"Hello my name is Drew Pickles. You may remember me from such hole-some adventures as my delectable dalliances with denizens and Dalloween masks at Party City, sexual sexcapades in the ball pits of Chuck E. Cheese, a-swell as my unaccredited contributions to the gay poopy buttsex orgies at Penn State from 1994 till present," Mr. Pickles explains in his monotone, rapid-fire, almost robotic voice into his office telephone to an unidentified male victim. He's sitting surrounded by obsolete, wadded up dot matrix fax papers covered in dried stew-of-Drew. He's watching you and he's got his thang in his hand.
"Uhh is this a prank phone call or something?" inquires the slightly bored, slightly annoyed man on the other end of the call.
"No you fucking dipshit. This is real. This is real life. I am serious. I demand to be taken seriously. I am a very important businessman of some sort. Now, what's your favorite scary Nicktoon?" Drew continues unabated. Jerkin' it harder now.
"Aaahh Real Monsters. Orange ja glad I didn't say WEINERville? Nick or Treat mother fucker." Click. The dial tone hums again in Drew's ear. He slams the phone down on its receiver.
Curses, blue balls again. How dare the mystery man say 'weiner' all hot like that and just hang up? Weinerville wasn't even technically a Nicktoon, they just recycled bargain basement cartoons from the 60s like Batfink between skits. He didn't even shout 'Aaahh!' Before saying 'Real Monsters.' And he considers himself a fan? This confuses and depresses Drew.
"Nigger treat," Drew says dejectedly, repeating the (maybe) unintentional pun that Nickelodeon propagated during Halloween back in the 1990s. He hangs up and goes back to cupping his balls.