"And CUT! Great job, everybody. That's a wrap!" barked the director.

"Whew," said Sadie, the fresh-faced actress playing Sarah. "This scene was taking forever to finish. It felt like the story was getting stale."

"Yeah, I thought the ending was rather anticlimactic," said the actor portraying Ted.

"No, not anticlimactic," argued Sadie. "Just unfinished. Like there was more, but the writers just ran out of juice. Which is a shame. The writers are so talented."

"Mm," he mused. "Maybe we should make some suggestions as to which direction the sequel should take."

"What? Like they'd listen to us peons." Sadie paused. "Well, let's hear your idea anyway. You have one?"

"Breaker Breaker One Niner" yelled Roberson into the Young Republican walkie-talkie. This is Bush-52, the situation is under control, Over."

"Roger Bush-52 but aren't you supposed to be in the Quad Cities rounding up new recruits?" asked a voice through the speaker.

"Negative Ten Niner," said Roberson, "I sent out an assistant, Dick 34.5, to do that Job. No worries, things are fine around here."

"Roger that."

The crew took this opportunity to run out the door. As Sarah ran out through a sea of angry conservatives, she glanced lustfully over her shoulder at Roberson: "That boy is really takin' charge.. I like that in a man." Bill threw Old Man J over his shoulder and headed for the door. Mr. J kicked and screamed the whole way out.

"I'll be back you sonsabitches!" Yelled old man Johanasen. Then he caught Sarah glancing at Roberson and his face started turning red. "He's got the car, now he'll get the girl" Mr J cogitated: "My life is like a story, and it needs more women." Mr J winks at the camera.

"LET'S HAVE A BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR SARAH: THE FUNNY FATHER!" exclaimed the announcer.

"Sarah has two minutes to make us laugh. And if she succeeds in impressing the fine ladies and gentlemen of high society, we will present her with a full scholarship to an Ivy League university!!!"

Roberson boldly looks up from his escargot a la rouge and raises his snifter of brandy:

"Tran splendid! Godspeed Sarah!" Ted elbows him, wondering why Roberson is talking all prim 'n proper. Roberson slams his Brandy and lets out a belch.

Meanwhile, one can faintly see ole Johanessen waddling towards the contest box. (a scotch in one hand and an envelope in the other). Sarah nervously chuckles and opens up with her first joke.

"I do!" volunteered Ted. Sarah sighed with gratitude.

Entering the Goodfoot, the clinking of crystal and merry laughter greeted them. Sarah adjusted her collar, noting that the other tarts and vicars were more cleanly pressed than her. Ted clapped his hands with delight. Bill and Roberson drifted onward to the edibles. Mr. J pardoned himself to the men's room to tidy up.

"What a delightful spread!" cried Bill, choosing a lemon-pink petit four. Roberson agreed. "Simply ambrosial. And, how positively SCANdalous to begin the evening with Dvorak," he said, nodding towards the stringed quintet. They chuckled with mirth.

Ted and Sarah slid their contestant information into the gold-gilded box. Sarah giggled nervously. "Oh Ted, I must admit, I'm more nervous about this than I've been letting on." Ted gave her a little squeeze. "Really Sarah, you're fabulous. Just get up there and give it your all."

The announcer approached the mic. He began the introductions and contest rules.

**This was bound to happen. Two different posts were published at the same time. Guess I should add another rule. Whoever's post was published first, gets to stay posted as is. The second post must be revised. Thanks for your cooperation.**
-Middle Management

"Umm..." [gulp] "Here's fifty bucks, ugh, don't hurt us."

"Aah shit guy, I'm just fuckin' with ya, cuz you're easy to fuck with." said Roberson.

"Eh Robers' you ole dog! Always fucking around!" said Ted.

"So... whatsup? ya pieces of shit?"

The crew smiled and laughed-- each one thinking "Oh god, we've gotta hang out with this asshole now?"

"Well, since you killed old man Johannesen, can you at least give us a lift?"

"Fuckin A, Shit yeah, I think I could hang with you fuckers for a while," exclaimed Roberson in his best Stiffler voice, contorting his face, looking half-constipated and half-insane.

The crew piled into the car... and just as the big ass engine came to a roar, there was a barely audible and wheezy: "Wait!"

