[ROLEPLAY]The Rise & Fall of Laurent Le Foll: We Can Be Heroes
Keeping with the World War II theme of Le Foll’s last performance, the stage had been converted into the interior of a subterranean bunker. A single light hung from the ceiling, illuminating Le Foll, who was leaning over a large wooden table containing a map of the Eastern Front. All around him were various gay gimp generals and leading figures in the Nazi movement, including the Based Kike Goebbels and Adolf Eichmann, who only looked Jewish. It was clear from the set-up of the room that Le Foll was supposed to be Hitler. Suddenly, a rent-boy looking messenger charged into the room.
MESSENGER: Mein Führer, I’m sorry to interrupt but I come bearing an urgent message from Generalfeldmarschall Müller!
LE FOLL: What is it, son?
MESSENGER: The Soviets, they’ve… Wasser… ich brauche Wasser!
LE FOLL: For the love of Wotan, someone bring this brave lad a glass of water!
At the Führer’s command, a buxom, blonde-haired woman in a dirndl rushed in carrying a bottle of Gerolsteiner’s (copyright) distilled mineral water.
MESSENGER: Danke, Heidi. Right, where was I? Ah, yes, the Soviets, sir, they’ve broken through our last line of defence surrounding the city; they now have us surrounded!
LE FOLL: Thank you for passing on this most unsavory piece of news along to me, my boy. You have done your duty to the Fatherland, and you may now retire to a small country home on the Baltic coast where you will be greeted by only the finest Aryan women the Reich has to offer!
MESSENGER: But Mein Führer, we are already short on manpower on the frontlines, surely I would be doing my country a great disservice by not joining my comrades in the last defence of Berlin?
LE FOLL: Your devotion to the defence of the Fatherland is an inspiration to us all, truly. But, of course, you are right. The next time we meet, we will be together in Valhalla!
The messenger boy threw up a Roman salute before exiting the room, ready to die for his beloved Deutschland.
LE FOLL: Now, if only I could say the same of you yellow-bellied cowards! Your weakness and lack of commitment have condemned this nation of ours to a century of Mongoloid, Judeo-bolshevik domination, from which it will surely not return as racially pure or glorious! You have screwed Germany and led her people to the slaughter!
EICHMANN: Mein Führer, I reject that assertion! In all my years of service, I have been nothing but a faithful servant to the Reich, and the same could be said of all the men in this room!
LE FOLL: Silence, Jewspawn! If you or your fellow generals were as faithful in your service as you claim, we would have Stalin and his cronies cornered by now! Instead, our city has been reduced to rubble, our men to corpses, our children to soldiers, and our women to fuck-dolls for the invading Mongol horde!
Hitler then backhanded Eichmann, sending the uppity S.S commander flying off stage.
LE FOLL: Let his be an example to the rest of you, and to all who have sold Germany to the Eternal Jew, distinct from the average Jewish person, with whom I have no quarrel and would never harm! It is their leadership I detest! Now go, all of you, and don’t return unless you have a plan to save our beloved fatherland!
The generals quickly shuffled out of the room, careful not to invoke the wrath of the Führer once more. It was then that Hitler’s lover, Eva Braun, whom the audience instantly recognized as the same (busty and of age) actress who had played Anastasia Romanov earlier in the performance, entered the dimly-lit chamber.
BRAUN: Oh, Adolf, what troubles you, my love?
LE FOLL: These men, no, not men, these cockroaches in uniforms who call themselves generals, have no loyalty, no sense of devotion!
BRAUN: Oh, I know, dear. Remember what I told you after we made love the first time? “The generals have no loyalty, no sense of devotion.” But you always saw the best in people, I suppose.
LE FOLL: Oh, why must you always be right, my Häschen?
Eva rested her blonde head on the Führer’s shoulder.
LE FOLL: Eva, I weep for Germany and what she has become. The days of Wagner and Bismarck, and the man who invented the Hamburger, are far past, I’m afraid.
