May 17, 2001
Where The Hell Is The DVD? Ch.69
The Where The Hell Is The DVD? saga has been brought to you by:
"Bring it on, Dick!" retorted Trent, jumping off his camel. "I've been waiting for this for a long time!"
"Damn it, call me Darth Patrick!" whined Darth Patrick.
"All right, Darth," Trent replied. "Your ass is grass! Stand aside, Meathead!"
Meathead moved from between Trent and Darth Patrick as Trent assumed his totally cool fighting stance.
Darth Patrick twirled his lightsaber in the air, assumed his lame fighting stance, and after a moment of silence, charged forward, screaming.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" said Darth Patrick.
Trent extended his foot as Darth Patrick drew near, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into the sand. Darth immediately sprung to his feet and spun around.
"Ppttt! I'll get you for that! Ppptt!" said Darth, spitting sand as he spoke.
"Look," said Trent, "This is stupid. Just give me back my DVD so we can leave and Meathead can finally end this fucking story. I have to take a piss anyway."
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" said Darth.
Trent dodged just as Darth lunged toward him, lightsaber in hand.
"I won't let this story end!" shouted Darth. "This is the most attention I've gotten in a long time! If Meathead ends the story, they'll all forget about me, and 'Richard Patrick' won't be a household name anymore! Then I'd just have to go back to making crappy music!"
Suddenly, a low, growling rumble was heard in the distance.
"What the hell was that?" asked Meathead, befuddled.
"Tell you what, Rich-- er, Darth," said Trent. "If you just let this end now, I'll let you join Nine Inch Nails again. I'm sure a couple songs on my new album could use some drone guitar at the end. Whaddya say?"
"Man, you're a dick!" whined Darth. "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Trent casually stepped aside as Darth missed him yet again.
"You're really not very good at this, Darth," observed Trent. "Are you good at anything?"
The growling noise appeared again, this time much louder.
"Goddamn it, what the hell is that?" shouted Meathead. "Didn't either of you hear that?"
"Ow, fucker!" exclamed Trent as Darth smacked him in the head. Trent immediately responded to the attack with a kick to Darth's groin.
"Ooh, that's gonna hurt in the morning," whined Darth, his voice a couple octaves higher than it already was.
"Holy shit!!" screamed Meathead.
Trent looked over his shoulder to see the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in all his life. Less than a half mile away, peering over the sand dunes, lurked a grotesqely enormous stripper, growling and screaming like a beast from Hell. With no hesistation Trent turned and proceeded to haul ass in the opposite direction.
"Come on, Meathead! Screw the DVD! We're getting the fuck out of here, now!!"
There was no response.
Trent stopped and turned around. Meathead was gone. However, the stripper was still there, but was not chasing after him. Instead, she was focusing on Darth Patrick, who was still lying on the ground in agony due to Trent's groin-kick.
Darth lifted his arm to wipe the tears from his eyes, when he suddenly realized he was surrounded by an enormous shadow. Looking up, the last thing he saw was the mouth of the gargantuan whore as it engulfed him. The stripper lifted her head high in the air, swinging Darth Patrick's lifeless body from her mouth.
"Woah! That was cool!" exclaimed Trent, laughing hysterically. He stopped laughing, however, when he noticed that the stripper was staring directly at him, growling and baring her teeth.
"Uh oh," muttered Trent, who was now inexplicably dressed as a Scotsman. "I guess now would probably be a good time to turn back around and run some more."
And so he did.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran some more. Then he stopped to catch his breath. And then, he ran some more. Finally, when he could run no longer, he collapsed to the ground. Trent lay on the ground for what seemed like hours before he realized that instead of sand, he was lying on freshly cut green grass.
Trent blinked, and rolled his eyes upward from the ground.
"Hey, man, get up!"
"Unh," groaned Trent. "What time is it? I want blueberry pancakes."
"Fool, you best get the fuck up before I make you get up! You're in the damn way, man!"
With a little effort, Trent rolled himself over and sat up. He looked up to see a very familiar face looking back down at him. It was Pope John Paul II. "What? What the hell are you doing here?" inquired Trent.
"What the hell am I doing here?!" replied His Holiness. "Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing! Me an' my peeps be tryin' to play some damn golf, and we were doin' just fine until you came along and fucked it all up! Now get up!"
Trent stood up. Standing beside the Pope were his 'peeps', Dr. Dre and Bill Nye the Science Guy.
"Sup, Trent," nodded Dr. Dre. Trent nodded in response.
"Hey, you're Trent Reznor!" exclaimed Bill Nye. "Dude! You fuckin' rock!"
"Um.. thanks," replied Trent. "You guys are... playing golf?"
"Man, what the--?" the Pope snapped before being cut off by Bill Nye.
"Dude! Chill! You don't have to yell at the guy, can't you see he's had a rough day? Hey, how about we let Trent Reznor play golf with us? That would be so cool! Come on, Mr. Reznor, what do you say?"
"Well, I--", Trent started to politely tell Bill Nye to fuck off when he noticed something shiny near the Pope's feet. Resting on the tee, instead of a golf ball, was a shiny disc.
"Hey. What the hell is that?" demanded Trent. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Heh. We're playin' 'DVD Golf'," said Bill Nye. "The Pope's idea. Don't blame me, man."
"Man... fuck you, Nye!!" shouted the Pope. "It wasn't my damn idea! Don't fuckin' blame me for your stupid-ass shit!"
"Look... I don't care whose idea it was," sighed Trent. "I just want my DVD back. I've gone through so much unbelievable shit to get this damn DVD back, and I'm not gonna let it go now just so you guys can putt with it. Come on. Gimme it. Please."
"Come on, man," pleaded Bill Nye. "I never get to play golf anymore! This is a rare opportunity for me. For once in my life I feel complete!"
"Yeah, really!", added Dr. Dre. "We's just tryin' to have some fun. Why you always want to ruin it?"
"Sorry," muttered Trent.
"Maybe you should just try being a little nicer," said Bill Nye.
"Nicer...? Damn it, I said 'please'! Come on, what more to you want?"
"Well," Bill Nye smirked, "you could start by hiring a new--"
"Shh!" interrupted Dr. Dre. "Keep your damn mouth shut! Look, Trent. Tell ya what. I'll stand here and give you to the count of ten to start running. Then, when I'm done countin', I'll tee off with your DVD here. If you can catch it, it's yours. How 'bout it?"
"You gotta be fucking crazy!" Trent exclaimed. "What if I say no?"
"Then I'll just let the Pope man here take a whiz all over it. Then you can have it."
"I really gotta go, too," the Pope added.
Trent sighed. "All right. Fine. Let's go with plan A."
Dr. Dre chuckled and stood up to the tee. "One."
Trent turned and ran.
Trent ran until at last he heard Dr. Dre reach ten.
Thwack! Dre swung his club and the disc sailed through the air.
"Fore!" shouted Dre, and the others laughed merrily.
Trent squinted in the sunlight, trying to follow the path of the flying DVD. He ran forward, stopped, ran to the right, stopped, and backed up a few steps. "I... I got it! Here it comes!" Trent shouted excitedly. "Oh... shit."
The disc landed squarely on Trent's forehead. Double-vision came first, then at last he blacked out as he fell onto his face once again.
Trent opened his eyes to see his bedroom ceiling. He blinked a few times and then looked down, feeling around himself.
"It was a dream!" he exclaimed, and sat upright. "It was a fucking dream! Good god, I need to stop pigging out on Tostitos and cheap beer before bed. Never again!"
Trent rubbed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. "Damn, what a headache."
"Hey there, birthday boy!" greeted Leo. "Why don't you come on over here and get your birthday present?"