Original subtitles

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Well, hello again.

Us here at Freaky Stories...

eh, we got some real cool ones here for...you...

[Maurice beatboxing]

Maurice, what're you doing?

Oh, uh, I went to the dentist and my filling's

picking up radio.

'Cess Pool'... Yeah. ...a new band from Texas.

Hot sound.

They said, "We'll give you sidekick,

it'll make life easy"...

This here yarn is true.

Having been recounted to me by the confidant of a close

acquaintance.

Our tale is one of fisherman who sailed the world quite happily

Until they found a little scrap of treasure hunting mappery

They wanted to get rich, they thought,

Were tired of the cod they caught.

They dreamed of gold and jewelry and big fat steaks

in gay Paree.

The navigator viewed the stars and

drew a course quite readily.

They circumnavigated the entire globe methodically.

They stumbled on the isle they sought.

A sub-group hatched a devious plot

Involving double-crossers, theft and bloody treachery.

Ha Ha!

They'd let smart Butch do all the work

and find the treasure spot.

They'd steal the loot right off of him

and strand him there to rot.

They'd sail off in the ship alone.

And spend the gold on stately homes.

And finally girls would give them more

than just the time of day.

Now, the 'X' was spotted underneath

a large enormous coconut palm.

They unearthed a gilded box that held

a most peculiar charm.

A skull was lodged in limbs on high.

The charm fit in one of both eyes.

And choosing incorrectly would precipitate

grievous bodily harm.

What to do?

They had no clue.

Pick left or right?

All the would-be pirates 'gan to quake with fright.

The sub-plot hatchers schemed again

behind a nearby kumquat bush.

They'd fix the straws to make sure that the shortest

went to poor old Butch.

They'd make him climb the tree alone.

To accidents he was quite prone.

He'd spring the booby-trap for sure

and leave them all real flush.

With spider charm in hand Butch headed up

the frightening treasure tree.

And face to face with skull and bones he chose

the left eye hastily.

Could lead to riches yet unknown.

Or had unlucky Butch just blown

His only chance at fortune and be left a quivering mass?

The charm fit in the socket with a most peculiar click.

It hit some levers hidden in the tree trunk,

very thick.

A chain reaction was begun.

The tree bent back and Butch was flung.

Across the isle above the forest's brilliant canopy.

The rotters laughed at Butch's demise.

He'd been flattened by a dead man's eyes.

Arrr!

Meanwhile Butch was flying high above the palms

and cacti plants.

You'd think he'd be a goner but you'd never tell

from just one glance.

Though screaming loud, "I must chose wrong."

He'd soon pick out a better song

úcause here's where this tall tale takes on

its last enormous twist.

The cadly trio waited for the tree to drop

its priceless loot.

On top of fleecing Butch each planned to shaft his

bosom buds to boot.

But plans this tree had of its own.

Its trunk flung open with a groan.

And doused them not with riches but with

gads of bug-filled sap. Ha!

Gus screamed, "The tree's a double-crossing two-way

trapping one!"

Bud yelled, "The map was set adrift by tricksters

just for fun!"

Our threesome groaned with goop thigh-high.

"There was no right to both those eyes!"

"At least Butch got the worst of it,

said Stanley as he cried.

They all watched Butch top his arch.

His decent brought comfort to their wretched hearts.

See the strange thing is that bad guys never finish

'head of better ones.

And Butch's flight was landing him in much more

than fresh zebra dung.

Amongst the fungi and mushrooms were thousands

of mint gold Doubloons.

"The left eye was the right eye to have chosen"

our guy sang!

And what d'you think did happen to the wretched

double-crossers three?

They stuck for days beneath the skull and crossbones

so-called treasure tree.

They did not know they were alone.

Their ship had long-since sea-bound gone.

Their riches they would never see.

Nor stately homes, nor gay Paree.

Their double-crosses crossed them back.

Their scheming butts were stuck in sap.

They'd live their days on coconut milk,

on this deserted isle.

Arrr!

So. You say your dental work is pickin' up radio, huh?

Let's see.

[MUSIC]

MAN!!! What have you got in there?

Uh...just last week's grill scrapings.

Oh, sheesh!

Okay, I won't breathe, I'll just listen.

