[ROLEPLAY]The Rise & Fall of Laurent Le Foll: Who am I to disagree?
Donning long, black coats and their respective masks of choice (A plague doctor mask for Konstantin, a gas mask for Artyom, and, in Alessandra’s case, the paper bag with holes cut out that she had made after the duo forgot to buy her one), the terrific trio returned to the manor to find a different bouncer standing in front of the door, this time a dapper-looking Nigerian whose name was probably Charles or Rafiki.
CHARLES/RAFIKI: Good evening, sirs and madam.
KONSTANTIN: Good evening.
CHARLES/RAFIKI: Password, sir?
CHARLES/RAFIKI: Thank you, sir.
The West African took the two gentlemen’s overcoats and held open the door to the room where the “ceremony” was taking place. The buzz of conversation and light mix of classical/pop music in the air had ceased, replaced with an eerie chanting accompanied by the occasional eerie piano note. The room itself was set up much like a rotunda, with some masked partygoers watching from a balcony overlooking the red-carpeted floor, where the elaborate orgy was unfolding. Another group of onlooker surrounded a circle of dark, masked figures, who themselves were kneeled around another figure distinguished from the dark mass of partygoers by his scarlet cloak and gilded mask. The man in the red cloak held in one hand a long staff and in the other an incense ball, which appeared to be filled with a red liquid (upon further examination, one would find that the mystery liquid was, in fact, Texas Pete’s hot sauce), as he walked slowly in circles.
ARTYOM: Some orgy, I don’t see anyone with their cocks out, even!
KONSTANTIN: Shut up, do you want to get dicked down by Mr. Red Hood over there? Because that’s what’ll happen if our cover gets blown!
ARTYOM: At this rate, I’ll be glad if anything gets blown!
Suddenly, red cloak brought his staff down and, as if on command, the circle of cloaked figures got down onto their feet and began to do a series of yoga poses before returning to their original positions. Red cloak circled around one more time until finally, he tapped the ground twice with the staff, signalling for the circle to rise to their feet and remove their cloaks, revealing nude, female forms.
ARTYOM: Now that’s more like it! Yeah, I can get with this!
MATRIZIANO: They’re all women! Why couldn’t they put at least one sculpted David up there to give us ladies something to look at?!
KONSTANTIN: You know, I could alwa-
ARTYOM: You know what the best thing about these cloaks are, besides the fact that they look cool as shit? No one can tell when you’re having a wank!
KONSTANTIN: Buddy, I’ve been meaning to ask, doesn’t all this sort of, y’know, go against your religious convictions? I mean, seriously, these women just threw off their veils in what I can only assume is some bizarre, occultic ritual! I should think that might be deserving of a stoning or two!
ARTYOM: Oh, you mean all that Sunni mumbo jumbo? Yeah, I kind of dropped that after I saw this France24 documentary about some attack in New York a while back, really painted the faith in a bad light. Decided it just wasn’t for me. I mean, who knew people could get so worked up about those things?
KONSTANTIN: 9/11, Artyom, you mean 9/11..?
ARTYOM: 9/11, 7/11, one of those. Maybe people wouldn’t have such a hard time remembering them if they just got a little more creative with their naming conventions.
As the duo continued to discuss the nomenclature of terror attacks, the red-cloaked master of ceremonies began to splash TABASCO® Original Red Pepper Sauce onto the naked bodies of the participants, who convulsed in a mixture of pain and divine ecstasy.
While Le Foll had been intensely making out with the Yorick skull, the stage around him had been transformed into a set resembling a wartime concentration camp, full of barbed wire, various huts, and a vast horde of Nazi guards and Jews. A young teenage girl (although strictly legal and buxom, resembling Jennifer Connelly) sat inside one of the huts, which had a surprisingly luxurious interior. Beside her bed sat a strapping young Aryan man, who surely possessed a giant dong.
