Rippward Scissormagne
* * *
* * *
Voiceovers.
Karla Love:
"...Isn't it supposed to be 'Guess What?'"
Ripplemagne:
"Habla ingles?"
Karla Love:
"...That was English.'"
Ripplemagne:
"It's funny how languages are so similar. For a second, there, I thought I understood what you were saying."
...?
Miss Sarah:
"I never understood that joke."
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
Miss Sarah:
"They don't even rhyme. I don't understand it."
Ripplemagne:
"...Really? Butt and what don't rhyme?"
Miss Sarah:
"No!"
Ripplemagne:
"...Mage, just roll the clip."
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation.
* * *
Twas the night before Christmas.
Not a creature was stirring.
Not even a mouse.
Okay. So... it wasn't night, it was several days before Christmas, quite a few creatures were stirring, and the old mansion atop the mountain probably had quite a few mice.
However, the vibrant, splendid town of Pleasantville had no such thing. Because everyone knows that 1970s-esque neighborhoods never had any problems and everyone said things like "golly gee willikers". Unless, of course, it's That 70s Show, in which case, Red Forman will jam his foot up your ass. Somehow, that never seemed so appealing to me.
The people buzzed by on their daily routines as always. Each house in the neighborhood seemed to be painted a different color, which leads me to believe that we're, actually, in San Fransisco. This is further exemplified by the fact that there are many middle aged females who are abnormally close to one another. Carpet munching ahoy?
Unfortunately, they're not the fun lipstick lesbian kinds. They're more like the bouffant-wearing middle-aged housewives. Lame.
The cars go by as the husbands of these suspected carpet munchers go off to work to pay for that dress that she just won't shut up about. At least she makes good sandwiches though, right? And she always brings him the newspaper and a beer when he's watching the tube.
The yellow buggy rolls along the paved belts, honking the horn at the kids playing baseball in the street. After having been rejected several times in her door to door service, the local Avon representative of Pleasantville sets sight on a new destination in the town; the seldom scoured mansion atop the woodland mountain on the far side of town.
But Betty in her yellow buggy only had a gaze on it from across town, so she pulled a u-y and drove to the end of the road to appear at the beginning again. Physics of Pleasantville, folks!
As her tires rolled over the rocks and branches of the dirt road up the mountain, the highlighted-auburn haired girl could only imagine what filled the black, dusty castle and its Gothic buttresses (one of these days, I'm going to get a tattoo of a butt with wings with a caption underneath that says "flying buttresses") and towers. No one had ever seen anyone come down from the mansion and no one ever went up; the only thing that ever visibly happened was the cracking of lightning above the highest tower, illuminating the roaring gargoyle etched beneath the cone roof of the tower.
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Cut, cut! I gots a question."
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"What is it, Ripplemagne?!"
Ripplemagne:
"If we break the fourth wall here, does that mean we're breaking the eighth wall?"
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"Why would we be breaking the eighth wall?"
Ripplemagne:
"Well, because we're actually only fictional characters designed by the real life Ripplemagne to aid in competitive writing revolving around the wrestling universe, otherwise known as e-fedding and we're playing fictional characters on set."
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"What?"
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"...Resume scene!"
* * *
A few thin branches got in the way of the buggy crawling its way up the winding road as it finally pulled up outside the barred gates that rose from the grass and climaxed in an arrow-head point eight feet above the soil. The roots of the plants wrapped up the trunks of the black fence, covering it in vines and shrubbery. One had to imagine that human occupancy was limited in these parts, but Betty, obviously played by Miss Sarah in a sun dress, had the door shut on her by everyone she spoke to thus far. What did she have to lose?
The ignition of the buggy simmered down as the side door popped open, allowing the fair skinned Aussie to step out of the vehicle and slam the door behind her. A pleasant demeanor and an upright posture, she looked around for an entrance; finally, seeing an enormous opening in the fence cracked open slightly. Unfortunately, it didn't look like a frequent entrance/exit as she was forced to press through some shrubbery to get through the opening.
