Aziz Vs. His Enemies
And then Aziz’s hand would burst out from the belly of that fucking elephant. And yes the elephant would roar in pain, and it would be thinking like, “Mother fuck…life’s a bitch, huh? Because I’m the biggest of all land mammals, and still Aziz’s hand has torn through my insides like they weren’t made of elephant-tough intestine.” But that would be the last thought it would ever fucking elephant-think, because not even an elephant can survive a man being inside it and then punching through its insides when the man inside is Aziz and thus was never digested because Aziz never fucking can be digested. Not even mentally.And if you noticed here, and if you take a second to fucking educate yourself, this Aziz life-capture starts in the middle like all good stories like the Iliad do. Because you, as the audience, you are probably like, “I don’t even fucking know where that elephant came from.” Well of course you fucking don’t because that story lies only in this story’s future and Aziz’s story’s past.
So yes, that was just a little amuse bouche of thrills and come on this is Aziz, so you know there’s like tons more potent action flavor for you to digest in non-stop gluttony if you will just hold your fucking delicious horses, fatty.
This Aziz revelation has occurred because a few questions from the audience were all asking the same question, namely: What do you get when you try to mind freak Aziz with a brain neutralizer? I am paraphrasing here because these questions were so stupid that fuck. Give me a break. For example:
“Aziz Ansari Vs. Timothy Leary. And Aziz is on LSD and doesn't know whats (sic) happening around him-- he thinks Leary is a beautiful golden tree nymph instead of a crazed professor with a chainsaw.”
– anonymous
“How about Aziz Ansari VS. a giant intangible floating skull that only Aziz can see, and the skull hovers over Aziz constantly and does nothing but scream and scream for hour on end, and when it stops doing that it insults Aziz with really good, biting disses. Bad example: "Aziz--- you've got a face like and ass and and ass like a face! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-seven hours later---AM.
Hey Aziz you're weaker than a children's aspirin! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- 24 hours later---AM."
Etc.
This wouldn't be a battle for Aziz's MIND rather than his body. Oh, and wait-- the skull also makes Aziz itch really bad. ANSWER!”
– traitor stick
“Aziz Vs. being really depressed and alone and not knowing if your dog loves you or just wants free dog treats.”
– 99erickballoons
“How about a situation in which Aziz moves to
– nycteve
From the street, Aziz would throw two knives far up to the roof of a skyscraper. Yes. He just killed a sniper. The sniper would fall towards the ground, bleeding profusely as he fell. And as he fell, Aziz would continue throwing knife after knife at the sniper’s dead body and the force of the knives would spin the body through the air so that its falling blood would spell out “Stop the killing” when the droplets stained the pure white snow. You see, Aziz has studied karate and he knows that even though he is a master of violence, it should only be used when necessary. For instance: like when a sniper fucks up. And that sniper did fuck up. Big time. The sniper chose the wrong team and now his kids will have to grow up without a sniper daddy. Once the sniper daddy was dealt with, Aziz would head towards a nearby apartment building.
And then time lapses!
Fuck. Yes, with these time lapses, this will be a decidedly stylish Aziz story. Because as Aziz would walk to the nearby apartment building, there’d be these flashes, and every time it flashed, Aziz would be closer to the building and there’d be more and more dead bodies on the ground. How did Aziz kill them? Well it isn’t shown. Nobody knows. Okay fine I will tell you so you can live it through your imagination: Aziz killed the henchmen by fucking running them over with a snowmobile, even though they were shooting at him the whole time.
And do you think the snowmobile had a spike on the front, so that when Aziz ran over the henchman he would impale them? You had better think so, because that’s what would have happened if they made snowmobiles like that. Yet as of this writing, they do not.
Aziz would enter the apartment, and there’d be this huge stairway wrapped around the interior of the building. And never mind those fucking guys with the Uzi’s who would be on the 8th floor and shooting down at Aziz. Aziz doesn’t even care about them because: He would just take this grenade that he found and use it. He’d pull the pin, hold it for a second, and then give it this casual underhand toss into the air. It would soar over the heads of the Uzi guys and explode on like the 12th floor. Yes. The 12th floor.
