The lights go up in the theater room.
"So, what did you guys think of the 'Team Myentology' film?" Eric asks Gerald and the "M.o.P.S.".
"there's so much happening," Wendy comments.
"Yeah, the music, too. Is Mark here?" Gerald looks over at Mark, "Most of Mark's stuff is too busy. We're going to have to redo almost all of it I think.
Mark looks on nervously and fidgets.
"So, something slow and lethargic," Eric comments.
"Maybe Philip Glass," Clyde suggests.
"Good, good," says Eric.
"How about a Philip Glass knock off?" Craig suggests.
"Even better; half the price, same monotony," Eric praises Craig.
"What about John Debney? He's hot right now," Gerald suggests.
"Guys, I could do a new batch of cues to meet your vision. I'm a highly talented and versatile composer."
"I guess," says Eric.
"And then we can dismiss them out-of-hand and higher John Debney, right?" Gerald asks.
"Nah, we blew the budget. All in favor of rejecting Mark's score and replacing it with random barely-fitting generic library cues, say yay."
"Yay," all of them say in unison.
"Oh, gee, sorry Mark, the test audience has spoken; I'm shit-canning your rushed, intricate, heart and soul effort. Maybe I'll call you again when I need a rushed last-minute score on little to no budget; bye," Eric tosses the master tapes to the score in a trash can and exits the room with everyone else.
Mark stares out with a look of being resigned to his fate. After several seconds he blinks. He gets up and quietly reaches down into the trash container to retrieve the tapes. Just as he touches them, the door flies open.
"Hey asshole! Stop trying to steal my recycling money!" Eric yells out and slams the door shut again.
.
Eric closes the door to the Analyzing Room.
"What's up, Commissioner?" Butters asks.
"Sit down, Butters. Put the cups on your nipples while I fiddle with my knob."
"Wait, why am I getting Analyzed?"
"Just do it."
"Holy Jeebus they're cold."
"Butters, you're causing the needle to jump around."
"I can't help it, I've got sensitive nipples."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Are you tired?"
"Kind of; I had trouble sleeping last night because of that gosh-darned missing key card."
"Get over it. And clam the fuck down, you're flipping the needle wildly."
"I'm trying; I'm nervous and my man nips are sticking out."
"Ugh. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"
"My sensitive nipples?"
"Fuck your sensitive nipples! Who did you give that key card to?"
"Nobody; I know the rules and punishments."
"Then how did it go missing?"
"Why, I don't know."
"It didn't grow arms and legs and free itself from its neck strap."
"I suppose not, though we do live in a town with talking poo, a walking talking towel, and-"
"Oh, so Wendy only imagined finding it?"
"No."'
"Liar!" Eric bellows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. "Look at your S.E.R.F. needle!"
"No, bad needle; stop moving!" Butters blurts out nervously.
"It's you who's been leaving all those fucking baskets everywhere, isn't it?!"
"No, I've only been finding them, I swear it!"
"I don't believe you. You're a Class One Tally Whacker!"
"Oh no, that sounds bad," says Butters.
"How often have you whacked your tally?"
"I don't even know what that means!"
"Your needle is so wild its feral; it might as well be praying the inside of the S-Meter. Butters, you're in a condition of Never-Do-Well."
"Oh no!"
"You and your sensitive nips are in cahoots with a vast Right-wing conspiracy and basket makers to bring down Myentology. Well, I'm on to you all."
"Commissioner, you're just being paranoid."
"Get out of here while I decide what your punishment is."
"Okay. I guess now wouldn't be a good time to tell you I found another basket, would it?"
"Leave!"
.
As Eric minutes later exits the door to the restricted upper floors, he once again finds Kyle waiting for him. Eric loses the door.
"Ah, Child Kyle, out of toilets to clean, I see…"
"Commissioner, I need something … anything to keep me on the Bridge to Somewhere. I find my faith wavering."
Eric pauses for a second in thought, then responds, "Child Kyle, I have just the thing for you. Hold on, I'll be right back.
Eric slides his key card in the reader; the light turns green and the door unlocks. When it shuts behind him, the light goes back to being red.
After a couple of minutes the door opens back up and Eric walks out with a book in hand.
"Child Kyle, remember how I told you that you were advancing faster than most Cretans? Well, I think you're ready for this."