Once she got through, she scurried across the cobblestone footpath to see... wonder and enrichment overlapping the dank, dusty and dirty castle. It was like a gilded turd when you got passed the fence. The legendary mansion's courtyard was littered with lush green grass, white statues depicting angles and hedges depicting things such as giraffes, hands, birdos, people, pretzels with pancakes as platforms, baby dogs (otherwise known as puppies), the Norse God Thor, a maple leaf, rabbits, crosses and whatever the mind could imagine. The air floats over the lush green grass, causing it to dance merengue around the winding, cobblestone footpath.
In awe, her luscious green eyes opened like a mechanical door in Star Wars. Examining every shrub and artistic design, she mumbled to herself...
Betty:
"It's beautiful."
Edging toward the cobweb covered ebony porch, she laced the tips of her toes along the edges of the steps, gallantly making her way to the top. Completely warped at this point, letting the unpredictability of this place sink in, she clasped the marble door knocker and tapped it into the eight foot wooden door.
The sound didn't resonate. So, she gripped it firm again and pounded it into the door, causing the hollow wood to echo throughout the asylum. The obsidian foundation recoiled the clamor throughout the mountain top, but Betty, impatient, waited a mere two seconds before pulling the handle and magicianing her way through the narrow crack between the two doors.
Isn't this considered trespassing? I think it's also considered retarded.
Betty:
"Hello! I'm sorry for barging in. I'm your local Avon representative!"
With a hint of intimidation, she motioned through the black corridor as the inch of dust along the floor stained the soles of her sneakers. The cobwebs hung down from the ceiling at least four feet, but the height of the mansion's ceiling was so high, that it didn't obstruct her ascent...
Twisting the golden knob, now piss yellow from the accumulated dust and dirt, Betty hauled the next set of doors open and stepped into...
Lime green grass littering the floor. The dirt and grime on the soles of her shoes discolored the moist grass, sending a mist into the air that seemed to linger throughout the room. But in mere seconds, the black gunk wedged between the blades of lime green grass. As far as the eye could see, she saw... candy? But not just candy... the trees growing from the grass were shaped like lolipops. Dangling from said 'trees' were gum drops and licorice.
Pouring from the top of the room was a brown waterfall, issuing down and splashing the entire room with droplets of milk chocolate that absorbed into the grass. Mushrooms made of gummi snacks and rocks/boulders that were actually jawbreakers.
Seemingly oblivious to the change in scenery, the girl still cautiously moved through the strange environment no differently than she did before. In the pond of milk chocolate in the western end of the room, a fat child was lapping up it up in his hands, but fell in. Just then, a woman stammered forward, screaming in a strong European accent...
Fat Woman:
"My son! My son! He is going to get pounded into fudge!"
In the distance, several orange skinned midgets began to sing and dance something about "oompa loompa oompa-dee-doo". Unfazed, she pulled open the next door and passed through another dust-covered room, making her way up a flight of winding stairs. As she ascended, we are treated to the sight of a gray haired man in a suit and tie walking over the projection of the scene and staring over at us with his hands folded in front of him.
Rod Sterling:
"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound. A dimension of sight. A dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance. Of things and ideas. You just crossed over into... The Twilight Zone."
Ripplemagne:
"Nigga, get off my set."
As Ripplemagne chases Rod Sterling off camera, Betty continues up the steps into another room. Doubling back, Ripplemagne waves his hand back, crossing over the camera again...
Ripplemagne:
"Crazy hobos wandering in off the street onto the production set unannounced."
Continuing her way through the enormous mansion, she passed several paintings with their eyes following her as she crossed by. There are a few of what appear to be ghosts. As she passes the paintings, a small Italian man with a green cap with an L on it and a moustache passes by screaming "Maaaario", but she doesn't seem to notice him either. He doesn't seem to notice her either.
Crossing another room, there appears to be a purple squid of some sort, dragging a tiny red headed boy with glasses, a lab coat and black boots as he struggles to write a letter.
Dexter:
"There is only one hope left! Dee Dee! You must go back into... the past... and give me this message!"
