The Return Of The Yolk

The shot opens up on a closed door. Behind said door the rumblings of heavy machinery can be heard. In front of said door stands Doozer and Bobby Dean. Well, Doozer is standing at least. Bobby is sitting.

Doozer: I can’t believe he’s still in there. It’s been close to a week now. Does that thing even have a toilet?

Bobby Dean: His mouth.

The two chuckle.

Bobby Dean: He did get planted three times so maybe it’s taking longer than it should?

Doozer: Man, how long’s it take to fix a busted ego?

Bobby Dean: Ask Dan Ryan.

The two chuckle again.

Bobby Dean: Though I will say… and as much as I hate to admit it– he does have a point. He wasn’t at a hundred percent.

Doozer: True that, Bob… but I still think we should have pulled the mask off of Balaam and let Jiles heal that way. It would have been cathartic. Now, he’s going to be in the sequel to Demolition Man, and it might not even work.

The two ponder, if only for a second.

Bobby Dean: I’ll say this much, Doozy. I’m not sitting around here much longer. He gives me this lame folding chair– it’s not even an egomatic! Not to mention I’ve bent the legs three different times!

Doozer: Ergonomic.

Bobby Dean: I said that. Plus, I saw a hot wife backstage that appears to be in need of a stalker.

Doozer: Good luck with that.

Suddenly, and ridden with eerie suspense, the closed door starts to creak open. Once it is fully ajar a cold burst of chilled air followed by a dense cloud of smoke passes through.

Bobby Dean: Uh? Cancer? Buddy? You okay?

The humming of the machinery cuts off.

Silence.

Darkness.

Then, a whoosh.

Bobby Dean: (covered in yellow mist) Well, I guess it worked. 

Doozer: Sure fuckin’ looks like it.

Jiles emerges from the room. His blonde hair is immaculate. His shades are fit to the T. Most importantly his mouth is foaming yellow.

Cancer Jiles: That was the longest four hours and twenty minutes, EVER! Felt like I was in cryo for days! Worth it though! I’m back, baby!

Doozer does what he does best and instantly evaporates, leaving Bobby to sit there befuddled.

Bobby Dean: Happy for you. I am, but about that. 

Cancer Jiles: About what?

Bobby Dean: (diverting) On second thought, say don’t you have a golden ticket?

Cancer Jiles: Not for long.

FOR REAL THIS TIME

FADE

TO 

BLACK