The Complex Multiprocessing Unit Wore a Crappy Pair of Adidas

Herve: So I just fucked a computer and I think I need to go to the hospital.
Piett [spits out drink]: W......WE HAVE COMPANY!!!
Herve: Whoops.
Lawyer: Well, I'm just going to leave and no longer render any more services, as this is exactly the kind of thing your wife said in her divorce filing.
Piett: Oh come on!
Herve: What's this now?
Lawyer: They'll see you in court, Mr. Piett. Good luck with your jail sentence.
Piett: I go to jail for being divorced?? [door slams as lawyer exits] Geez. Since when did God take back over the court system?!
Herve: So she's divorcing you?
Piett: Apparently.
Herve: But we'd just been adventuring without her for.....[looks at watch].....you know, I've never even put batteries in this thing. [coughs] Well, it's been a while. But that long?
Piett: I just thought she was in her room this whole time.
Chronos [from another room]: We coulda told you she wasn't! Hell, I think I did 4 or 5 times!
Cosmos: Cheese it, Chronos, we're not appearing in this story!
Chronos: Right!
Herve: Well, this is...sad?
Piett: Who knows. Maybe the storytelling will get better without an unnecessary character around or something.

[Piett and Herve share a long laugh. A long laugh.]

[Still going.]

[Still....]

[.....oh, you suck.]

Piett: At least he got it. [ponders aloud] Which would've been odd if he hadn't, because he wrote it...
Herve: Hey, at least he's not writing me to punch myself in the dick again.

[Suddenly Piett kicks him square in his midget dick.]

Piett: Oh shit no!!!
Herve: BLOUGRAGHHHHH!!!!! [vomits]

[Herve recovers as Piett feels bad. Finally, the story resumes.]

Herve: Yeah......so I'm infected and need medical attention.
Piett: I recall. No need to repeat it. No context, then?
Herve: Nope.
Piett: Alright then. To the hospital it is.

*******

[Chicago, Illinois, USA, Earth. Because there might be another Chicago out there in space. Who knows?? THERE PROBABLY IS!!!]

Joe Q. Public: Start again.

[Ahem. Sorry. Chicago. County General Hospital. Even though I watched ER for a few years, I still had to wiki this name. The setting is chaotic, possibly because healthcare is fucked up or because the people bleeding and headaching all over the emergency room are. Herve and Piett have been admitted, thanks to strangling the admitting clerk because he looked just like the big dumb comedic foil from Parker Lewis Can't Lose, and sit in a room awaiting a doctor.]

Herve: Do you want to know more?
Piett: I'll let you embarrass the doctor with the details. I'm gonna sit over here with my iPod on.

[As Piett moves to a corner of the room and puts his music on, a doctor
enters.]

Doug Ross: Hello, Mr...........Villechaize? I'm Doug Ross, attending--
Herve: Nope no. No. No. Nope.
Doug Ross: What?
Herve: You're too unorthodoxed. I know your methods, sir. They're questionable most of the time and as a result I feel that I'm gonna die in this room if you even begin the process of treating me.
Doug Ross: Please, just--
Herve: Plus you look like a young George Clooney. So I have no idea when you're about to just abandon this job and pursue a Hollywood career.
Doug Ross: Hollywood?
Herve: Oh yeah. You could totally be Hollywood royalty in, what.......like, 10 years?
Doug Ross: No, this is insane. Hollywood is for refined actors like Cagney and Gable and Newman and Colley.
Piett [listening to his iPod] HA! [resumes bobbing his head, presumably quite unaware of what he just laughed at in the other conversation]
Doug Ross: I'm just some guy in Chicago shleping around an ER helping sick assholes.
Herve: I'll let that one pass because of the Ocean's 11 movies. [pause] Not 12, though. You are all too smug in that one.
Doug Ross: I can't abandon my responsibilities here. I save lives, I matter....but Hollywood. Oh....Hollywood would make me famous. I'd make money. More mone that I could ever make here! I'd really matter there! I could affect real change around the world, using my fame as an excuse to get camera time and spread my crazy ideas to people who'd never have heard them before! Maybe even get a famous girlfriend, or a series of semi-famous girlfriends, or even a gaggle of nobodies who just wanna go out with a dashing famous actor guy.....and never ever commit to any sort of real relationship to any of them!!
Herve: So, you're off then?
Doug Ross: Fuck you and your cancer or whatever, I'm going Hollywood!!!!!