It was old man Johanessen. He was alive and (umm) Well!

"Johanessen, you ole goat. Get you wrinkly ass in here!" exclaimed Roberson. And they all tore outta there.

Sarah nodded and they started walking towards Chad, Bill and Ted. When they caught up, Mr. J asked if they wouldn't mind having him come along.

"Dude, you can totally come with us!" exclaimed Bill.
"Like... d'ugh! You've been supplying us with modeling glue for... like, years. Come on Mr. J, We'll all get high just like old times."
"Word." replied Mr. J. "I remember when you two were just little lads. We'd drink Robitussin ® with codeine until our little footsies felt like cement blocks. Oh My, I bet that Wyeth Consumer Healthcare stockholders are thanking us! Sure, you were in high school and I was an out of work hippie, but we had some good times:

"And nobody (BURP!) can take that away from us! So, sure, let's go to the goodfoot. I've got a quarter, that's enough for a game of pool and a shoe shine... right?"

As Sarah and old man Johannason lowered their heads solemnly, Bill began to snicker. He recognized those pontoon boat-sized Doc Martins anywhere. Jesus, his costume was no more than a rancid trenchcoat and a beret concealing his face. Ted caught on. Damn, Chad was good at lying still. The beret began twitching with laughter.

Lasting as long as he could, Chad bolted upright and bellowed, "Y'all are going to hell, sinners, SINNERS!" A thin dark line trickled slowly down Johannason's jacked-up trousers. Sarah gaped at Chad. "Jesus H. Christ."

Chad hopped up, the stench of the trenchcoat hitting the group. They stepped back in disgust. "Good guess, high priestess. I'm the J muthafuckin' C, rightcheeya." He pounded himself squarely in the chest. Ted looked at him dubiously. That's a Jesus costume?

"So we goin' or what?"

"Dude, where's my cash?" asked Ted.
"Ugh, I think it is next to your computer."
Ted walked over to the computer. "Umm... I don't see it."
"Dude, just check in the money slot, I was trying to buy some porn last night so I put our cash into that slot. Cindy never appeared on the screen so I'm sure they gave us our money back."
Ted hit eject on the "CD" drive and sure as hell, there was 50 bucks.
"Whoah, good thing Cindy wasn't available," remarked Bill. "We need that money."

"Umm... like are you guys ready yet?" asked Sarah?
*DING!*
But just then, an instant message window popped open on the computer. It was Howard...

Upon hearing Bill's juicy belch, the cat sniffed disdainfully, wondering how these pasty, two-legged, furless freaks could bear being such disgusting creatures. He bent down to lick his poop-shooter clean.

As the boys danced and belched in jubilation for winning asshole of the year, Sarah arrived. She was dressed up as a priest. "Are you ready?"

The boys sobered quickly. Stealing glances at each other to see if the other remembered what they were supposed to be doing for $50, they mumbled that they had to get dressed. Sarah sighed. She looked at her watch. They were going to be late.

"Who dis?" exclaimed Bill into the phone.
"It's Sarah. Whatchya been up to?"
"Not much, I just woke up and took a crap. So I'm feeling pretty good. I'd be even better if it wasn't for Ted-- he was up all night playing Dig Dug or some shit like that. Now, he and the couch are blocking the kitchen so I can't get any coffee."
"Sucks for you."
"Yeah"
"So...Has Ted finally won Dig Dug?" asked Sarah.
"Umm... I don't think so, I'm not so sure he even knows how to play" said Bill.

(long pause)

"So dudes, are you ready to go?"
"Uuugh, what are you talking about?" questioned Bill.
Sarah laughs a bit: "Hah, that's funny. Just remember that you'll need at least 50 bucks, I'll be there in 20 minutes..."

"I'm starving!" shouted Ted, his eyes never leaving the 29" screen showing Grand Theft Auto 3, his thumbs still punching the gamepad. No one responded except for the cat who sat by his feet, quietly blinking at him with disinterest. His roommate, Bill, trudged in the room in his "Tastes Like Chicken" boxer shorts, kicking a pizza box out of his way, scratching his chest. A bit of toilet paper was stuck to the bottom of his foot. The phone rang. Bill grumbled, "It's 10 in the fucking morning. What asshole is calling at this hour?" He grabbed the phone off its hook.