Categories > Cartoons > Paradise PD
Under The War Of The Turds
0 reviewsThe year is 1939. At the height of the Great Depression. Kevin and Randall are a failing traveling comedy team. Gina insists they have to make it big somehow.
0Unrated
My highly anticipated fanfic Mayor I Shrunk The Hicks has been delayed until next month. So for now, enjoy this historically accurate Paradise PD fanfic that takes place in the Great Depression!
Paradise PD
fanfic title:
Under The War Of The Turds
by: Trenton Sands
Scene 1:
Walking down on the grassy side of the road. There was the father and son comedy team known as Hat, Coat, and Pants. Their names were Randall and Kevin Crawford. After having travelled all over the country to catch their big break. Randall and Kevin have failed each and every time. Over the course of 9 years. Hat, Coat, and Pants have never been able to connect with an audience. Using sexual humor and ripping off dance routines from other more famous comedy teams. Having everything thrown at them from stained underwear, fruits, vegetables, and even had sperm shot at them. Now they were back in their home town of Paradise. Contemplating what could've been and what could've been.
Randall: God Dammit, Kevin! At our last gig in Dallas, you stole that dance bit from The Nicholas Brothers!
Kevin: Yeah, and what about you and that "My aunt is a real cunt act"?
Randall: Well I thought if I used dirty language it could up our game a little.
Kevin: Yeah, look where that has gotten us!
Randall: Now let's stand on the side of the road and hitch hike like we always do.
Kevin: Or we can wait for Gina to come pick us up.
Randall (sees a model T): There she is now.
Gina: Hop in you guys! I got a little money we can go get something to eat.
Kevin: Very generous of you, Gina. I have forgotten what food tasted like.
Randall: See? That was another joke you stole.
Gina: Wait until you see who runs the place. A really hot fat guy named Dusty! I just might ask him out!
Randall: Let's get in the car Kevin.
Kevin: I'm with you, Dad.
Soon afterward, the greasy aroma of fried onions hangs heavy in the air. The place was Dusty's Diner. Karen sits alone at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee that looks as tired as she does. Across the room, Randall, looking gaunt in a slightly threadbare suit, attempts a few soft-shoe steps on the worn linoleum floor. Kevin, slumped at the counter, stares morosely at a half-eaten plate of what might charitably be called stew. Gina paces back and forth, her cigarette holder jutting out like a warning sign. Karen, Randall's wife and Kevin's Mom was at the diner too.
Gina: (Exasperated) Honestly, Randall, you’ve got the grace of a wounded moose. And Kevin, that shit face could curdle milk. We’re supposed to be entertaining people, remember? Not auditioning for the role of Grim Reaper’s understudies.
Randall: (Stopping his shuffling) It’s the times, Gina! The Depression has turned joy into a luxury. People can barely afford a loaf of bread, let alone a song and dance man with a repertoire of slightly off-key ballads. And yes we have copied other more famous comedy acts too.
Kevin: (Muttering) Especially when that repertoire includes “We Have No Bananas" for the thousandth time.
Gina (Ignoring Kevin) Excuses, Randall, excuses! Bullet and his boys are swimming in dough selling giggle water. Dusty here is still slinging his… questionable cuisine. Even Stanley seems content sweeping up whatever meager coins people drop. Only the Crawfords seem destined for the poorhouse.
A portly man with a stained apron, wipes down the counter, overhearing. his name is Dusty.
Dusty: Hey, my grub ain't questionable! It's… an acquired taste. And folks still gotta eat, even if it’s just my special gravy.
Karen: (Softly) It’s hard, Dusty. My husband’s hours out on the road keep getting cut. Every penny counts.
Gina: Correct! And our pennies have flown the coop. Our booking agent in the next town skipped with our last payment. Said our act was “too… whimsical” for these trying times. Whimsical! We’ll be eating whims for dinner at this rate.
Karen: Since you two clowns left to chase this dream, there's been no police force in this town. If at all. Not even a mayor. Everyone in this town is struggling THAT BAD!
Dusty: It ain't that bad if you own a business like me. Besides, we might have World War 2 to look forward to! That'll get this country out of the Depression!
Randall: (Sighing dramatically) Ah, the cruel hand of fate! Once I played to packed houses! Now… now I’m reduced to entertaining the flies in a greasy spoon.
Kevin: (Deadpan) They weren’t exactly roaring with laughter, Dad.
Gina: Alright, enough of the pity party. We need a new angle. Something… bold. Something that’ll get people’s attention, and more importantly, their money. This vaudeville dream is circling the drain faster than a politician caught with his hand in the till.
Suddenly, the radio in the corner crackles to life, playing a jaunty tune.
Radio Announcer (V.O.) …and now, folks, a word from our esteemed sponsor, Fitzgerald’s Fine Furnishings, where quality meets affordability! Brought to you by the voice of Paradise, your pal, Gerald Fitzgerald! And welcome to another episode of "Thousand Points Of Life!"
As her eyes narrow Gina stares at the radio as she listens.
Gina: Fitzgerald… that pompous assrag. Runs that radio station like he owns the air itself. And he’s doing alright, isn’t he? Always flashing his fancy car and those tailored suits.
Randall: Radio… hmm. A powerful medium. Think of the possibilities!
Kevin: (Skeptical) Like what, Dad? Broadcasting your kazoo solo to an even wider audience of unimpressed listeners? You're not exactly Kay Kyser!
Gina: (A spark ignites in her eyes) Maybe… maybe you’re onto something, Randall. Not the kazoo, obviously. But the radio… it reaches everyone.
Randall: (Stroking his chin) We could do a dramatic reading! A stirring play! Something to lift people’s spirits!
Gina: Or… something to shake them up. Something they can’t ignore.
Randall: Something we have never tried before. Unlike Kevin who ripped off that Dr. Livingston I Pressume joke.
Kevin: Yeah, well what about you and that Flying Down To Rio scene you copied? Don't judge me!
Gina glances towards the radio, a sly smile forming on her lips.
Karen: I hope you guys know what you're doing.
Once they were done eating, Gina rounds up Kevin and Randall and leave Dusty's Diner and goes inside her Model T.
Scene 2:
In an abandoned warehouse at night. With a sign above that reads, "THIS IS NOT BULLET'S BOOTLEG BEER BUSINESS". Bullet, a burly bipeadal German Shepard with a permanent scowl, supervises Robbie, who nervously stacks crates of liquor. Delbert , quiet and watchful, polishes a Tommy gun.
Bullet: Hurry it up, Robbie. We gotta move this stuff before dawn. Fitzgerald’s been sniffing around our territory again. Thinks he can muscle in just because he owns half the town.
Robbie: (Stuttering) Y-you think he knows about the new shipment, Bullet?
Bullet: Nah. Fitz is too busy counting his money and listening to his own voice on that damn radio station. Thinks he’s God’s gift to Paradise.
Delbert: (Without looking up) Pride goeth before a fall.
Suddenly, the warehouse door creaks open. Randall and Kevin stumble in, looking nervous and out of place.
Bullet: (Growling) What in the name of Meyer Lansky…? Who are you two? And what do you want?
Randall: (Wringing his hands) Please, sir, we mean you no harm! We’re just… desperate.
Kevin: (Muttering) Desperate and possibly making a huge mistake.
Gina (Entering with a confident stride) Evening, twat waffles. My name is Gina, and these are my… associates, Randall and Kevin Crawford. We have a proposition for you.
The german shephard raises a suspicious eyebrow.
Bullet: A proposition? You mean like sex? You two look like you couldn’t proposition if your penises are aimed at the broad side of the barn!
Gina: We know you run a… successful business. And we know that Fitzgerald’s radio empire is making him richer by the day while the rest of Paradise scrapes by. We think we have a way to… level the playing field.