What appears to be Alma from F.E.A.R. and the girl from the ring are in the background, terrorizing some niggas stupid enough to enter the mansion. The Scooby Doo Detective Agency runs by, being tailed by the monster of the week as Betty, still oblivious to everything going on, heads up another flight of stairs.
Heading up the stairs, she looks up to see that the ceiling has been broken through and you can see up into the sky. The debris has already littered the floor and powder seems to piss out of the cracks in the ceiling every so often. Dust lingers in the air like a snow globe and the shadows completely shroud the room in darkness, allowing for the only source of light to stem from the dilapidated ceiling and the light shining through it.
Betty:
"Hello? Is there anyone here?"
Looking around, she finally spots a shadow in the corner, lurking and gazing at her. Its yellow eyes appear in the darkness. Heartless! Brandishing her keyblade, she slices through the Shadow Heartless easily before turning and seeing another figure, standing in broad illumination.
It was clearly Ripplemagne, playing the key role of this clip, but his unkempt hair seemed to house bird eggs in it as a few tapestries of hair hung down over his scarred, pale face. He was clad in a pair of Anarchic Stictch pants, spiked wrist bands, spiked combat boots, a Him t-shirt, his trench coat, a collar, an etching on his trench coat reading "I Will Murder You In Your Sleep" and just to piss off his parents, a rainbow flag tied around his arm. But the most menacing feature on him was his hands; they were blood covered... scissors? Or knives? Or some kind of bladed shit. They weren't really scissors despite being called such commercially.
srsly? What were they thinking? Scissors? Moar liek knives. I guess Edward Knifehands doesn't roll off the tongue as well, does it? Neither does Knifemagne, come to think of it. No cross-examination.
Betty:
"Oh my God! What... what happened to you?!"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"I cut myself. It's the only pain I can control after my step-dad had his way with me and my girlfriend broke up with me."
Betty:
"You live here?"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Nah. I have a lovely cottage made of candy with a hot tub and the works a few miles from here and a beach cabin in Malibu. This is just my abattoir. It's pretty much the headquarters for bad guys everywhere."
Betty:
"You must be so lonely."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Nah. Me and Bowser play poker every Saturday. Plus, I have three wives who all know about each other. Not to mention the fact that I'm a sexy creature even when I'm not supposed to be."
Betty:
"What do you do here?"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Eh, the hackneyed terrorizing of mortals, murder unsuspecting adventurers, eat their remains. Y'know, villainy stuff. I'm actually a member of Every Villain Is Lemons -- also known as E.V.I.L. We meet every first Monday of the month. We have membership cards and everything."
Betty:
"This simply will not do. I think you need to come home with me."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"I don't think you understand. I'm crazy. I'm a murderer. I'm homicidal. I want to eat your insides and molest your corpse. You came here stupidly without knowing what may be here and I'm specifically telling you that I'm probably going to kill you."
Betty:
"Oh, poppy cock! I have cosmetics that will fix those scars right up!"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"P-P-Poppy cock...? Ahahahahaha! I'm sorry! I can't keep a straight face for that one! Ahahahaha! Who scripted that? That wasn't in the original movie. Ahahahaha! Okay... okay... give me a moment..."
Waving his hand in front of his face several times, Ripplemagne breathes deeply and then with a smile, he waves his hand before his face and as the hand passes by, he has serious face on again.
Rippward Scissormagne:
"So um... I don't think I made this clear to you before. I make Charles Manson and Jack the Ripplema-- Ripper look like light weights."
Betty:
"Nonsense! You must be a lovely dear."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"There's uh... a dead body of some unfortunate gringo that I butchered an hour before you got here."
The camera pans over to show a slaughtered body on the floor and then comes back...
Betty:
"Oh, he must have tripped and fell. And to this day, you can still see me dancing in it."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"You do realize I'm going to kill yo-- Wait, what? That... that... was that really pertinent to this discussion? Would... would knowing that you dance alter the plot of this story at all? Would it make any effect whatsoever? Could you at least have said it in a less queermosexual way?"
As this conversation goes on, the same man from earlier with the gray hair and suit comes back...
Rod Sterling:
"Submitted for your approval. Thes--"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Security!"
* * *
Voiceovers.
