The Greasy Strangler Page #5

so it's time for you to f*** off.

We're leaving right now

and we're leaving gladly.

Brayden will move into my place.

He'll be happier there.

He can twaddle my twat

any time that he wants.

And, I don't care if he craps on the bed.

I'll rub it on my tits.

Yeah, Dad, we don't need you.

And it kills you to think

that Janet loves me.

But guess what? I love her.

And you were right

about one thing, though, Dad.

She is a hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

Hootie-tootie disco cutie.

(GROWLING)

Just so you know,

he tried to impress me

with a loud fart once.

He put his legs behind his head

and shouted,

"Someone's cutting the cheese."

Instead of just gas, a big glob of turd

flew out of his butt like a rocket.

It did a loop-the-loop near the wall

and landed on the bed.

So if anyone's a bed crapper

around here, it's him.

- That must have been tough.

- Yeah.

It looked like a big, brown finger.

It was pointing right at me.

If he really is the Greasy Strangler,

you have to kill him.

I can get greasy too.

I can be a Greasy Strangler too.

You're not the only Greasy Strangler.

I'm the Greasy Strangler too.

(GASPING)

You're all right, Brayden.

Thanks, Dad.

That means a lot, coming from you.

We never really got along, though, did we?

Yeah.

By which I mean, nah.

It wasn't always like that.

You were a cute baby.

I used to love cradling you.

You cheesy old cornball.

Well... you were a baby, a tiny baby.

You probably won't remember this,

but when you were small,

we stayed on John Travolta's

luxury yacht in the Caribbean.

We sailed around the islands

from Port-au-Prince to Montego Bay.

Wow, I really don't remember that.

You called it.

Yeah, and John said you were a good kid

and you had good energy.

OK.

John Travolta talking about Brayden.

I'm kind of trying to process that.

Me and John were busting our butts

on a big business deal.

That's kind of amazing, Dad.

Yeah, he offered me a chance

to move to New Orleans

to open a big disco

with very expensive drinks,

a billiards room,

a cherry-coloured, funky dance floor.

There was going to be a pink limo

to cruise the Big Easy

and pick up those hot dancing mamasitas.

It was gonna be called

"John and Ron's Dance Jungle".

But you were small.

I really didn't wanna leave you

with Mum and Ricky Prickles.

Are you glad I moved in with you?

Hey, I'd rather be here with you

than in New Orleans with John Travolta.

But you really annoyed me.

Your food was dry, and you made it

really hard to score ass.

Look, I'm being honest here.

Fair enough, I reckon, mate.

That's probably why I screwed

your girlfriend up the butthole.

I reckon, mate.

She was disgusting, wasn't she?

Yeah.

She was gross.

Gotta say, she was kind of gross.

Her p*ssy hair was like dried grass.

Yeah, like the kind you see

on those African wildlife shows,

sort of all dry and orangey.

(LAUGHING)

She faked all her orgasms with me.

She definitely did with you.

We don't need her.

Let's kill Ricky Prickles.

BOTH:
Let's kill Ricky Prickles.

Let's kill Ricky Prickles.

Let's kill Ricky Prickles!

(LAUGHING)

F*** you, guys!

I am professional sprinter!

I am Ricky Prickles!

You'll never catch me!

Oh, f***.

(SCREAMING)

(SNARLING)

(GROANING)

(SCREAM)

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