Robbie: (Confused) Level the… what now? You gonna sing him a sad song until he cries all his money away?
Gina (Ignoring Robbie) We need your help. We need access to something you might have connections to. Something that can help us… broadcast a message.
Robbie, along with Bullet, exchanges a look with Delbert.
Bullet: Broadcast what? You planning on serenading the whole town with your sob stories?
Randall: (With newfound enthusiasm) No! Something far more… impactful! Something that will make people sit up and take notice! Something… like an invasion from Mars!
Staring at Randall as if he’s grown a second head. Bullet is an awe of this idea. Robbie’s jaw drops. Delbert remains impassive, but a flicker of something akin to amusement crosses his lips.
Bullet: Mars? You’re talking about little green men? You’ve been hitting the alcohol yourselves, haven’t you?
Gina: Hear us out. Think about it. Everyone listens to the radio. What if they heard… something unbelievable? Something that would unite them, even if it’s through fear?
Kevin: (Trying to interject) Gina, I don’t think this is a good idea…
Gina: (Cutting him off with a sharp look) Kevin, darling, we’re one step away from selling our shoes for soup. We need to take a risk. And these gentlemen… they understand risk.
Stroking his chin, Bullet devises a slow grin spreading across his face.
Bullet: An invasion from Mars, huh? That’s… got a certain flair to it. Could be just crazy enough to work. What do you need from us?
Gina: We need a way into that radio station. Fitzgerald’s pride is his fucking downfall. He probably leaves it about as secure as a sieve. We need someone who knows the back alleys, someone who isn’t afraid of a little… breaking and entering.
Robbie, who gulps nervously. As does Delbert. Bullet talks some more.
Bullet: Robbie here’s got a knack for finding doors that aren’t properly locked. Especially after a few too many sips of our finest.
Robbie: (Protesting weakly) Hey!
Gina: Excellent. And in return? Well, if this works, the whole town will owe us a debt of gratitude. And maybe, just maybe, we can all stop worrying about where our next meal is coming from.
Finally speaking, Delbert, his voice low and steady.
Delbert: What’s the catch? There’s always a catch.
Gina: The catch is… we all have to play our parts. And we have to make it believable.
Scene 3:
The small studio is filled with the hum of equipment. Gerald 'Fitz" Fitzgerald, a slick man with a condescending smile, speaks into the microphone, Brett DeMarco, a hulking figure with cold eyes, stands beside him.
Fitz: (Smoothly) And that, my dear listeners, was the dulcet tones of yours truly, Gerald Fitz Fitzgerald, reminding you that Fitzgerald’s Fine Furnishings is the only place in Paradise where you’ll find quality furniture at prices that won’t break the bank. Because here at WPDQ, we care about you, the fine citizens of Paradise.
He winks at Brett, who offers a menacing smirk.
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Randall and Kevin, looking terrified but determined, rush in, followed by GINA. Robbie stands nervously in the doorway.
Fitz: (Indignant) Holy shit! I demand to know what this is! How did you get in here? Brett!
Brett moves forward menacingly, but Bullet along with Robbie and Delbert step into the room, both looking decidedly unfriendly.
Bullet: Stand down, mustard plaster. This is our show now.
Gina (To Fitz) Consider this a temporary change in programming, Fitz. One the people of Paradise will thank you for… eventually.
Randall, surprisingly adept, starts fiddling with the microphone. Kevin looks like he wants to disappear.
Fitz: You can’t do this! This is my station! I’ll have you all arrested!
Kevin: Jokes on you, there's no police in this town! Ha ha!
Gina: Try it. But right now, the good people of Paradise are about to hear something far more interesting than your cock sucking furniture commercials.
Clearing his throat dramatically. Randall speaks into the microphone.
Randall: (Adopting a serious, urgent tone) This is a special news bulletin. We interrupt this program to bring you a report of disturbing events unfolding in our very own state.
Kevin winces. As Randall continues.
Randall: (Reading from a hastily scribbled script) Eyewitnesses report strange lights in the sky… objects falling from the heavens near Grover’s Mill! Authorities are baffled! Could this be… could this be the beginning of an extraterrestrial invasion? If so, you better hide your wifes and other female relatives! Because these Martians from what I hear want to use females for mating purposes! And maybe even prostitute them!
Brett DeMarco and Fitz exchange disbelieving glances.
Fitz: (Scoffs) Extraterrestrial invasion? That's bullshit! What kind of unholy jungle hell is THIS?!?!?!!?
Gina: (To Robbie) Lock them in the supply closet. Make sure they can still hear the broadcast. They wouldn’t want to miss the excitement.
Robbie, looking slightly less nervous now that he has a task, shoves Fitz and Brett DeMarco towards a small storage room.
Randall: (His voice rising in alarm) We have unconfirmed reports of… creatures! Strange, tentacled beings who will burn your faces off and then you'll need pieces of your ass to put your face back together! Moving on, now, emerging from these fallen objects! The National Guard has been alerted! We urge all citizens to remain calm… but be vigilant! Lock your doors! Stay by your radios for further updates!
Looking at Gina, who nods approvingly. Randall likes what is going on.
Gina: Alright, Randall, you’ve got them hooked. Now we need to keep them there. Kevin, play that eerie music you do. The one that sounds like a dying cat.
Kevin reluctantly pulls out his harmonica and plays a series of discordant notes.
Randall: (Over Kevin’s music) We now have a live report from a local farmer near the impact site! Can you hear me, sir? What are you seeing?
Holding the microphone towards… nothing, Randall gets pushed away by Gina quickly steps in.
Gina: (Lowering her voice to a shaky whisper) He… he’s not responding! Oh, the horror! They must have… they must have gotten to him!
Bullet and Delbert exchange impressed glances. Even Kevin looks a little unnerved by Gina’s sudden dramatic flair.
Randall: Stay tuned, folks! This is only the beginning! Paradise… may never be the same!
Robbie walks out of the closet where Fitz and Brett DeMarco were sealed in.
Bullet: What did you do to them?
Robbie: Let's just say they won't get out and will have to resort to homosexual sex!
Delbert: That's something I've never heard before.
Scene 4:
The diner is packed. Dusty's diner is getting tons of service. People huddle around the radio, their faces etched with fear and confusion. Karen sits with a group of other housewives, her eyes wide with worry. Stanley stands near the counter, listening intently, his broom forgotten.
Randall (radio voice): …we repeat, strange metallic cylinders have landed in various locations around the county! Reports are flooding in of… of heat rays! Buildings are said to be… dissolving!
A waitress in the diner gasps.
Woman Waitress: Heat rays? Oh, Lord have mercy!
Karen: Dissolving buildings? But… but what about our homes?
Randall (radio voice): We now have a firsthand account from a terrified resident near Paradise River!
Now Gina’s voice comes over the radio, distorted and panicked.
Gina VO: (Strained) They’re… they’re coming this way! Hide yourselves! Oh, the tentacles! They’re… they’re reaching!
The radio cuts out with a burst of static. A wave of terror washes over the diner.
Dusty: (Nervously wiping his brow) Tentacles? What in tarnation are tentacles doing in Paradise? Oh I better save my cats!
Stanley: (Calmly, despite the chaos) Sounds like something out of those science fiction stories they print in the pulp magazines. Though I never took them for gospel.
Dusty: Cheese and taters! Stanley is actually lucid in this one?
Bullet: Duh! Yeah! He lived through this era!
Dusty: Oh yes that's right!
Woman Waitress 2: It’s real! I saw strange lights in the sky earlier! I thought I was seeing things!
Panic begins to set in. People start shouting and pushing towards the door. Both men and women are scared out of their minds.
Dusty: Everyone calm down! We don’t know what’s going on yet!