"For what, Commissioner?"
"At the end of your final Analyzing ever, Cretans would be given a copy of this book; after such breakthroughs a Cretan is then and only then able to comprehend the revelations inside. I think you're ready. Executive Director is upstairs studying Myentology; knock and he'll come down to get the book when you're done."
Eric waddles off.
Kyle looks at the plain cover that simply reads in all capital letters: THE KITTENS. He opens the book and sees a picture of a kitten playing with string, then another of a basket of kittens. Each page he flips to has more cute small kittens doing things. On the last page is a kitten laying on its back on a fuzzy carpet inside a ray of sunshine. He flips the page over and it reads in black letters: FIN. He closes the book and knocks on the door. Eventually it opens.
"Finished already? Well, Kyle son, did you understand the book?"
"Yes, I think I did," he then walks away after Gerald takes the book.
.
Sometime later. Everybody sits in the theater room as the "Team Myentology" film plays.
Black and white images of Eric farting on Butters, Tweek and Craig slowly crossfade into each other as faux patriotic music plays.
Eric's voice talks over them, in the video, "You have to assume power – it's not just given to you."
Then a montage of kids at the Lake Org is shown.
Eric's video voiceover speaks again, "So many Cretans, so few Cartmans."
The music swells and the film ends. After the end credits flies by in mere seconds, a logo like the old British ITC logo with spinning diamonds, appears, with the letters E.T.C. formed, and after each letter a word formed, so it says Educate The Children. The lights come up.
Eric speaks, "Okay, just a quick note before we continue: Child Lisa MacPearson is missing and presumed dead."
Kids just blink in silence.
"Yeah, since she really never spoke, nobody probably remembers here anyway. Now the kid of the week is: Child Butters! Come on dooowwwnnn!"
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Butters repeatedly exclaims as he makes his way to the stage.
"Despite your failings yesterday, you've been a loyal Myentologist and therefore you deserve this Dollar General cheap-O picture frame which will be thumb-tacked in the main hall. Any words?"
"Yeah! I got rocket fuel malt liquor in my tiger blood, hot damn!"
"Winning!" says Eric.
"It's krazappy, my disnufises! Suck on it, you droopy-armed flabby0butted knob-gobblers!"
"Total bitchcakes. You can get off the stage now. Any testimonials?"
No hands go up.
"Ah, Child Craig, did I see your hand go up?"
"No."
"come on down, Child Craig! And one demerit."
.
Sometime later. Stan and Kyle are in the kitchen preparing dinner. Thunder loudly rumbles as a storm passes overhead. The swing-door to the kitchen flies open with Eric marching in; behind him are Kenny and Clyde.
"Child Stan, Child Kyle, please come with me; Child Kenny and Child Clyde will take over for tonight."
"Yes, Commissioner," St and Kyle both respond at the same time.
Eric opens the door to an unfamiliar room, where Wendy, a random kid, and Craig all wait next to four chairs. In a corner, Butters stands with a hand-crank jack-in-the-box.
"I think I've been exceedingly generous; giving all this for free and donating so much of my free time to making breakthroughs in Myentology, yet certain individuals at Ranch Seasoning are the Lake Org have taken it all for granted. Somewhere in this room of S.C.U.M. is one or more basket-making traitors who undoubtedly lifted Butters' key card. A simple game of musical chairs should reveal the traitors. Your tainted dirty O/H-ridden Cretans will cause you to fail. However, the traitor will be beck-deep in B.A.L.L.S. for a year. With each night you'll be exhausted after working B.A.L.L.S. all day long."
"Question, Commissioner," says Wendy.
"Yes, Child Wendy?"
"Wouldn't the winners be the guilty ones? A Cretan would want to not be singled out, I would think."
"Good question. You see the person wants to hide, but the tainted Cretans is always in inner conflict, which crosses his mind and leaves his winning boner limp and barely functional. Circle around the chairs, Cretans."
The kids do so.
"Ready … set … crank your jack-in-the-box, Butters."
Butters cranks it at a steady pace. The kids walk around the chairs as Pop Goes the Weasel plays from the box. Kyle looks around as his heart starts pounding. The song reaches "POP" and Kyle twitches nervously, anticipating the clown popping out of the box, but it keeps going. Suddenly the clown pops out and the kids scuffle for the chairs. Kyle remains standing.
