(FADEIN to the MEN OF ADVENTURE walking through a bluescreen background of a deep forest. BENJAMIN "BIG TOM" REMUS and "IRON" JOHN WAITS are trudging ever onward, wielding machetes against what appear to be potted ferns set in their paths. Both men are wearing their typical trapper regalia - leather tunics fringed with straps - but have replaced their coonskin caps with pith helmets...)
John: "All I'm saying, friend Tom, is that it's practically DEVASTATING! We offer our challenges, we present the pinnacle of pure manhood to these paltry poltroons and dandies, and yet NONE DARE CLAIM THE OFFER! It's almost like ... they don't LIKE us, Tom!"
Tom: "DAMMIT TOM! Sorry, I mean DAMMIT JOHN! Once again, you prattle on like a librarian! No, worse, a MALE CLERK at a LESBIAN BOOKSTORE! Bah John, so what if we are unregarded by the perfumed and silkefied man-whores of this bootlick sewing circle of sissy-maries? It's no worse than being banned from the co-ed YMCA, LIKE THAT ONE TIME! Why not complain of being ostracized from the Vagina Monologues, or that we're receiving unpleasant glances from a Lamaze Class? LET THE BABIES HAVE THEIR BOTTLES! They do not meet our open challenges because THEY ARE INTIMIDATED BY OUR MANLINESS!"
John: "Did I say otherwise? All I say, friend Tom, is we waste our skills and time constantly awaiting these boyish fems to sally forth into our manly wrestling grips, and there's no two ways about it. We DO have other work to do, being such MEN OF ADVENTURE as we! Do they think small and relatively harmless animals trap and skin themselves? NOT UNLESS MY MIND BECOMES A GENIUS and I create a SPACE RAY which makes ANIMALS TRAP and SKIN themselves! Wait, one moment (pulls out a pen-recorder) Note to self, space ray, mind control, animals trap and skin themselves (starts to put recorder away, pulls it out again) Also, remember current incredibly filthy image of the Olsen Twins which just entered my mind, for masturbation later tonight (puts pen away, satisfied). But you see my point, Tom, our terrific and overpowering manliness is being wasted here."
Tom: "Our problem, friend John, is that we are hampered by our very own wily mountain cunning!"
John: "Eh? Explain, friend Tom, in small words, please. And do all the voices."
Tom: "It's like this. Like setting a trap in the wild, we choose our place, we set our bait, and we wait ... for in the wild, THAT is how to catch an animal, to press his small, squarish head between the iron vise of a many-fanged trap, to squeeze his eyes out through the tiny apetures in his skull and to slowly, painfully ..."
John: (Impatiently) "The VOICES, Tom ..."
Tom: (high pitched voice): "Oh, my teeny raccoon skull is ablaze with fiery neurons of screaming pain and pressure! My tongue has just exploded from my mouth! Oh, my furry body breathes its last, why did I ever cross those mighty Men of Adventure, oh nooo ..."
John: "HO HO! Wait, let me get my socks off! This would be even better with PUPPETS!"
Tom: "There's time enough yet for puppetry, John. My point is that we think like TRAPPERS! We are canny predators of the wild, where patience and perseverance are preeminent values, whereas in the festering landfills of (spits) CITIFIED FOLK, they're more concerned with ... ah ... baths, and ... flower print short sleeve shirts! And LEARNING FROM BOOKS! Bah! John, we are hoist by our own petard, for we eternally are true to the unwashed and uneducated roots of our burly manhood, our brains are forever imprinted with the allure of animal tracks and the thrill of the hunt and of the powerful and arousing scent of unwashed man-privates left forever to seep in sweat and waist deep water. WE'RE TOO SMART FOR OUR OWN GOOD is what I mean to say, friend John! We must ADAPT to our environs, we must think as the -ha ha - MEN of the CSWA think, and STOP thinking like trappers ..."
John: "Then what SHALL we think like, my burly compatriot?"
Tom: (Camera closes in on Big Tom's face as he solemnly screws up his mouth and firmly sets his brow over his slightly crooked eyes. Purposefully, he growls: ) "F(BLEEPS)GS." (Looking up in shock) "AAH! AVAST JOHN, take to your arms!"
(CUTTO: A spliced and looped together series of tyrannosaurus attacks from Jurassic Park, Tom and John voiced over yelling obscenities and shouting over the roar of the creature. CUTTO John and Tom standing triumphant, holding a big fake rubber dinosaur mask, probably from Spencer's overstock, triumphantly between them.)
John: "Haha, it's a sixty-pounder for sure! Let's see the boys at the yacht club beat THIS record! I SPIT ON YOUR PALTRY MARLINS, deep sea fishermen!"
Tom: "John, I was with you at Fisherman's Wharf that year you mixed Jim Beam with NyQuil and the contents of a Plug-In Air Freshener, YOU DID WORSE THEN SPIT on the FISH! HO HO!"
John: (leering) "And I'd do it again ... HO HO!"
Tom: "THAT'S the fighting spirit, my comrade-in-arms! Take that same winning attitude with us now, as we forge blindly ... wait, I mean PROUDLY ahead into the pouting, effeminate maw of inconsolable womanhood that IS the CSWA! Let stand and tremble before us (thinks for a moment, his tongue sticking out of his mouth) RAW DEAL! THAT'S right! We MEET AGAIN - AT LAST! IF you dare, prancing ballerinas ... by which I MEAN YOU!"
John: (uneasy) "Ah, Tom, are you certain ... ? The last time we fought them, the thrashing ... well, I won't say it was a SOUND thrashing per se, but it surely was sound-ISH ..."
Tom: "PERFECT! What better way to change our luck than to erase the mistakes of our recent past! RAW DEAL, you WILL meet the MEN OF ADVENTURE, and from that hallowed gathering you will either emerge as beaten and sallow things who are withered in the face of what are truly REAL (BLEEP)DAMN MEN the likes of which you have never seen, OR ... "
John: "OR, Friend Tom?"
Tom: "There IS NO OR! HO HO! See how my deviltry already uses the prettified wordplay of the dandy cityman against them?! HA! With this new knowledge, we are DAMN NEAR INVULNERABLE! FEAR OUR freshly hewn and ever-adapting MINDS, RAW DEAL, as teenage runaways have learned to FEAR OUR (BLEEP)S! HO HO!
(FTB as they laugh and laugh, hands on hips and heads thrown back ...)