Suddenly, Bullet, Robbie, and Delbert stride into the diner, looking grim.
Bullet: Alright, folks, listen up! We need to stay organized! We can’t let these… Martians… just waltz in here and take over!
Robbie: (Brandishing a baseball bat) Yeah! We’ll fight ‘em off! For Paradise! With my trust Jackie Robinson bat!
Delbert: (More pragmatically) We need to find out what we’re dealing with. And we need to protect our own.
Looking at Bullet with a mixture of fear and a flicker of hope. Karen looks at him for advice.
Karen: What can we do? We’re just ordinary people.
Bullet: We’re citizens of Paradise! We’re tough! We’ve survived the Depression, haven’t we? We can survive this too!
The German Shephard looks around at the frightened faces.
Bullet: Dusty, you got a sturdy building here. We can use it as a temporary stronghold. Stanley, you’ve got eyes and ears all over town. Keep us informed of anything… unusual.
Dusty nods, his fear slowly being replaced by a sense of purpose. Stanley leans on his broom, his gaze thoughtful.
Stanley: I’ve seen a few things in my time sweeping these streets. Never Martians, though. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.
Back at the radio station, Randall beams at Gina.
Randall: They’re buying it! Hook, line, and sinker!
Gina: (Grinning) Of course they are. People want something to believe in, Randall. Even if it’s a load of hooey about Martians. Now, let’s reel them in a little further.
Scene 5:
Kevin, Randall, and Gina still at the radio station. Leans into the microphone, Randall has his voice filled with dramatic urgency.
Randall: Citizens of Paradise! The invaders are advancing! We have reports of strange, whirring sounds approaching from the outskirts of town! They’re… they’re unlike anything we’ve ever seen!
Gina: (Whispering to Kevin) More dying cat music, darling. Really lay it on thick.
Kevin obligingly scrapes his harmonica, producing a truly unsettling sound.
Randall: But we will not surrender! We will fight! We will defend our homes! I call upon every able-bodied man and woman in Paradise to take up arms! Gather whatever you can – pitchforks, shovels, rolling pins! We will meet these alien aggressors head-on! For Paradise! For freedom!
Slamming his fist on the table Randall was trying to show for emphasis.
Gina: Alright, Randall, you’re practically Winston Churchill in a bad suit. Now comes the tricky part. We need to make this… visual.
Randall: Visual? But they’re listening to the radio!
Gina: Yeah, that's what I mean. Visual, audio they'd be the same. And what do people do when they hear about a battle? They want to see it! We need to give them a show. A grand spectacle of Paradise fighting back against the Martian menace.
Kevin: (Nervously) You mean… we actually have to fight something?
Gina: Relax, twat waffle. We’re going to stage a fight. And we know just the people to help us.
Kevin (still nervous) I'm not going to be the Martian? Will I?
Randall: No I will! You're forgetting that I am the leader of Hat, Coat, and Pants!
Back at Dustys diner. The diner remains crowded, but the initial panic has morphed into a tense anticipation. Bullet is organizing a group of men armed with makeshift weapons. Karen stands nearby, looking worried but resolute. Stanley observes everything with a calm demeanor.The radio crackles to life. It’s Randall’s voice again, but this time, it sounds like he’s in the thick of the action.
Randall (radio voice): They’re here! I see them! Strange, lumbering shapes… moving towards the town square! They’re… they’re making a horrible, squishy sound!
Suddenly, the diner door bursts open, and Gina strides in, followed by Kevin looking deeply uncomfortable.
Gina: Alright, folks! The time for talk is over! The Martians are attacking! And we need your help to stop them!
Afterwards Bullet raises and eyebrow
Bullet: Our help? With what? We ain’t got no ray guns.
Gina: You’ve got spirit! And you’ve got… yourselves! We need a distraction. A brave group of volunteers to go to the town square and… engage the enemy.
A nervous murmur runs through the crowd.
Karen: Engage them? But… how?
Gina (Looking directly at Bullet) You and your boys. You’re resourceful. You know how to handle yourselves. We need you to make it look like a real fight. Some shouting, some… well, some strategic retreating.
Looking at Gina for a long moment, Bullet then forms a slow grin spreads across his face.
Bullet: Strategic retreating, huh? Sounds like my Tuesday nights avoiding the revenuers. Alright, Gina. We’re in. Robbie! Delbert! Let’s show these… squishy things what Paradise is made of!
Robbie lets out a whoop and swings his baseball bat. Delbert nods grimly, adjusting something under his coat that looks suspiciously like a slingshot loaded with ball bearings.
Gina: Excellent! Dusty, you know everyone in town. Can you rally some more… enthusiastic participants? Tell them it’s their patriotic duty! Think of it as a town play, but with slightly higher stakes.
Caught up in the moment, Dusty puffs out his chest.
Dusty: A play, you say? I always did have a flair for the dramatic… especially when it comes to defending my gravy recipe! Count me in!
Gina: And Stanley! Your knowledge of the town’s back alleys and hidden spots will be invaluable for our… tactical maneuvers.
Leaning on his broom, a thoughtful expression is now on Stanley's face.
Stanley: Tactical maneuvers, you say? It’s not unlike sweeping up after a particularly rowdy Saturday night. Alright, I’ll lend a hand.
Kevin who sees Gina turn to him, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Gina: And you, the reluctant hero, will be our… communications expert. You’ll stay at the radio station with Randall and provide the play-by-play. Make it sound epic, darling. Like the battle of Thermopylae, but with more tentacles.
Kevin: (Grumbling) Great. I always wanted to be the guy stuck in the control room while everyone else has all the fun… and potential dismemberment.
Gina Bullshit! You’re the voice of the resistance! Now, let’s go give those Martians a Paradise welcome they’ll never forget!
Bullet, Robbie, Delbert, Dusty, and a growing crowd of nervous but determined citizens out of the diner and towards the town square. All were being lead by Gina. Karen watches them go, a mixture of fear and admiration on her face.
Scene 6:
The town square is dimly lit by streetlamps. Bullet, Robbie, Delbert, and a motley crew of townsfolk cautiously approach the center of the square. They brandish their makeshift weapons nervously.Suddenly, a series of loud, metallic clanking sounds echoes from behind the general store. A large, oddly shaped contraption, cobbled together from scrap metal and painted a ridiculous shade of green, lurches into view. It’s being operated by Randall, who is making the clanking noises with a pair of old garbage can lids.
Randall (voice distorted) Greetings, Earthlings! We have come for your… your water and your… your shiny things!
Stunned at the “Martian” contraption, Robbie's jaw agape.
Robbie: That… that’s just Randall in a fancy trash can.
Bullet: (Sighing) Well, it was a good idea in theory. Alright, folks, remember the plan. Lots of shouting, a bit of running, and try not to actually hit him.
The townsfolk charge forward, yelling and waving their weapons. Bullet, Robbie, and Delbert join the fray, making a convincing show of resistance.
Bullet: Get back, you tentacled fiends! This is our town!
Robbie: Take that, space monster! (He swings his baseball bat wildly, narrowly missing the trash can.) Kick your ass back to Mars is what I'm gonna do!
Delbert expertly slingshots ball bearings at the contraption, making loud pings.
Inside the “Martian” machine, Randall is having the time of his life.
Randall (Through a megaphone) Fools! Your primitive weapons are no match for our advanced Martian technology! Prepare to be… conquered!
Suddenly, the contraption lurches violently. Randall yelps.
Randall: Whoa! What was that?
Unseen by the townsfolk, Stanley, using his knowledge of the town’s uneven sidewalks, has strategically placed a loose paving stone in the path of the makeshift Martian vehicle.
Stanley (Muttering to himself from the shadows) Tactical maneuver? Oh fuck yeah. Sometimes the best defense is a well-placed trip hazard.