Karla Love:
"...Isn't it supposed to be 'Guess What?'"
Ripplemagne:
"Habla ingles?"
Karla Love:
"...That was English.'"
Ripplemagne:
"It's funny how languages are so similar. For a second, there, I thought I understood what you were saying."
...?
Miss Sarah:
"I never understood that joke."
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
Miss Sarah:
"They don't even rhyme. I don't understand it."
Ripplemagne:
"...Really? Butt and what don't rhyme?"
Miss Sarah:
"No!"
Ripplemagne:
"...Mage, just roll the clip."
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation.
* * *
Twas the night before Christmas.
Not a creature was stirring.
Not even a mouse.
Okay. So... it wasn't night, it was several days before Christmas, quite a few creatures were stirring, and the old mansion atop the mountain probably had quite a few mice.
However, the vibrant, splendid town of Pleasantville had no such thing. Because everyone knows that 1970s-esque neighborhoods never had any problems and everyone said things like "golly gee willikers". Unless, of course, it's That 70s Show, in which case, Red Forman will jam his foot up your ass. Somehow, that never seemed so appealing to me.
The people buzzed by on their daily routines as always. Each house in the neighborhood seemed to be painted a different color, which leads me to believe that we're, actually, in San Fransisco. This is further exemplified by the fact that there are many middle aged females who are abnormally close to one another. Carpet munching ahoy?
Unfortunately, they're not the fun lipstick lesbian kinds. They're more like the bouffant-wearing middle-aged housewives. Lame.
The cars go by as the husbands of these suspected carpet munchers go off to work to pay for that dress that she just won't shut up about. At least she makes good sandwiches though, right? And she always brings him the newspaper and a beer when he's watching the tube.
The yellow buggy rolls along the paved belts, honking the horn at the kids playing baseball in the street. After having been rejected several times in her door to door service, the local Avon representative of Pleasantville sets sight on a new destination in the town; the seldom scoured mansion atop the woodland mountain on the far side of town.
But Betty in her yellow buggy only had a gaze on it from across town, so she pulled a u-y and drove to the end of the road to appear at the beginning again. Physics of Pleasantville, folks!
As her tires rolled over the rocks and branches of the dirt road up the mountain, the highlighted-auburn haired girl could only imagine what filled the black, dusty castle and its Gothic buttresses (one of these days, I'm going to get a tattoo of a butt with wings with a caption underneath that says "flying buttresses") and towers. No one had ever seen anyone come down from the mansion and no one ever went up; the only thing that ever visibly happened was the cracking of lightning above the highest tower, illuminating the roaring gargoyle etched beneath the cone roof of the tower.
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Cut, cut! I gots a question."
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"What is it, Ripplemagne?!"
Ripplemagne:
"If we break the fourth wall here, does that mean we're breaking the eighth wall?"
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"Why would we be breaking the eighth wall?"
Ripplemagne:
"Well, because we're actually only fictional characters designed by the real life Ripplemagne to aid in competitive writing revolving around the wrestling universe, otherwise known as e-fedding and we're playing fictional characters on set."
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"What?"
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
Miss Sarah, still in "Betty" costume:
"...Resume scene!"
* * *
A few thin branches got in the way of the buggy crawling its way up the winding road as it finally pulled up outside the barred gates that rose from the grass and climaxed in an arrow-head point eight feet above the soil. The roots of the plants wrapped up the trunks of the black fence, covering it in vines and shrubbery. One had to imagine that human occupancy was limited in these parts, but Betty, obviously played by Miss Sarah in a sun dress, had the door shut on her by everyone she spoke to thus far. What did she have to lose?
The ignition of the buggy simmered down as the side door popped open, allowing the fair skinned Aussie to step out of the vehicle and slam the door behind her. A pleasant demeanor and an upright posture, she looked around for an entrance; finally, seeing an enormous opening in the fence cracked open slightly. Unfortunately, it didn't look like a frequent entrance/exit as she was forced to press through some shrubbery to get through the opening.
