The scene: The parking lot of the Iguana Mart in the future. Like, waaaay in the future, man. There’s currently a one-sided firefight going on, as an enraged blue-skinned sexually-ambiguous bartender is shooting at several DFOers with a Multi-Use Explosive Rocket Tracking-Enhanced system. The DFOers, for their part, are hiding behind Doktor Zymm’s RV, which is remarkably resilient. There’s also a four-armed mariachi and a one-armed crabman gesticulating wildly and making threatening gestures towards the RV.

Hardboiled Detective (peeking around the RV): OK, I get the bartender getting upset with us. After all, we disintegrated his friend’s head. But what’s with the mariachi and that one-armed crab fellow?

Beerguyrob (also peeking): Got me. They look really pissed, though. Huh. Wonder how he lost his arm…

Lord Revisisle (also peeking): I would think it was in combat of some sort. Or maybe he’s part of some crabperson yakuza-thing, and messed up really badly.

Hardboiled Detective: Or maybe his kind are hunted in this strange future. He might even be the last of his race, destined to wander alone through this wasted hellscape.

A rocket comes shooting towards the RV. The three duck back as it explodes against the side, then peek around it again.

Beerguyrob: That’s kinda sad, if you think about it. Poor guy.

Lord Revisisle: Maybe he even had to fight off a huge predator…like one of those squirrels we had that scrap with.

Hardboiled Detective: Poor, brave fellow…

There’s a crunching sound behind them. The three turn to find Rikki-Tikki-Deadly hiding behind the RV with them, happily cracking open the crabman’s arm and eating the crabman meat inside.

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (looking up): Hey, guys!

Beerguyrob: Or…and stay with me here…he could have lost his arm to a drug-crazed maniac with a massive case of the munchies.

Hardboiled Detective: Rikki, what the hell were you thinking?

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (through a mouthful of crabman meat): Mrf? What? Did you guys want some?

Lord Revisisle: NO!

Beerguyrob (his stomach rumbling): Let’s not be too hasty here…it does smell pretty good.

Another rocket blast rocks the RV. The DFOers cover their heads as dirt and gravel rains down on them. Rikki-Tikki-Deadly covers the crabman arm, then goes back to eating.

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (chewing happily): So good!

The bartender stops and reloads the M.U.E.R.T.E., then takes aim at the RV again.

Bartender (yelling): Say yellow to my litttle friend!

The DFOers look at each other (except for Rikki, who is still digging into his crabman arm).

Beerguyrob: Seriously? Did he say yellow?

Lord Revisisle: I think so…

Beerguyrob (leaving the cover of the RV): That really burns my butt…

Hardboiled Detective: Where in the hell is he going?

Brocky (from under the RV): He hates it when people misquote his favorite movie.

Hardboiled Detective looks beneath the RV to find Brocky taking a hit off of his yuuuge bong. The strange green glob is under the RV as well, tentatively reaching a pseudopod towards the bong smoke.

Harboiled Detective: What the hell are you doing under there?

Brocky: Hiding, man. It is balls crazy out there right now.

Beerguyrob angrily walks toward the bartender.

Beerguyrob: Hey! Buddy!

The bartender lowers the M.U.E.R.T.E. and looks at the mariachi and the crabman in confusion.

Bartender: Is he talking to me…?

Cristo: I believe so.

Cangrejo: Tkt? Vkt mk tk! [What are you waiting for? Shoot him!]

Beerguyrob (getting closer): Did you really say ‘yellow?’

Bartender (shrugging): It’s a saying…

Beerguyrob: No, it’s not! The saying is ‘Say hello to my little friend!’ Hello, not yellow!

Cangrejo: Tkt tik. [That makes sense, actually.]

Cristo (nodding): Si. I have often wondered why anyone would say ‘yellow.’

Bartender: Well, obviously because you’re trying to call the other guy a coward. Y’know, he’s a yellow-bellied coward…

Cristo: But you are asking him to say yellow, not just be yellow.

Bartender: Sure, but that’s part of the self-realization. The coward is forced to admit his cowardice before getting vaporized.

Beerguyrob: That’s not it at all! Geez! Look, the saying is, “Say hello to my little friend” because you’ve got a big-ass gun and you’re gonna use it to turn the other guys into paste. That’s it. Trust me, I’ve seen Scarface a dozen times.

Cangrejo: Tzlkt? [Scarface?]

Bartender: Is that some sort of play or holo-drama…?

Beerguyrob: Oh, for… Look, it’s a movie from the ’80s! Well, the nineteen-eighties…

Cristo: Really? Is Kent McCord in it?

Suddenly Low Commander comes out of the Iguana Mart, packing what looks like that cool gun Jesse Ventura was packing in Predator, except even more futuristic.

Low Commander: Say yellow to my DeathTech Mk. II Gatling Laser!

Cangrejo: Jkt Krt! [By the Great Crab Mother!]

Cangrejo, Cristo and the bartender go diving for cover as Low Commander opens fire. The laser blasts are fast and furious, shredding pavement, decimating light poles and blowing up cars. It looks like something out of a ’90s action movie. Really, you’re expecting Dolph Lundgren or the Boz to pop up. Low Commander opens up a path of destruction that clears the way to the RV.

Low Commander (grinning as the laser powers down): Well? Pretty great, huh?

Beerguyrob: Really? You, too? Say yellow?

Low Commander: It’s a saying we have…

Beerguyrob (walking off towards the RV with a heavy sigh): I hate the future.

Low Commander (following Beerguyrob): Aw, c’mon! I blew the frek outta this place! It was frekkin’ cool!

Beerguyrob (grumbling): Whatever…

Low Commander’s huge cart of future-stuff emerges from the Iguana Mart, being pushed by the Goth Cashier.