LYNCH: IT SEEMS THAT LE FOLL HAD DECIDED TO TACKLE THE HOLOCAUST IN A DELICATE AND FAIR MANNER.
MAN: How are you, Anne Frank, my greatest friend and the girl in the striped pyjamas, whom I have an unrequited crush on.
FRANK: I’m really well, thanks! I’m so glad that the Germans took me in for my own personal safety due to rising anti-Jewish sentiment among the Dutch population! I have everything a girl could want. Do you want something, Bruno?
LYNCH: MY GOD MADIBA THAT’S THE GERMAN BOY WHO HAS AN INSPIRATIONAL FRIENDSHIP WITH THE JEWISH BOY IN THE HIT BOOK “THE BOY IN THE STRIPED PYJAMAS”.
BRUNO: I had come to ask you on a date to a local youth disco, here in Auschwitz City, run by the kindly Mr. Himmler…but I don’t know if I can court one of my father’s charges…the commandant is an ethical man.
FRANK: I…I understand –
As Anne Frank uttered this sentence, Laurent Le Foll, now dressed as a Nazi commandant, strode into the scene.
LE FOLL: Bruno, my son…there are ethical constraints against me allowing you to date this fine young woman….but by god, to hell with regulations! You are my son and I want to see you happy!
BRUNO: Father, I often considered you a great but flawed man, but now I see that you are the ultimate realisation of the ideals of the German state!
FRANK: I have never been happier in my life! Thank you, Commandant Ralf!
Anne Frank ran over and threw her arms around Bruno, however in the process she knocked over a glass of water on her desk, which spilled onto her diary.
FRANK: Oh no! My diary! My life’s work!
LE FOLL: It’s alright, little one. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to create a new diary after this unpleasant war is over!
FRANK: Yes..you are so wise.
Anne Frank and Bruno ran out of the room, while the set began to be dismantled and replaced by a nightclub set. Le Foll moved off to the side, before a song started up and he leapt back into the centre-stage.
”You got rings on your fingers and your hair's hot red”
”You got wit from my tongue, name on the sun”
”I gotcha going to my breast”
”Cause you're the only one, who uses school to pleasure”
”You make me act real gone, you make me trawl along”
”I had to ravish your capsule, suck you dry”
”Feel the teeth in your bone, heal ya head with my own”
”Why if I don't have you home, we'll have to fight alone”
”Hang all together”
”Velvet Goldmine, you stroke me like the rain”
”Snake it, take it, panther princess you must stay”
”Velvet Goldmine, naked on your chain”
”I'll be your king volcano right for you again and again”
”My Velvet Goldmine”
By the time Le Foll had finished this latest performance, Heinrich Himmler’s disco for the local children of Auschwitz had been erected by the stage-hands, and was full of people dancing to their heart’s content. Bruno and Anne Frank were twirling around in the centre of the room.
FRANK: Oh, Bruno, I’m so glad that your father approved of our courtship!
BRUNO: He is a very wise man! Perhaps the wisest!
FRANK: You have his best traits, then!
BRUNO: We are so in love.
FRANK: We could get married. I’m sure that your father would not object our union!
The pair ran out the doors of the discotech, and then staggered back in a few seconds later, drunk, and made their way over to the stage. It was clear that some time had passed since their dance.
LYNCH: I WONDER WHAT’S GOING ON HERE, MADIBA. MADIBA, ARE YOU THERE?
BRUNO: Anne, you whore, I should never have married you!!
FRANK: You should have thought of that before you decided you wanted to marry me and pound…turn stage right…Sylvia at the same time!!!
Just then Camille Lemoine appeared on the stage.
LEMOINE: Ladies and gentlemen…Screaming Lord Byron!
Just then, Laurent Le Foll, who had painted himself up to look like some kind of cel-shaded pirate gimp, appeared on the stage to perform Blue Jean.
