The scene: The barren plains of Hell. The Moosemobile is racing across the crimson sands of the diabolic wastelands, with an infernal machine in full pursuit. The infernal machine looks like a vintage Soviet KV-2 heavy artillery tank as re-imagined by famed painter H.R. Giger.

So it’s a pretty gnarly piece of heavy metal, grinding along on bladed tracks spitting gouts of flame and firing the occasional explosive shell at the Moosemobile.

Inside the Moosemobile itself, Moose is behind the wheel with WCS riding shotgun, and Señor Weaselo and Otto’s Brain are in the back seat.

Señor Weaselo (looking out the back window): I think they’re getting closer!

WCS (checking side mirror): He’s right, Moose! That thing is gaining on us!

Future Moose (grimacing): Great, well I’ll just take the next turn-off, then… Oh, wait, we’re not cruising on the I-5, we’re in Hell!

Otto’s Brain (rolling around on the back seat): Man, I am glad I can’t get car-sick.

The infernal machine fires another shell at the Moosemobile. It screams across the fiery sky and explodes near the Moosemobile, lifting up the rear of the car. Moose counter-steers like mad, barely keeping control on two wheels as Señor Weaselo and WCS hold on for dear life and Otto’s Brain rolls onto the floor. Then it comes crashing down again,skidding to and fro.

WCS: Whoa, man! That was too close!

Future Moose: I’m getting tired of this crap… WCS, take the wheel.

WCS: What? Why? What?

[DRIVER’S SIDE DOOR FLIES OPEN]

Moose steps out onto the running board and WCS, eyes wide, slides over onto the driver’s side.

WCS: Thanks for the warning!

Moose pulls himself up onto the roof of the Moosemobile and hangs on.

Future Moose (yelling down to WCS): Slow down! I want you to get next to that thing!

WCS: I’d really rather not!

Future Moose: Just do it, or when we get home I’m gonna send your internet browsing history to your mother!

WCS (as he slows the Moosemobile): Uncool, man…

Señor Weaselo (picking up Otto’s Brain): Hey, do you smell… It’s like whiskey and old socks…

Next to Señor Weaselo the back seat folds down and smoke pours out into the car. A small but wiry man dressed in bright green boxing trunks comes crawling out of the trunk. On the leg of his trunks are the words: Wee Baby.

Otto’s Brain: Wee…Baby…?

Seamus: Howya! That’s me name, fellas. I’m th’ “Wee Baby” Seamus, third-best featherweight boxer to ever come out o’ Dingle!

Señor Weaselo: And you were in our trunk…why?

Seamus burps once, pulls a flask out of his bright green boxing trunks, and takes a yuuuge swig. Then he burps again and puts the flask back. Then he pulls a joint out of his trunks, realizes he doesn’t have a light, and looks at Señor Weaselo hopefully.

Señor Weaselo: Um…sorry, I don’t have any matches.

Otto’s Brain: This is Hell, y’know. There’s fire pretty much everywhere.

The Moosemobile slows and the infernal machine pulls alongside. It shoots out a blast of flame, scorching the side of the car. Seamus grins, rolls down the window and sticks his head out.

Seamus: When yer right, yer right!

More flame spits out of the infernal machine. Grinning widely, Seamus rolls the window back up, his hair scorched but his joint lit.

Seamus (inhaling): By the way, ye got a crazy wanker on yer roof…

Otto’s Brain: We know.

Seamus: A fella can get himself killed out there, y’know.

Señor Weaselo (coughing): It’s not much better in here. What is that stuff?

Seamus (exhaling): Och! Sorry, laddie. Hellweed’s a bit rank. After ye been down here a few decades it ain’t so bad, though.

On the roof of the Moosemobile, Future Moose gets to his feet and crouches.

Future Moose (banging on the roof): Good job, WCS! Hold it here for just a few more seconds…

WCS (as a gout of flame splashes against the car): Sure, no problem…this isn’t nerve-wracking at all.

The two vehicles get perilously close, but WCS holds steady and Future Moose lunges off of the Moosemobile and onto the Helltank, then starts to climb to the top of it.

Seamus (watching Moose from the back seat): He’s either a real chancer or a bit thick. Them Helltanks is made of infernal steel, boyo.

Señor Weaselo (coughing and handing Otto to Seamus): No offense, but I’m going to take my chances out there. Your Hellweed is giving me a headache.

Señor Weaselo crawls out the window and leaps over and onto the Helltank. Seamus gives him a wave.

Seamus: Give ’em a belt fer me, boyo!

WCS (finally looking in the rear view mirror): Hey, Weaselo, maybe we… Hey! Who the heck are you?

Seamus (absently stubbing out his joint on Otto): Och! We been through all that already, ya eejit!

Otto’s Brain: Hey! I am not an ashtray!

Seamus (climbing into the front seat, Otto still in hand): No cheek from you, ball! Yer mates is mental. Once that Helltank gets bored, we’re good an’ fooked.

On top of the Helltank, Future Moose is prying the hatch open. He puts his future android muscles into it and with a screech of metal it pops open. A surprised demon sticks his head out of the opening and Moose grabs him and casually tosses him off of the tank. The demon bounces past Señor Weaselo as he’s climbing up, then bangs off of the hood of the Moosemobile before landing in a heap in the sand.

Future Moose (as Señor Weaselo joins him): Hey, Weaselo! Care to kick some demonic ass?

Señor Weaselo: I’m a luchador…it’s what we do!

The pair drop down through the hatch into the Helltank, disappearing from sight.

Seamus: Welp, that’s that then. No sense foostering…there’s a brothel not far from here wit’ some sound brassers…

WCS: You’re speaking English, but I only recognize half of the words.

Otto’s Brain: I recognized brothel! That sounds promising.

Seamus (holding up Otto’s Brain): Er..how do you…?

Otto’s Brain: I’m a brain, not dead.

Up ahead the Helltank surges forward, then veers erratically before finally stopping in front of the Moosemobile. The turret turns toward the car menacingly as WCS slides the car to a stop.

Seamus: Aw, feck…

Future Moose emerges from the hatch, followed by Señor Weaselo.

Future Moose (waving at WCS): Hey, guys, check it out! It looks like Moosemas came early this year!

WCS: Huh. We’ve got ourselves a tank.

Otto’s Brain: I wonder if it comes with an instruction manual…

To be continued…