birthmark): Madre de Dios!

Wolfman Rob: What? Oh, the birthmark? Ain’t that a beauty?

La Araña Discoteca (pulling his trunks down to reveal an identical birthmark): Imposible!

Wolfman Rob: Hey! You’ve got one, too? Well, hell, ya know what that means?

La Araña Discoteca: No…no…

Wolfman Rob: Every one o’ my kids has the same birthmark. C’mere, son…give yer old man a big hug!

La Araña Discoteca flees from the Jell-O pit and out through the crowd, Wolfman Rob in determined pursuit.

Wolfman Rob: C’mon, boy…we’ll do some father-son things! You ever been to a Dutch brothel?

The DFOers watch the pair run out of the bar. La Araña Discoteca’s screams of denial fade into the distance as they disappear from sight.

Future Moose: Huh. Well, that came out of nowhere.

OSZ: Right? Seems like Wolfman Rob got pretty busy in Mexico back in the day.

Otto’s Brain: You’ve gotta wonder just how many little Wolfkids are running around out there.

OSZ: That’s a frightening thought. Right, Weaselo. Weaselo…?

Standing alone in the Jell-O pit, Señor Weaselo is forlornly looking down the back of his trunks.

OSZ: Oh…oh, no…

Señor Weaselo nods, little mewling noises coming out from under his mask.

Otto’s Brain: Wow. I mean, I don’t have a body, and I feel sorry for you.

Cookiethulhu: Crikey. I was spawned in an abyssal pit by the uncaring forces of chaos and forced to eat my brethren to survive. But this…

Future Moose (putting an arm around Señor Weaselo): C’mon, man. We’ll go get alcohol. You like alcohol, right?

Señor Weaselo nods, still making sad noises as the DFOers lead him out of the bar.

Otto’s Brain: Well, look at it this way: You’ll never have to worry about premature baldness.

OSZ: Shut up, Otto.

Cut to: The present again. The DFOers have gotten into the Moosemobile. Future Moose is in the driver’s seat while OSZ is riding shotgun. Cookiethulhu and Otto’s Brain are in the back seat with the still near-catatonic Señor Weaselo.

Otto’s Brain: Hey, guys, he’s still making those weird noises. Can I ride up front with you?

OSZ: No. You’re the one who kept making Father’s Day jokes all night.

Just as Future Moose starts the Moosemobile an old Volkswagen van squeals to a stop next to the car. The side door opens and a mass of smoke pours out. Then WCS half steps, half falls out of the van. He’s wearing a bright pink banana hammock and matching sandals and a straw hat.

WCS: WOO! Thanks for the ride, man! Same time next year?

Spring Break Bro (driving off in the van): Fer shure, dude! Like, next year we’ll get really crazy!

WCS (getting into the back seat of the Moosemobile): Spring break, amirite? Wow, am I glad I came with you guys!

OSZ: So, you had a good time?

WCS: Good? Man, I had all the fun! The party started at the beach, then it moved to the Dead Dolphin motel, then we crashed Tannehill’s mansion…

Otto’s Brain: Sure, sure. But was there Jell-O wrestling?

WCS: Was there? Let me tell you… Hey is Weaselo okay? He keeps making these weird noises…

To be continued…