(Nash is in his room reading the newspaper when he hears a ribbit and a splat. He looks up wondering what that was before going back to his paper. A couple more ribbits and splats are heard. He goes outside and sees the bright blue sky has turned blood red, and it's raining frogs. He goes back to his room and sits down, pulling the mike close)
Nash: It's viewer submission time, isn't it?
(He mouths "fuck," then we do the opening)
Nash: Hey kids. I'm Nash, and I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Once again it seems it's time to dig into the mailbag and do an episode devoted to all of the horrible, terrible, awful stories you send me. And while I should be on my way to see a licensed therapist to enable me to cope and continue functioning in regular society, thanks to the blood red skies and the mountain of dead frogs outside, I appear to be trapped indoors. As a result, looks like I'm stuck doing this episode. I invite you all to die in a fire. Now this is normally where I elaborate on the theme of the week, but that doesn't apply here, so it's time for another Great Moment in Stupid History.
(We come to our cartoon, "Great Moments In Stupid History")
Nash (vo): Once upon a time, England was at war with France. And during the Napoleonic Wars of the early 19th century, legend has it a ship wrecked off the coast of Hartlepool. When the remains washed on shore, the only survivor of the downed vessel was, (a shot of a beach) I shit you not, a monkey. (a monkey is added to the beach) Not only a monkey, but a monkey dressed in a military uniform. (a tricorner hat is put on the monkey) Presumably because the French are...(picture of Benzaie) weird. (three Stick Boys are looking at the monkey) The locals happened upon the monkey and, again, not making this up, because none of them knew what the French actually looked like, (one Stick Boy has a thought bubble pop up) they decided said monkey was actually a French spy. (in the thought bubble, it goes monkey + France = Black Spy from Spy vs. Spy) They held an impromptu trial right there on the beach and since monkeys can't respond to questioning, it was found guilty and hanged. (the Stick Boys are cheering while the monkey is swinging on a noose, x's for eyes) Now the veracity of this story is kind of sketchy, but what isn't sketchy is the fact Hartlepool has embraced the legend so fiercely that the mascot of Hartlepool United is, you guessed it, a monkey named H'Angus. The fact is that even though no one knows if this actually happened or not, people from Hartlepool to this day are referred to as "monkey hangers," and moreover, are proud of this nickname. (Stick Boy is shown waving a Hartlepool flag excitedly while a crowd cheers him. In his other hand is the pole that has the monkey hung on it) Nothing like an age old legend of animal cruelty and overwrought nationalism to put your town on the map.
Nash: So, now that I've endangered my life by calling out a British football team, it's time to jump into the gaping maw of awful that you've sent me. Valerie Cooper and numerous others sent us our first story from Minneapolis, Minnesota, where a mother was arrested for simply mailing her son a present. Okay, it was less the mailing and more the fact the present was whimpering.
(The report is titled "Woman Arrested for Trying to Send Puppy Through the Mail")
Nash (vo): From the you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me department comes 39-year old Stacy Champion who, authorities say, attempted to send a four month old puppy, from Minnesota to her son in Georgia, through the mail. You know, I bet I know who her son is.
(Cut to a clip of UHF as Raul prepares to make a poodle fly)
Raul: Here we go. Get ready...and fly! (he tosses a poodle out a window which barks all the way down till it hits the ground) Aw, man!
(Back to the report)
Nash (vo): But if that's not a big enough pile of crazy coated crazy, after Champion was charged with animal cruelty, not only did she attempt to get the puppy back from Animal Services, she demanded a refund for the $22 postage.
Nash: Lady, no! No no! No nay never! I say thee, nay! Okay, well she should probably get the postage back because they didn't ship anything and that'd be kind of wrong, but no puppy! If you have reached the age of 39 and you don't comprehend that putting a puppy in a mailbox might not be the sharpest of ideas, you don't deserve to be able to care for a whiffleball, much less a puppy! My only hope is that PETA will find out about this story, cause I can think of no better punishment than spending a lifetime than being pestered by those arrogant dickholes. And if you thought we were done with animal cruelty, you don't know my audience. Our next story was sent in by R. L. King, Allen Vaughn and Bri LaFond, and demonstrates that crime is serious bidness. Just not necessarily intelligent.
