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Pengwyn, whose fabulous wit, like a mirrored disco ball, throws off hundreds of gleamingly brilliant ideas per second, has thrown all of David's roles into a blender and come up with this hilarious crossover vignette. Just had to repost it here. It's too good to allow the sifting sands of the internet to bury it.
Gettin’ Married
Philandering, pyromaniacal writer Jim-Ed Della Whelan, unceremoniously ejected from his latest tryst at midnight equipped with nothing but leopardskin briefs, a pale blue beret, a really startling amount of red lipstick and a six-pack, wanders the foggy, deserted streets until he is savagely attacked by a werewolf, or a war rhino, or possibly a wererhino--those streets are extremely foggy. He collapses, bleeding, into a city bus, which delivers him to a strange castle on a hill (naturally) on the outskirts of town (of course). The strange castle proves to be populated by even stranger damsels, who mysteriously seem to know everything about him. [Note to casting director: Where can we find an international selection of a few dozen unknown women to play these roles?] Nevertheless, they get to know each other better over a lavish banquet that includes watermelon with gold coins, limp root vegetables, chicken feed, barbecued clothing and whipped flies, and he obligingly sketches a few architectural improvements to the castle for them on a napkin.
Later, wandering the shadowy halls, Della Whelan stumbles upon an animated medieval painting of a split movie screen. It’s hard to interpret, but after repeated viewings, he realizes it reveals that the only cure for his wounds--which will otherwise doom him, when the moon is full, to grow an absurdly enormous nose and speak only in verse--is to marry every single one of the castle’s damsels, then stretch out upon a slab of stone while they douse him liberally with holy oil. . . . “Oh, sugar,” he says, with a noticeable lack of resentment, hastily books a Hawaiian island for the honeymoon, and dons a wedding gown.