The Martian contraption tips over with a loud crash, and Randall tumbles out, landing in a heap. The townsfolk freeze, unsure of what to do next. Then a huge wave of pink soap landed on Dusty.
Bullet: (To the crowd) Uh… looks like we… defeated it?
A cheer erupts from the crowd. They surge forward, surrounding the fallen “Martian.”
Karen: We did it! We fought them off!
Dusty: Paradise prevails! (looks at the pink soap over him): But why did it have to end with me being all 'sudsy"?
Just then, the town sheriff from Diamond City a scrawny and usually unflappable man named Chip Fuckyeah, arrives on the scene, looking utterly bewildered. He’s followed by a couple of equally confused deputies. Coming out of his Studebaker. They’ve clearly been listening to the radio.
Sheriff Chip: What in the… what in the name of Errol Flynn is going on here? I heard reports of an alien invasion! And… is that Randall Crawford in a garbage can?
Running forward, Gina now finds herself radiating authority.
Gina: Sheriff Chip, thank goodness you’re here! As you can see, the brave citizens of Paradise have successfully repelled the first wave of Martian invaders! Thanks to their quick thinking and courageous actions, our town is safe! For now.
Observing the scene then at Gina, then back at Randall, who is dusting himself off. Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah doesn't know what to make of it.
Sheriff Chip: Martian… invaders? Gina, have you been at Bullet’s stash again?
Gina: Sheriff, I assure you, this is no laughing matter! We intercepted their initial attack, but we must remain vigilant! They could return at any moment! We need to be prepared! We need… leadership!
She looks pointedly at Sheriff Chip , who looks like he’d rather be dealing with a runaway cow.
Gina: (continues) Someone with… vision. Someone who understands the gravity of this… extraterrestrial threat. Someone who can unite the people of Paradise and ensure our continued safety.
The townsfolk murmur in agreement, still caught up in the excitement.
Karen: She’s right, Sheriff! We need someone strong!
Dusty: Someone who can handle a crisis! (wiping the soap suds off him)
Clapping Randall on the shoulder. Bullet signals Randall to do the talking.
Bullet: Randall here, he was right there on the front lines! He faced the enemy head-on! He’s a hero!
Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah arrives in Paradise from Diamond City looks at Randall, who suddenly puffs out his chest and adopts a heroic pose.
Randall (In a booming voice) I was merely doing my duty, Sheriff. Protecting the good people of Paradise from the cosmic menace. But if the town needs a leader… a protector… I am ready to answer the call!
Feeling utterly defeated by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah lets out a sigh and the surprisingly unified front of the townsfolk.
Sheriff Chip: (Muttering) Cosmic menace… I haven’t even finished dealing with Geraldine's missing prize-winning petunia. Alright, alright. If that’s what the people want… Randall, you’re the new… Chief of Police. Congratulations. Now, someone please explain to me what in the blazes that green trash can was supposed to be.
Gina beams. Her plan, as outlandish as it was, had somehow worked.
Sheriff Chip: You know what? this town needs a police force. How would you all like to be it! Randall. You can be police chief. And the fat guy, old guy, red head, and the fine dame can all your recuits. You in?
Randall: I accept!
Karen: All right! Hey you know, this town can use a mayor as well. You think you can make me the first female....
Sheriff Chip: Uhhh, no!
Karen: Son of a bitch!
Scene 7 Epilogue:
The Paradise town hall’s musky smelling meeting room has been hastily repurposed as a police station. Randall, resplendent in an ill-fitting and slightly too-large uniform, sits behind the former council table, now his “desk.” A tarnished badge is pinned crookedly to his chest. Bullet also in an oversized uniform, leans back in a chair, his boots propped up on a stack of old town ordinances.
Dusty, his uniform straining at the seams, polishes his badge with a corner of his greasy apron. Gina, looking surprisingly sharp in a tailored uniform, organizes paperwork with brisk efficiency. Stanley, still in his familiar street cleaner attire but now sporting a shiny new badge pinned to his vest, leans his broom against the wall, observing the scene with quiet amusement.
Randall (Beaming) Chief Crawford! Has a certain ring to it, wouldn’t you say? Though I do think a slightly more… theatrical title might be in order. Perhaps “Grand Marshal of Martian Defense”?
Gina: (Without looking up) You’re the Chief of Police, Randall. Who would've thought this would happen after me being your manager and you and Kevin in that pathetic vaudeville act! Try to focus on earthly matters for now. Like the stack of overdue parking tickets.
Bullet: Parking tickets? In Paradise? Last time I checked, the biggest traffic jam we had was Geraldine's prize-winning pig getting loose.
Dusty: Yeah, and I think Unregiestered to Vote Earl parked his tractor in front of my diner for a week last summer. Never got a ticket. Whoever Earl is. Must admit. Not that I'm a policeman. I'm going to miss having my own diner.
Stanley: Times are changing, though, aren’t they? One minute you’re sweeping up cigarette butts, the next you’re upholding the law. Funny old world.
Randall: Correct, Stanley. It just goes to show, even the most humble among us can rise to greatness! Though in my case, greatness was always… imminent.
The door creaks open, and Robbie and Delbert enter. Robbie looks a little deflated, while Delbert maintains his usual stoic demeanor.
Robbie: Morning, Chief… and uh… officers.
Bullet: Morning, boys. Everything alright? You look like you lost your best still.
Delbert: Business calls. The demand for quality… beverages… hasn’t exactly dried up.
Robbie: Yeah, turns out fighting imaginary Martians doesn’t exactly pay the bills. And Bullet says we gotta get back to… you know.
Gina: (Nodding understandingly) Well, thank you for your… enthusiastic participation in our little drama. Paradise owes you a debt.
Bullet: Just don’t go expecting us to start paying those parking tickets, Chief.
Randall: (Waving a dismissive hand) Of course, of course! Consider it a… civic contribution. Just try to keep the deliveries discreet, gentlemen. We have a reputation to uphold now. As the protectors of Paradise… from all threats, terrestrial or otherwise.
Stanley: (Quietly) Hope you got good insurance for alien invasions.
Kevin: So, what should we do first?
Randall: What else, Kevin. Let's turn on the radio!
Turning on the radio, a news report comes on.
Redio VO: We interrupt this broadcast to give you this urgent news bulletin. Germany has just invaded Poland....
Randall: YES! YES! World War 2 is on! I knew it was coming around the corner!
Back at the WPDQ Radio Statio Fitz, his usually immaculate suit now rumpled and stained, peers out from behind a stack of overflowing garbage cans. Brett DeMarco, looking equally dishevelled and considerably angrier, crouches beside him. They are watching the Paradise town hall across the street.
Fitz: (Spitting) Crawford! Chief of Police! That bumbling buffoon! And Gina… that viper! I’ll never forgive them for this humiliation! For locking us in that… that supply closet with the moth-eaten costumes!
Brett DeMarco: (His voice a low growl) They took everything, Fitz. Our station. Our reputation. My good suit is ruined!
Fitz: (Clenching his fists) They think they’ve won. They think they can just waltz in and take over Paradise with their ridiculous charade! But they’re wrong! So wrong!
Brett DeMarco and Fitz both watch as Randall steps out of the town hall, attempting a rather flamboyant salute to a passing milkmaid.
Fitz: (His eyes narrowing) Mark my words, Brett. We will have our revenge. We will expose them for the frauds they are! We will take back what is rightfully ours! And when we do… Crawford and his motley crew will be begging for mercy!
Brett DeMarco: (Cracking his knuckles) Mercy is for wimps, Fitz. They’ll get what’s coming to them. Every last one of them.
Nodding grimly, Fitz makes his gaze fixed on the newly appointed Chief of Police.