Stay tuned for the latest traffic reports,

on the hour...

Wow! Can you change the station?

Oh, sure!

It's now eighteen degrees.

Tomorrow will be muggy, followed by Tueggy,

Wengy, Thurgy...

Maybe I can get some music.

I think it's time for another Freaky Story, don't you?

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine, Judy.

Now, when were were kids, Judy had this thing

for chocolates.

Don't get me wrong...I totally support a person's

constitutional right to chocolate,

but Judy, well...she had this completely gross habit

of taking a bite out of each chocolate in the box and

spitting out the ones she didn't like.

Which meant that if Judy ever offered you a

chocolate, you'd be getting half-eaten,

saliva-coated rejects.

Yummy!

When the rest of us started dating boys,

Judy started too.

But she just wanted boys to show up at her door with a

box of chocolates.

And then she sent the boys home and ate the candy.

Sometimes she'd arrange to have two or three dates

an evening.

You'd think with so many chocolate zits,

she'd have a hard time getting a date.

All I can say is thank goodness for pancake make-up.

But Judy knew that she couldn't keep it up.

She needed to find a permanent sugar daddy,

so to speak, and fast.

Fortunately, along came Milton Sweet,

a sweaty, nervous geek.

But he had one redeeming feature...his daddy owned

the SweetTreat Chocolate Company.

So, a strategically dropped notebook here,

a few bats of the old eyelashes there...

Judy had him wrapped around her little finger.

And after a few subtle hints,

Milton was doing his own wrapping.

Wrapping boxes of chocolates to give Judy as presents.

Of course, Judy would spit out about ninety per cent of

them, but she was still happy,

until one day, Judy found the Ultimate Chocolate'!

Now you'd think finding the Ultimate Chocolate would

have made Judy ecstatic.

Which it did, unfortunately, she inhaled the thing in

one point five seconds...then discovered it was the only

one of its kind in the box!

The others all had the stupid,

gooey centres she hated.

Judy nearly had a conniption.

The best chocolate ever!

And only one of them in the entire box!

She just had to get more.

But it didn't matter how many boxes Milton gave Judy,

there just weren't enough crunchy-centered chocolates

in each box to satisfy her.

Finding them soon became an obsession.

Eventually, Judy realized the solution had been under

her nose all along.

All she had to do was fight her way through the mounds

of discarded chocolate boxes piled up in her room,

then find Milton and convince him to sneak her

into his dad's chocolate factory.

There she could have all the crunchy-centered chocolates

she wanted.

Now convincing Milton wasn't that hard.

If Judy was thinking with her stomach,

Milton was thinking with his hormones.

He figured a night time tour of a spooky automated

factory would allow Judy to get closer to her beloved

chocolates, while he got closer to Judy.

So that night, they sneaked inside the factory.

Soon they found conveyer belts for chocolate-covered

cherries, nougat, coconut...all spewing out a

hundred candies a minute, all of which Judy hated.

Slowly but surely, they went through seemingly every

conveyer belt in the place, coming across every

chocolate covered fruit, nut or cream on the planet,

but still none of Judy's special crunchy-centered chocolates.

Until, finally, they came across one last conveyer

belt tucked away in the factory basement.

Unlike the others, it was old and slow

and nearly falling apart.

Judy didn't like the looks of it at all.

But, in the interest of science,

she tried one of the candies.

Eureka!

It had the crunchy, chewy center she'd been

searching for!

Without even thinking, she grabbed handfuls and began

stuffing her face.

But...what was the filling?

The sign on the filling vat said "Raspberry Creme",

but it sure didn't taste creamy...or fruity.

Overcome by curiosity, Judy decided to take a peek into

the vat of filling to see what it was.

And then she spit out her chocolate faster than she'd

ever done in her life!

Because, inside the vat, gorging themselves on

raspberry creme filling and then falling onto the

conveyor belt...

were hundreds of crawling, squirming insects that had

found a sweet place to nest.

Her crunchy, chewy centers were cockroaches!

Ugh!

This is a true story.

And it happened to a friend of a friend of mine,

Judy, who never ate another chocolate again.

And if I were you, I'd read the list of ingredients on

your next box of chocolates very carefully.