BRAUN: No, don’t say that, Dolfy-wolfy! As long as you’re alive, Germany will never fall!
LE FOLL: Yes…I must be strong!
Just then, another messenger, this one equally queer in appearance, burst into the room.
MESSENGER #2: Mein Führer, the Soviets have swept through the city with much less resistance than we had anticipated. They will soon be upon us!
LE FOLL: No, this is not how it was supposed to end! My love, we have little time. When the Russian monsters discover our subterranean safehouse, they will surely ravage you!
BRAUN: Oh, Adolf, let’s die in each other’s embrace!
LE FOLL: Luckily, I’ve planned with that ghastly outcome in mind.
Hitler reached into the deep pockets of his trench coat and removed two cyanide pills, one labeled Eva and the other Dolfy-wolfy.
LE FOLL: I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but to die on one’s own terms is far superior than at the butt of some untermensch’s rifle!
The two lovers, husband and wife since their traditional, Germanic pagan wedding ceremony only hours before, then ingested the deadly pills.
BRAUN: Adolf, I’m scared!
LE FOLL: Don’t be scared! Don’t be scared, because….
Suddenly Hitler fell to his knees, and a single spotlight shone on him
”Könntest Du schwimmen”
”Delphine es tun”
”Niemand gibt uns eine Chance”
”Doch können wir siegen”
”Für immer und immer”
”Und wir sind dann Helden”
”Für einen Tag”
”Ich bin dann König”
”Werden wir Helden”
”Für einen Tag”
”Wir sind dann wir”
”An diesem Tag”
”Ich glaub' das zu träumen”
”Im Rücken war kalt”
”Die Schüsse reissen die Luft”
”Doch wir küssen”
”Als ob nichts geschieht”
”Und die Scham fiel auf ihre Seite”
”Oh, wir können sie schlagen”
”Für alle Zeiten”
”Dann sind wir Helden”
”Nur diesen Tag”
”Dann sind wir Helden”
”Dann sind wir Helden”
”Dann sind wir Helden”
”Nur diesen Tag”
”Dann sind wir Helden”
At this Hitler and Braun fell over, nearly dead from the cyanide poisoning. Hitler crawled over to cradle the head of his one true love, but suddenly, an angel, acted by the same buxom girl as Anne Frank, appeared in the room.
HITLER: Who…who are you!
ANGEL: I am the Angel Gabriel, and I am here to take you to Heaven, where you will sit at the right hand of God and enjoy seven-hundred and twenty-three virgins!
HITLER: Oh, good. I thought you might be some other kind of creature.
Hitler and Eva Braun rose to their feet, and began passionately making out with the Angel, before they flew off into Heaven with Golden Years playing.
LYNCH: THAT WAS THE MOST MOVING THING I’VE EVER SEEN.
Being roughly and brutally paddled wasn’t how Konstantin, Artyom, or Alessandra Matriziano had expected their night to go, but here they were, bent over the knees of various Security Brigade members, having their arses smacked raw by wood purchased on Laurent Le Foll’s euro. With the Cheshire Cat and the Leather Daddy parading about shouting off various gay slogans to the Eurythmics hit Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).
LEATHER DADDY: I want you use you…and abuse you!!!
CHESHIRE CAT: Ho ho ho!
LEATHER DADDY: I will now….insert the diddler! Will I insert it into Alessandra’s plump rear, or make one of these other two feel the shame of diddling?!?
The Leather Daddy appeared to consider his options for a minute, before the Cheshire Cat whispered something in his ear, causing him to smile through his gimp mask.
LEATHER DADDY: Yes….this option makes daddy very….proud of his eldest son…..very proud indeed….apprehend the little man, Security Sons, bring him to papa…and bring his….uncles in.