”Blue Jean-I just met me a girl named Blue Jean”
”Blue Jean-she got a camouflaged face and no money”
”Remember they always let you down when you need 'em”
”Oh, Blue Jean – is heaven any sweeter than Blue Jean”
”She got a police bike”
”She got a turned up nose”
”Sometimes I feel like”
”(Oh, the whole human race)”
”Jazzin' for Blue Jean”
”(Oh, and when my Blue Jean's blue)”
”Blue Jean can send me”
”(Oh, somebody send me)”
”Somebody send me”
”(Oh, somebody send me)”
”One day I'm gonna write a poem in a letter”
”One day I'm gonna get that faculty together”
”Remember that everybody has to wait in line”
”Blue Jean-look out world you know I've got mine”
”She got Latin roots”
”She got everything”
FRANK: Holy shit, now there’s a real man! And so handsome, too!
Anne Frank got up and charged towards “Screaming Lord Byron”, and started passionately making out with him, before jumping up and wrapping her legs around his torso, before they fell over onto the table in front of Bruno and started dry-humping.
BRUNO: At this point, I am rather conflicted. On one hand, my wife is being deflowered only a few feet away from me by another man, but on the other, that man is a stallion.
Just then, four men ran into the dance-hall, armed with pistols.
LE FOLL: Who are you?
MAN: Captain Henry Cromwell, His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.
LE FOLL: Ah, Brits, I should have known. Tell me, Henry, if your King were as majestic as you claim, then why would his family change their surname from the mighty Aryan Saxe-Coburg und Gotha to Windsor?!
CROMWELL: Ah! You mistake me for a man who cares about the King. You see….I am an immortal! A globalist who is here to tear apart this order under the guise of Harry Cromwell, but my real identity is….Remus, of legend!
LE FOLL: Die, dickhead!
Byron charged towards the Captain, who raised his pistol and fired off eight shots from the six-round chamber, felling the mighty glam singer, who comically flipped around in the air from the impact of the bullets. Cromwell, born-again in the fires of Lordship, lifted his gilded .44 Magnum to little Anne's head. She wept with the pain of a Jewish oppression, her tears a symbol to Cromwell of his victories in sowing dissent within the Holy Land. Cromwell smiled, an evil glint in his eyes, and wet his lips before speaking low and sweetly.
CROMWELL: I am the Puritan Moses, the fire that cleans the holy slate I am the Jewish Eradicator, killer of Saul!
With a merciless flick, he pulled the trigger, ending Annie Frank's life at the hands of the British state.
CROMWELL: And let it be known, with Germany as my Judas, I will wreak havoc among the dissenters of Christian faith! We shall create a false diary belonging to this girl, Frank, and use it to slander the proud German nation!
With Byron and Frank dead, Cromwell and his goons exited the stage, Bruno having shat himself and ran away during the confrontation. Minutes later, Laurent Le Foll, having changed into his thin white duke outfit and a giant frock-coat, returned to the stage.
LE FOLL: This ain’t rock n roll….this is genocide!
”You asked for the latest party”
”With your silicone hump and your ten inch stump”
”Dressed like a priest you was, Todd Browning’s freak you was”
”Crawling down the alley on your hands and knees”
”I'm sure you're not protected for it's plain to see”
”The Diamond Dogs are poachers and they hide behind trees”
”Hunt you to the ground, they will, mannequins with kill appeal”
”I'll keep a friend serene”
”(Will they come?)”
”Oh baby, come unto me”
”(Will they come?)”
”Well, she's come, been and gone”
”Come out of the garden, baby”
”You'll catch your death in the fog”
”Young girl, they call them the Diamond Dogs”
”Young girl, they call them the Diamond Dogs..”
At this point, all pretenses of ceremony had gone by the wayside as the orgy descended into levels of debauchery even the likes of Caligula might turn his nose up at were he presently alive and not incredibly dead. Unfortunately for the three members of the Sugarhill Gang, as they had now taken to calling themselves, the red-cloaked MC, who they now strongly suspected was one of their three high-level targets, had disappeared into the crowd of hooded figures.