Once she got through, she scurried across the cobblestone footpath to see... wonder and enrichment overlapping the dank, dusty and dirty castle. It was like a gilded turd when you got passed the fence. The legendary mansion's courtyard was littered with lush green grass, white statues depicting angles and hedges depicting things such as giraffes, hands, birdos, people, pretzels with pancakes as platforms, baby dogs (otherwise known as puppies), the Norse God Thor, a maple leaf, rabbits, crosses and whatever the mind could imagine. The air floats over the lush green grass, causing it to dance merengue around the winding, cobblestone footpath.
In awe, her luscious green eyes opened like a mechanical door in Star Wars. Examining every shrub and artistic design, she mumbled to herself...
Betty:
"It's beautiful."
Edging toward the cobweb covered ebony porch, she laced the tips of her toes along the edges of the steps, gallantly making her way to the top. Completely warped at this point, letting the unpredictability of this place sink in, she clasped the marble door knocker and tapped it into the eight foot wooden door.
The sound didn't resonate. So, she gripped it firm again and pounded it into the door, causing the hollow wood to echo throughout the asylum. The obsidian foundation recoiled the clamor throughout the mountain top, but Betty, impatient, waited a mere two seconds before pulling the handle and magicianing her way through the narrow crack between the two doors.
Isn't this considered trespassing? I think it's also considered retarded.
Betty:
"Hello! I'm sorry for barging in. I'm your local Avon representative!"
With a hint of intimidation, she motioned through the black corridor as the inch of dust along the floor stained the soles of her sneakers. The cobwebs hung down from the ceiling at least four feet, but the height of the mansion's ceiling was so high, that it didn't obstruct her ascent...
Twisting the golden knob, now piss yellow from the accumulated dust and dirt, Betty hauled the next set of doors open and stepped into...
Lime green grass littering the floor. The dirt and grime on the soles of her shoes discolored the moist grass, sending a mist into the air that seemed to linger throughout the room. But in mere seconds, the black gunk wedged between the blades of lime green grass. As far as the eye could see, she saw... candy? But not just candy... the trees growing from the grass were shaped like lolipops. Dangling from said 'trees' were gum drops and licorice.
Pouring from the top of the room was a brown waterfall, issuing down and splashing the entire room with droplets of milk chocolate that absorbed into the grass. Mushrooms made of gummi snacks and rocks/boulders that were actually jawbreakers.
Seemingly oblivious to the change in scenery, the girl still cautiously moved through the strange environment no differently than she did before. In the pond of milk chocolate in the western end of the room, a fat child was lapping up it up in his hands, but fell in. Just then, a woman stammered forward, screaming in a strong European accent...
Fat Woman:
"My son! My son! He is going to get pounded into fudge!"
In the distance, several orange skinned midgets began to sing and dance something about "oompa loompa oompa-dee-doo". Unfazed, she pulled open the next door and passed through another dust-covered room, making her way up a flight of winding stairs. As she ascended, we are treated to the sight of a gray haired man in a suit and tie walking over the projection of the scene and staring over at us with his hands folded in front of him.
Rod Sterling:
"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound. A dimension of sight. A dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance. Of things and ideas. You just crossed over into... The Twilight Zone."
Ripplemagne:
"Nigga, get off my set."
As Ripplemagne chases Rod Sterling off camera, Betty continues up the steps into another room. Doubling back, Ripplemagne waves his hand back, crossing over the camera again...
Ripplemagne:
"Crazy hobos wandering in off the street onto the production set unannounced."
Continuing her way through the enormous mansion, she passed several paintings with their eyes following her as she crossed by. There are a few of what appear to be ghosts. As she passes the paintings, a small Italian man with a green cap with an L on it and a moustache passes by screaming "Maaaario", but she doesn't seem to notice him either. He doesn't seem to notice her either.
Crossing another room, there appears to be a purple squid of some sort, dragging a tiny red headed boy with glasses, a lab coat and black boots as he struggles to write a letter.
Dexter:
"There is only one hope left! Dee Dee! You must go back into... the past... and give me this message!"
What appears to be Alma from F.E.A.R. and the girl from the ring are in the background, terrorizing some niggas stupid enough to enter the mansion. The Scooby Doo Detective Agency runs by, being tailed by the monster of the week as Betty, still oblivious to everything going on, heads up another flight of stairs.