Goth Cashier (popping a gum bubble): So, where d’you want all this stuff…?

****INTERMISSION****

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (taking a bong hit): OK, dude…so, like, what’s your answer?

Hercules (brow furrowed): Hmm… I would have to say… Venus, Diana and Juno. In that order.

Jerry (nodding): Nice. I think I’d marry Juno, though.

BFC: Seriously?

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Oh, yeah, man! Like, I bet she’s totally MILF-tastic, dude.

Sharkbait: Mlf?

Hercules: Trust me, you do not want to go there. She’s a real whackjob.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Dude, isn’t she, like, your mother?

Hercules: As if! She’s married to my father, but…

BFC: We’re getting into a whole Oedipal thing now, guys.

Hercules: Oh, do not lump me in with that freak! Although if my mother had been Jocasta…

Suddenly there’s a thump on top of the van.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Whoa, man! Like, I hope that wasn’t a dinosaur, man. I just got this van.

BFC: I…have no idea what that means. But I’m pretty sure it’s not a dinosaur.

Sharkbait: Tzk tktu… [I got this…]

Sharkbait opens up the van door and peeks outside. He looks around, then looks up on the roof of the van. He gets back in the van and closes the door behind him.

Sharkbait: Zkt mk vukt. [I am messed up, man.]

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Dude, like, what’d you see?

Sharkbait: Zkzuk…mkt dkt tk. [There’s, like…a weird little action figure punching a fleshy-baby on the roof.]

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Whoa, man, we should, like, get out there. I think Horatio needs us.

[VAN DOORS FLY OPEN]

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van and the others pile out of the van. They look up onto the roof to find Horatio Cornblower in mortal combat with the Roman god Cupid. Well, not exactly mortal combat. It’s more like what Sharkbait described. Horatio has a tiny fistful of Cupid’s blonde locks in one hand and is punching him on the nose with the other.

Cupid: Aagh! Get offa me, ya bully!

Horatio Cornblower: Fat chance, you pint-sized peon! You come at the DFO, you better not miss!

Jerry takes another hit off of the bong.

Jerry: This reminds me of that floor show in that weird little bar in Sri Lanka…

BFC: Horatio! Hey, stop punching that winged baby, man.

Sharkbait: Zkt mk tk! [Man, am I glad you guys are seeing this, too!]

Hercules reaches up to the roof and separates the combatants, holding one of them in each massive hand.

Cupid: Herc! It’s about time you showed up! Now gimme a hand an’ we’ll wipe the floor with these bozos!

Hercules: Settle down, Cupid. These guys are okay.

Cupid: Hey, who’s side are you on, anyway?

Hercules: You shot a love arrow into me and made me miss a date with a curvaceous goddess. They gave me a roasted pig and got me baked with some killer weed. Do the math, Cupid.

Cupid: Hey, blame Minnie! She was the one who wanted to come here in da first place!

Hercules: Where is Minerva, anyway…?

Cut to: Doktor Zymm’s base, where Covalent Blonde is having a stare-down with Minerva. Minerva has a black eye, Covalent Blonde has a split lip. Minerva glares intently. Covalent Blonde glances down and then…

Covalent Blonde: Checkmate.

The camera pulls back to reveal that Covalent Blonde and Minerva are seated across from each other in the cafeteria. They are surrounded by ninjas and technicians. Dionysus is also in the crowd, as are Doktor Zymm, Moosemas Gorilla and Ballsofsteelandfury. Man in Plaid #2’s head sits on the table next to a chess board, where Covalent Blonde has just cornered Minerva’s king with her knight. Minerva studies the board, but her options are gone. With a sigh she tips over her king.

Minerva: Dammit.

A cheer erupts from the assemblage. There are back-slaps all around and the sound of Champagne corks popping.

Doktor Zymm: Zere now…vasn’t zis better zan killing each other?

Minerva (grumbling): Not really…

Covalent Blonde (grumbling): Not so much…

Doktor Zymm: Vell, it ist for me! I vas not going to have ze two of you wrecking meine baze!

Ballsofsteelandfury (shooting double finger guns): Nice job, CB! I knew you could do it.

Man in Plaid #2’s Head: Is that why you placed fifty dollars on Minerva to win?

Ballsofsteelandfury (glaring): Cool it, man! How did I know CB would open with the Falkbeer counter-gambit?

Minerva (offering her hand): Well played.

Covalent Blonde (shaking Minerva’s hand): So you’re gonna leave Fozz alone?

Minerva (tightening her grip): I said I would, didn’t I?

Covalent Blonde (also tightening her grip): I just wanna make sure we’re clear on that.

Minerva (tightening more): I am a goddess! My word is sacred.

Covalent Blonde (also tightening more): Good to know…because I wouldn’t want to have to kick your ass again…

Minerva (grimacing): Again? I don’t recall you doing it the first time.

Covalent Blonde (also grimacing): That’s probably because you have a concussion from that smackdown I laid on you…

Ballsofsteelandfury sits on a nearby table next to Moosmeas Gorilla, watching the face-off.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Hey, where is Fozz anyway?

Moosemas Gorilla (shrugging): Ook?

Ballsofsteelandfury: Last time I saw him, he was chasing a bunch of those crabmen towards the beach…

Cut to: A normal-sized JJ Fozz lying face down in the surf on a beach somewhere. Groggily, he comes around.

JJ Fozz: Oh, my aching head…

JJ Fozz looks around the deserted beach.

JJ Fozz: Where the hell am I? This sure isn’t Zymm’s beach…

There’s a rustling from the jungle nearby. JJ Fozz looks over to see several beautiful, and scantily-clad, jungle maidens staring at him through the foliage.

JJ Fozz: On the other hand, who cares where I am? This place looks A-OK to me…!

To be continued…