But now you’re like, “Hold it. You said the henchmen were on the 8th floor! What the hell, Aziz?!” Well please stop saying that. Please. It is really fucking stupid and I suggest you wait one fucking second. Because it’s like: Tell me, has Aziz ever let you down? What? No? No, he never fucking has? Oh, and you say that with each passing sunset you promise to stop and reflect just what it is that Aziz means to you? Good. Join the fucking Aziz Sunset Club already. Because Aziz is the real fucking deal, people. I have no clue how much he can bench press.
But the Uzi fucks would be just like how the audience was before that last paragraph. One of them would be all, “Hey, Aziz! You’re fucking dead! That grenade didn’t get us, so you’re no big deal at all!” And then right away he’d get crushed to death when the stairs that got blown apart fell right on top of him. Yes. Just like Aziz had planned in the first place. The other Uzi fuck would survive all of this, but he’d be so scared of Aziz by now that he’d just try to kill himself by jumping off the stairway. But right before he hit the ground Aziz would call him a pussy, and that would be the last thing that he ever heard: truth.
Aziz would go all the way up to the top floor of the penthouse and he’d kick down the door. Lying in bed, hiding under the covers like a loser, would be Anonymous, the same Anonymous who wrote:
“Aziz Ansari Vs. Timothy Leary. And Aziz is on LSD and doesn't know whats (sic) happening around him-- he thinks Leary is a beautiful golden tree nymph instead of a crazed professor with a chainsaw.”
That’s right, Anonymous. He would track you down. And Aziz would be like, “Anonymous. You wrote that question about me thinking Timothy Leary is beautiful.” Oh, Anonymous. You would fucking shake your head no because you’re a big meaty slab of coward and because you’d know that Aziz has brought you this gift of pain and it’s all wrapped up in skin and knuckles and maybe there’s this other gift, but that one is wrapped up in a glove because it was snowing outside and why the fuck would Aziz risk frostbite if he didn’t have to?
Even though Anonymous would deny having written that question, Aziz would walk over to the bed, grab him by the ankles, and hold him outside the window of the penthouse apartment. Anonymous, you’d be so terrified. If the emotion terror was a person and it could hit the gym like four times a week, eating right and taking vitamins until it became this super-toned, body-building version of terror - and I mean even to the point where it would win body-building contests around the world - and then if that terror nestled itself inside your brain, imagine how you would feel then, Anonymous. That is right. You would feel just like you would here, when Aziz would be dangling you outside of a penthouse window. Go ahead and cry, you fucking crybaby.
Aziz would pull out a vial of LSD from his pocket and he dump it all over Anonymous. It’d be like 297 milligrams poured all over Anonymous’ face. He’d freak out like crazy. Aziz would continue to hold him outside the window while Anonymous went through this total shitload of hallucinations. 
And you just know that in each hallucination, Anonymous would be praying so hard that the real hallucination is the fact that Aziz is holding him out of the window. And for once in his fucking life, Anonymous would have his prayers answered. Because what is so weird about Anonymous’ hallucinations is that the one constant throughout his LSD brain craze was that Aziz kept holding him out of the window. And you know why that’s weird, right? Yes, because Aziz would have dropped him like four seconds ago and Anonymous would be plummeting to his death. Aziz would say something like, “Sorry about the bad trip,” and then he’d spit out the window. The camera would follow the spit until it landed right in Anonymous’ mouth. His dead mouth.
Aziz, looking down on the corpse of Anonymous, would shake his head in disgust at the spit-mouth coward. “Ask me no stupid fucking questions, I’ll tell you no dies,” Aziz would say. Then Aziz would look at this piece of paper he’d been keeping in the secret pocket of his camouflaged hunting jacket, and he’d check off a name. That name would be Anonymous. And guess whose name the audience would see after Anonymous’? Fuck yes, it’d be Traitor Stick. Sorry, Traitor Stick, but it’s time for an Aziz reckoning.
From Anonymous’ penthouse, the camera would follow Aziz as he retraced his path of destruction to the manhole cover he originally came out of. Without a word, Aziz would don his red-tinted goggles and climb back into the sewers, covering the manhole as he descended.
