(Scene: KC is asleep in his hip Pee Slope apartment.)
EARS: DUDE, THERE'S A NOISE! DUDE, THERE'S A FUCKING NOISE!!! STOP IT!!!
KC: What is your God damned problem Ears?
EARS: There's a fucking noise!
HANDS (pointing to alarm clock): Right over there!
BRAIN: Well fucking pointing to it doesn't turn it off you jackoff!
I'm going to fly to Tijuana, roofie myself and wear a t-shirt that says, "Please Harvest My Organs. They're Assholes."KC: Guys, please fix this. I feel like shit.
BUTT: Sorry bud, I don't even want to think of pooping right now. It's going to be gooey and yucky. Probably like shitting rusty fishhooks.
KC: I didn't mean that.
EARS: There's still a Loud Fucking Loud Noise!!!
KC: Would one of you solve this shit? Hands and Legs, get moving.
(Foot touches the floor.)
FOOT: Hmm, there seems to be a cold liquidy substance on the floor. Oh well, it can't be too big of a deal. I'll just put all of my weight on one foot.
BUTT: Ouch! Oh man, Pelvis is definitely broken.
KC: What the hell was that?
EYES: Looks like hand lotion.
KC: And why the fuck is there hand lotion on the floor?
BRAIN: Take one guess.
KC: Hands, when have you ever needed lotion?
HANDS: It was Junk's idea!
JUNK: I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling great. Totally relaxed.
KC: I ought to fucking strangle you.
JUNK: Not necessary. Hands did that last night.
KC: Then why the hell is there lotion on the floor?
EARS: For the hate of everything holy, can you shut off that fucking alarm?!?!
(Hands fumble with alarm clock.)
HANDS: Move this switch? Nope. Now the alarm and the radio are on. This button? Crap. Why can I never do this? So much pressure. I need a little help, Eyes!
EYES: Oh look, it's 7:38AM. Is that porn on the computer? It's so blurry in the morning. Turn on the light.
HANDS: Okay, operating light switch.
EYES: My retinas are burning! Turn them off! Turn them off!
HANDS: Light switch deactivated.
EYES: Right there. That dial says something. I bet that's how you stop the alarm.
HANDS: On it.
EARS: Oh Satan's ballsack! You made it louder your fucktard!
KC: Seriously, I need you guys to work together and solve this alarm clock problem. I've got more things coming up.
JUNK: Dude, I'm solid as a rock and I've got to pee.
KC: Damn it.
HANDS: Screw this.
(Hands unplug alarm clock.)
EARS: About time. What the crap?
(KC walks into his shimmering-clean bathroom.)
JUNK: Me first! Me first!
(KC starts urinating.)
JUNK: Dude, this is amazing. Best thing we've ever done.
BUTT: I hate to break it to you, but I've got to fart.
KC: Whatever, I don't care right now. I'm just glad you assholes quit yelling.
BUTT: RRRRIIIPPP!!! Yeah, that was almost a lot grosser if you know what I mean. I'm going to be careful for the next few minutes. My advice is to quit breathing.
KC: If only. Butt, do be careful. Workplace poop injuries are bad for you.
BRAIN: I don't care what part of the day it is, I think farts are always funny.
KC: Good call.
NOSE: Oh man, is that you? Is maybe 30 years of sewage spilling into the bathroom? Or is that…Judas Priest, what is going down there, Butt?
BUTT: I warned you.
NOSE: This is just obnoxious. There is no possible way this came out of a human.
BRAIN: Yo, Stomach says there's some sort of emergency. He says it's urgent.
KC: I'm going to fly to Tijuana, roofie myself and wear a t-shirt that says, "Please Harvest My Organs. They're Assholes." What's going on, Stomach?
STOMACH: I've got about 10 Coors Lights and a few shots of whiskey running around in here.
STOMACH: Well, it looks like a hamburger, fries, a Gordita, Mexi-tater tots, some pineapple, about 37 Mike & Ikes, ice cream, cereal, another hamburger, maybe this is–I don't know–a toadstool?
KC: What makes you think I care?
STOMACH: They're not really getting along. The Irish whiskeys and Mexican food are engaged in some sort of race war. The redneck beers and hamburgers are fighting with ice cream. To top it off, that fart smell makes them want to leave.
