The low tide of murmured conversation and the fine tiiing! of crystal goblets is all that is heard. We're in a massive ballroom, on a genteel estate outside of the city. A gentlemen in a white tuxedo sweeps by, date on his arm, and behind reveals the social queen, bedecked in the latest fashions (an enveloping garment, an hourglass-shaped tube of see-through Lycra with 8 strategically-placed peacock feathers) and with would-be suitors proffered before her.
jessicapierce - ...oh, yes, you silly man, you flatter me so!
A suitor, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Hugh Grant - No, no, my Lady, 'tis true, 'tis all too true. Your slender fingers, they do not jab madly at the controller; rather, your presense and supple grace merely urges the buttons downward. It's quite sublime.
Second suitor, slick and smoky, styled like Antonio Banderas - The joining of your hands with the gamepad... perfect, made for each other... like two lovers, caressing. It fills me with great... urges.
First suitor - Let us challenge, my Lady. My impeccable driving will surely touch your heart.
Second suitor - Bah! Foppish fools like yourself to great disservice to the game! It needs a man, a man with sure, steady hands, lover's hands, reflexes, reflexes, do you understand? There is no-
jessicapierce - Boys, boys! All this will be settled in due course. Let us retire to the study. The Crazy Taxi disc is already in the Dreamcast.
The screeching of stressed rubber is heard outside, followed by a crash. All conversation ends. A shadow falls over jessicapierce's face - she glances worryingly at Accipiter, who calmly sips on a Manhattan.
Accipiter - Don't worry. They can't get past the defenses. Release the hounds!
The rapid yelps of agitated dogs are heard; they rise up in volume, and suddenly all is silent. All eyes are on Accipiter. Guests begin edging for the door.
Accipiter, eyes focused far away - Gods... Security! (Jabbing at a nearby intercom) Security! Eliminate the threat! Security! Respond!
The intercom sputters and crackles for a few seconds, and then :
pukesick, over the intercom - Um, the security's been... temporarily... decapitated. Sorry.
An old Indian Chief motorcycle erupts through the two-story bay window, lands, slides sideways to a halt. Templeton, in black leather and red bandanas, steps off, badass. Byzantine strides through the double doors off to the side, all understated confidence, guns in both hands and a guitar on his back. discofever follows, immaculate in a navy blue three-piece suit with a matching cream silk scarf.
discofever, scanning the crowd - Hello, ladies, gentlemen. No need for alarm. We're just looking for... (double-takes, locks eyes with an unseen guest) you.
Byzantine, in a slight drawl. - Ma'am, we've come for the brownies.
jessicapierce, pale, softly - no... not the brownies...
discofever - Please understand our situation. We mean you good people no harm, no harm at all... just... (sighs) Templeton? Make with the ass-kicking. (strides out)
Templeton, grinning toothily - With pleasure. Pukey! Lights!
The lights get cut. Pandemonium begins.
Title appears over blackness and screams of pain.
From the makers of 'O Monkey, My Monkey' and 'My Neighbor Jamcracker'
World premiere event, February 10, Atlanta, GA
They prey on HUMAN FLESH! And brownies. Definitely brownies.