Fitz: Paradise may think it’s safe now. But they haven’t seen anything yet. This… this is just the beginning.
Brett DeMarco and Fitz. slink back into the shadows, their faces grim with the promise of retribution.
THE END
Paradise PD
fanfic title:
Under The War Of The Turds
by: Trenton Sands
Scene 1:
Walking down on the grassy side of the road. There was the father and son comedy team known as Hat, Coat, and Pants. Their names were Randall and Kevin Crawford. After having travelled all over the country to catch their big break. Randall and Kevin have failed each and every time. Over the course of 9 years. Hat, Coat, and Pants have never been able to connect with an audience. Using sexual humor and ripping off dance routines from other more famous comedy teams. Having everything thrown at them from stained underwear, fruits, vegetables, and even had sperm shot at them. Now they were back in their home town of Paradise. Contemplating what could've been and what could've been.
Randall: God Dammit, Kevin! At our last gig in Dallas, you stole that dance bit from The Nicholas Brothers!
Kevin: Yeah, and what about you and that "My aunt is a real cunt act"?
Randall: Well I thought if I used dirty language it could up our game a little.
Kevin: Yeah, look where that has gotten us!
Randall: Now let's stand on the side of the road and hitch hike like we always do.
Kevin: Or we can wait for Gina to come pick us up.
Randall (sees a model T): There she is now.
Gina: Hop in you guys! I got a little money we can go get something to eat.
Kevin: Very generous of you, Gina. I have forgotten what food tasted like.
Randall: See? That was another joke you stole.
Gina: Wait until you see who runs the place. A really hot fat guy named Dusty! I just might ask him out!
Randall: Let's get in the car Kevin.
Kevin: I'm with you, Dad.
Soon afterward, the greasy aroma of fried onions hangs heavy in the air. The place was Dusty's Diner. Karen sits alone at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee that looks as tired as she does. Across the room, Randall, looking gaunt in a slightly threadbare suit, attempts a few soft-shoe steps on the worn linoleum floor. Kevin, slumped at the counter, stares morosely at a half-eaten plate of what might charitably be called stew. Gina paces back and forth, her cigarette holder jutting out like a warning sign. Karen, Randall's wife and Kevin's Mom was at the diner too.
Gina: (Exasperated) Honestly, Randall, you’ve got the grace of a wounded moose. And Kevin, that shit face could curdle milk. We’re supposed to be entertaining people, remember? Not auditioning for the role of Grim Reaper’s understudies.
Randall: (Stopping his shuffling) It’s the times, Gina! The Depression has turned joy into a luxury. People can barely afford a loaf of bread, let alone a song and dance man with a repertoire of slightly off-key ballads. And yes we have copied other more famous comedy acts too.
Kevin: (Muttering) Especially when that repertoire includes “We Have No Bananas" for the thousandth time.
Gina (Ignoring Kevin) Excuses, Randall, excuses! Bullet and his boys are swimming in dough selling giggle water. Dusty here is still slinging his… questionable cuisine. Even Stanley seems content sweeping up whatever meager coins people drop. Only the Crawfords seem destined for the poorhouse.
A portly man with a stained apron, wipes down the counter, overhearing. his name is Dusty.
Dusty: Hey, my grub ain't questionable! It's… an acquired taste. And folks still gotta eat, even if it’s just my special gravy.
Karen: (Softly) It’s hard, Dusty. My husband’s hours out on the road keep getting cut. Every penny counts.
Gina: Correct! And our pennies have flown the coop. Our booking agent in the next town skipped with our last payment. Said our act was “too… whimsical” for these trying times. Whimsical! We’ll be eating whims for dinner at this rate.
Karen: Since you two clowns left to chase this dream, there's been no police force in this town. If at all. Not even a mayor. Everyone in this town is struggling THAT BAD!
Dusty: It ain't that bad if you own a business like me. Besides, we might have World War 2 to look forward to! That'll get this country out of the Depression!
Randall: (Sighing dramatically) Ah, the cruel hand of fate! Once I played to packed houses! Now… now I’m reduced to entertaining the flies in a greasy spoon.
Kevin: (Deadpan) They weren’t exactly roaring with laughter, Dad.
Gina: Alright, enough of the pity party. We need a new angle. Something… bold. Something that’ll get people’s attention, and more importantly, their money. This vaudeville dream is circling the drain faster than a politician caught with his hand in the till.
Suddenly, the radio in the corner crackles to life, playing a jaunty tune.
Radio Announcer (V.O.) …and now, folks, a word from our esteemed sponsor, Fitzgerald’s Fine Furnishings, where quality meets affordability! Brought to you by the voice of Paradise, your pal, Gerald Fitzgerald! And welcome to another episode of "Thousand Points Of Life!"
As her eyes narrow Gina stares at the radio as she listens.
Gina: Fitzgerald… that pompous assrag. Runs that radio station like he owns the air itself. And he’s doing alright, isn’t he? Always flashing his fancy car and those tailored suits.
Randall: Radio… hmm. A powerful medium. Think of the possibilities!
Kevin: (Skeptical) Like what, Dad? Broadcasting your kazoo solo to an even wider audience of unimpressed listeners? You're not exactly Kay Kyser!
Gina: (A spark ignites in her eyes) Maybe… maybe you’re onto something, Randall. Not the kazoo, obviously. But the radio… it reaches everyone.
Randall: (Stroking his chin) We could do a dramatic reading! A stirring play! Something to lift people’s spirits!
Gina: Or… something to shake them up. Something they can’t ignore.
Randall: Something we have never tried before. Unlike Kevin who ripped off that Dr. Livingston I Pressume joke.
Kevin: Yeah, well what about you and that Flying Down To Rio scene you copied? Don't judge me!
Gina glances towards the radio, a sly smile forming on her lips.
Karen: I hope you guys know what you're doing.
Once they were done eating, Gina rounds up Kevin and Randall and leave Dusty's Diner and goes inside her Model T.
Scene 2:
In an abandoned warehouse at night. With a sign above that reads, "THIS IS NOT BULLET'S BOOTLEG BEER BUSINESS". Bullet, a burly bipeadal German Shepard with a permanent scowl, supervises Robbie, who nervously stacks crates of liquor. Delbert , quiet and watchful, polishes a Tommy gun.
Bullet: Hurry it up, Robbie. We gotta move this stuff before dawn. Fitzgerald’s been sniffing around our territory again. Thinks he can muscle in just because he owns half the town.
Robbie: (Stuttering) Y-you think he knows about the new shipment, Bullet?
Bullet: Nah. Fitz is too busy counting his money and listening to his own voice on that damn radio station. Thinks he’s God’s gift to Paradise.
Delbert: (Without looking up) Pride goeth before a fall.
Suddenly, the warehouse door creaks open. Randall and Kevin stumble in, looking nervous and out of place.
Bullet: (Growling) What in the name of Meyer Lansky…? Who are you two? And what do you want?
Randall: (Wringing his hands) Please, sir, we mean you no harm! We’re just… desperate.
Kevin: (Muttering) Desperate and possibly making a huge mistake.
Gina (Entering with a confident stride) Evening, twat waffles. My name is Gina, and these are my… associates, Randall and Kevin Crawford. We have a proposition for you.
The german shephard raises a suspicious eyebrow.
Bullet: A proposition? You mean like sex? You two look like you couldn’t proposition if your penises are aimed at the broad side of the barn!
Gina: We know you run a… successful business. And we know that Fitzgerald’s radio empire is making him richer by the day while the rest of Paradise scrapes by. We think we have a way to… level the playing field.
Robbie: (Confused) Level the… what now? You gonna sing him a sad song until he cries all his money away?
Gina (Ignoring Robbie) We need your help. We need access to something you might have connections to. Something that can help us… broadcast a message.