Heading up the stairs, she looks up to see that the ceiling has been broken through and you can see up into the sky. The debris has already littered the floor and powder seems to piss out of the cracks in the ceiling every so often. Dust lingers in the air like a snow globe and the shadows completely shroud the room in darkness, allowing for the only source of light to stem from the dilapidated ceiling and the light shining through it.
Betty:
"Hello? Is there anyone here?"
Looking around, she finally spots a shadow in the corner, lurking and gazing at her. Its yellow eyes appear in the darkness. Heartless! Brandishing her keyblade, she slices through the Shadow Heartless easily before turning and seeing another figure, standing in broad illumination.
It was clearly Ripplemagne, playing the key role of this clip, but his unkempt hair seemed to house bird eggs in it as a few tapestries of hair hung down over his scarred, pale face. He was clad in a pair of Anarchic Stictch pants, spiked wrist bands, spiked combat boots, a Him t-shirt, his trench coat, a collar, an etching on his trench coat reading "I Will Murder You In Your Sleep" and just to piss off his parents, a rainbow flag tied around his arm. But the most menacing feature on him was his hands; they were blood covered... scissors? Or knives? Or some kind of bladed shit. They weren't really scissors despite being called such commercially.
srsly? What were they thinking? Scissors? Moar liek knives. I guess Edward Knifehands doesn't roll off the tongue as well, does it? Neither does Knifemagne, come to think of it. No cross-examination.
Betty:
"Oh my God! What... what happened to you?!"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"I cut myself. It's the only pain I can control after my step-dad had his way with me and my girlfriend broke up with me."
Betty:
"You live here?"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Nah. I have a lovely cottage made of candy with a hot tub and the works a few miles from here and a beach cabin in Malibu. This is just my abattoir. It's pretty much the headquarters for bad guys everywhere."
Betty:
"You must be so lonely."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Nah. Me and Bowser play poker every Saturday. Plus, I have three wives who all know about each other. Not to mention the fact that I'm a sexy creature even when I'm not supposed to be."
Betty:
"What do you do here?"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Eh, the hackneyed terrorizing of mortals, murder unsuspecting adventurers, eat their remains. Y'know, villainy stuff. I'm actually a member of Every Villain Is Lemons -- also known as E.V.I.L. We meet every first Monday of the month. We have membership cards and everything."
Betty:
"This simply will not do. I think you need to come home with me."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"I don't think you understand. I'm crazy. I'm a murderer. I'm homicidal. I want to eat your insides and molest your corpse. You came here stupidly without knowing what may be here and I'm specifically telling you that I'm probably going to kill you."
Betty:
"Oh, poppy cock! I have cosmetics that will fix those scars right up!"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"P-P-Poppy cock...? Ahahahahaha! I'm sorry! I can't keep a straight face for that one! Ahahahaha! Who scripted that? That wasn't in the original movie. Ahahahaha! Okay... okay... give me a moment..."
Waving his hand in front of his face several times, Ripplemagne breathes deeply and then with a smile, he waves his hand before his face and as the hand passes by, he has serious face on again.
Rippward Scissormagne:
"So um... I don't think I made this clear to you before. I make Charles Manson and Jack the Ripplema-- Ripper look like light weights."
Betty:
"Nonsense! You must be a lovely dear."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"There's uh... a dead body of some unfortunate gringo that I butchered an hour before you got here."
The camera pans over to show a slaughtered body on the floor and then comes back...
Betty:
"Oh, he must have tripped and fell. And to this day, you can still see me dancing in it."
Rippward Scissormagne:
"You do realize I'm going to kill yo-- Wait, what? That... that... was that really pertinent to this discussion? Would... would knowing that you dance alter the plot of this story at all? Would it make any effect whatsoever? Could you at least have said it in a less queermosexual way?"
As this conversation goes on, the same man from earlier with the gray hair and suit comes back...
Rod Sterling:
"Submitted for your approval. Thes--"
Rippward Scissormagne:
"Security!"
* * *