(The report is titled "Burglars Poison Goldfish In Arlington Heights")
Nash (vo): Three teenagers burglarized a home in Arlington Heights, Illinois, making off with cds, video games, jewelry and even a safe. While this may sound normal, one of the trio took time to dump ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce in the fish tank because, and I quote, "we can't afford to leave any witnesses."
Nash: It's a fish! It's a goddamn fish! Fish! You know? Can't breathe air, short term memory of about five minutes, no vocal chords? In short, how can a fish testify against you in court, you UNRECONSTRUCTED MORON!?! If you are paranoid about a fish...a fish...somehow bringing you to justice, your mother either drank straight Lysol when she was pregnant with you, or you are on so many goddamn drugs that when you die, Charlie Sheen is going to smoke YOU! Things that cannot talk or process complex concepts are not plotting against you. Not the microwave. Not your underwear. If it can't talk, you have nothing to be afraid of. You just...(ominous music comes on as he looks to his right) Oh what? (turns out he's talking to a hippo doll) Don't start with me. (the doll remains silent. Nash gives it the "I'm watching you" gesture before remembering he's on camera) Um, heh, while we're on the topic of intoxication, let's move onto a story sent in by Corey Van Slyke. Some people claim that while driving, God is their copilot, but one man in Michigan City, Indiana, has a different wingman: Frosty.
(The report is titled "
Nash (vo): Police had discovered 30-year old Aaron Kelly had driven his vehicle onto railroad tracks and become stuck. When being questioned, Kelly revealed three things. He didn't know how he wound up stuck, he was heavily intoxicated, and one other thing, a snowman had been driving.
Nash: I've said this before, but I think it's apt yet again. I have drank a great many things in my lifetime. I once drank an assortment of alcohol that I woke up on the back porch of a convention hotel lying on a bench and proclaiming to all the world that I was, in fact, the Lord Jesus Christ. But never have I ever reached the point that I imagined myself being chauffeured down the highway by a pile of anthropomorphic snow! Snowmen can't drive! (just to answer him, a clip of a snowman driving a buggy is shown) Okay...snowmen...can drive. But in this instance, I'm pretty sure it was the alcohol. In any event, always remember, friends don't let fictional holiday mascots drive drunk. You know, so far I've been pleasantly surprised. This has been tame. It's not like someone tried to shoplift a chainsaw by shoving it down their pants. (he then braces for the eventual story, but it doesn't pop up) Really? I'm gonna get away with that one? Oh thank god, the minute I open my mouth, I thought I was--
(Nope! There actually is a story here, the report titled "Man attempts to steal chainsaw by stuffing it down his pants and waddling out of store")
Nash (vo): Oh fuck me! This one is the fault of Jessica Johnson, who sent us this tale of 21-year old Anthony Darren Black. Black took a chainsaw off the rack, shoved it in his pants and attempted to walk out of the store. But when the staff suspected his testicles were, in fact, not shaped like logging equipment, he shed his shorts and was chased into a creek. Move over Lex Luthor, there's a new criminal mastermind in town.
Nash: (facepalming) Time to do the math. This, (a pair of pants is shown) plus this, (a chainsaw being revved is shown), equals fucking this! (something is shown being blended in a blender) Heh. I'm, uh, trying to understand. Uh, I can understand needing something. I understand needing something, not having the money. But, uh, in no circumstance, uh, could I see where the best course of action would be putting a GODDAMN CHAINSAW NEXT TO YOUR PENIS! Not only that, this...was the plan? I don't care how well off you are in that area, it doesn't take Hercule freaking Poirot to notice! Although, come to think of it, I don't see how people resisted asking, "Hey, is that a chainsaw in your pocket or are you just a bag of dumbass?" The last story was submitted by William Berk. Comes to us from the Big Easy and it reaffirms the age old saying, "People who masturbate while watching a children's playground shouldn't throw stones." (he just realized what he said) What?
