--Cut to a scene outside a 7-11. Zorak is waiting impatiently in line behind someone arguing the value of Slurpees with the cashier. --
Zorak: Hey, buddy, you mind getting outta the way? I'm kinda in a hurry.
RVD: Chill out, man. It's just a l'il friendly conversation.
Zorak: You'll see how friendly when I shove a pincher up your --
Voice over the intercom: Attention shoppers: whoever is driving a lime green Chevy with license plate 'GREEN-1', you left your lights on in the parking lot.
RVD: Hey, I bet that's you.
Zorak: Wow. You're a genius.
RVD: Yeah, I get that a lot. Don't worry, dude. I'll save your spot.
Zorak: Oh, goodie. (walks off, mumbling, to the door)
--Cut back to the Space Ghost studio. SG is obviously in the middle of a big, drawn-out story. --
SG: --so then, after you fully accept all crime-fighting responsibilities and pass a few quick tests, they give you a cool new title.
Lance: (looks especially bored, eyes glazed over) That...yeah. That's nice. Can we talk about something else now?
SG: No! You're the guest, I'm the host, I'll come up with the topics!
Lance: You hate me, don't you?
SG: Bread!
Lance: (blinks, understandably confused)
SG: Bread! That was the first thing on my list that I was going to get! Ha! Take that, Moltar!
Moltar: (bored) Uh huh, that's great.
SG: (smugly) Showed him.
Lance: (dryly) You sure did.
SG: I get the impression you don't like me very much, Citizen Lance.
Lance: What gave you that idea?
SG: I don't know, just the way you're looking off into the distance, like you're a million miles away right now.
Lance: (beat) Um...I was, uh, thinking about...uh...all the things we have in common!
SG: Do tell.
Lance: Uh...well...I think we're both misunderstood. We run around in tights for a living.
SG: By George, you're right! We're very much alike, you and I. We're both from very foreign lands. I'm from Ghost Planet, and you're from Canada. So we're both strangers in strange worlds!
Lance: Yeah. And everyone makes fun of us because we run around in tights on a regular basis.
SG: Yea--hey! Hold on a minute! Who's making fun --
Lance: (interrupting) And to that extent, most people question whether or not our occupations really qualify as jobs or not.
SG: Silence, cretin!
Lance: Hey, do you care if I write this whole experience into my autobiography?
SG: Go write a dictionary for all I care! Ingrate! *blasts Lance off the screen* Man oh man. Just when I thought I'd found a guest that liked me. (sighs loudly, tapping his cards against the desk and casting a wary glance at Brak) You're being awfully quiet over there.
Brak: I'm dying of hunger.
SG: Good.
Moltar: Ouch.
SG: Yeah, yeah. Next up we have writer, musician, singer, wrestler, and *squints at cards* King of the World? Well, I'm not sure about that one, but anyway, please welcome Y2J, the Lionheart, the Living Legend, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rollah, the Man of a Thousand and Four Holds, the --
Moltar: Dude, just get on with it.
SG: Uh, yeah. Chris Jericho, ladies and gentlemen.
*TV reception goes fuzzy before showing Jericho on the screen*
SG: (dives behind his chair) Gah! Moltar, you said Chris Jericho, not Bin Laden!
Moltar: That IS Chris Jericho.
SG: (glaring at the screen) I don't think so.
Chris: Did I already make a bad impression?
SG: (muttering) He doesn't *sound* like Bin Laden...
Chris: I guess you don't like my goattee either.
SG: That is not a goattee! That...that's the fur of a dead animal glued to your chin!
Chris: I'll take that as a no.
SG: (slowly crawling back into his chair) You take it correctly. So...ah...you seem to be a multi-talented individual.
Chris: I guess. Thanks.
SG: That was an observation, not a compliment.
Chris: (laughs nervously) Uh...
SG: You're in a *making quote signs with his fingers* "band," right?
Chris: Yeah. What's with the quotes? We're the biggest band on Earth!
SG: But we're not on Earth anymore, pal!
Chris: Hmm. Good point.
SG: As usual.
Brak: HEY!
SG: (jumping) What?!
Brak: I was in a band once.
SG: Uh huh, that's nice. So Chris --
Brak: (interrupting, going on with his story) We were gunna be huge, but then Zorak smashed a guitar over our manager's head. Things were never really the same after that.
Chris: That's too bad, man.
Brak: Tell me about it. We were gunna go on tour and get famous. I was gunna buy three brand new fish with that money, too.
Chris: I'm sorry to hear that.
