Gross Out

[first lines]

Narrator:
The story you are about to see is true. It is October 28th, 1989. Crime is rampant. The homeless number into the hundreds of thousands, and into the millions in the State of California alone. Our natural and man-made sources of drinking water have been ravaged by scores of toxic substances. Our once beautiful beaches are now polluted with our own stinking excrement. Our smog smeared skies boil and bubble with the noxious poisons spouted by our cars. Money is scarcer than hens' teeth. Yet on this day, a small, obscure, dirty little family will almost unknowingly set a series of events into motion that could very well destroy them all. These little parasites, they were the epicenter, the quintessence of what some refer to as white trash personified. But their actions weighed heavy with much deeper, darker meaning than they knew. It set off a volcano of filth and moral degradation, not unlike popping the world's largest festering pus-filled pimple, whose creamy centre threatens to drown all people in a huge gangrenous river of zit juice. These pathetic, mindless little worms, grovelling after the golden carrot dangling before their wrinkled, wretched little eyes, fluttered, wreathed, squirmed and flopped, like a diseased oil-drenched bird falling and thrashing thickly through a seemingly endless, dizzying, cataclysmic tunnel of fudge. Only a precious few escaped with their lives. Here then is the story of the Wheezer family. Their names have been changed, the reason will become very f***ing obvious, as will the deep dark lesson to be learned. Theirs is a story that must be told to all. Something to cherish and hold close to your heart. A warm reminder of our own humanity, and an important lesson, so that we may not make the same mistakes... and - oh, SH*T I F***ED UP - a-are people gonna know?

Rochester:
I remember you, boy! When you were knee-high to yer momma's titties!

Old Lady:
You pick your ass, you pick your nose, go wash your hands!

Old Man:
[picking his nose] I want some cake.

Old Lady:
You're not gettin' any cake, you're too f***in' fat now. Look at you!

Mr. Sicko:
I'm readin' my "Hot Puppets! magazine, I have no time for this!

Winthrop:
Well, I'll tell you one thing! I will NOT be Mister Mellow!

Mr. Sicko:
You will!

Winthrop:
I will NOT be Mister Mellow!

Mr. Sicko:
You will!

Winthrop:
I will NOT! [stomps around] NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

Rochester:
Welcome to my little friend, Momma Wheezer!