We hear some sharp sounds as a camera moves slowly down a hallway. Plastic sounds, like someone slamming a dollar bin DVD case closed over and over again.

As the scene continues to unfold, we see various handicapable trademarks all over the house. Foam bumpers on the baseboards and sharp corners, those little plastic thingies that go into electrical outlets so nobody puts their fingers or tongues or penises into them and dies, and of course, ramps. Just ramps galore. Probably an unnecessary amount of ramps, honestly, since some of them go up just a little bit only to go right back down. It's like a sad crippled amusement park ride that could be called "The Living Room Experience" or something.

The camera moves and the sounds get louder. Something wet sounds along with each crisp smack. Also, we hear a voice grunting.

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

As we finally reach our destination, a bathroom, we are first met with the reflection in the sink top mirror of the medicine cabinet. An impossibly scrawny and bony spinal column stretching the nearly translucent from paleness skin of an adult male back. It looks like a raw chicken, if raw chickens also had tons of cancer-likely moles all over their skin. It trembles. We enter.

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

It's definitely Bilbo. He's sitting, facing away from the camera, luckily, on his little safety toilet. It's got an extra narrow potty hole and hand rails. A few feet away, against the opposite wall of the room, is Bilbo's mobility chair. Someone has affixed a rather large, rather black rubber fist to the seat of the chair, and it appears to be coated in petroleum jelly. Has it always been there? Does anyone really know? The only thing we know for sure is that it says PETER on it in big letters which look to have been made by someone with a rhinestone bedazzler.

Bilbo is very wet. A sponge in a tray next to the bathtub (which also has a plastic infant chair in it as well as more hand rails) gives a clue - we probably arrived right after sponge bath time. As part of the XWF's settlement with Blumpkinz' legal team over apparent ADA violations, they did agree to provide a caretaker for Bilbo. Her name is Helga, and Bilbo hates her, but she does give good sponge.

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

"UGH!"

*SMACK*

The cameraman raps lightly on the open door. Bilbo spins around on the potty seat and our worst fears are confirmed. He's fully nude, which we knew of course, but what we had no way of being mentally or emotionally prepared for was the sight of the cover of a Wal-Mart discount copy DVD of Will Smith's 1996 classic, Independence Day hanging off of the swollen and bruised erect member of Bilbo Blumpkinz. It just... dangles there, wobbling back and forth. The credits on one side, the images of the stoic faces of Smith, Jeff Goldblum, and Bill Pullmanlooking out from beneath the red "American Classics" banner, right next to a half ripped sticker that reads "Rollback: 5.95."

"What the heck are you doing here? I told you I needed twenty minutes between bath time and this interview. Helga just left ten minutes ago, that man handed bitch. I bit her on the titty today because she gave me an indian burn on my thigh instead of on my meat like I told her to. Now I have no choice but to slam this DVD case on my dick over and over again while imagining Captain Steven Hiller saying "Welcome to Earff" and punching me in the balls."

"You know, as soon as I saw that I was illegally booked in a wrestling match without my consent by Vinnie Lane and his butt buddy Theo Pryce, my first thoughts drifted to the freedom fighters in America's streets dragging down statues and heroically stealing Nikes from their neighbors and friends. Seeing racial tension gets me harder than that water level from the old TNMT arcade game. My balls clenched into black fists atop an Olympic podium as I watched angry youths get the cell phones and pepper spray that they earned and deserved. Who needs 40 acres and a mule when you can have a burning storefront and a knee in the neck, right? I came. I came and then I remembered I had to fight against my will. That limped me up harder than a peg legged pirate with rickets. I haven't seen a limp that big and that fast since Juvenile realized his heavy nuts were knocking him off balance in 2001. So I had to down my whole bottle of Cialis at once. Now my cock is over inflated and football shaped."

"Fast forward to four hours later when I'm knocking on the door of medically dangerous priapism, Helga won't pop this dick for me. I sent her hope with a bloody nip and grabbed this DVD cover and have been working on my knob for ten minutes to get my cock back down to human size. Admittedly my cock ring isn't helping, but I don't have bolt cutters. Do you have bolt cutters?"


The camera moves back and forth like a head shaking no.

"Didn't think so. No one ever has bolt cutters when you need to get your dick free. Anyway, forget it. I'll pop it soon. You know who needs to worry though? Gage Gannon. What kind of name is Gage? You know what Gage matters? The gauge of this cock ring. It's too small. Gage Gannon is gonna get my 12 Gauge Cannon down his throat and then I'm going to Cobain his uvula. He's getting his tonsils whitewashed faster than American history. That pharynx is getting sandblasted like an old fence."

"Did you know Gage Gannon calls himself the Mecca? So I guess he's one of those prison Muslims. I'm gonna nut in his kufi. Then I'm going to shave his balls and carry them around the Kaaba counter clockwise before refusing to eat pork and then strapping a bomb to those nuts and tossing them into a New York City deli and shouting Aloha Admiral Ackbar. DJ Jazzy Jeff sucked."


The scene fades out suddenly.

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