[Doug Ross runs out of the room, leaving an amused Herve and a oblivious Piett behind. Piett removes his ear buds.]

Piett: Hey, was that George Clooney?
Herve: It is now. Bwahaha.
Piett: What did you do?
Herve: I'll explain, though you may not believe me.

[Some minutes pass as Herve explains to Piett. As Piett scoffs, they are interuppted by the sounds of what seem like a commotion emerge from outside, then silence. A few moments later, another doctor enters.]

John Carter: Hello. I'm Dr. John Carter.
Piett and Herve: Of Mars.
John Carter: God, why do people keep saying that?
Herve: Hey, relax. You've got like 20 years to change your name.
John Carter: Why's that?
Herve: Because in 20 years, your name just becomes a symbol of colossal failure.
Piett: Colossal.
John Carter (of Mars?): Well, I'll be taking care of you. Your last doctor just punched the director of the hospital in the face, quit and walked out.
Herve: Because he went to Hollywood.
John Carter: Is that the reason? Huh. [slightly long pause] Y'know, I wonder if I could make it in Hollywood...
Piett: Holy shit, you were right. How are you people making this idiotic leap in logic?!
Herve: Go for it, dude. But don't be dismayed if you're not Hollywood royalty like the other guy.
John Carter: Oh I could give a shit less about that. Just as long as I get the hell out of this hospital and can make a living!

[John Carter leaves. Moments later, another scuffle ensues outside. Piett gets up and looks outside the room.]

Piett: I don't recall who Dr. Anspaugh was, but apparently he's going into cardiac arrest from being assaulted so much. I foresee a lot more of this if we don't get out of here, like, right now. Let's go.
Herve: But I'm not well.
Piett: You've never be well.
Herve: You know what I mean.
Piett: I do. [disgusted sigh, then silence] Should we go to the Chicago Hope hospital?
Herve: Yes, let's go to the Chicago Hope hospital.

[Piett and Herve travel across town to the Chicago Hope hospital. They enter the ER and immediately see Mandy Patinkin is standing on a gurney, singing and dancing about his dead father and a 6-fingered man, Adam Arkin ranting about how his dad is still more famous than he will ever be, and the rest of the cast do strangely outrageous things that would seem normal on shows like The Practice and Picket Fences and other David E. Kelley produced ventures. Before anything else can be explained regarding this mid 1990's medical drama, the hospital is shut down and cancelled, then blows up as Piett and Herve are well down the street walking elsewhere for treatment.]

Herve: Can we get to a doctor already? I think this infection is spreading.
Piett: Something tells me we were supposed to get to a more adventurous point of this tale already.....but sure, let's zip around the last several years of American TV to find you medical treatment.

[Piett and Herve travel to other medical establishments, with little or no success...]

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They visit Becker, but are thrown out when they insist too harshly that the doctor is in fact a Boston bartender and get him so drunk that he kills himself.

They consult the Crossing Jordan people when they come by to investigate Becker's suicide, but then realize they're still on scene and promptly kill all the investigators and the rest of the Becker cast anyway.

No one notices or cares.

They visit Frasier, but leave with bloodied hands when they realize he's a psycho-quack on the radio.

They drop in on Trapper John M.D., who also kills himself after Herve and Piett talk too much about Vietnam....oh no, wait, Korea.....it was Korea. Yeah.

A visit to Nip/Tuck is just horrifying, and a immediate visit to General Hospital is prompted to pump Piett's stomach and other vital organs of vomit.

They consider a visit to Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice, but realize they're really bored with all the killing.

And then they visit Scrubs, where again everyone survives, and both exit rather.....pleased with the experience...

