Tuesday morning. A bear walks by the compound with a child-sized stomach bulge as "M.o.P." Wendy rides a tricycle (that looks like a "C.H.i.P.s" motorcycle) by it.
Kyle uses a metal coat hanger to break up shit in a toilet as Eric stand nearby.
"Man, I can't believe I took another shit that big again; I thought it was like Haley's comet – once in a lifetime event. Remember to flush small chunks."
"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle then flushes the toilet.
Eric continues eating an apple, "Child Kyle, you seem to be in a Condition of Befuddled; how can I de-fuddle you?"
"Well, Commissioner, I really want to help people but I'm nowhere near All Bars and I'm still stuck on Level One."
"Child Kyle, I haven't told anybody this, bit two or three of you have been advancing faster than the other Cretans. Right now you're in Level Two, but I think you're ready to know a little taste of Level Three. Do you want to taste it?"
"I thought you said a Cretan could die from such on unprepared huge load of knowledge, Commissioner."
"Don't worry, Cretan, I promise to pull out before by brain stem, explodes synaptic activity all over your delicate soft tissue."
"I'm ready to take it."
"Very well, Child Kyle. Brace for impact: 69 billion years ago, the galactic evil overlord Darth Xena, banished Cretans to Earth to help with sustainability problems of Xeandon. Cretans created all our ills and must be shaped to be mutual."
Kyle says nothing and flushes the toilet.
"Okay, that appears to be all the snaking thick turd rope. Now, just clean it to H.E.L.L. standards and then I think you're ready for some more C.R.A.P.; after all you've handled this C.R.A.P. really well. Executive Director," Eric yells out.
Gerald enters the bathroom.
"Take over for me while I handle important Myentology business."
"No problem – I learned to handle things a long time ago," Gerald replies.
Eric leaves the unisex bathroom.
"Make sure you get under the rim real well, Child Kyle; cherry bombs aren't the only things that go off in toilets."
.
Eric sits next to a strange man in the theater auditorium. A film ends and the lights come back up.
"Well, Mark, what did you think of my film, 'Myentology: World Salvation'?" Eric asks the man.
"Well … it was certainly different."
"Yeah."
"So, what did you have in mind for the music? Electronic? Traditional orchestral?" Mark asks.
"You're the award-winning film composer. I figure I'll leave you to do what you do best with no input, especially since I have no idea how music functions in a film. Then I'll show up unexpectedly at the dub to make the verdict."
"Oh," Mark says in a worried voice, "what's the budget again?"
"Three hundred dollars. And I'll need the score completed in less than twenty-four hours."
"Gee, I don't kn-"
"Excellent. See you in twenty-four hours," Eric waddles out of the auditorium.
.
Kenny and Clyde clean together in the bunkbeds room. Clyde unzips his weslies and pulls out parts of an un-assemble basket and quickly puts it together and then shoves it behind a lamp table; he quietly zips back up.
"What?" Clyde feigns outrage, "Another basket? Kenny, another freaking basket!" pulling in out to show Kenny.
"Really?"
"Yep. I have a theory: there are basket gnomes that come out at night and after stealing your car keys and socks, leave baskets."
"But there are underwear gnomes," says Kenny.
"Huh?" Clyde says, taken aback.
"Yeah, we met them. Kind of assholes."
"What kind of weird shit do the four of you do to encounter all this bizarreness?"
"Most of the time we're just minding our own business," Kenny replies.
"Honestly, Kenny," Clyde puts his hands on his hips, "I could mind my business until the day I die," he says s some underwear gnomes open a bunkbed drawer and climb in, "and never see underwear gnomes," he continues; a gnome climbs back down the others with two socks, as Clyde speaks "If I were to turn around right now," says Clyde while taking his hands off his hips and turning his body before his head, "All I would see is the bunkbeds," he says as he looks. Just as he does, the underwear gnomes disappear in a small hole in the base of the wall.
"Look!" Kenny says pointing at the hole.
"What – the hole?" Clyde looks, "Yeah, it's utterly fascinating, Kenny. You know what comes out of holes in the wall? Cockroaches and mice. Seriously – underwear gnomes? Pft, leave the conspiratorial theories up to me."
