The Scooby-Doo Story
Scooby Doo lay cowering in the corner of the dilapidated room, ears hugging his cheekbones, throat tight and yet what escaped from it was a high-pitched, whining scream. Where was Shaggy? Where was Velma? He lay, cowering: he had seen a ghost.
Suddenly, there was a shooting pain in his right cheek, and he opened his eyes. He lay lying in bed with Shaggy standing over him. It had just been a dream.
"Scooby, get yo arse up!"
Had Shaggy just slapped him?!
That bastard, he did! He'd get him for that. Oh, friends and neighbours, he would get him for that. Scooby moved his tired old dog legs, stretched, and faced Shaggy to give him what he deserved: but he was gone.
"Nrow wrhere did Raggy go? Hrmm! This ris a puzzle!"
Without warning, Daphne came running into the room.
"Scooby, Ermegerd, Shaggy is at the hospital – VELMA IS GIVING BIRTH TO HER CABBAGE BABAY!"
Uh oh. He had forgotten about Velma's cabbage.
"Ri'll be right there," he said.
Scooby bounded out the door of the house, swung open the door of the Mystery Machine, and got behind the wheel.
Daphne leapt out the front door. "Wait, Scooby! I'm coming with yooouuu!?" She got in.
Scooby drove. He drove with his paw to the pedal to the medal, thoughts racing through his head. A father. He would be a father. He thought of the uncertain future between himself and his long-time scandalous lover Velma with a frown on his doggy face.
A stray thought flashed through his mind; him, in the corner of that dilapidated room, fearing for his life. What did it mean? Those of the Gang rarely had dreams like that without meaning. Why was he there—and who was he hiding from.?
"Son of a bitch Scooby, slow down!" Daphne screeched. She was gripping her seat for dear life.
Suddenly, the hospital came into view, and Scooby hit the breaks hard, sending Daphne flying from her seat, and her face smashed against the windshield.
Amazingly, there was no damage done. Except for five missing teeth.
Scooby and Daphne leapt from the car, and raced into the hospital.
"They're in room 314," said Daphne.
They sprinted to the room as thoughts still raced through Scooby's head. Like, for one, if it was indeed his baby, why was it a cabbage, not a werewolf? And what about child support? He'd have to get a job.
Christ.
Scooby relied on the dole for his fortnightly income. It had been, what, 10 years since he was in the working class? Even 20? He was an old dog, indeed: and like the saying goes, "An old dog can't learn to get a job when they have previously had a job and currently do not have one." - Mark Twain
He reached room 314, took a deep doggy breath, and barged in.
He was met with a gruesome sight.
Velma, screaming at the top of her lungs, squeezing Shaggy's hand into the shape of a deflated whoopie-cushion, Fred, abruptly fainting at the sight of birth; It wasn't all the glitz and glamour it was cracked up to be, and the doctors, trying their hardest to yell "KEEP PUSHING!?" over Velma's ear-peircing shriek.
His eyes focused on Shaggy—how did he even get here?—turning quickly to a glare. He thought he was the father. That son of a woman who gave birth to a son who believed he was a father of his son. He would get him. Oh, hahahahahahahaha, oh yes. Oh he would get him. Oh yes he would. Oh yes he would! Friends and neighbours, gather round, witness this tale, this haunting of interspecies love and treachery. Witness him beat that bastard to a tiny, grinning—
"Scooby!" cried Shaggy. He clutched Velma's tiny hand as tears rolled down his cheek. "Scooby, like, dude, I'm so glad for you to be here in this, like, monumental event of my life that in no way will be tarnished by your actions in this scene. Bro."
He had no idea what that idiot was saying, but it couldn't be anything he gave a damn about, so he just made his way over to Fred – as Daphne was doing – and helped him up.
"That is disgusting," Fred whined. "Daphne, I hope you never get me pregnant!"
"Sure," she muttered. She was lucky enough to have a dip-stick as a boyfriend.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" Velma yelped, and, out of pure pain, punched Shaggy in the face!
Shaggy said a naughty word, and continued holding his girlfriend's hand.
"I can see the top of the cabbage's head!" the doctor cried.
Scooby's heart leapt. This was it.
It was time.
He leapt into action, his paws skidding across the hospital floor. He jumped, bounced off the wall, then propelled himself away with a hextuple frontflip of truly Epic Proportions, yo. His teeth bared, Scooby landed on Velma's throat.
"Scooby! Dude! Like, what are you doing, man?"
"Shrut rup, Raggy," Scooby growled. "Thris ris ryour punishment. Thris ris rit. Rfriends rand nreighbrours, grather round—"
"Like, Scoob—there's no neighbours here! This is like a hospital dude zoinks!"
"Radmit rit. Radmit that ryour'e rnot the legritimate frather."
"What? Like, Scoobs? Like, what? Dude. Bro what? What the? What the?!"
"Sray rit ror the grirl dries."
"JUST FUCKING SAY IT!" Velma cried under the weight of Scooby's paw.
"I don't even know what you're, like, talking about, mah homie. Brothah. Broshack. Hakuna Matada!?"
"Ri'm the father, dip-shrit!" Scooby cried.
"WHAT?!" Shaggy said.
"WHAT?!" Daphne said.
"What?" Fred said. He had no idea what was going on in the situation, he was more pre-occupied with the fact Velma was giving birth to a vegetable.
Shaggy looked at Scooby in rage. "YOU FUCKED MY GIRLFRIEND!?"
And then it happened.
He pounced on Scooby, and they were thrown to the floor, wrestling around.
"Oh my holy almighty," cried Fred, louder than the two wrestling on the floor. "Oh my God-forbidden Christ. I've got to call the police. I have to."
The two wrestled, oh they wrestled, friends and neighbours, oh they wrestled. They wrestled on into the night, those two, it was quite a match. Oh it was. Man, you should've been there.
At about 2:00 AM, after Daphne had taken Velma out of the building and Fred had long since fainted out of distress—first a cabbage babay, now a wrestling dog? What will they come up with next, competent plotlines?—the two still wrestled. Oh, they wrestled friend and—
"Ri'll rfrirgigin arroooooooo ruff ruff ruff ruff bow wow bow wow bow wow get rou!" screeched Scooby.
"Put your paws up in the air you scallywag mutt!" said the policewoman who was there in the room at the time that this situation was occurring. She came there by car, by the way. Her name is Patrisha Kerpatrick and she is wearing blue faded jeans and she has long faded hair and her life is just a series of fading opportunities she didn't even want to get into the police force oh god she shouldn't be here oh god what would her younger self think oh my god she's wasted her entire life at the age 26 and she puts the gun to her head and—
"Wait a minute!" she says, "This is no time for existential crises. You're under arrest, dawg."
"Aroooooooo!"
And so it is now that Scooby lies, in the corner of that dilapidated jail cell, barking at ghosts in the darkness that don't exist. The ghosts were treachery and the desire for a child to care for, care for better than Scooby's father ever cared for him. That was the metaphor. Scooby is mentally broken, friends and neighbours. Gather around his jail cell and laugh.
Fred was enjoying a sandwich, by the way.
The end.