As Artyom was roughly grabbed and dragged in front of the titanic Leather Daddy, a man of rippling muscles who closely resembled the Lord Humungus from Mad Max 2, two other men entered the room, one of them dressed head-to-toe in a fluffy pink bunny suit, and the other dressed like an obese geisha, save for their chicken helmet. Although the true identity of these uncles couldn’t be said for sure, the trio remembered that their quarry for the evening had been Albert Satre, Henri Gagnon, and Florijan Vojkovic. Whichever one of that group was the Leather Daddy, the other two would be the bunny and geisha.
LEATHER DADDY: Uncles, dance!
The bunny began to break-dance in front of Artyom, while the geisha did some kind of horrifically queer Maori haka. While this was going on, the Leather Daddy slapped the diddler off Artyom’s arse, before licking the monstrous dildo.
LEATHER DADDY: Now for the teasing!
Just then one of the men that Antonovich, Filipov, and Matriziano had been talking to (or more accurately, getting insulted by) in the corridor earlier stumbled into room through a half-open doorway. He quickly glanced up at the scene in front of him, and, his eyes widening in shock, he attempted to back out of the room, only to be seized by the Security Brigade.
LEATHER DADDY: A new child for the Leather Daddy! But who are you? I do not recognise you – Cheshire…did you give this man the password?
CHESHIRE CAT: I’ve never seen him before!
LEATHER DADDY: No password…no mask….oh, how thrilling, I do love a good mystery!
MAN #1: My good man, I beseech you, do not do with me as you have done with these three! I am naught but an old man, one who has accidentally stumbled into this dark, satanic place. I have nothing for you to wish to rape and pillage! You will get no pleasure if you decide to force yourself on me! I beg of you, leave me unmolested! Do what you will with these pitiful souls, but not me! I am too pure, too Christian, to be subjected to your whims!
The Leather Daddy was unmoved by the man’s pleas for clemency, and soon the Security Brigade had forced him to his knees, lightly paddling him on his way down.
LEATHER DADDY: I will take you, I will break you, and I will remake you!
BUNNY: I’d love to turn you on…
GEISHA: Never could see any other way, never could see any other way.
LEATHER DADDY: Bring my new son up here!
As the man was being led away, he turned to Matriziano and Konstantin, who were still being paddled.
MAN #1: You have now entered into a vile realm of buggery, sodomy, and deceit. Guard your rears as you might your life.
LEATHER DADDY: My, my. Now that is a jawline…I’m not much of a man by the light of day, but at night, I’m a hell of a lover. I’m just a sweet transvestite, from transsexua –
MAN #1: You’ll curry no sexual favours here, you degenerate braggart! Get to fuck, insipid gimp!
The man broke away from the Security Brigade members that were restraining him, and headbutted the Leather Daddy right in the face. Blood dripped down from under the gimp mask and the Leather Daddy recoiled in pain, before about seven Security Brigade members piled onto the man and restrained him again.
LEATHER DADDY: My fucking nose! My nose! You broke it! You’ve made daddy –
Suddenly, a knife went flying across the room and took one of the Security Brigade members, who was among the Security Brigade members not wearing exo-suits, in the neck. The man tried to scream out in pain, however he simply fell over, dead.
LEATHER DADDY: I thought you just stumbled in here…?
GEISHA: He clearly lied, Albert.
Three other men charged into the room, clutching sabres and swords, including the second man that the Dynamic Duo and Matriziano had encountered earlier.
MAN #1: It took you long enough, didn’t it? What if I’d been forced to relinquish my anal virginity to these fetishist fascists?! Did you think about that, hm? Oh sure, it’s all well and good when you’re not on the receiving end of a buggering from the non-union equivalent of the three stooges, Rakesh, Sanjay, and Augustus Gloop, but when you are, there’s another story, isn’t it?
MAN #3: To be quite honest with you, we arrived a while ago, but we thought it was funnier to just watch.
MAN #1: To be frank, I arrived about half an hour ago, and I thought it was funnier to watch these three rejects get whipped harder than a rebellious slave, so I do understand where you are coming from, but still – get fucked.