"Agh!" Kenny says in frustration.
.
Later in R.U.T., Stan looks around after all the kids have sat down and doesn't see Wendy. Eric enters and waddles to his desk.
"All right, S.C.U.M., time to get back into your R.U.T.; yesterday's T.P.S. graphs were satisfactory, so-"
Stan raises a hand.
"Yes, Child Stan?"
"Commissioner, where's Wendy?"
"M.o.P." Wendy has been put on post duties so to as avoid any further possible Overts and Holdbacks. Some Cretans here are Tempestuous and borderline NADS, so removing the temptation restores order. Let's do some more Word Hurdling. Can anybody use Parastratiousphecomylastratiousphecomyiodides in a sentence?"
Kenny raises a hand.
"You're kidding," says Eric.
.
Some time passes.
"Okay, let's begin R.U.T. 3 – weird questions. Using this box of un-wanted yard sale items, make weird questions related to the item you pulled out. Come up and collect," says Eric.
All the kids each get something. They stand around examining their items.
"Begin."
Clyde looks at a plastic piece of decorative corn, "If Jimmy cracks corn and nobody cares, why is there a stupid song about him?"
Wendy look at a naked old "Jem and Holograms" doll, "Are you truly truly truly outrageous?"
Craig looks at an old coffee cup, "Is the nest part of waking up Folgers in your cup?"
Clyde continues, "Was my joe corny?"
Kyle looks at a yellow rubber duck, "Rubber ducky, are you number one?"
In the background we see Kenny looking at an empty box; he turns it upside down and shakes it, but nothing comes out. He then whacks it.
"Rubber ducky, do you make bath time lots of fun?"
Kyle stares back at the small squeezable rubber duck with eyes just as empty and nearly as lifeless.
.
Some more time passes by. Gerald watches and eats an apple as he overseas H.E.L.L..
Kyle cleans a window near the guest area. Gerald walks over and starts eyeballing Kyle's work.
"Child Kyle, what's taking so long to clean a window?"
"Sorry, Executive Director, it's really dirty, like it's never been cleaned before."
"Scrub harder."
"I'm trying, but it's like the Windex is a knock-off that's been watered down."
"Is that a fucking excuse? Did you just give me a goddamn excuse?"
"Ahhh…" Kyle says, not sure what to say.
"Ahhh? Is that the best mother fucking response out of all the Goddamn fucking English there is? And listen to that Goddamn mother fucking tone, so fucking weak; no Goddamn assurance. This is the longest mother fucking window cleaning in the history of mother fucking window cleaning! And look at your Goddamn hair; all shitty and out of compliance. It's Goddamn hair, not mother fucking science. You grab the mother fucker of a hair brush and your brush your Goddamn shitty hair! End of the mother fucking story! All these other sons of bitches brush their fuckin' hair."
Bebe and Tolken, who had stopped at the guest door to visit and check Myentology out, hear all this, look freaked out, and quickly walk off quickly, with Bebe already pulling out her phone to post about it online.
