Monday, December 6, 2010
CHUCK E. CHEESE'S INFERNO
THE SMELL OF OTHER PEOPLE'S URINE ON YOUR UNDERWEAR, THE SLIME-COVERED URINALS IN HELL'S BATHROOM. ZOOM IN, ZONE OUT. TOM SELLECK BRUSHES HIS MOUSTACHE WITH THE HEAD OF HIS AMERICAN LAGER. 7-ELEVEN'S NUCLEAR FALLOUT BROADCAST ON BURNOUT TV, CASTING A SOFT GLOW OVER SELLECK'S OTHERWISE PITCH BLACK LIVING ROOM. HE'S BEEN DRINKING HEAVILY SINCE 7 AM AND NOW HE'S DOWN TO HIS LAST BOTTLE. "TIME TO GO TO THE GAS STATION," HE THINKS TO HIMSELF, HEAD FULL OF ALCOHOL AND DREAMS THAT COULD'VE BEEN. HE ISN'T THINKING CLEARLY, BUT AT LEAST HE HAS TEMPORARILY NUMBED THE PAIN. HE STUMBLES OUT TO HIS CAR AND DRIVES OFF INTO THE NIGHT, UNPREPARED FOR WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN NEXT. THE NEAREST GAS STATION IS AN HOUR AWAY AND SELLECK IS GETTING HUNGRY. HE SEES THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF CHUCK E. CHEESE'S. "TWO BIRDS, ONE STONE," HE MUTTERS TO HIMSELF, DROOLING ON THE STEERING WHEEL OF HIS 1994 CHEVY CAMARO. CRAWLING INTO CHUCK E. CHEESE'S ENTRANCE, HE NOTES TO HIMSELF HOW EERILY QUIET IT IS FOR A CHILDREN'S WET DREAMLAND. HE SHRUGS IT OFF AND CONTINUES ON HIS JOURNEY FOR A LATE NIGHT SNACK. HIS BLADDER SORE FROM THE ALCOHOL BUILDUP, HE WANDERS TOWARD THE BATHROOM, IN A DAZE. OPENING THE DOOR HE FINDS THE EMPLOYEES OF CHUCK E. CHEESE'S BOUND AND GAGGED ON THE MOLDY, PISS-SCENTED FLOOR. ABOVE THEM ARE A GROUP OF VOLUPTUOUS NAZI NYMPHOS. SELLECK'S JAW DROPS, THEY SPOT HIM AND POINT GUNS AT HIM. THINKING FAST, HE RUNS TOWARD THEM AND TANGLES THEM ALL UP IN HIS MOUSTACHE. ASKING WHERE THEY CAME FROM, ONE OF THEM SAYS IN A DEEP, BARITONE VOICE... "WE COME FROM HELL. OUR HOTLINE IS ALWAYS OPEN." SELLECK, DUMBFOUNDED, TRIES TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET RID OF THEM. HE NOTICES A URINAL CAKE, GLOWING A CREEPY BLOOD RED COLOR. REALIZING THAT THIS MUST BE THE PORTAL FROM HELL, HE PUTS DOWN HIS LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKE AND DISPENSES THE NAZI NYMPHO CALL GIRLS FROM WHENCE THEY CAME. AS HE TURNS AROUND, HE SEES A SWASTIKA DRAWN ON THE MIRROR WITH LIPSTICK THAT WASN'T THERE WHEN HE WALKED IN. UNDER IT READS "CALL 1-900-666-GIRLS FOR A HOT TIME." SELLECK REACHES IN HIS PANTS AND NOTICES URINE WHICH ISN'T HIS OWN, THEN HEARS A DEMONIC LAUGH...
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