Close-zoom on the manhole cover and hold for nine intense minutes. Then, as the camera would pull back from the manhole cover, it would reveal a fact that Aziz knew all along: Yes, now it’s a different manhole cover because Aziz has traveled through the sewers to a new location.
And in this location, oxygen is poisonous. Aziz, realizing this, would take a deep breath of oxygen on purpose. As the poisonous oxygen would start to work its magic on Aziz, he’d barely be able to climb out of the sewer before falling down in an action heap. No, I’m totally fucking serious. And as soon as he did, these guys in breathing masks who were too pussy to try to fight Aziz before he had the oxygen problem would come out and pick Aziz up. And then what would happen? I don’t know exactly because the next thing you know, Aziz is waking up strapped to a science laboratory table. And the audience would not even believe it because this would actually be happening. It would totally look like someone had captured Aziz by using oxygen.
But Aziz’s eyes would open and he’d wink at the chick part of the camera. Yes, it was all according to plan. His arms would burst through the table’s straps, and then fuck! he’d growl like that rabid lion Tony, and he’d pick up the table he’d been strapped to and he’d throw it right through the neck of the armed guard. Also, the table would stick into the wall so there’d just be this guard-head on top of it and a headless body underneath it. Seriously, do you know anybody else that can throw a table that hard? No. Do not kid yourself. And remember, Aziz is doing this now while holding his breath - oxygen is still poisonous at this point.
Here is the reality: this part of the Aziz adventure is particularly rewarding for longtime audience members. I mean, new viewers will be all like, “Aziz is going to die from oxygen poisoning because nobody can hold their breath forever and right now I’m also wondering what would happen if Aziz had to hold his breath in space!” Well get a clue, you fucking newbies. Because loyal audience members still spend all of their spare time cheering about how awesome it was when Aziz had to hold his breath for a long time in “Aziz vs. a Huge Robot and Oxygen Deficiency and a Black Hole.” These audience members can rest easy, knowing that for Aziz, this is like a poisonous cake walk that he can do whenever he wants.
Except instead of cake, this walk will end in the blood of his enemies.
Aziz would then calmly make a Molotov cocktail and throw it through the laboratory door. You’d hear all this screaming from the army of guards that were going to try and ambush Aziz, and you’d hear that screaming because the Molotov cocktail went off and blew up the guards and the two that didn’t blow up are on fucking fire.
Stop, drop, and roll, motherfuckers.
Yes. Roll into your graves. And you know they would too, because Aziz would walk out the door and just when the guards would beat out their flames, Aziz would pour gas on them and light them on fire all over again. It sounds ruthless, but these guards were both pedophiles.
And then, just like a video game, as soon as the guards died a door would appear in the hallway. Aziz would walk right through that door like he didn’t give a shit. There, sitting on one of those purple velvet beanbag chairs that you get at Spencer’s Gifts would be none other than Traitor Stick, the same puss who asked what Aziz would do if an imaginary floating skull followed Aziz around and insulted him. Well guess what the answer is, Traitor Stick?
I don’t have to tell you because you are about to experience it firsthand, but the answer is that Aziz would track your stank ass down and then he would fucking kick it. Fucking impertinence.
So yeah, there Traitor Stick would be, just sitting there in that beanbag chair watching Romancing the Stone or some shit, 
and he’d be totally surprised that Aziz Ansari had made it past the guards and made that door appear. Traitor Stick’s eyes would see the vengeance burning in Aziz’s eyes, and then Traitor Stick’s eyes would turn into crying eyes. Close up on Aziz’s eye!
Traitor stick would get up to run away, but Aziz wouldn’t have any of that shit. With a single hand, Aziz would casually push Traitor Stick back down onto the beanbag chair. Then, his steel gaze never wavering from the cowering Traitor Stick, Aziz would reach into his dusty camouflaged jacket and pull out this gross skull that he’d bought at a cemetery. “Poor Yorick,” Aziz would say, from Shakespeare, proving that he’s not only filled to the brim with action, strength, and charisma, but that he’s also got this whole other brim filled with intelligence.
Then Aziz would take a soldering iron and solder the skull directly onto Traitor Stick’s head. Traitor Stick would just sit there when it happened, paralyzed with the perfect justice of it all. Aziz would walk out of the room, but Traitor Stick would call out after him. “Hey Aziz! You failed! The skull was supposed to scream and give out disses! This skull you soldered onto my face is just hissing!”