¤°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø

Herve: For a hospital filled to the brim with douchey douches, it wasn't that bad of a place, was it?
Piett: It was alright, and forgettable enough to forgive its particular annoyances, which will echo through my mind for a little while but ultimately fade from memory. And honestly, humanity deserves all those people to live and breed as a way to atone for its centuries and centuries of sins.

[Pause]

Herve: You've thought about that answer for a while before now, haven't you?
Piett: I really have.

[Pause]

Piett: Wait, wasn't there a whole angle about being a human computer or something? I presume that Disney movie with Kurt Russell we watched a few weeks ago inspired you to fuck the computer.
Herve: No. I fucked it because I'm a short midget who gets no action, and the disk drive was my last resort. If anything, this endeavor was to make fun of TV medical dramas.
Piett: I want a refund for this story.
Herve: Sorry. He writes them for free. *Still*.
Piett: Guh. So, still sick?
Herve: Yup. [coughs, in that way where you call into work and do the cough when you're reporting out sick, even though you're kinda not really sick but want them to think you are and for whatever reason think the cough will really convince them......I've both heard this done and done this myself before, obviously]
Piett: Wow. That was a long one. [cough.....in the normal way] Alright I get it! [to Herve] Relax. You have Space AIDS anyway. You were fucked to start off with. If anything, the computer you fucked should be more concerned for its health that you.
Herve: Oh yeah. [pause] Hey, maybe I got rid of my Space AIDS and gave it to the internet.
Piett: That's entirely and completely unlikely and really fucking stupid. [pause] But I've seen dumber things in our quantum travels, so you probably did.

*******

[Epilogue: in the lair of 2 ne'er-do-wells, who had a part in this story before Walsh got off track and onto the '90s medical drama clap-trap and thus wrote them out (until now)....]

The Ponce: This is why people want nothing to do with us! Even the writer doesn't care enough to use us in the proper story and cuts us out, and merely uses us in an epilogue to prove that he remembered 2 names from a past story and decided to actually make people out of them.
The Diddler: We had a back story. You're British and I'm....
The Ponce: You finger children, Diddler! This is really probably the source of why we're being ignored, by heroes and villains and fan fiction writers who create us as an afterthought!
The Diddler: I fondle them, not finger.
The Ponce: Just shut up and go.....do whatever.
The Diddler: Fondle children.
The Ponce: SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!!!
The Diddler: Alright. I'm going to stalk children online and other awful things. Is the Myspace account still open?
The Ponce: Who even uses Myspace anymore?!
The Diddler: I do. See, it's so off the social radar that I can get away with it more there.
The Ponce: Your grasp of logic sickens, saddens and disturbs me to no end.
The Diddler: Thank you. [pause, as he reads his computer screen] Oh, It seems Myspace is gone.
The Ponce: Really.
The Diddler: Yes. It says that the servers suffered a fatal virus assault....something about AIDS?......and the site has been wiped right off the internet.
The Ponce: And nothing of much value was lost.
The Diddler: Well, what am I going to do now? Craiglist? Facebook? Yelp?
The Ponce: No, no and are you kidding me.
The Diddler: I could always.....[sighs]......I could always go to the park or something.
The Ponce [rubs his temples]: Yes. That sounds like a plan. Go to the park and hit on children there.
The Diddler: Sounds like a plan indeed!
The Ponce: I hate you with everything that I am.
The Diddler: You don't think I don't?
The Ponce: You don't, do you?
The Diddler: I don't. Because I know I'm awful and don't wish to change anything. Well, toodles, old chum. I'll be back in a while.
The Ponce: Yes. Toodles, mate. [door closes, and immediately The Ponce grabs the phone and dials] Hello, 911, I'd like to report a pedophile. [long pause] What do you mean YOU DON'T CARE?! [pause] Well, alright then. Get fucked by a horse, asshole. [hangs up, dials again] Hello, Chris Hanson, I'd like to report a pedophile. [pause] Bless you, sir. Bless you. He's located at.....

*fin*