(Lights up on a house full of prostitutes. There is heavy traffic outside. Enter Ellen.)
WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF?
(A madam, Madam Bottoms, walks up to Ellen.)
That’s not…I signed up for all of this willingly.
Well, may I offer you this expensive prostitute? But you can only have her for forty-five minutes and no permanent teeth marks.
Well, if you can’t leave permanent teeth marks what’s the fun?
You can make permanent teeth marks for an extra five fifty.
I don’t have that kind of money. It’s why I rented my house out to a brothel. And my driveway out to the Department of Transportation.
I’m still a little unclear as to what’s happening in that driveway.
At eight hundred and fifty miles per hour?
Well, you have to get a license to drive a rocket car some way.
Your driveway’s only, like…thirty feet long.
Well, you don’t have to drive it FAR.
(A rocket car smashes through the wall. The driver flies through the windshield and out a window. The instructor unbuckles his seatbelt, exits the flaming wreckage, and walks up to Ellen.)
Sorry. We’ll compensate you for that.
OH MY GOD.
May I offer you this expensive prostitute?
secretly they were all four inches tall and the rocket car was a hot wheels