Aziz would keep walking without looking back. The camera would be at a low level and you’d just see Aziz’s cowboy boots walking closer and closer while Traitor Stick sat far in the background. But then, still in the background, you’d see Traitor Stick realizing that the hissing was coming from a lit stick of dynamite that Aziz had put inside the skull. He’d scream, try to get the dynamite out, fail, and then he’d blow up big time. Pan up to see a wry smile on Aziz.
Two down, motherfucker.
With Traitor Stick dead, oxygen would no longer be poisonous. But Aziz still wouldn’t breathe. No way. Aziz would hold his breath for another 5 minutes, just to test himself. Because know fucking this: Aziz breathes on his own terms, not the terms of some pussy Traitor Stick.
Next on Aziz’s list? 99erickballoons. You knew it was coming, didn’t you, 99erickballoons? You knew, but there’s nothing you can do. It is as inevitable as Aziz fucking hot young girls. Pay the piper, dipshit.
Aziz would leave the building and suddenly he’d be exactly three hundred yards away from a very fearsome war elephant. Aziz would charge the elephant, his head lowered, but keeping an unwavering steely gaze on his prey. The elephant, not being fully aware of the kind of shit Aziz can fucking do, would charge Aziz.
Aziz would be running towards the war elephant at 30 yards a second and the elephant would be running towards Aziz at 16 yards a second. How long would it take before they collided? Oh please, you fuck. That is not the question to ask. Go do your fucking math in your math room. No, the question to ask is, “How can one man be so fast? He’s faster than my heart beats when I read about his thrilling adventures.” And of course the only answer to that question is: One man can be that fast because he’s Aziz Ansari. Also, you just know that if he’s running that fast it’s because he’s got a determination and ferocity that everybody thought died with the Spartans in that one movie. Well it didn’t.
Just as Aziz and the war elephant were about to collide, Aziz be all “No, I don’t think so,” and he’d jump and hurl himself vertically at the elephant. “What the fuck?” Just wait already. The elephant would open its maw in surprise, and because of Aziz’s foresight and perfect aim, the elephant would accidentally swallow Aziz whole. No. You did not just read that. Yes you fucking did.
The elephant would be surprised, but if it had feelings it would also be happy because after all it had been trained to hunt and kill Aziz. Hey,
Aziz, fucking totally unharmed, would be alive and well and waiting in that elephant’s stomach. And yes it would be cramped and smell bad, but a lot of things have cramps and smell bad. Sometimes you just have to deal. Aziz deals. That is what he does. And he does it better than anyone you know. Because if you would learn his history, you’d learn about that time when he was on a life raft in the 
So then how do you deal with that? How do you deal with being cold, alone, starving, and grieving for the loss of your fellow rockers? Well, if you’re Aziz you buckle down and you get ready for a quartet meal of dead band mates, because fuck, you just proved you would have done that same shit for them. And one final question: How do you deal with the fucking primo music that forever composes itself into your brain when you know in your heart that the only people you’d ever want to play that music are long dead and even now their nutrients flow through you? How?! How? If you’re Aziz Ansari, you just fucking deal.
That’s real life and it’s not even on his Wikipedia page.
Aziz would ride around in the war elephant’s stomach and wait patiently as it lumbered towards its trainer. And it would take a long time too, because unfortunately this elephant would get all reflective. Because think about it: maybe this war elephant had a lot of bad things happen to him that led him to become a war elephant. Like maybe he accidentally killed his best friend when they were fighting over a beautiful lady elephant. Suddenly, instead of seeing himself as a cool teenage elephant who likes hay and remembering things, maybe suddenly he saw himself as Gerald the elephant murderer. It’s not like he could have gone back to his elephant family. Not with his tusks covered in elephant blood. He’d have been alone. That one act, accidental though it might have been, would have changed his entire identity. But wake the fuck up because you don’t go after Aziz, you fucking elephant. I don’t give a shit what your elephant identity is. But you did and now your elephant identity is: just another dead war elephant. You’re endangered; you should fucking know better.