Robbie, along with Bullet, exchanges a look with Delbert.
Bullet: Broadcast what? You planning on serenading the whole town with your sob stories?
Randall: (With newfound enthusiasm) No! Something far more… impactful! Something that will make people sit up and take notice! Something… like an invasion from Mars!
Staring at Randall as if he’s grown a second head. Bullet is an awe of this idea. Robbie’s jaw drops. Delbert remains impassive, but a flicker of something akin to amusement crosses his lips.
Bullet: Mars? You’re talking about little green men? You’ve been hitting the alcohol yourselves, haven’t you?
Gina: Hear us out. Think about it. Everyone listens to the radio. What if they heard… something unbelievable? Something that would unite them, even if it’s through fear?
Kevin: (Trying to interject) Gina, I don’t think this is a good idea…
Gina: (Cutting him off with a sharp look) Kevin, darling, we’re one step away from selling our shoes for soup. We need to take a risk. And these gentlemen… they understand risk.
Stroking his chin, Bullet devises a slow grin spreading across his face.
Bullet: An invasion from Mars, huh? That’s… got a certain flair to it. Could be just crazy enough to work. What do you need from us?
Gina: We need a way into that radio station. Fitzgerald’s pride is his fucking downfall. He probably leaves it about as secure as a sieve. We need someone who knows the back alleys, someone who isn’t afraid of a little… breaking and entering.
Robbie, who gulps nervously. As does Delbert. Bullet talks some more.
Bullet: Robbie here’s got a knack for finding doors that aren’t properly locked. Especially after a few too many sips of our finest.
Robbie: (Protesting weakly) Hey!
Gina: Excellent. And in return? Well, if this works, the whole town will owe us a debt of gratitude. And maybe, just maybe, we can all stop worrying about where our next meal is coming from.
Finally speaking, Delbert, his voice low and steady.
Delbert: What’s the catch? There’s always a catch.
Gina: The catch is… we all have to play our parts. And we have to make it believable.
Scene 3:
The small studio is filled with the hum of equipment. Gerald 'Fitz" Fitzgerald, a slick man with a condescending smile, speaks into the microphone, Brett DeMarco, a hulking figure with cold eyes, stands beside him.
Fitz: (Smoothly) And that, my dear listeners, was the dulcet tones of yours truly, Gerald Fitz Fitzgerald, reminding you that Fitzgerald’s Fine Furnishings is the only place in Paradise where you’ll find quality furniture at prices that won’t break the bank. Because here at WPDQ, we care about you, the fine citizens of Paradise.
He winks at Brett, who offers a menacing smirk.
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Randall and Kevin, looking terrified but determined, rush in, followed by GINA. Robbie stands nervously in the doorway.
Fitz: (Indignant) Holy shit! I demand to know what this is! How did you get in here? Brett!
Brett moves forward menacingly, but Bullet along with Robbie and Delbert step into the room, both looking decidedly unfriendly.
Bullet: Stand down, mustard plaster. This is our show now.
Gina (To Fitz) Consider this a temporary change in programming, Fitz. One the people of Paradise will thank you for… eventually.
Randall, surprisingly adept, starts fiddling with the microphone. Kevin looks like he wants to disappear.
Fitz: You can’t do this! This is my station! I’ll have you all arrested!
Kevin: Jokes on you, there's no police in this town! Ha ha!
Gina: Try it. But right now, the good people of Paradise are about to hear something far more interesting than your cock sucking furniture commercials.
Clearing his throat dramatically. Randall speaks into the microphone.
Randall: (Adopting a serious, urgent tone) This is a special news bulletin. We interrupt this program to bring you a report of disturbing events unfolding in our very own state.
Kevin winces. As Randall continues.
Randall: (Reading from a hastily scribbled script) Eyewitnesses report strange lights in the sky… objects falling from the heavens near Grover’s Mill! Authorities are baffled! Could this be… could this be the beginning of an extraterrestrial invasion? If so, you better hide your wifes and other female relatives! Because these Martians from what I hear want to use females for mating purposes! And maybe even prostitute them!
Brett DeMarco and Fitz exchange disbelieving glances.
Fitz: (Scoffs) Extraterrestrial invasion? That's bullshit! What kind of unholy jungle hell is THIS?!?!?!!?
Gina: (To Robbie) Lock them in the supply closet. Make sure they can still hear the broadcast. They wouldn’t want to miss the excitement.
Robbie, looking slightly less nervous now that he has a task, shoves Fitz and Brett DeMarco towards a small storage room.
Randall: (His voice rising in alarm) We have unconfirmed reports of… creatures! Strange, tentacled beings who will burn your faces off and then you'll need pieces of your ass to put your face back together! Moving on, now, emerging from these fallen objects! The National Guard has been alerted! We urge all citizens to remain calm… but be vigilant! Lock your doors! Stay by your radios for further updates!
Looking at Gina, who nods approvingly. Randall likes what is going on.
Gina: Alright, Randall, you’ve got them hooked. Now we need to keep them there. Kevin, play that eerie music you do. The one that sounds like a dying cat.
Kevin reluctantly pulls out his harmonica and plays a series of discordant notes.
Randall: (Over Kevin’s music) We now have a live report from a local farmer near the impact site! Can you hear me, sir? What are you seeing?
Holding the microphone towards… nothing, Randall gets pushed away by Gina quickly steps in.
Gina: (Lowering her voice to a shaky whisper) He… he’s not responding! Oh, the horror! They must have… they must have gotten to him!
Bullet and Delbert exchange impressed glances. Even Kevin looks a little unnerved by Gina’s sudden dramatic flair.
Randall: Stay tuned, folks! This is only the beginning! Paradise… may never be the same!
Robbie walks out of the closet where Fitz and Brett DeMarco were sealed in.
Bullet: What did you do to them?
Robbie: Let's just say they won't get out and will have to resort to homosexual sex!
Delbert: That's something I've never heard before.
Scene 4:
The diner is packed. Dusty's diner is getting tons of service. People huddle around the radio, their faces etched with fear and confusion. Karen sits with a group of other housewives, her eyes wide with worry. Stanley stands near the counter, listening intently, his broom forgotten.
Randall (radio voice): …we repeat, strange metallic cylinders have landed in various locations around the county! Reports are flooding in of… of heat rays! Buildings are said to be… dissolving!
A waitress in the diner gasps.
Woman Waitress: Heat rays? Oh, Lord have mercy!
Karen: Dissolving buildings? But… but what about our homes?
Randall (radio voice): We now have a firsthand account from a terrified resident near Paradise River!
Now Gina’s voice comes over the radio, distorted and panicked.
Gina VO: (Strained) They’re… they’re coming this way! Hide yourselves! Oh, the tentacles! They’re… they’re reaching!
The radio cuts out with a burst of static. A wave of terror washes over the diner.
Dusty: (Nervously wiping his brow) Tentacles? What in tarnation are tentacles doing in Paradise? Oh I better save my cats!
Stanley: (Calmly, despite the chaos) Sounds like something out of those science fiction stories they print in the pulp magazines. Though I never took them for gospel.
Dusty: Cheese and taters! Stanley is actually lucid in this one?
Bullet: Duh! Yeah! He lived through this era!
Dusty: Oh yes that's right!
Woman Waitress 2: It’s real! I saw strange lights in the sky earlier! I thought I was seeing things!
Panic begins to set in. People start shouting and pushing towards the door. Both men and women are scared out of their minds.
Dusty: Everyone calm down! We don’t know what’s going on yet!
Suddenly, Bullet, Robbie, and Delbert stride into the diner, looking grim.
Bullet: Alright, folks, listen up! We need to stay organized! We can’t let these… Martians… just waltz in here and take over!