I'm trying to get some decent music here.

[RADIO TUNING]

Oh man, you should get pushbutton teeth.

After this story, we'll see what else Maurice can get.

Don't move, don't move!

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Joe was a travelling salesman.

His territory covered most of the Omega Sector.

He used to drive around hawking,

what he called, 'quality merchandise'.

Dime store stuff. Grav-jiggs and Time Coders.

He liked the ladies.

And the ladies? They liked him back.

One night he had finished his last call at my shop.

I'd just placed a big order and Joe went out for a steak

dinner to celebrate.

He was eating alone reading the paper.

It was hard to miss the headline:

"Neuroblock - Killer Stalks the East Side".

Some nutball was using a "blocker" on unsuspecting

motorists.

Neuroblockers. What a way to go.

The thought sent shivers up Joe's spine.

He paid his tab and started to leave.

And that's when he saw her.

A vision in red.

Standing at the door.

Gazing out into the night.

The kind of dame that could get you to do whatever she wanted.

All she had to do was snap her fingers.

"Excuse me, Mister," said the woman in red,

"Could you give me a lift?"

Joe couldn't believe his luck.

"Sure," said Joe, "Which way you going?"

"Whichever way you are..."

Joe didn't know whether to pinch himself or not.

'Cause if this was a dream, he sure didn't want to wake up.

Joe started the thrum motors.

It was well past midnight and the traffic was light

as he pulled out into the street

and up the East Side Highway.

"It's really dangerous these days,

what with that Neuroblock-Wacko out there, he laughed.

She was a real looker.

He turned to steal another peek at her.

And that's when he came nose to nose with a NEUROBLOCKER!

Right in his face.

She was the East Side killer!

"Alright Mister," she said, "You can pull over here and

don't try anything funny."

Funny was the last thing on his mind.

Joe knew that if he didn't do something quick,

he'd wind up just another notch on the old

neuroblocker.

And he didn't want to go out that way.

So he floored it.

Jammed the pedal right to the metal 'til there was

nowhere else for it to go.

The car leapt forward, ran a red light.

Roared through an intersection.

It was late at night. No other traffic.

No witnesses.

"You'll get us both killed!" she screamed.

"Maybe I will, but if I gotta go,

I'm not goin' alone, I'm taking you with me."

The car picked up speed.

Phone poles flashed by like slats on a picket fence.

Streetlights flashed out an S.O.S.

"STOP THE CAR!"

"And then what?", said Joe, "Let you use that blocker on me?

What do ya take me for, a sucker?

Lady, you're running out of options.

And we're running out of road..."

Manhattan's an island.

And Joe's car was chewing up pavement like it was

last call at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

The lady in red was starting to get scared...real scared.

"Stop the car! You're crazy!

Let me out!", she screamed.

"Drop the Blocker!...and I'll think about it", said Joe.

It fell to the floor.

"Now listen up.

I'm going to slow down...and you're getting out."

And with that he pushed a button.

The gull-wing door on her side hissed open.

The wind whipped her hair.

The car bled off speed until it was going about thirty.

"Lady, we're outta time."

"It's now or never", said Joe as she climbed

into the doorway.

"JUMP!"

And she leapt into the night.

Joe heard a splash.

Then he stomped the brakes.

The car fishtailed in the rain and skidded out -

along the pier.

Chewing up railing, spitting out matchsticks.

Then it came to a rest -

just inches from the briny depths.

Joe sat for a moment to collect himself.

Then he drove back up the pier.

A crowd of late night rubber-neckers had gathered

around the base of a lamppost.

Joe didn't look.

Something told him she wasn't gonna bother him anymore.

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Funny thing is, the "Neuroblocker"

never struck again.

And Joe?

Well, from that night on, he always travelled alone.

Count is two balls, two strikes.

Hudson winds up, throws.

Ball three.

Bah! Ball three! That was a strike!

It was right over...

[GASP]

I saw it! I saw it!

He's getting TV on his tonsils!

Ah, you guys watch the next story.

I gotta see the eighth inning.

Okay, Maurice, tilt down, I can't see left field!...

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Anna was busy mulling over how she was going to explain

to her parents when she returned home that she was

maintaining a solid "D" average.