LEATHER DADDY: You four are fucked! You’re so so fucked! Daddy’s got his buddies here, and we’re going to pass the kids around, and even if you get away from daddy, daddy’s got a tank outside straight from the production line!
As the Leather Daddy said this, an almighty crash was heard outside, followed shortly thereafter by what sounded like an explosion. Although the first man was still restrained, his countrymen did not appear to making a move to save them.
MAN #4: I think that was your tank, by Jove!
The Cheshire Cat, who had been standing back during the confrontation so far, suddenly pulled out a tommy gun from the folds of his giant fluffy coat, and aimed it at the intruders.
CHESHIRE CAT: How about this!
MAN #2: Naw, I’m not fucking having this. Why does every useless jumped-up fuck of a wean in this place think that guns are the way to fucking go? That’s just being classless, you have no fucking class, you cunt! Swords are so much fucking cooler that it’s hard to express it coherently, or, like, if you fucking have to have a gun, why not a fucking revolver? Like, aye, I fucking get that you might want to shoot some people, but, like, I’m not alone here, am I? Swords are just so much fucking cooler.
MAN #3: If you want to end the life of your standard overtly villainous vaguely magic gimp, swords are the way to go.
CHESHIRE CAT: Prepare to die, anyway!
MAN #3: Is this the part of the story where some heretofore unknown and inexplicable phenomenon or person arrives and saves our lives? I do always like those – do you remember the time where we were up against a cliff-face, with either the swords of our foes, or the ocean blue, as our fate?
MAN #1: And then it turned out that the ocean was sentient, and it saved our lives by reaching up and carrying us away in waterspouts? That was simply splendid.
MAN #4: Personally, I’m not one to leave it to such chance. I prefer to be in control of my own destiny, you know? I like to grab life by the horns and tell it where I’m going!
MAN #1: You can be a real boring gimp sometimes, you know that?
MAN 2: Aye, well, I don’t think that’s going to be happening, because that’s the role we’re currently fucking occupying.
As the man said this, one of the Security Brigade members who had been guarding the door outside came flying through the wall, crashing onto the mat in front of the Leather Daddy and his cohort. Following him into the room was a titanic man, easily the biggest man that Matriziano or the Dynamic Duo had ever seen, perhaps standing close to 8’0”, and with a thick broom-like jet black moustache dominating his face.
MAN #1: Ah, good, the gang’s all here.
LEATHER DADDY: Christ, he’s a big ‘un.
MAN #1: Now, Mr. Satre, I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you. You, your bumming battalion here, and your moronic master, Le Foll, have been doing some things you shouldn’t be, and we’re here to put a stop to any and all of that queer behaviour.
LEATHER DADDY: You think you can stop me?! The Leather Daddy?! Or stop Laurent Le Foll, the most powerful man to ever exist? Who the fuck do you think you are?
MAN #1: My name is Francis Horatio Cornwallis, to my right here is His Majesty William the Sixth, then Arthur Wellesley, the 11th Duke of Wellington, Sir Charles FitzSimmons, and the chap reeking of bolshevism, vodka, and rat-bastard tetris music is Yusuf Al-Stalin, we like to call ourselves the Guards – this isn’t our official name, you understand, that would be the National People’s Republican Guard of the Eternal Hindustan – not the kind of name I personally supported, but my sepoys, in one of their uppity moments, rose up and forced a plebiscite on the matter, which they won due to their superior number. The resulting purges were bloody, I fear to tell you. Bloody indeed.
WELLESLEY: You won’t have heard of us, you morally bankrupt gimp, because we aren’t from around here, but we have most certainly heard of you!
FITZSIMMONS: Why the fuck are you calling him a gimp, Arthur? Of course he’s a fucking gimp, fucking look at him, look at that fucking mask, look at his cunting straps and stripes, and all that other leather shite! No fucking shit he’s a gimp, he must take that a fucking compliment!