KC: Um, which way?
STOMACH: The way they came in. I don't trust Butt right now.
KC: Neither do I. Settle down Stomach, let's just talk it out.
STOMACH: No! These guys have to go right now! I'm not taking this shit any more. Mouth, you get these bastards now!
MOUTH: C'mon! I'm not prepared for this.
STOMACH: Too bad, Pretty Boy, here they come!
(KC hunches over the toilet and starts throwing up.)
KC: Oh my God the pain. Please, make it stop.
STOMACH: Okay, that was the big one. There may be some left, but that's definitely the big one.
KC: Dude. Unnecessary. We could have talked it out.
NOSE: Barf is icky.
STOMACH: Nevermind, this is the big push. Now!
(KC horks some more.)
KC: Why is this happening to me?
BRAIN: Mouth wanted to get drunk last night.
MOUTH: Can somebody brush me? I can actually feel Stomach's acid eating Teeth.
KC: I'll kill you.
MOUTH: Nope. Not taking the blame here. Brain was the genius that decided to take a shot every time somebody said "Frodo" or "Ring" in The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
KC: That must have been 10 hours of drinking!
BRAIN: Damn those movies rock. "You shall not pass!"
JUNK: LOTR needed more boobs and sex.
BRAIN: Primal lunkhead.
JUNK: Self-absorbed loser.
STOMACH: Sorry everybody. Bad news, maybe this is the last big one.
(KC pukes more.)
KC: So, Brain, you let this happen? Drinking, Burger King and Taco Bell? I thought we were pals.
BRAIN: Okay, fine. If you're going to be a bitch about it, yes, I condoned the drinking. But eating BK and then Gorditas was the right thing to do. It was both a cultural and money-saving experience. I think you'll find their dueling 99 cents menus–
STOMACH: HOORRRUULF! Okay, Gang, there's not much left. Just trying to clean it up down there. Yep, we're pretty empty. Maybe a few dry heaves and we're done. Wait, are those marbles and a penny? Mouth, explain.
MOUTH: I don't know. Eyes said they looked like candy. Maybe your lazy ass should just digest things instead of whining.
KC: Just shut up everybody. Brain, I need an honest, no bullshit answer. Can we go to work today?
BRAIN: Hmm. Do we have any good Netflix here?
KC: Good point. We've got Saw III and Californication.
BRAIN: How do you pick things for your queue? Saw III will make us toss cookies again. Californication will make us feel guilty for not being a famous writer yet, but has an 80% chance of boobs. We're definitely too sick for work.
KC: Hands, dial the phone. Make the words, Mouth.
(Hands dials KC's boss. Paul Doofus answers.)
MOUTH: Hey. Yeah. Uh. I. Think. I. Am. Definitely. (Cough, Cough.) Yes. Way too sick to come in today. I've probably got a food cold. Yep. It's going around. On the news and everything. Tragic. I could work, but I don't want to make anyone else sick. If I did come in, I could make Marsha's kids ill, and that would just make everything worse. So. (Cough, Cough.) Just email or call if you need anything. If I, uh, don't answer…I'm probably in the bathroom. Yeah. Google "food cold." Thank you, sir. Hopefully I'll be well enough tomorrow. It's definitely real. Bye.
(Hands hang up the phone.)
KC: You're getting better at this, Mouth, but you're still a moron.
MOUTH: You should have brushed me. I feel dry and yucky.
STOMACH: You know what? After all that pushing, tossing and churning, I'm kind of hungry. Anybody else?
BRAIN: Oh wow. Now I'm feeling the ouchy. We should definitely turn on the TV. That will numb the pain. Aspirin. That too.
KC: Fine. Does anybody else want to ‘fess up to anything?
HANDS: I texted your ex last night.
KC: Now why the fuck…?
HANDS: Junk told me to.
JUNK: She still wants us! I know it!
KC: Anything else?
JUNK: I went wee wee on a car last night.
KC: Our car?
KC: Who cares? Anything else? Great, I'll text an apology, eat some breakfast and sit back and watch TV.
BUTT: Um. KC. I have some bad news. I need to poop. Do you still have your rain jacket? You're going to need it.