Well she never was one to fret about much,

but it was quite a quandary she found herself in.

Of course, it was completely of her own doing.

Her sorority sisters made jokes that the "D" stood for

day dreaming, as that seemed to be what Anna did best.

They weren't much for offering sympathy.

In fact, they voted Anna sloth of the school term,

and awarded her the task of cleaning the

sorority house attic.

She came across an old trunk.

Her idle curiosity got the best of her

and she lifted the lid.

Inside, Anna found a yellowed letter.

It was dated March Seventeenth,

Seventeen Eighty, and was addressed

"Dear Mother and Father...".

Anna, not all that anxious to undertake the job of

cleaning, couldn't help but read on...

"I'm sorry I have been remiss in writing you this

term, but if you bear with me I will try to explain...

The trip went well, the carriage was well appointed

and the horses were strong and true.

The countryside was beautiful.

However things took a dramatic turn when our

carriage was held up by a highwayman.

The last thing I remember he was slicing the air with a

razor sharp rapier, then I believe I must have

lost consciousness."

"It seems I had been kidnapped by the masked

bandit who I came to know as Rodrigo,

and together we sailed off for adventures on the high seas.

Unfortunately the accommodations were less

than desirable.

In fact I was tossed below deck,

with little food and water.

Oh, how I longed to feel the warmth of the sun

on my face.

Then one day my wish came true,

though it was not as I expected.

And any romantic notions I once had about life at sea

where quickly quelled, for it was a hard life indeed.

I was awarded the duty of swabbing the deck.

It was a task that became more grueling

as the days wore on.

"Soon I decided it was time for a change of scenery,

and set a plan of escape in motion.

But first, of course, I had to dispatch the pirates

in a bare-fisted battle to the death!

I was lucky enough to secure passage on another vessel.

Then when it seemed our hopes were to be dashed like

so many storm-bound ships run aground on a rocky shore,

we found a hospitable port.

Actually, it was more of a tropical paradise...

As I drank in the rare scents,

I slipped down into the cool water.

Once I ridded my body of the swamp leeches,

we were welcomed to the island by a tribe of natives.

Oh, how colourful they were, with their bright face paint.

They were nice enough to treat us to many of the

local delicacies, like beetle larva,

spider's eggs, and their traditional staple,

which appeared to be some kind of exotic noodles.

At first we thought the natives were trying to tell

us that the dish would help make us smarter.

Imagine our surprise when we realized that we were in

fact eating real brains!

Thus the final chapter of our journey ended with a

fond farewell to our new found friends and a hasty

return to our ship.

We were lucky enough to procure some oars for the

return voyage and were picked up along the way by a

Galleon of Spaniards and ferried

back to the continent.

As we are now safely back in the country,

I'm writing to let you know that Rodrigo and I plan to

marry and would like your approval.

He really is a wonderful man once you get to know him.

And anyway, he'll do for now.

Your loving daughter, Emma.

P.S. - Just to let you know, I arrived at school on time

and without incident and have no immediate plans for marriage.

I am failing French and Social Studies,

though, and wanted you to see these marks in their

proper perspective.

Love, E."

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine,

Anna.

And it gave her an idea.

In fact it inspired her to pen a very imaginative

letter of her own.

"Dear Mother & Father..."

Okay, Michelle writes from Sudbury: [AHEM]

Dear Larry, my big brother scares me,

ooh, by telling me we have ghosts.

Is there such a thing as ghosts?

You bet there is.

Oh come on, Maurice, don't scare the little girl.

No, no, oh yeah. Wait here...

Huh, believe this guy?

Wooooo, wooooo...I am the ghost of Ted's Diner.

I don't believe this.

So, Mr. Ghost, you gonna scare me or somethin'?

Oooo, if I can't scare you, I'll bring all my ghosty friends.

They're even scarier than me.

Oooo, look at me, I'm shivering in my boots.

Now don't you worry, Michelle,

ah, I happen to know this here ghost.

Watch this.

Cootchie, cootchie, cootchie, coo.

[LAUGHING]

Oh, I see you found him.

Yeah and I'm ticklin' him too--

Ahhhhhhh!!!

So, how you doing?

Oh, not bad... you know, scarin' some people,

ghostin' around a bit...

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