Chapter 1
Scene begins on planet Mon-Star as our villains, minus their boss, are (God forbid) in various stages of undress while sitting around a glass table gambling their paychecks away.
Troll Guy: (Has a small pile of chips, his Tweedy briefs, and grease-stained wife-beater shirt.) I call. What do you guys have?
Yes-Man: (Without his hat and an even smaller pile of chips.) Two jacks and a pair of eights.
Melodia: (Slightly bigger pile of chips, but only wearing one shoe, her shades, and a slip.) Three nines.
Poker-Face: (No chips, missing an arm, and still dressed from the waist down.) Pair of fours.
Troll Guy: Full house. Molecular, what did you get?
Molecular: (Has an I.O.U. for his part of the chips and none of his bubbles.) Not even one pair. I was hoping to bluff you guys into folding. (Poker-Face clears his throat.) Do I have to?
Poker-Face: (Eyes roulette into a pair of "x"s.) It's all part of the game.
Molecular: Melodia, would you turn around? (Starts taking off pants.)
Melodia: Don't be such a baby! It's not like I haven't seen...much little digits in my entire life. (Bursts into laughter that is almost as annoying as her voice.)
Poker-Face: (Between fits of girlish laughter.) Nice display Molecular.
Molecular: (On the verge of crying as he covers his shame.) You guys don't have to be so mean about it.
Yes-Man: (Tries to stop laughing.) Let's just hope that you're a better smuggler than you are at playing cards.
Molecular: About that shipment of plutonium...
Troll Guy: Don't tell me the Silverhawks kicked your ass again.
Molecular: No, just the bird. (Everyone throws their discarded clothes at him as Molecular tries to block a few shots with a rolled up magazine.)
Poker-Face: Wait a minute, what's that? (Points to magazine.)
Molecular: Oh this? (Unrolls the magazine and sets it on the table.) One of the guards had it. The thing has gotta be about five years old so I thought I could maybe sell it online.
Yes-Man: Oh my God.
The Other Freaks: What is it?
Yes-Man: I'd know that face from anywhere. (Opens the mag and pages through until he comes across a centerfold of a barely legal young man in heat, loosely holding a bed sheet to cover his naughty bits.) Colonel Bluegrass of the Silverhawks.
Troll Guy: Ewwww.
Meldonia: What are you being so prissy about? It's not like his genitalia is any different from yours.
Troll Guy: You mean he's got a wang as well? Gross. I bet it's all pale and long.
Mon-Star: (Shouting through the other end of the door.) Where is my plutonium shipment?
Yes-Man: (Loud whisper) Damn, he must've finished his nap early. Everyone get your clothes on, I have an idea. (Mon-star pounds on the door as if struggling to get in.) Pull the handle toward you, boss. (After a few failed tries, Mon-Star kicks the door down and tries to look threatening. Whatever anyone had enough time to put on looks rumpled.) Good thing you're here, Lord Mon-Star. I've come up with a brilliant idea for you to take full credit for. When we're done, the Silverhawks wouldn't have enough credibility to hide their shame.
Mon-Star: Spare me your intellectual mumbo jumbo, Yes-Man.
Yes-Man: What I'm saying is that with this magazine (Hands magazine to Mon-Star, who's struggling to read the cover.), we can create a scandal that will tarnish the Silverhawks' reputation. (Waits for Mon-Star to laugh at his stupid joke, but gets dead silence.) Tarnish, silver. It's a metal.
Mon-Star: Oh yeah. (Laughs)
Yes-Man: (mumbles to self) Moron.
Scene begins on planet Mon-Star as our villains, minus their boss, are (God forbid) in various stages of undress while sitting around a glass table gambling their paychecks away.
Troll Guy: (Has a small pile of chips, his Tweedy briefs, and grease-stained wife-beater shirt.) I call. What do you guys have?
Yes-Man: (Without his hat and an even smaller pile of chips.) Two jacks and a pair of eights.
Melodia: (Slightly bigger pile of chips, but only wearing one shoe, her shades, and a slip.) Three nines.
Poker-Face: (No chips, missing an arm, and still dressed from the waist down.) Pair of fours.
Troll Guy: Full house. Molecular, what did you get?
Molecular: (Has an I.O.U. for his part of the chips and none of his bubbles.) Not even one pair. I was hoping to bluff you guys into folding. (Poker-Face clears his throat.) Do I have to?
Poker-Face: (Eyes roulette into a pair of "x"s.) It's all part of the game.
Molecular: Melodia, would you turn around? (Starts taking off pants.)
Melodia: Don't be such a baby! It's not like I haven't seen...much little digits in my entire life. (Bursts into laughter that is almost as annoying as her voice.)
Poker-Face: (Between fits of girlish laughter.) Nice display Molecular.
Molecular: (On the verge of crying as he covers his shame.) You guys don't have to be so mean about it.
Yes-Man: (Tries to stop laughing.) Let's just hope that you're a better smuggler than you are at playing cards.
Molecular: About that shipment of plutonium...
Troll Guy: Don't tell me the Silverhawks kicked your ass again.
Molecular: No, just the bird. (Everyone throws their discarded clothes at him as Molecular tries to block a few shots with a rolled up magazine.)
Poker-Face: Wait a minute, what's that? (Points to magazine.)
Molecular: Oh this? (Unrolls the magazine and sets it on the table.) One of the guards had it. The thing has gotta be about five years old so I thought I could maybe sell it online.
Yes-Man: Oh my God.
The Other Freaks: What is it?
Yes-Man: I'd know that face from anywhere. (Opens the mag and pages through until he comes across a centerfold of a barely legal young man in heat, loosely holding a bed sheet to cover his naughty bits.) Colonel Bluegrass of the Silverhawks.
Troll Guy: Ewwww.
Meldonia: What are you being so prissy about? It's not like his genitalia is any different from yours.
Troll Guy: You mean he's got a wang as well? Gross. I bet it's all pale and long.
Mon-Star: (Shouting through the other end of the door.) Where is my plutonium shipment?
Yes-Man: (Loud whisper) Damn, he must've finished his nap early. Everyone get your clothes on, I have an idea. (Mon-star pounds on the door as if struggling to get in.) Pull the handle toward you, boss. (After a few failed tries, Mon-Star kicks the door down and tries to look threatening. Whatever anyone had enough time to put on looks rumpled.) Good thing you're here, Lord Mon-Star. I've come up with a brilliant idea for you to take full credit for. When we're done, the Silverhawks wouldn't have enough credibility to hide their shame.
Mon-Star: Spare me your intellectual mumbo jumbo, Yes-Man.
Yes-Man: What I'm saying is that with this magazine (Hands magazine to Mon-Star, who's struggling to read the cover.), we can create a scandal that will tarnish the Silverhawks' reputation. (Waits for Mon-Star to laugh at his stupid joke, but gets dead silence.) Tarnish, silver. It's a metal.
Mon-Star: Oh yeah. (Laughs)
Yes-Man: (mumbles to self) Moron.