KONSTANTIN: Shit, where’d that phantom of the opera-looking fuck go?
ARTYOM: Oh, is that why we’re here?
KONSTANTIN: I’ve always known you to be a bit out of it, but Christ, if you haven’t surprised me more than once today with your ignorance.
MATRIZIANO: I suppose we could duck out for a quick second and see if he’s out having a smoke or maybe a young boy.
KONSTANTIN: I don’t see why not. We’re not having much luck out here.
It is perhaps worth mentioning at this point that Alessandra was the only person in the orgy who remained fully-clothed, much to Konstantin’s chagrin. Everyone else, the Dynamic Duo included, were quite naked, much to Matriziano’s chagrin. This was, of course, excepting their masks, which remained on to ensure truly anonymous sex. After bringing Artyom up to speed about their reason for being at this event of saturnalia-tier hedonism, the trio stepped out into the hall in search of the red-cloaked man. The orgy, however, seemed to continue out into the hall, where a number of partygoers were engaged in acts that would certainly have been censored by the Genevois morality police.
KONSTANTIN: Jesus, can we get away from these buggerers for even a second?!
ARTYOM: I don’t know, I kind of like it. Not in that way, but as an icebreaker of sorts.
KONSTANTIN: Art, we’ve known each other for years, I think we’re past the point of icebreakers.
ARTYOM: Sure, have it your way, buddy.
MATRIZIANO: I think if you two would stay focused for more than a few seconds you’d find it much easier to do the things you’re sent to do!
KONSTANTIN: Right, I suggest we split up and look for this red cloak, then. Artyom, me and you will take the left, Alessandra, you can do what you please. I should be frank now, I'm over you and your foul attitude about everything. Don’t get me wrong, I find you very attractive, but there’s a point where that attractiveness is exceeded by other factors, and I’m afraid we’ve reached that point now. I’m sorry if you don’t take this well, but I’m only looking out for Artyom and me. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope you can at least understand the reasoning behind this decision, which I did not take lightly in the slightest.
MATRIZIANO: No, we aren’t splitting up, that’s a shit idea!
KONSTANTIN: Really? Jesus, Alessandra….why didn’t you ever tell me about your feelings?!
It appeared that Konstantin had taken Matriziano’s refusal to roam the halls of the rape mansion alone as a confession of love. Of course, this was far from the truth, but Alessandra saw little benefit in spoiling this moment for Konstantin. While this exchange was happening, the two men who had debated the ethics of homosexual rape earlier on rounded the corner, deep in a conversation about various bullshit which quickly stopped when they saw the the Dynamic Duo and Matriziano. The first man was dressed in what appeared to be a Wily Wonka outfit, sans-hat, while the second man was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Curiously for the orgy, they were not wearing masks.
MAN #1: I say, isn’t that the gimp from earlier on, the one who was being used as some kind of human fleshlight? And look, there’s his boyfriend, and they appear to have some kind of buxom wench with them, do you think she might be their helper?
MAN #2: By the looks of it, aye, when you consider that she’s the only one with her clothes on, and the other two look like they’ve just gotten kicked out of a fucking nudist convention for being a pair of ugly-mugged bastards. Do you think they can even fucking speak, or are they two mutes?
ARTYOM: We sure can!
MAN #1: What on earth is that garbled mess meant to mean? Listen here, Kievan, I do not speak Ruthenian in the slightest. I speak the King’s English, the only language on Earth that was good enough for Jesus to speak, as you can see in the Bible, and so I can’t understand you when you try to scream like you’re serving on the Red October.
MAN #2: Aye, enough of your immigrant shite. We voted to leave the EU to get away from this bollocks, and as much as I regret that, I have to stand beside that fucking vote and say speak English instead of this wank!
KONSTANTIN: Oh, yeah, if I have to suffer through another metro ride next to some Paki family with seven kids, I swear I’ll go mad!