"Good. Child Craig, I believe I saw you sit first; please take your chair and set it against the wall near Child butters."
"Will do, Commish."
"All right, everybody stand up. Child Butters, play it again."
Once again they all silently walk in a state of fear as Pop Goes the Weasel plays. After a couple of cycles, the song reaches "the monkey thought it was all for fun" and the clown pops out of the box. And once again the kids struggle to get to the chairs.
"Very good. Child Stan, please take your chair and set it next to Craig."
"That random kid shoved me!" says Wendy.
"This isn't Marcus of Queensbury rules, Child Wendy. Butters," Eric nods at Butters.
Yet again Pop Goes the Weasel plays as desperation is evident in the kids' movements and glances. Thunder rumbles loudly overhead.
"Feels pretty good over here at the winner's wall," Craig comments.
POP! The spring-loaded clown pops out of the top of the box. Wendy trips Kyle and steals the chair.
"Sorry, Kyle, it's you or Stan and I picked Stan. Of course," Wendy says when she stands. Up. She takes her chair over next to Stan.
"Excellent, Child Wendy. All right, one chair left…"
Kyle looks at the chair nervously, his heart pounding and hairs standing on end.
"Play it again, Butters," says Eric.
One final time Butters rotates the crank handle, sounding off Pop Goes the Weasel yet again. Kyle and the random kid eye each other as they circle the lone chair. After a couple of rotations, Kyle start eyeballing the seat, expecting at any second the POP to go off.
The kid looks away from Kyle and at Eric; with four of his left-hand fingers in a pocket, Eric taps the one out – the pointing finger – on the pocket; the random kid's eyes widen and he inhales quickly and then exhales slowly.
As Butters keeps turning the crank handle, for what seems like forever, the room fills with the sounds of Kyle and the other kid's hearts pounding. Sweat beads drop down Kyle's forehead. Kyle looks over at the jack-in-the-box and just as he does, the jester head on the wound-spring slaps open the lid, with the jester's face looking right at him. He instinctively lunges his body at the chair and knocks into the random kid.
"NOOO!" the kid screams; at the same time he shoves Kyle away.
Kyle hits the ground as the kids sits.
"No big surprise. Child Kyle, you need to be more standardized. Everybody but him, leave the room and go back to H.E.L.L. now," Eric orders.
The room clears quickly. Kyle remains on the floor. Eric walks around Kyle a few times, as if Kyle were the chair.
"Child Kyle … I've pounded you with B.A.L.L.S., I've given you C.R.A.P., and yet you roll around in the mud like a Hog. I'm sorry to say you're now in the S.H.I.T.; go to H.E.L.L. too while I consider the S.H.I.T. you'll be in tomorrow."
"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle responds. He walks out and down the hall some and stops. "What the hell am I doing?"
"Standing in my way asshole," says Clyde who them walks around him.
Eric closes the door. He turns around fast and slams into Clyde. At that second a loud bolt of lightning strikes, lighting the halls brightly before vanishing along with the power in the building. It blinks on and off in split seconds, and then comes back.
"Goddamnit, Clyde, I-" Eric stops and looks around Clyde and sees pieces of baskets scattered about the floor.
Clyde looks around at the mess, then at Eric, "Look at all the baskets I found, Commissioner," Clyde says trying to sound innocent.
Eric squints his eyes in a pissed off way and says, "Mother fucker!"
Clyde pushes himself up and runs; Eric gives chase.
"When I get ahold of you I'm gonna shove triscuits and traskets so far up your S.C.U.M. hole you'll give birth to fucking baskets! Executive Director!"
Gerald comes running after them, passed Kyle.
"I need to think…" Kyle mutters aloud. He turns around and heads for the sleeping dorm instead. As he passes by the secure door to the forbidden upper levels, he glances briefly at it. He stops walking and turns around to do a double take. Focusing on the key card reader, he sees the indicator light flash from red to green repeatedly.
Kyle looks side-to-side, then walks up to the door and turns the handle; the second the light turns green, the handle turns and the door opens.
"Do I? he hesitates. "Might as well, I'm already in the S.H.I.T. now," he goes in.
Just as he does, Butters spots him enter.