SG: Excuse me. Hey, you. Yeah, you. I'm the host here, not him. If you don't mind --
Chris: (ignoring SG) Have you thought about putting in classified ads for new bandmembers? Lots of people do it. Metallica did and look where they are.
SG: Washed up hasbeens busy suing everyone and their grandma?
Brak: I tried classified ads once, but I only got one reply from some Russian man who wanted to move in with me and have my babies.
Chris: Uh, not those kinda classifieds.
SG: Hey! *waves arms around* I'm right HERE! Here!
Brak: I'm a good singer.
Chris: You should audition for Fozzy sometime! We're always on the hunt for new talent.
SG: Excuse me, but --
Brak: Really? Cool!
Chris: Yeah. (pulls a guitar out from under his seat) Let's have a little tryout right here.
SG: You can't do that!
Chris: I'm the lead singer, I can do what I want!
SG: We're supposed to be talking about wrestling!
Chris: (begins tuning the guitar) Alright, man. Go for it.
Brak: (singing)
A is for the apples that usually gimme gas.
B is for the shard of glass I got stuck in my --
SG: Hey!
Brak: (singing some more)
C is for Chris, the best Canadian around.
D is for my pet tree Otis planted way down in the ground.
E is for some stuff I like and stuff I don't like, too.
F is for some more stuff but this time this stuff's for you.
G is for geraniums, like in my mom's front yard.
H is for the hot dogs made of beef and frogs and lard.
SG: Oh, ew. That was uncalled for. And you! (turns to the screen, glaring at Jericho) Stop it! Stop playing! Stop encouraging him!
Brak: (still singing)
I is for the ice I really like to skate upon.
J is for Chris Jericho and his super cool guitar.
SG: (under his breath) Suck-up.
Brak: (yeah, he's still singing)
K is for the kangaroos in Austria and zoos.
L is for the llamas you can find there -- they're brand new!
SG: Australia, Brak. Kangaroos are in --
Brak: (...you get it by now.)
M is for Montana and those strange militia groups.
N is for no tanners are good for me or you.
SG: What? That didn't even make sense!
Brak:
O is for Old McDonald and his big ol' farm.
P is for the pimple I once got on my left arm.
Q is for Canada, my favorite snowy place.
R is for race cars 'cause they really like to...uh...race.
(SG groans and smacks his forehead)
Brak:
S is for Spaaaaace Ghost, my boss who's kinda mean.
T is for Turtle Wax - it makes cars really gleam!
U is for the Undertaker, that really scary guy.
V is for very sad movies that make me cry.
SG: That didn't rhyme, you --
Brak:
W is for wrestling, my favoritest sport.
X is for X-Pac, a part of TV time no more.
Y is for yuletide carols and making spirits bright.
Z is for my good pal, Zorak, and to all of you, good night!
(breaks into incoherent scatting)
Chris: (jumps up in his seat, finishing the song in a very loud, very fast guitar solo) Yeah, baby! That's what I'm talkin' about!
SG: That...was the dumbest thing I've ever witnessed in my life.
Chris: Whew! That was awesome! You're in!
SG: He's in?! That's all it takes to get into a rock band these days, just butcher the alphabet? When should *I* put in my application to get in the band?
Chris: Uh...well, we need a new roadie.
--Cut to the 7-11 again. Zorak is walking back inside, mumbling to himself. He stops short in the doorway, gawking, as he sees RVD surrounded by store employees, confetti being sprayed everywhere, the works.--
Zorak: What's goin' on here?
RVD: Dude, you're never gonna believe this, but you dropped your lottery ticket on the way out the door! I picked it up to give it back and the cashier thought it was *mine* so she scanned it and it won! Can you believe it? Now they think I'm a millionaire!
Zorak: But...but that's mine! You can't...thief! (twitches, then falls down to the ground, kicking and screaming)
RVD: Hey, chill out, man. It's all cool when you're R *point* V *point* D! *point*
--Cut back to the backstage of the Space Ghost studio. SG is walking around in a robe, muttering to himself. Moltar is eating a sandwich and watching TV, as usual. Zorak is walking in, shattered.--
Moltar: Hey.
Zorak: Ehh. Go away.
Moltar: I thought you won the lottery or something.
Zorak: I did. Then some hippie stole my ticket and got rich off it.
Moltar: That sucks.
Zorak: Yeah. So what happened here?
Moltar: Well, Space Ghost's back to reciting his grocery list, his guests all but told him they hated him, and Brak ran off with Chris Jericho to join his band.
Zorak: So I didn't miss anything.
Moltar: Nope. Have a seat and be poor with the rest of us.
Zorak: It's not faaaair!