MAN #1: What shite is he saying, Charles?! That sounded harsh, it sounded threatening, and it sounded like it was said with intent.
MAN #2: I think he said he was mad? Like, is he trying to impress us by retard-signalling, like some shite Tumblr blogger? Get to fuck, Cosack, I don’t give a single shite about the ten different kinds of down’s syndrome you have!
MAN #1: Hold on, I have an idea. An inspired idea, even. Considering that we are in France, perhaps these people speak français? I’ve not done this in a while, I’m quite rusty, ahem: Hello, my friends! How are you? I apologise, but I do not speak the language of your noble people, the Slavs, and you don’t seem to speak a lick of competent English! Do you speak French?
KONSTANTIN: Why yes we do!
MAN #1: How splendid, because I don’t.
MAN 2: Aye, that was a fucking great idea alright! I’m basically fucking blown away by what a great idea that was!
The man then turned to Matriziano.
MAN #1: What about you? Do you speak English?
MAN #2: Aye I bet she speaks English, mate. Fucking look at her, I’d be surprised if she spoke anything beyond “does my arse look big in this dress??”.
MAN #1: It’s worth trying, anyway. HELLO…..EARTH TO BUXOM WENCH! DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!….DO…YOU…SPEAK….ENGLISH??!?!!?!
Being a former world leader, Alessandra was quite capable of communicating in English, the global lingua franca, but chose not to afford any legitimacy to the pair’s bigotry.
MATRIZIANO: No, I sadly don’t. I am but a poor Italian girl, unable to afford tutelage in the great-world language of English. Please, instruct me in the King’s English and I will forever be indebted to you! Each morning you will be greeted with a tray of crumpets and some sweet head! Of course I can speak English!
Alessandra then proceeded to tear off her mask in what she hoped would surely put the two strangers in their place.
MAN #2: Christ, I preferred it with the mask on! Put your fucking bag back on, ho!
MAN #1: Now, now, Charles, you can’t say that. It’s not right, morally, politically, or in whatever way you should want to frame it, to force victims of major accidents to cover up in public. My lady, I am very proud that you’re brave enough to go around after your extensive facial reconstruction surgery. If only we could all be a little more like you.
MATRIZIANO: You know what you are?! You’re a bully, yeah, a couple of big bullies who get their kicks making defenseless women feel like little more than garbage! Well, you should know that you’re the real garbage!
The first man recoiled at this onslaught, and dramatically flopped to the ground, only to be caught by his friend.
MAN #2: Look at what you’ve done! You’re the real fucking bully here! You’ve made him faint with your words, you foul cunt! Are you alright, mate? Are you alright?!
MAN #1: I think I shall be fine…but I’m just so stunned! Of all things to call me, a bully? That’s not decent, it’s not right, and most of all, it is thoroughly offensive. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to recover…this is worse than Dunkirk, and 9/11, and the Emoji Movie, all combined into one horrific tragedy.
Unbeknownst to the first man, however, the aforementioned film had gone on to win several Academy Awards and spawn a number of equally-acclaimed sequels. In fact, an AI had been created with the personality of legendary film critic Roger Ebert for the sole purpose of writing a review of the movie in which EbertTron6000 called it “this generation’s Citizen Kane.”
MATRIZIANO: I’ll have you know The Emoji Movie has been likened to the classic film Citizen Kane by some!
MAN #2: Citizen Kane? That’s some amount of shite, with the amount of spray-tan you have on, you’d be better off calling yourself fucking Citizen Khan!
At this point in the strangers’ relentless attack on Alessandra Matriziano’s self-esteem, Konstantin felt it appropriate to step in.
KONSTANTIN: Hey, now…
Alessandra’s eyes lit up with hope, believing Konstantin to be getting ready to deliver a verbal smackdown of his own to the two men, which surely would have put them in their place.
