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STRONG BAD: Come on, big money! Big money! And…..email! {Reading email} Dear Strong Bad, Do you ever go over to The King of Town's place for dinner? If so, what's it like? Chris Ann Arbor, Michigan (typing) Well Chris Ann, I hate to admit it but uh yeah, there was this one time when I went over to The King of Town's castle. Seems I placed a bet with one Homestar Runner some Tuesday night. {cuts to Strong Bad and Homestar Runner in the field at night} So hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on. Let me get this uh-straight: You're betting me that you're cool. HOMESTAR RUNNER: Yep, I'm cool. STRONG BAD: And if you're not cool, you have to change your name to Kevin DuBrow. But if you are cool, I gotta spend the night over at The King of Town's? HOMESTAR RUNNER: That's the deal, man. The total deal. STRONG BAD: You're goin' down, son. HOMESTAR RUNNER: No ways. STRONG BAD: Alright! Let's see you be's cool. {Homestar pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slowly puts them on. He pauses a moment for the effect to sink in.} HOMESTAR RUNNER: 'Sup? {Strong Bad takes this in} STRONG BAD: Oh, crap!! {Cuts to The King of Town's castle. Strong Bad rings the doorbell.} THE KING OF TOWN: Come on in. STRONG BAD: {peeks out from behind the door} Is the coast clear? THE KING OF TOWN: The coast is toast! STRONG BAD: {comes out from behind the door. He is wearing a big fake beard that seems to be made out of a piece of bark} Alright, let's get this over with! {takes off beard and enters} {the two walk over to the The King Of Town's pantry} THE KING OF TOWN: So here's all my food stuffs. You want some Pork Snagglins? Or a can of Butter-da or anything? STRONG BAD: King, I think that stuff's for automotive use only. THE KING OF TOWN: It's possible. Ooh! And check it out! This is my 200 pound bag of Awwww Gratin potatoes! It's an '83! STRONG BAD: Yeah that sucks. Look, do you have any video games or like, R-rated movies? THE KING OF TOWN: I have a video game. It's the stand up kind even! Like from an arcade! STRONG BAD: No way! Really? Why didn't you say so, you creepy old man? Let's play it!! {The game turns out to be "Typing Tutor".} STRONG BAD: uh... Never mind. THE KING OF TOWN: How many WPMs can you get up to? That's words per minute, you know. STRONG BAD: You're about to get 175 fists per stomach if I'm not eating ice cream inside of one minute! THE KING OF TOWN: Ooh! STRONG BAD {narrating as they scarf up ice cream. Flavors we see are choco-gravy and maybe mint?}: So in the end it didn't turn out half bad. I got to eat a crap load of ice cream. THE KING OF TOWN: Want another scoop of casserole flavored? STRONG BAD: Yeah! Yeah! Spoon it up! {narrating} And I left an open can of mayonaise in his ventilation ducts. {puts the mayonaise in} Oh, and Typing Tutor isn't actually that bad a game if you play it the right way. {cuts to outside the castle, where Strong Bad is hoisting Typing Tutor over The King of Town's head.} Get ready for fun! THE KING OF TOWN: {blindfolded} I'm ready! {cuts back to Compy} STRONG BAD: Just goes to show you Chris Ann, big losers are what you make of them. For instance, I'm gonna go make an indentured servant out of Strong Sad. And now, the get up noise. {We hear the chair move as Strong Bad gets up and leaves. The paper comes down.} |