Moltar: Hey, if you really wanna make some quick money, I hear Fozzy's hiring for a new roadie.
Zorak: Hey, buddy, you mind getting outta the way? I'm kinda in a hurry.
RVD: Chill out, man. It's just a l'il friendly conversation.
Zorak: You'll see how friendly when I shove a pincher up your --
Voice over the intercom: Attention shoppers: whoever is driving a lime green Chevy with license plate 'GREEN-1', you left your lights on in the parking lot.
RVD: Hey, I bet that's you.
Zorak: Wow. You're a genius.
RVD: Yeah, I get that a lot. Don't worry, dude. I'll save your spot.
Zorak: Oh, goodie. (walks off, mumbling, to the door)
--Cut back to the Space Ghost studio. SG is obviously in the middle of a big, drawn-out story. --
SG: --so then, after you fully accept all crime-fighting responsibilities and pass a few quick tests, they give you a cool new title.
Lance: (looks especially bored, eyes glazed over) That...yeah. That's nice. Can we talk about something else now?
SG: No! You're the guest, I'm the host, I'll come up with the topics!
Lance: You hate me, don't you?
SG: Bread!
Lance: (blinks, understandably confused)
SG: Bread! That was the first thing on my list that I was going to get! Ha! Take that, Moltar!
Moltar: (bored) Uh huh, that's great.
SG: (smugly) Showed him.
Lance: (dryly) You sure did.
SG: I get the impression you don't like me very much, Citizen Lance.
Lance: What gave you that idea?
SG: I don't know, just the way you're looking off into the distance, like you're a million miles away right now.
Lance: (beat) Um...I was, uh, thinking about...uh...all the things we have in common!
SG: Do tell.
Lance: Uh...well...I think we're both misunderstood. We run around in tights for a living.
SG: By George, you're right! We're very much alike, you and I. We're both from very foreign lands. I'm from Ghost Planet, and you're from Canada. So we're both strangers in strange worlds!
Lance: Yeah. And everyone makes fun of us because we run around in tights on a regular basis.
SG: Yea--hey! Hold on a minute! Who's making fun --
Lance: (interrupting) And to that extent, most people question whether or not our occupations really qualify as jobs or not.
SG: Silence, cretin!
Lance: Hey, do you care if I write this whole experience into my autobiography?
SG: Go write a dictionary for all I care! Ingrate! *blasts Lance off the screen* Man oh man. Just when I thought I'd found a guest that liked me. (sighs loudly, tapping his cards against the desk and casting a wary glance at Brak) You're being awfully quiet over there.
Brak: I'm dying of hunger.
SG: Good.
Moltar: Ouch.
SG: Yeah, yeah. Next up we have writer, musician, singer, wrestler, and *squints at cards* King of the World? Well, I'm not sure about that one, but anyway, please welcome Y2J, the Lionheart, the Living Legend, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rollah, the Man of a Thousand and Four Holds, the --
Moltar: Dude, just get on with it.
SG: Uh, yeah. Chris Jericho, ladies and gentlemen.
*TV reception goes fuzzy before showing Jericho on the screen*
SG: (dives behind his chair) Gah! Moltar, you said Chris Jericho, not Bin Laden!
Moltar: That IS Chris Jericho.
SG: (glaring at the screen) I don't think so.
Chris: Did I already make a bad impression?
SG: (muttering) He doesn't *sound* like Bin Laden...
Chris: I guess you don't like my goattee either.
SG: That is not a goattee! That...that's the fur of a dead animal glued to your chin!
Chris: I'll take that as a no.
SG: (slowly crawling back into his chair) You take it correctly. So...ah...you seem to be a multi-talented individual.
Chris: I guess. Thanks.
SG: That was an observation, not a compliment.
Chris: (laughs nervously) Uh...
SG: You're in a *making quote signs with his fingers* "band," right?
Chris: Yeah. What's with the quotes? We're the biggest band on Earth!
SG: But we're not on Earth anymore, pal!
Chris: Hmm. Good point.
SG: As usual.
Brak: HEY!
SG: (jumping) What?!
Brak: I was in a band once.
SG: Uh huh, that's nice. So Chris --
Brak: (interrupting, going on with his story) We were gunna be huge, but then Zorak smashed a guitar over our manager's head. Things were never really the same after that.
Chris: That's too bad, man.
Brak: Tell me about it. We were gunna go on tour and get famous. I was gunna buy three brand new fish with that money, too.
Chris: I'm sorry to hear that.
SG: Excuse me. Hey, you. Yeah, you. I'm the host here, not him. If you don't mind --
Chris: (ignoring SG) Have you thought about putting in classified ads for new bandmembers? Lots of people do it. Metallica did and look where they are.