Or perhaps the Dynamic Duo would spring into action and brutalise the two men, who had insulted all three of them thoroughly.
KONSTANTIN: Artyom, how awesome are these two guys?!
ARTYOM: Yeah, hey, Alessandra, you’re shit and the only reason Soult cares about what you have to say is because you give him boners!
MATRIZIANO: You’re both pathetic, and you should know you’ll never be accepted by any group of people who aren’t genuinely disabled.
MAN #1: Christ, this is entertaining.
MAN #2: What happened?
MAN #1: The dimmer one of them said something idiotic, and got eviscerated by her. This is like watching a nature documentary in-person, live.
MAN #2: Nature docs kind of lost their appeal for me after David Attenborough was replaced by that bespeckled cunt from Coronation Street, Norris Cole.
MAN #1: Now, listen, gentlemen and gentle-woman, as much as would like to stay and chat, I would rather catch something that I might be ashamed of, and we have our dearest friends waiting outside, whom we need to catch-up with.
The men then went on their way, which included walking through the Dynamic Duo, who they roughly shoved aside. Before they could get much further, however, Matriziano called after them.
MATRIZIANO: You two buffoons seriously couldn’t recognize the EX-FUCKING PRESIDENT OF THE MOST POWERFUL COUNTRY ON EARTH?! SHORT OF KONSTANTIN AND ARTYOM HERE, I’VE NEVER MET A GROUP OF MORE POLITICALLY-ILLITERATE INDIVIDUALS IN MY LIFE! YOU CAN WALK ALL OVER US WITH YOUR PRIM AND PROPER ENGLISH ALL YOU WANT, BUT AT THE END OF THE DAY, YOU ARE AS IGNORANT AS THEY COME!
MAN #2: Aye, I’m John Harvey Kellog, Mr. Cornflake! Get to fuck, lass, I don’t fucking care!
KONSTANTIN: Aw, shit, man, we should have asked them for their business cards or something. They look like the type to carry business cards around, don’t they?
ARTYOM: Oh yeah, real nice ones, too. A nice eggshell white with raised font, most certainly.
MATRIZIANO: You two are unbelievable.
ARTYOM: Unbelievably fucking banterous, you mean!
KONSTANTIN: Man, those dudes were so cool!
ARTYOM: You can say that again, buddy!
MATRIZIANO: I’ve had enough of you two jerking each other off! I don’t know how someone like Soult, despite his flaws, or even Le Foll, put up with having to listen to this shit when they wanted even the simplest of tasks done! Come the fuck on, let’s get this over with now.
KONSTANTIN: Heh, okay… skank.
MATRIZIANO: Oh, and one more thing, those guys? They were quite obviously shitting on you two but you took it like a couple of spineless chumps! Okay, for real this time, I’m done. We have a government to catch.
Finally, the dynamic duo and Matriziano went back into the ballroom, whereupon entry they were greeted by the red-cloaked master-of-ceremonies, who was seated on a gilded throne. At his side stood the Cheshire Cat, who had apparently sold them out, and was cackling most Jewishly and paedophillically.
ARTYOM: I got it, this is like fucking Lando in Empire!
KONSTANTIN: Give it a rest, you said the exact same thing when we got captured by the Supreme Comfort! I’m not saying Empire isn’t deserving of any of the praise it gets; on the contrary, I consider it to be the strongest of the Original Trilogy. I just think you should maybe come up with a different reference for this sort of situation, since we seem to get into it a lot. Y’know, just to keep things fresh…
RED CLOAK: Please, come forward!
The trio, fearing for their lives and/or anal virginity, did as the menacing figure said.
RED CLOAK: May I have the password, please?
RED CLOAK: That’s right, sir! That is the password… for admittance. But may I ask, what is the password… for the orgy?
KONSTANTIN: The password for the orgy?
RED CLOAK: Did I stutter, boy?
KONSTANTIN: Yes, sir- I mean, no, your speech was perfectly clear.