(The report is titled "
Nash (vo): Oh for Christ sake. Literally! Fundamentalist Reverend Grant Storms, 53, is a well known and vocal opponent of the New Orleans Southern Decadence Festival. Unfortunately, Storms was arrested on charges that he was spotted sitting in his van, watching the kids at play, and doing his own version of some good old fashioned snake handling.
(The room begins to slightly shake)
Nash: A Christian preacher...jerking off while watching kids...(the shaking builds up before suddenly..."OH, YOU TOUCH MY TRA-LA-LA! Now it's really shaking!) Oh no! Run for it everybody! It's a douchequake. Oh wait, no, it's worse! It's a Special Edition Douchequaaaaake!
(Douchequake flashes on screen with warning sirens going off, Special Edition in the bottom as various Star Wars clips play before the test pattern hits. Nash comes up from cover)
Nash: Aah! We haven't had a douchequake that bad since...ever! Seriously! Where were we? Oh, right. Um, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? Quite often, I've used the term "making the Baby Jesus cry," but by the tenets of your own faith, you have quite literally made the Baby Jesus cry! I think he's on his third box of Kleenex by now! This is a level of hypocrisy so massive we don't have a weight measurement for it. There is quite simply no way for me to calculate how many fuckloads of awful this is because no such word exists. I'd propose the term "dickzillion," but I don't think that even covers it. To sum up, (a mugshot of Grant Storms is shown) FUCK YOU! (Fuck you! is on the bottom along with the sound of a buzzer) It never ends. It never ends, and you folks just keep finding this stuff and sending it and sending it and sending it! There's always more of it on the internet! (Something dawns on him) Wait. The internet. I can't stop YOU from sending me stuff. But I can stop the internet from giving it to you! I just need to find a way to reason with the internet.
(Five Hours (and a box of comic books) Later. Nash has what looks like christmas lights wrapped around a tinfoil diamond and an old Gameboy)
Nash: Okay, if I've done this right, it will either open a channel directly to the internet...or it will teleport my genitals to a distant star.
(He winces as he presses the button and a flash is shown. Ominous music plays after he opens his eyes. After doing a quick check of his crotch, he heads outside to see a monolith in the backyard. He makes his way over to it where the image of the I Can Has Cheezburger cat is shown. He gets closer when a paw reaches out and pulls him into the monolith. The shot now focuses on the monolith as cat screeching as heard)
(Editor's note: I'm making out as much as I can)
Nash: Stop it! Bad kitty! Bad, bad! Alright, look, stop, stop, timeout, timeout. That is not a cat toy.Not a cat toy! Not a--oww! (the monolith falls face down) Ow! Ow, fuck ow!
(Nash is now back in his room with bandages on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, cheeks, neck, right hand and left ring finger)
Nash: Okay, so, uh, negotiations between me and the internet, uh, had a brokedown. So it looks like my lot in life is set. I simply have to resolve to inflict as much emotional anguish on you as you do on me. Kinda like how the Jackson family works. Fortunately, I seem to be none the worse for wear after my internet encounter and there are no noticeable side effects. So until next time, this is Nash saying I'm a Nigerian prince and I need your help to access my fortune. (he slaps himself, trying to get to his usual phrase) Livecam girls streaming 24/7. (he slaps himself again) Six inches on your penis in six days. (he slaps himself again) Um...if I have to hurt, so does everyone else. (he looks back at the hippo) Don't you judge me! Aaah! (he dives after it as we go to credits, the song being the Jacksons' "ABC")
Final quip: Do you want to learn how to make money from ho-dammit!
(One last clip of Raul tossing the poodle out of the window from UHF)