And then Aziz’s hand would burst out from the belly of that fucking elephant. And yes the elephant would roar in pain, and it would be thinking like, “Mother fuck…life’s a bitch, huh? Because I’m the biggest of all land mammals, and still Aziz’s hand has torn through my insides like they weren’t made of elephant-tough intestine.” But that would be the last thought it would ever fucking elephant-think, because not even an elephant can survive a man being inside it and then punching through its insides when the man inside is Aziz and thus was never digested because Aziz never fucking can be digested. Not even mentally.
Yes. We’re back to that paragraph now.
Aziz would climb out of the dead elephant’s stomach, totally covered in guts, and proceed to rip off one of the war elephant’s tusks. This would NOT be elephant poaching because, as mentioned, the elephant had died earlier when Aziz punched through his belly. Right away, like as soon as Aziz ripped off the tusk, this guy would come up to him and offer to buy it. Wordlessly, Aziz would pretend to give the man the tusks, but then at the last second he’d use the tusks to impale him. 
“But I’m not 99erickballoons!” The man would say, spewing blood everywhere. “No, but you’re a fucking elephant poacher,” Aziz would reply. “And how would you like it if I killed you just so I could remove and sell your teeth?” The poacher’s eyes would open wide with pain and understanding and it would be totally obvious that he now understood. With that final moment of clarity, the poacher would die. Once the poacher and the war elephant were dead, it would be time to take care of 99erickballoons.
Looking around, Aziz would see nothing but a dead poacher, a dead elephant, a scorching sun, and sand for miles and miles. Sound like the desert? It fucking would be. But Aziz has been in the desert before, like maybe he was there when he was searching for a secret town of serial killers and maybe he found it and he killed the whole town using nothing but a fresh elephant tusk and he didn’t even brag about it because he did it for his country not for glory. My point is that for Aziz, this desert would totally be familiar territory. He’d just would just tilt his head back and spread out his arms. “I’m gonna drink you in, sun,” Aziz would say. “But don’t even think about burning me or the next time you burn… it will be in hell.” Audience cheer.
Next thing you know, Aziz would be walking away from the camera and climbing over a sand dune. And just as he got out of sight, the camera would pan over to the dead war elephant. Slowly, like a frightened bunny, 99erickballoons would crawl out from the elephant. He’d been hiding in the elephant just like Aziz had, but elephants are big and their stomachs are dark so they didn’t see each other.
But that doesn’t mean Aziz didn’t know 99erickballoons was there, and just as 99erickballoons emerged from the elephant, he’d get hit with an arrow right through his larynx. Aziz would be extremely far away, so everyone would know that to hit 99erickballoons from that distance you would have to be like way better than Robin Hood. 99erickballoons would still be alive though, and his horrified eyes would stare down at the arrow lodged in his throat. He’d try to scream, but good luck, 99erickballoons because you’ve got an arrow lodged right smack in the middle of your coward fucking larynx. The pièce de résistance though, would be that the arrow stuck in 99erickballoon’s larynx would be ticking. If you can fucking believe it, the arrow that Aziz shot was more than just a sharp ivory missile. It was also a bomb delivery system. And now you’re like “Oh, so the arrow blows his head off? That’s awesome, but I’ve seen it before in that one movie.” No, the arrow doesn’t blow his head off. It’s not that sort of bomb. 
Because when the bomb went off, instead of exploding, it would release a bunch of hungry ants that would immediately devour 99erickballoon’s face. It’d look just like that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where that guy’s face melts, except instead hungry ants would be doing it instead of the Ark of the Covenant.
Aziz would walk up to 99erickballoon’s corpse and he’d be like, “I couldn’t fucking see you in that elephant’s stomach, 99erickballoons, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t smell your stink. You asked me how I’d be if I was depressed and didn’t know if my dog truly loves me. News flash, you douche: I don’t get depressed because guess what: I’m Aziz Ansari!” 
And then Aziz would shake his fist and scream at 99erickballoons, but we wouldn’t hear what he said because it’d be like that scene at the end of Lost in Translation.
