“Ha ha! And then he died.”
“Holy shit, Brent, don’t ever tell me that story again.”
“I didn’t even get to the best part: didn’t you wonder WHY I was naked and trapped in a large duffel bag with a Hindustani midget?”
“We’re rolling.”
“Of course we are, I wore the brakes off of this fancy-ass golf cart yesterday.”
“No, we’re ROLLING.”
“Oh. Oh! Hi! I’m Brent Spiner, and welcome back to the show! For those of you who may be just tuning in, we’re documenting the eccentricities of those with more time and money than the average person. This is what bored rich people do with fluffies to keep themselves amused.”
Brent waves in a grandiose fashion, somehow not spilling a drop of his whiskey as he waves it around, then tosses the entire glass back in a single gulp.
“Ah! That hits the spot. We’ve already seen Michael Dorn and his hobby of flying around in fighter jets with a fluffy in the backseat, and Superman’s bitch Jimmy Olson-”
“Brent, I’ve told you, he’s not the fictional chara-”
“-who likes to go skeet shooting with pegasus fluffies. Now we’re going to see our next guest and what he does with fluffies to amuse himself.”
Brent stares at the camera for several long seconds.
“I have no idea who the hell we’re seeing next, I lost my note cards when I hit that nun with my golf cart. Speaking of which… RUN, FORREST, RUN!”
“Huuu! Fowwest nu wike wunny game! Nu wan pway nu mowe! Huuhuuu! Huff, huff, huff! Pwease, nu mowe- SCREEEEEE!”
THUMP-THUMP.
Brent bounces slightly as the running fluffy pony goes under the cart’s tires, unable to run fast enough to avoid it. Brent looks directly into the camera again and giggles.
“Confucious say: fluffy who run behind car get exhausted, but fluffy who run in front of car get tired.”
Brent then makes a face as he pours another glass of whiskey and turns the corner into a driveway.
“Y’know, that Confucious guy said a lotta weird shit. ‘Man who go to bed with itchy butt wake up with smelly finger’. True, but still weird. Reminds me of the time when Jonathan Frakes decided to get frisky with an intern on the set and had no idea what pegging was before he agreed to try it. So then she-”
“Brent, please shut the hell up and knock on the door.”
“What, you want me to gimp up to the door?”
“Brent, please don’t say gimp.”
“Screw it, I’m not getting out of the cart! I refuse to walk. Can’t you see the cast on my leg? I’m a fucking cripple. I ain’t doing it.”
“OH. DEAR. WHAT. A. TERRIBLE. TRAGEDY. A. BROKEN. LEG. MUST. BE.”
“Holy shit, I’m intervewing Stephen Hawking?!”
“YES. HELLO. AGAIN. MISTER. SPINER. I. AM. PLEASED. TO. MAKE. YOUR. ACQUAINT-ANCE. AGAIN. THE. TIME. I. APPEARED. ON. AN. EPISODE. OF. STAR. TREK. WITH. YOU. IS. ONE. OF. MY. FONDEST. MEMORIES.”
“I have to admit, I was pretty happy to meet you too. Wow, this is awesome. You want some coke? Grade-A Columbian.”
“Brent, what the hell?!”
“SURE. I’D. LOVE. SOME.”
Brent smirks while one of the film crew says, “what the hell” from off screen.
“HOW. DO. YOU. THINK. I. CAME. UP. WITH. MY. GRAND. UNI-FI-CATION. THEORY. HA. HA. HA.”
Brent pours some cocaine onto a photo of his own naked ass and snorts it through a dollar bill, then assists Stephen Hawking in doing the same.
“WOW. THAT. IS. GOOD. SHIT.”
“I KNOW. RIGHT?”
“ARE. YOU. MOCKING. ME.”
“NO. I. AM. NOT. MOCKING. YOU.”
“STOP. THAT.”
“I. AM. STEPHEN. HAWKING. BEEP. BOOP. I. AM. A. ROBOT.”
“THAT. ISN’T. FUNNY.”
“BEEP. BOOP. MY. COLOSTOMY. BAG. NEEDS. REPLACING.”
“FUCK. YOU. I’M. NOT. DOING. THIS. SHOW. IF. YOU’RE. GOING. TO. BE. AN. ASS. HOLE.”
Stephen Hawking spins around in his wheelchair and rolls back into the house. A short hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform closes the door behind him.
“Dammit Brent, you apologize right now!”
“I’m gonna be honest, I am WAY too stoned to give a coherent apology. She sells seashells by the sea shore. Huh. Perhaps I’m just stoned enough that my elocution has become even more sesquipedalian?”
Brent attempts to climb out of the golf cart and falls flat on his face, giggling.
Off screen, one of the film crew mutters, “dammit, now I’m never gonna know what Stephen Hawking does with fluffies to amuse himself.”