RED CLOAK: Then I shall ask again, what is the password for the or-
ARTYOM: HELLO, MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE!
KONSTANTIN: What my, uh, son here, is trying to say is we seem to have… forgotten the password for the orgy.
RED CLOAK: That is a shame, truly, because in this house, it makes no difference whether you say “yes” or “no,” whether you prefer men or women, or whether you have forgotten the password or you simply did not know it in the first place! Now, kindly remove your masks so I may look upon the faces of those who have dared to enter this sacred place of love, wonder, and lust, and judge accordingly!
The group slowly removed their masks as the red cloak continued to speak in an eerily calm manner, all things considered.
RED CLOAK: Now, I see two of you have already done the disrobal ahead of time, but I must ask you, dear lady, to remove your clothes as well.
MATRIZIANO: Excuse me? Why don’t you remove your clothes, huh?
RED CLOAK: Oh, how I love a bit of foreplay, but I must warn you against that line of questioning in my house, the kind that is certain to yield answers you might find… disturbing. Do you wish to see me remove my clothing, then? Because, as host to this gathering, I must oblige, but I warn you once more against the consequences of such an inquiry.
MATRIZIANO: Go ahead, do it then.
The MC rose from his throne and began to remove his red garments, revealing a leather gimp suit that covered him from head-to-toe.
RED CLOAK: I AM THE LEATHER DADDY, AND YOU ARE MY CHILD.
Alessandra gulped down hard, clearly not expecting this level of depravity from their target, even at this sort of event.
LEATHER DADDY: And as every good parent knows, sometimes one must employ… disciplinary action in order to ensure that their house is one of peace, stability, and, above all, love. Because yes, your daddy does love you, very much so. But he hates what you do to him. Oh, how he resents it. Really, this all could have been avoided had you obeyed his very simple commands. But perhaps I’m expecting too much of my children. My rotten, spoiled, naughty children. They are so deserving of my strong, guiding hand! And so I reveal to them now, my hand!
With those words, the front row of masked figures removed their cloaks and masks to reveal the rather fascist-looking attire of the Security Brigade. Whereas a normal Security Brigade goon patrolling the streets of Paris might be seen carrying a baton or stun gun, these paramilitary peons had oversized, wooden paddles.
MATRIZIANO: Oh god, just off us already! I can’t bear anymore of this shit!
LEATHER DADDY: I didn’t wish for it to come to this, I truly didn’t, but you wretched brats have left me with little alternative. Now, bend over and get ready for some discipline!
The man in the gimp-suit, the gimp leather daddy, took an item that the Cheshire Cat had handed him. It was a giant, four-foot long, dildo-bat, a weapon that would surely pulverise or penetrate all that it was wielded against.
LEATHER DADDY: I call this…..the Diddler!! That reminds me, do any of you know a good patent lawyer? I shan’t have any random plebeians taking this name for their own, nefarious, purposes!
As the leather daddy raised his diddler high into the air, the Cheshire Cat pressed play on a radio that was sitting on the table next to him, whereupon Sweet Dreams started to play.
LEATHER DADDY DADDY’S HOME, AND HE’S READY TO PLAY!!!!!!!
The paddle wielding members of the Security Brigade, in addition to the Master of Ceremonies, began to advance menacingly towards the trio like caricatured Red Army soldiers in a Nazi propaganda poster, who attempted to make a break for it, only to find that their exit was blocked by even more members of the Security Brigade, including some in high-tech exosuits. Artyom, not wishing to be murdered, attempted to attack one of these Security Brigade members blocking the door, however he was quickly subdued and bent over their lap, before he started to be paddled, hard.
MATRIZIANO: Go fuck yourself, Cheshire Cat, you fat cunt! I know your real name! Kill yourself, Pedro!
LEATHER DADDY: Buckle up, girl, your padre is going to take you for a ride!!!
MATRIZIANO: Like fuck you are!