Robbie: (Brandishing a baseball bat) Yeah! We’ll fight ‘em off! For Paradise! With my trust Jackie Robinson bat!
Delbert: (More pragmatically) We need to find out what we’re dealing with. And we need to protect our own.
Looking at Bullet with a mixture of fear and a flicker of hope. Karen looks at him for advice.
Karen: What can we do? We’re just ordinary people.
Bullet: We’re citizens of Paradise! We’re tough! We’ve survived the Depression, haven’t we? We can survive this too!
The German Shephard looks around at the frightened faces.
Bullet: Dusty, you got a sturdy building here. We can use it as a temporary stronghold. Stanley, you’ve got eyes and ears all over town. Keep us informed of anything… unusual.
Dusty nods, his fear slowly being replaced by a sense of purpose. Stanley leans on his broom, his gaze thoughtful.
Stanley: I’ve seen a few things in my time sweeping these streets. Never Martians, though. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.
Back at the radio station, Randall beams at Gina.
Randall: They’re buying it! Hook, line, and sinker!
Gina: (Grinning) Of course they are. People want something to believe in, Randall. Even if it’s a load of hooey about Martians. Now, let’s reel them in a little further.
Scene 5:
Kevin, Randall, and Gina still at the radio station. Leans into the microphone, Randall has his voice filled with dramatic urgency.
Randall: Citizens of Paradise! The invaders are advancing! We have reports of strange, whirring sounds approaching from the outskirts of town! They’re… they’re unlike anything we’ve ever seen!
Gina: (Whispering to Kevin) More dying cat music, darling. Really lay it on thick.
Kevin obligingly scrapes his harmonica, producing a truly unsettling sound.
Randall: But we will not surrender! We will fight! We will defend our homes! I call upon every able-bodied man and woman in Paradise to take up arms! Gather whatever you can – pitchforks, shovels, rolling pins! We will meet these alien aggressors head-on! For Paradise! For freedom!
Slamming his fist on the table Randall was trying to show for emphasis.
Gina: Alright, Randall, you’re practically Winston Churchill in a bad suit. Now comes the tricky part. We need to make this… visual.
Randall: Visual? But they’re listening to the radio!
Gina: Yeah, that's what I mean. Visual, audio they'd be the same. And what do people do when they hear about a battle? They want to see it! We need to give them a show. A grand spectacle of Paradise fighting back against the Martian menace.
Kevin: (Nervously) You mean… we actually have to fight something?
Gina: Relax, twat waffle. We’re going to stage a fight. And we know just the people to help us.
Kevin (still nervous) I'm not going to be the Martian? Will I?
Randall: No I will! You're forgetting that I am the leader of Hat, Coat, and Pants!
Back at Dustys diner. The diner remains crowded, but the initial panic has morphed into a tense anticipation. Bullet is organizing a group of men armed with makeshift weapons. Karen stands nearby, looking worried but resolute. Stanley observes everything with a calm demeanor.The radio crackles to life. It’s Randall’s voice again, but this time, it sounds like he’s in the thick of the action.
Randall (radio voice): They’re here! I see them! Strange, lumbering shapes… moving towards the town square! They’re… they’re making a horrible, squishy sound!
Suddenly, the diner door bursts open, and Gina strides in, followed by Kevin looking deeply uncomfortable.
Gina: Alright, folks! The time for talk is over! The Martians are attacking! And we need your help to stop them!
Afterwards Bullet raises and eyebrow
Bullet: Our help? With what? We ain’t got no ray guns.
Gina: You’ve got spirit! And you’ve got… yourselves! We need a distraction. A brave group of volunteers to go to the town square and… engage the enemy.
A nervous murmur runs through the crowd.
Karen: Engage them? But… how?
Gina (Looking directly at Bullet) You and your boys. You’re resourceful. You know how to handle yourselves. We need you to make it look like a real fight. Some shouting, some… well, some strategic retreating.
Looking at Gina for a long moment, Bullet then forms a slow grin spreads across his face.
Bullet: Strategic retreating, huh? Sounds like my Tuesday nights avoiding the revenuers. Alright, Gina. We’re in. Robbie! Delbert! Let’s show these… squishy things what Paradise is made of!
Robbie lets out a whoop and swings his baseball bat. Delbert nods grimly, adjusting something under his coat that looks suspiciously like a slingshot loaded with ball bearings.
Gina: Excellent! Dusty, you know everyone in town. Can you rally some more… enthusiastic participants? Tell them it’s their patriotic duty! Think of it as a town play, but with slightly higher stakes.
Caught up in the moment, Dusty puffs out his chest.
Dusty: A play, you say? I always did have a flair for the dramatic… especially when it comes to defending my gravy recipe! Count me in!
Gina: And Stanley! Your knowledge of the town’s back alleys and hidden spots will be invaluable for our… tactical maneuvers.
Leaning on his broom, a thoughtful expression is now on Stanley's face.
Stanley: Tactical maneuvers, you say? It’s not unlike sweeping up after a particularly rowdy Saturday night. Alright, I’ll lend a hand.
Kevin who sees Gina turn to him, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Gina: And you, the reluctant hero, will be our… communications expert. You’ll stay at the radio station with Randall and provide the play-by-play. Make it sound epic, darling. Like the battle of Thermopylae, but with more tentacles.
Kevin: (Grumbling) Great. I always wanted to be the guy stuck in the control room while everyone else has all the fun… and potential dismemberment.
Gina Bullshit! You’re the voice of the resistance! Now, let’s go give those Martians a Paradise welcome they’ll never forget!
Bullet, Robbie, Delbert, Dusty, and a growing crowd of nervous but determined citizens out of the diner and towards the town square. All were being lead by Gina. Karen watches them go, a mixture of fear and admiration on her face.
Scene 6:
The town square is dimly lit by streetlamps. Bullet, Robbie, Delbert, and a motley crew of townsfolk cautiously approach the center of the square. They brandish their makeshift weapons nervously.Suddenly, a series of loud, metallic clanking sounds echoes from behind the general store. A large, oddly shaped contraption, cobbled together from scrap metal and painted a ridiculous shade of green, lurches into view. It’s being operated by Randall, who is making the clanking noises with a pair of old garbage can lids.
Randall (voice distorted) Greetings, Earthlings! We have come for your… your water and your… your shiny things!
Stunned at the “Martian” contraption, Robbie's jaw agape.
Robbie: That… that’s just Randall in a fancy trash can.
Bullet: (Sighing) Well, it was a good idea in theory. Alright, folks, remember the plan. Lots of shouting, a bit of running, and try not to actually hit him.
The townsfolk charge forward, yelling and waving their weapons. Bullet, Robbie, and Delbert join the fray, making a convincing show of resistance.
Bullet: Get back, you tentacled fiends! This is our town!
Robbie: Take that, space monster! (He swings his baseball bat wildly, narrowly missing the trash can.) Kick your ass back to Mars is what I'm gonna do!
Delbert expertly slingshots ball bearings at the contraption, making loud pings.
Inside the “Martian” machine, Randall is having the time of his life.
Randall (Through a megaphone) Fools! Your primitive weapons are no match for our advanced Martian technology! Prepare to be… conquered!
Suddenly, the contraption lurches violently. Randall yelps.
Randall: Whoa! What was that?
Unseen by the townsfolk, Stanley, using his knowledge of the town’s uneven sidewalks, has strategically placed a loose paving stone in the path of the makeshift Martian vehicle.
Stanley (Muttering to himself from the shadows) Tactical maneuver? Oh fuck yeah. Sometimes the best defense is a well-placed trip hazard.
The Martian contraption tips over with a loud crash, and Randall tumbles out, landing in a heap. The townsfolk freeze, unsure of what to do next. Then a huge wave of pink soap landed on Dusty.