“I heard it involves a particle accelerator.”
“Shit! Now I really want to see it!”
“Uh, think now would be a good time to cut for commercial?”
“We’ll be back with more Brent Spiner after these messages from our sponsors!”
Terry Crews bursts into the scene, clad in bikini briefs and utterly demolishing an entire herd of terrified fluffies as he screams.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! OLD SPICE ODOR BLOCKER IS-”
“We now return to our show!”
“-so Patrick accidentally grabs Gates by the boobs and HE screams like a girl. Gates is pissed at him and thinks Jonathan put him up to it, Pat is apologizing, the camera is still rolling, styrofoam boulders are bouncing off his bald dome, and I’m laughing my ass off because the sand they’re crawling around in is full of shit from the stray cats at the studio and-”
“Brent, we’re on.”
“Welcome back to the show! After a little technical difficulty-” Brent looks off camera. “Shut up, Mike. After a little technical difficulty, we’ve located our next guest, Al Gore. Al, since global temperatures have dropped in recent years, people are making fun of your global warming bullshit more than ever. How does this relate to fluffy ponies, exactly?”
“I’m glad you asked, Brent. You see-”
“Geez, you got fat.”
“… you see, I’ve been using fluffy ponies to demonstrate the dangers of global warming. For example…”
A white fluffy is seen floating on a block of ice in the middle of the Olympic-length swimming pool in Gore’s backyard. The ice is rapidly melting.
“Huuhuuu! Fwuffy’s hoofsies cowd! Nu wike! Nu wan wawa! Wawa bad fow fwuffies! Huuu…”
The ice quickly melts and the fluffy’s ass is dumped into the pool where it shrieks once, thrashes frantically, and then slips under the surface. A pitiful stream of bubbles floats to the top and then stops.
“As entertaining as that was, I’m not sure how… didn’t you fill the pool with water from your hot tub?”
“You see, Brent, global warming means that polar bears will drown as arctic ice melts and-”
“Al, polar bears can swim. They swim on a daily basis to hunt for delicious baby seals. And the arctic ice is thicker than ever, it grows and shrinks cyclically. I’m on PCP and MDMT right now, and I’m smart enough to see that.”
“Brent, global warming doesn’t just mean it’s getting hotter, it also means it’s getting colder, windier, rainier, drier-”
“So basically every single type of weather in existence proves you’re right and nothing can prove you’re wrong. Gotcha. Look, I bought into this for years before deciding it was a bunch of crap designed to generate money for assholes like you, I don’t want to get into another damn global warming debate. Can’t you just show us the fluffies?”
Al Gore looks disappointed, then sighs heavily and waves his arm off screen.
The camera switches to a fluffy trapped in a sand box surrounded by heat lamps, panting. It has no food or water, is sweating profusely, and is clearly severely dehydrated. The camera lingers on it for a full minute before it finally drops dead, eyes open and staring lifelessly at the camera. Bill Clinton, nude except for the open bath robe he’s wearing, stumbles past in the background holding a can of beer.
The camera changes scenes again as fluffies trapped in a miniature model of a city scream and scrabble their hooves against the barrier of fake skyscrapers as unseen workers unleash a fire hose into the far end of the enclosure, destroying the mock city in a tsunami and drowning nearly all of the fluffies. A mare, frantic and screaming, manages to pluck her foals off her back one by one, stand on her hind legs, and place them on top of a plastic building, safely out of reach of the ‘tsunami’ before she too is swept up by the water and drowned. Her foals huddle together in a terrified fluff pile on top of the building, cheeping for their mother, trapped on an artificial island a foot above the water and the floating fluffy corpses within.
Then Al Gore enters the scene, clad in a low-budget Godzilla costume, roaring, and kicking over buildings. He kicks the ‘skyscraper’ the foals are sheltered on and all but one plunge into the water and quickly drown; the lone survivor is clinging to a fake cell phone tower and chirping in a panic. Al plucks it from the tower, bends over, and begins to insert the foal into his own ass headfirst.
The camera suddenly changes back to Brent and Al, Brent looking surprised and Al looking embarrassed.
“Sorry, uh, that clip on the dangers of global warming was supposed to stop at the thirty second mark.”
“Can we see the rest?”
“Brent!”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. So, that’s it? You amuse yourself by killing off fluffies as a scare tactic to get people to give you more money to save them from global warming?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“… honestly Al, I’d probably vote for you if you had a platform of killing fluffies in hilarious ways.”
“Well, thank you Br-”
“Next, the film crew is going to get this fatass out of my golf cart and we’re going to drive over to see what Harrison Ford is up to. But first, a word from our sponsors! Bob, bring me my quaaludes!”
“Hello! I’m not a doctor, but I play one on tv. If you or a loved one has ever-”