"Your mother fuckin' weslies are all out of gorram sort. Those fucking Goddamn horizontal primary colors are fucking slanted. And pluckies; all those Goddamn pluckies. Look at all those sons of bitches! It's mother fucking plucky Heaven! Are you breeding those mother fuckers? Gonna re-home them on fuckin' Craigslist? There's more mother fucking wrinkles on then than Gordon Ramsay's mother fucking face. The iron must be next to the Goddamn plucky shaver. Are you giving that mother fucking a tantric clean? Why is it so Goddamn slow? You peel Goddamn potatoes at a faster speed. And both those speeds are fuckin' slow. When you walk it's like the break time in-between events at mother fuckin' Special Olympics; one mother fucking slow foot in front of the other mother fucking slow foot. That son of a bitch friend of yours is always slowing you two Goddamn Cretans down. Now there's the mother fucker of mother fuckers; everybody in here avoided fucking B.A.L.L.S. but him. Both of you are going to end up side-by-side of B.A.L.L.S. at this Goddamn pace. The journey of a Goddamn thousand miles begins with one fucking step but at this shitty speed this son of a bitch is going to take mother fuckin' forever! Imagine if some mother fucker walked in here right now and saw this Goddamn tortoise race – they'd think they were in mother fuckin' Burger King and not the home office of Myentology. Fuck, look at the bottom half of your Goddamn weslies – no Goddamn crease at all; I'm getting no mother fucking thrills up either my Goddamn legs! The thrill is gone! Gone, Cretan, gone. Gone with the mother fucking wind. And look at those Goddamn shoelaces; why is one mother fuckin' loop bigger than the other son of a bitch? On both Goddamn shoes. Was the mother fuckin' rabbit drunk when it went in and out the Goddamn hole each time? And look at those shitty shoes – sons of bitches aren't even perfectly clean. Your shoes look like they've been cleaned by a Goddamn Epileptic Tiny mother fucking Tim. And your mother fucking hair is all puffy and shit. Maybe you'd like one of those Goddamn puffy fuckin' 'Seinfeld' shirts to go with that son of a bitch atop your head. Yeah, you can put it in your fucking disorganized bunkbed drawer, which I'm giving you a demerit for. You forgot to fold your mother fucking socks, too. And look at those Goddamn mother fucking eyebrows, they're-"
"Okay – I get it," Kyle interrupts him.
"Good, that's what I was waiting to hear you say. Carry on," Gerald walks off.
Kyle freezes in place. The view slowly moves in on his face and his un-blinking eyes. As we get close to his face, we can see his head shaking like a hand would in cold temperatures. Finally, the slow forward move stops and we primarily see only his still un-blinking eyes. The bear with the child-sized bulge in its stomach passes by the window and we hear a wooden branch snap. Kyle blinks; he then drops the bottle and cleaning rag and walks away. He stops by Butters.
Kyle pats butters on the back after moving in closely, "You're doing a good job, Butters."
"Gosh, thank you, Kyle. Why, none of this would be possible if not for dear leader."
Kyle shakes nervously some, "I'm going to use the bathroom," he says and then walks off.
.
Kyle sits up quietly in the top bunk. He cautiously eases to the ladder and climbs down quietly. He opens a bunkbed drawer and pulls out his backpack of already packed items – what few he was even allowed to have – and quietly slips out of the dorm.
Kyle reaches a locked side entrance door. He takes out Butters' key card that he swiped earlier during H.E.L.L. and slides it in the card reader. The light turns green and he exits the complex. Once out he quickly makes his way around the building. He walks aside the old red tractor and peaks around it; not seeing anybody, he starts sneaking behind it and then away from the complex.
As Kyle walks, Stan runs up behind him and lunges at Kyle, knocking him down.
"Stan," Kyle says surprised.
"Kyle, where are you going?"
"Ahhh … a walk."
"Bullshit – you're bolting. You got you pack."
"I'm on a rescue mission to find Breanna," Kyle says like he's asking a question, trying to see if the excuse will stick.
"You're not going anywhere," says Stan.
"Agh – let go! I have to go home and change my cloths!"
"That doesn't even make sense."
"I'll write you a post card explaining it!"
They both struggle and tussle with each other.
"You're not leaving. You know why? Because you drug me into this!" Stan bellows, shaking Kyle by his weslies. He stops and Kyle ceases resisting when they see a patrol trike headlight shine on them.
Wendy walks up in her estradas.
"Stan, Kyle, what are you two doing out here art this time?"
"Ahhh … hunting manbearpig?" Stan asks in the tone of a question.
"How'd you even get out here without tripping the alarm?" Wendy asks.
"I borrowed Butters' key card," Kyle confesses.
"That's where it went! Commissioner's has been furious and having the 'M.o.P.s' looking everywhere. Give it to me; I'll tell him I found it while patrolling. Come on you two, I'll sneak you back in."
Kyle and Stan walks side-by-side as Wendy peddles behind them.
"I don't know how much more I can take," says Kyle.
"We'll give it one more week," Stan says back, "I overheard Butters say there might be missionary work soon."
"Good. If I don't help someone son, I'm going to explode."
"We'll just have to keep calm and not let anything distract us," Stan replies.
"Nice ass, Stan," Wendy calls out.