Bullet: (To the crowd) Uh… looks like we… defeated it?
A cheer erupts from the crowd. They surge forward, surrounding the fallen “Martian.”
Karen: We did it! We fought them off!
Dusty: Paradise prevails! (looks at the pink soap over him): But why did it have to end with me being all 'sudsy"?
Just then, the town sheriff from Diamond City a scrawny and usually unflappable man named Chip Fuckyeah, arrives on the scene, looking utterly bewildered. He’s followed by a couple of equally confused deputies. Coming out of his Studebaker. They’ve clearly been listening to the radio.
Sheriff Chip: What in the… what in the name of Errol Flynn is going on here? I heard reports of an alien invasion! And… is that Randall Crawford in a garbage can?
Running forward, Gina now finds herself radiating authority.
Gina: Sheriff Chip, thank goodness you’re here! As you can see, the brave citizens of Paradise have successfully repelled the first wave of Martian invaders! Thanks to their quick thinking and courageous actions, our town is safe! For now.
Observing the scene then at Gina, then back at Randall, who is dusting himself off. Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah doesn't know what to make of it.
Sheriff Chip: Martian… invaders? Gina, have you been at Bullet’s stash again?
Gina: Sheriff, I assure you, this is no laughing matter! We intercepted their initial attack, but we must remain vigilant! They could return at any moment! We need to be prepared! We need… leadership!
She looks pointedly at Sheriff Chip , who looks like he’d rather be dealing with a runaway cow.
Gina: (continues) Someone with… vision. Someone who understands the gravity of this… extraterrestrial threat. Someone who can unite the people of Paradise and ensure our continued safety.
The townsfolk murmur in agreement, still caught up in the excitement.
Karen: She’s right, Sheriff! We need someone strong!
Dusty: Someone who can handle a crisis! (wiping the soap suds off him)
Clapping Randall on the shoulder. Bullet signals Randall to do the talking.
Bullet: Randall here, he was right there on the front lines! He faced the enemy head-on! He’s a hero!
Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah arrives in Paradise from Diamond City looks at Randall, who suddenly puffs out his chest and adopts a heroic pose.
Randall (In a booming voice) I was merely doing my duty, Sheriff. Protecting the good people of Paradise from the cosmic menace. But if the town needs a leader… a protector… I am ready to answer the call!
Feeling utterly defeated by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Sheriff Chip Fuckyeah lets out a sigh and the surprisingly unified front of the townsfolk.
Sheriff Chip: (Muttering) Cosmic menace… I haven’t even finished dealing with Geraldine's missing prize-winning petunia. Alright, alright. If that’s what the people want… Randall, you’re the new… Chief of Police. Congratulations. Now, someone please explain to me what in the blazes that green trash can was supposed to be.
Gina beams. Her plan, as outlandish as it was, had somehow worked.
Sheriff Chip: You know what? this town needs a police force. How would you all like to be it! Randall. You can be police chief. And the fat guy, old guy, red head, and the fine dame can all your recuits. You in?
Randall: I accept!
Karen: All right! Hey you know, this town can use a mayor as well. You think you can make me the first female....
Sheriff Chip: Uhhh, no!
Karen: Son of a bitch!
Scene 7 Epilogue:
The Paradise town hall’s musky smelling meeting room has been hastily repurposed as a police station. Randall, resplendent in an ill-fitting and slightly too-large uniform, sits behind the former council table, now his “desk.” A tarnished badge is pinned crookedly to his chest. Bullet also in an oversized uniform, leans back in a chair, his boots propped up on a stack of old town ordinances.
Dusty, his uniform straining at the seams, polishes his badge with a corner of his greasy apron. Gina, looking surprisingly sharp in a tailored uniform, organizes paperwork with brisk efficiency. Stanley, still in his familiar street cleaner attire but now sporting a shiny new badge pinned to his vest, leans his broom against the wall, observing the scene with quiet amusement.
Randall (Beaming) Chief Crawford! Has a certain ring to it, wouldn’t you say? Though I do think a slightly more… theatrical title might be in order. Perhaps “Grand Marshal of Martian Defense”?
Gina: (Without looking up) You’re the Chief of Police, Randall. Who would've thought this would happen after me being your manager and you and Kevin in that pathetic vaudeville act! Try to focus on earthly matters for now. Like the stack of overdue parking tickets.
Bullet: Parking tickets? In Paradise? Last time I checked, the biggest traffic jam we had was Geraldine's prize-winning pig getting loose.
Dusty: Yeah, and I think Unregiestered to Vote Earl parked his tractor in front of my diner for a week last summer. Never got a ticket. Whoever Earl is. Must admit. Not that I'm a policeman. I'm going to miss having my own diner.
Stanley: Times are changing, though, aren’t they? One minute you’re sweeping up cigarette butts, the next you’re upholding the law. Funny old world.
Randall: Correct, Stanley. It just goes to show, even the most humble among us can rise to greatness! Though in my case, greatness was always… imminent.
The door creaks open, and Robbie and Delbert enter. Robbie looks a little deflated, while Delbert maintains his usual stoic demeanor.
Robbie: Morning, Chief… and uh… officers.
Bullet: Morning, boys. Everything alright? You look like you lost your best still.
Delbert: Business calls. The demand for quality… beverages… hasn’t exactly dried up.
Robbie: Yeah, turns out fighting imaginary Martians doesn’t exactly pay the bills. And Bullet says we gotta get back to… you know.
Gina: (Nodding understandingly) Well, thank you for your… enthusiastic participation in our little drama. Paradise owes you a debt.
Bullet: Just don’t go expecting us to start paying those parking tickets, Chief.
Randall: (Waving a dismissive hand) Of course, of course! Consider it a… civic contribution. Just try to keep the deliveries discreet, gentlemen. We have a reputation to uphold now. As the protectors of Paradise… from all threats, terrestrial or otherwise.
Stanley: (Quietly) Hope you got good insurance for alien invasions.
Kevin: So, what should we do first?
Randall: What else, Kevin. Let's turn on the radio!
Turning on the radio, a news report comes on.
Redio VO: We interrupt this broadcast to give you this urgent news bulletin. Germany has just invaded Poland....
Randall: YES! YES! World War 2 is on! I knew it was coming around the corner!
Back at the WPDQ Radio Statio Fitz, his usually immaculate suit now rumpled and stained, peers out from behind a stack of overflowing garbage cans. Brett DeMarco, looking equally dishevelled and considerably angrier, crouches beside him. They are watching the Paradise town hall across the street.
Fitz: (Spitting) Crawford! Chief of Police! That bumbling buffoon! And Gina… that viper! I’ll never forgive them for this humiliation! For locking us in that… that supply closet with the moth-eaten costumes!
Brett DeMarco: (His voice a low growl) They took everything, Fitz. Our station. Our reputation. My good suit is ruined!
Fitz: (Clenching his fists) They think they’ve won. They think they can just waltz in and take over Paradise with their ridiculous charade! But they’re wrong! So wrong!
Brett DeMarco and Fitz both watch as Randall steps out of the town hall, attempting a rather flamboyant salute to a passing milkmaid.
Fitz: (His eyes narrowing) Mark my words, Brett. We will have our revenge. We will expose them for the frauds they are! We will take back what is rightfully ours! And when we do… Crawford and his motley crew will be begging for mercy!
Brett DeMarco: (Cracking his knuckles) Mercy is for wimps, Fitz. They’ll get what’s coming to them. Every last one of them.
Nodding grimly, Fitz makes his gaze fixed on the newly appointed Chief of Police.
Fitz: Paradise may think it’s safe now. But they haven’t seen anything yet. This… this is just the beginning.
Brett DeMarco and Fitz. slink back into the shadows, their faces grim with the promise of retribution.
THE END
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