SG: Washed up hasbeens busy suing everyone and their grandma?
Brak: I tried classified ads once, but I only got one reply from some Russian man who wanted to move in with me and have my babies.
Chris: Uh, not those kinda classifieds.
SG: Hey! *waves arms around* I'm right HERE! Here!
Brak: I'm a good singer.
Chris: You should audition for Fozzy sometime! We're always on the hunt for new talent.
SG: Excuse me, but --
Brak: Really? Cool!
Chris: Yeah. (pulls a guitar out from under his seat) Let's have a little tryout right here.
SG: You can't do that!
Chris: I'm the lead singer, I can do what I want!
SG: We're supposed to be talking about wrestling!
Chris: (begins tuning the guitar) Alright, man. Go for it.
Brak: (singing)
A is for the apples that usually gimme gas.
B is for the shard of glass I got stuck in my --
SG: Hey!
Brak: (singing some more)
C is for Chris, the best Canadian around.
D is for my pet tree Otis planted way down in the ground.
E is for some stuff I like and stuff I don't like, too.
F is for some more stuff but this time this stuff's for you.
G is for geraniums, like in my mom's front yard.
H is for the hot dogs made of beef and frogs and lard.
SG: Oh, ew. That was uncalled for. And you! (turns to the screen, glaring at Jericho) Stop it! Stop playing! Stop encouraging him!
Brak: (still singing)
I is for the ice I really like to skate upon.
J is for Chris Jericho and his super cool guitar.
SG: (under his breath) Suck-up.
Brak: (yeah, he's still singing)
K is for the kangaroos in Austria and zoos.
L is for the llamas you can find there -- they're brand new!
SG: Australia, Brak. Kangaroos are in --
Brak: (...you get it by now.)
M is for Montana and those strange militia groups.
N is for no tanners are good for me or you.
SG: What? That didn't even make sense!
Brak:
O is for Old McDonald and his big ol' farm.
P is for the pimple I once got on my left arm.
Q is for Canada, my favorite snowy place.
R is for race cars 'cause they really like to...uh...race.
(SG groans and smacks his forehead)
Brak:
S is for Spaaaaace Ghost, my boss who's kinda mean.
T is for Turtle Wax - it makes cars really gleam!
U is for the Undertaker, that really scary guy.
V is for very sad movies that make me cry.
SG: That didn't rhyme, you --
Brak:
W is for wrestling, my favoritest sport.
X is for X-Pac, a part of TV time no more.
Y is for yuletide carols and making spirits bright.
Z is for my good pal, Zorak, and to all of you, good night!
(breaks into incoherent scatting)
Chris: (jumps up in his seat, finishing the song in a very loud, very fast guitar solo) Yeah, baby! That's what I'm talkin' about!
SG: That...was the dumbest thing I've ever witnessed in my life.
Chris: Whew! That was awesome! You're in!
SG: He's in?! That's all it takes to get into a rock band these days, just butcher the alphabet? When should *I* put in my application to get in the band?
Chris: Uh...well, we need a new roadie.
--Cut to the 7-11 again. Zorak is walking back inside, mumbling to himself. He stops short in the doorway, gawking, as he sees RVD surrounded by store employees, confetti being sprayed everywhere, the works.--
Zorak: What's goin' on here?
RVD: Dude, you're never gonna believe this, but you dropped your lottery ticket on the way out the door! I picked it up to give it back and the cashier thought it was *mine* so she scanned it and it won! Can you believe it? Now they think I'm a millionaire!
Zorak: But...but that's mine! You can't...thief! (twitches, then falls down to the ground, kicking and screaming)
RVD: Hey, chill out, man. It's all cool when you're R *point* V *point* D! *point*
--Cut back to the backstage of the Space Ghost studio. SG is walking around in a robe, muttering to himself. Moltar is eating a sandwich and watching TV, as usual. Zorak is walking in, shattered.--
Moltar: Hey.
Zorak: Ehh. Go away.
Moltar: I thought you won the lottery or something.
Zorak: I did. Then some hippie stole my ticket and got rich off it.
Moltar: That sucks.
Zorak: Yeah. So what happened here?
Moltar: Well, Space Ghost's back to reciting his grocery list, his guests all but told him they hated him, and Brak ran off with Chris Jericho to join his band.
Zorak: So I didn't miss anything.
Moltar: Nope. Have a seat and be poor with the rest of us.
Zorak: It's not faaaair!
Moltar: Hey, if you really wanna make some quick money, I hear Fozzy's hiring for a new roadie.