[ The camera pans across a deserted, rocky landscape -- craters filled with smoky, bubbling slime. ]
Announcer: Come with us now... from the bubbling tarpits to the sulfurous wasteland... from the rotting forest to the stagnant mud flats...
Ploobis: [ singing ] From the bubbling tarpits... to the sulfurous wasteland... This land was made for me! And me only! Cause I am Ploobis! King of all I survey. [ Ploobis reaches into a crater and picks up a phone receiver. ] Scred! Scred!
[ Scred enters. ]
Scred: Yes, oh high supreme mucky muck, sir!
Ploobis: Scred, I'm hungry.
Scred: Ohh... what would please your flatulence?
[ Ploobis grabs Scred by the throat. ]
Ploobis: FOOD! See, I'm hungry -- and when I get hungry, I get a headache. [ He shakes Scred by the throat a bit. ] And when I get a headache, I get, uh...
Ploobis: [ shaking Scred ] NO!
Scred: MILDLY ANNOYED!
Ploobis: That's IT! [ He releases Scred, who gasps for breath. ]
Scred: Oh, thank you, sire.
Ploobis: I get mildly annoyed when I don't have food.
Scred: I'll see to it immediately, your grossness.
[ Scred slinks off. ]
Ploobis: Hmmm. This is something Peuta should have taken care of.
[ Queen Peuta enters, shrieking. ]
Peuta: I heard that! [ Ploobis winces. ] I don't have time to worry about your food. Especially in my condition.
Peuta: I said, especially in my condition.
Ploobis: Especially in your condition.
Ploobis: Rrgh. What do you expect me to do about it? You're too old to molt.
Peuta: Arrgh! Oh, Ploobis -- I don't know what my problem is. I'm just not in the swing of things. You see... I'm having tremendous difficulty releasing my darts.
Ploobis: Releasing your darts. Urrgh. What should I do about it?
[ Scred enters and hides behind Ploobis. ]
Peuta: Go to The Mighty Favog. He's the only one who can relieve my pain.
Ploobis: Mmm. Your pain is my pain, m'dear.
Peuta: I'm going to lie down now. Perhaps the darts will loosen.
[ Peuta exits. ]
Scred: Uh, would it help if I massaged your moogies? [ Ploobis grabs Scred. ] Ow ow ow ow! Only joking, only kidding, your majesty!
Ploobis: Don't say it if you don't mean it. [ He releases Scred. ]
Scred: Yes, sire.
[ Scred exits, and Vazh enters, bearing food. ]
Ploobis: Ah, there you are.
Vazh: Here's your food, Ploobis!
Ploobis: Well, thank you, Vazh -- what've you got here? Grrrh... [ Ploobis can't get the prop turkey leg off Vazh's hand. This is one of the problems with live TV puppetry. Vazh falls partly out of shot as Ploobis grabs the meat. ] Let go of it, would you? Mmmm. [ He tastes the meat. ] Tastes like boiled Kleenex. Mmph. This tastes familiar -- is this anyone I know?
Vazh: Will you want dessert, Ploobis?
Ploobis: Unnnh. What I want, Angel Buns -- is not on the menu. [ He embraces her. ] C'mere, you. Ohhh. Yeah. Oh, sweetheart. Mmm.
[ Peuta enters and interrupts. ]
Peuta: Ploobis! What are you doing?
[ Ploobis starts, throwing Vazh to the floor with a crash. ]
Ploobis: Ah! Well, uh -- excuse me, ma'am. [ Vazh gets up, cradling her head. ] Uh. I was just on my way to The Mighty Favog, y'see.
[ GONNGGG! The Mighty Favog is revealed. ]
Favog: DIS IS THE MIGHTY FAVOG. HOW MANY IN YOUR PARTY?
[ Ploobis and Scred approach respectfully. ]
Ploobis: Uh... one! Me and Scred.
Favog: TALK TA ME.
Ploobis: Oh, Mighty Favog! I got a problem.
Favog: BUSINESS, SPORTS OR PERSONAL?
Ploobis: Uh... Scred?
Scred: Medical, your grossness.
Ploobis: Oh, Mighty Favog, it's medical.
Favog: IT'S GONNA COST YA.
[ Ploobis looks uneasily at Scred. ]
Favog: THREE CHICKENS, TWO SWANS, AND A DUCK.
Ploobis: Holy guacamole. Whatcha got on you, Scred?
Scred: Just two chickens. But that's carfare home!
Ploobis: Oh Favog, I offer you two chickens -- it's all I've got!
Favog: BUSINESS IS SLOW. I'LL TAKE 'EM.
Ploobis: Hand him the chickens.
Scred: Oh, okay -- but phooey, anyway. [ Scred holds two chickens over the sacrificial hole. ] Are you ready?
Favog: LAY 'EM ON YOUR GOD!
Scred: Here they come!
[ Scred drops the chickens into the hole. They land with a splash, and there's a flushing sound as The Mighty Favog digests the sacrifice. He smacks his lips. ]
Favog: AWRIGHT. STATE YOUR PROBLEM.
Ploobis: Oh, Mighty Favog! My charming wife Peuta can't release her darts.
Favog: MMMMM. AWRIGHT. YA READY?
Ploobis & Scred: We are ready, Oh Mighty Favog!
[ There's a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning. ]
Favog: HERE IS THE ANSWER!
Favog: CHEER UP. THINGS COULD BE WORSE.
[ GONG!!! ]
Ploobis: For that, I paid two chickens?
Favog: LIKE I SAID -- CHEER UP, THINGS COULD BE WORSE. YOU COULDA PAID FOUR CHICKENS. NEXT!
[ Scred and Ploobis walk off. ]
Scred: You can't argue with that...
Ploobis: Yeah, but...
Favog: I'M HERE EVERY DAY! TELL YER FRIENDS!
[ fade ]