After he was done shouting mysteriously at the corpse of 99erickballoons, Aziz would bite his own tongue, taste his own blood, and go into a mother fucking berserker rage. Yes. Berserker Like old school Norse Vikings. Let that sink in for a minute because you know what? You don’t want to fuck with Aziz Ansari even after he’s taken two fistfuls of Lunesta, which he only does so he can enter a dreamless sleep, one where he’s not plagued by nightmares of Eswelda and how he had to choose between saving her and saving a school bus, and God’s face is in our children so he saved the school bus even though P.S. Eswelda had a smoking hot bod. And if you don’t want to fuck with Lunesta Aziz, you had better fucking step aside when you see berserker rage Aziz. Because then you know shit is about to go down. Aziz would raise his hands like they were claws, start growling, and then run through the desert with his hands like that. There’d be this fire in his eyes that would burn with rage and hot peppers and a thousand suns.
Sometime later, berserker Aziz Ansari would run out of the desert to find his last target, Nycteve. Make no mistake, Aziz would be exactly as berserker as before, maybe even more so because he’d have lost his voice by this time from screaming so much and that’s something that would only make him more angry. The audience would almost have to feel sorry for Nycteve. But then they’d remember that Nycteve wrote in wanting to know how Aziz would take it if he moved to
The screen would go dark for a full minute and when it would come back berserker Aziz Ansari would be getting off a plane in LaGuardia airport. He’d be back in
Four months later:
Aziz had found Nycteve and secretly tracked him like a berserker owl tracks a pussy mouse. 
Aziz would have learned Nycteve’s daily routines to the point where he would know exactly where Nycteve would go way the fuck before Nycteve would. Nycteve would be in 
Canoes don’t even use gasoline, you fucking dick; they’re environmentally friendly. That kind of topical awareness is fucking trademark Aziz.
Nycteve would walk through the park without a care in the world, confident that he had successfully asked Aziz a dumb question without Aziz retaliating in anyway. “Heh,” Nycteve would say, nasally, like a prick who’s about to get what’s coming to him. And then he’d trip over this laser trip-wire that Aziz had set up and both of Nycteve’s feet would get cut off neatly at the ankle. So there he’d be, footless and crying and unable to move. See, if Nycteve really knew Aziz, first of all he wouldn’t asked how Aziz would take moving to
Nycteve would keep crying, but then he’d look up and he’d realize that the laser trip-wire not only cut off his feet, but it also released the park’s big Unisphere Earth sculpture. The Unisphere would be rolling directly towards Nycteve, and the best part is that Nycteve’s feet would be all cut off and Nycteve couldn’t run away! You need feet to run, you fuck! Justice, as personified by Aziz using the Unisphere as a weapon, would be inevitable. Except that it wouldn’t be inevitable because right before the Unisphere crushed Nycteve, Aziz would step in front of the sculpture and hoist it onto his back, letting out a triumphant roar. This event would later cause Aziz to suffer back problems that he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. But would these back problems make Aziz weaker? No. No they fucking wouldn’t. They’d make him stronger because Aziz would become determined to prove to back sufferers everywhere that even people with bad backs can still save the world if they are Aziz Ansari.
Aziz would look at the crybaby Nycteve and be like, “Tell me why I saved you and I’ll let you live.”
Nycteve would quiver and try to think of the right answer before saying, “Because you’re tired of killing?”
Aziz would smile and say, “No. I saved you because I wanted you to spread the message. If you fucking patronize me, I will fucking kill you. I wanted you to spread the word. But you answered wrong and that can’t happen. Eat some fucking Unisphere!” And with that, Aziz slowly walk over to Nycteve and step on him. The weight of Aziz carrying the Unisphere would crush Nycteve to death. “Hey Nycteve. Valley of ashes to ashes. Dust to fuckin’ dust.” Aziz would say, appropriately referencing some book I had to read in High School.
As Aziz returned the Unisphere to its resting place, New Yorkers would stop and stare at the man carrying the world on his shoulders.
Aziz would look at them all and say, “This is what I do. I do this every fucking day of my life.”
The New Yorkers would cheer like crazy. The camera would slowly rise and reveal a birds eye view of Flushing Meadows and then the city. Then Cherub Rock would start up just before the screen went black and the credits rolled.
posted by Prince Fontaine at 3:52 PM
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