WILLIAM VI: We’ve decided to offer you a choice, as something of a game, you can either surrender to us now, and we’ll only mercilessly beat you, or you can resist, in which case we shall have to kill you.
AL-STALIN: Offering choice against the international code of bolshevism! Only choice is government of the worker!
CORNWALLIS: Ignore him, would you kindly? I assure we aren’t communists, bolshevists, Jews, niggers, poor, or anything undesirable like that.
GEISHA: We choose –
CORNWALLIS: Be quiet, you blasted weeaboo fuck! If I am forced to choose between communing with a BDSM arse-bandit, a furry, and a great weeaboo beast such as yourself, who considers themselves fluent in Japanese because they watch such shite programmes as Sailor Moon and Cowboy Bebop with only subtitles instead of English-language dubs, ten times out of ten, the degenerate queerhawk who walks about in one of those shite chinky bathrobes 24/7 despite never having been near a bath, and who idealises Japanese women for their “submissiveness” when the natural truth of it is that Asian cultures are so uniquely horrid that they essentially lobotomise the people subjected to them, will be fucking last on that aforementioned list!
LEATHER DADDY: I choose….Cat, light them up!
The Cheshire Cat unloaded with his machine gun towards Cornwallis, however the Marquees broke free of the grasp of the Security Brigade members holding him, and threw one of them into the path of the bullets, before pulling out a short piece of wood, and pointing it directly at the Cheshire Cat.
CORNWALLIS: Avada Kadavra!
The Cheshire Cat looked puzzled at this for a minute, however seconds later King William leapt across the room towards him, jumped over a pathetic attempt at a right-hook from the professional fat-man, and rammed his rapier through the Cheshire Cat’s left eye.
FITZSIMMONS: Francis, you demented fuck! I’ve told you about a hundred times that you aren’t a fucking wizard!
CORNWALLIS: Really? Well, consider this, you big gay prick, I pointed my wand at him, I shouted the magic words, and half a minute later, he was dead! Can you explain that, Mister “Sceptic”? Because I certainly can’t, except through magic! I am going to Hogwarts, I am going to meet Bulbus Dumbledildo, and when I’m the Minister of Magic, you can come around and suck my wizardly cock, how about!
Two random Security gimps charged at Cornwallis, but the de-facto leader of the Guards jumped out of the way, and the men ran right into Charles FitzSimmons, who quickly dispatched them with a swing of his chain-axe, a unique and godly construct in the shape of a bass guitar. The Geisha and the Bunny leapt into action, with the fat-as-fuck Geisha, who could only be Florijan Vojkovic, getting the jump on FitzSimmons, and sending him to the ground. The gimp started to ineffectually kick away at Ireland’s answer to James Bond, however the Supreme Soviet, Al-Stalin, levelled Vojkovic with a single blow of his mighty-hammer, which caved in the chest of the Security Brigade’s commander, and sent him flying out the hole Al-Stalin had created when entering the room. William Windsor, who had just finished dispatching the Cheshire Cat, turned around and made for the Leather Daddy, however the gimped-up Minister of Defence threw a large amount of protein powder, which he snorted daily, into the face of his assailant.
WILLIAM VI: Christ, I can’t see for shit! Is this what it’s like to be a chinky?! Oh, what a prick I was to judge them when they live with this daily!
Instead of advancing on the incapacitated Windsor, the Leather Daddy turned to wrestle with Cornwallis, who had tried to take him out with a water-lily to the head. While this was going on, the bunny hopped towards William, however Arthur Wellesley jumped in out of nowhere rammed his sabre straight up through the Genevois Prime Minister’s dick, taking him to the ground.
GAGNON: Eeah! My prostate!
The Leather Daddy had gotten the better of Cornwallis in their short confrontation, and threw him towards the wall, but instead of crashing into the vast hordes of degenerates still continuing with the orgy, Francis managed to land on his feet, in a manner most akin to a cat.
LEATHER DADDY: Prepare to feel….the diddler!
CORNWALLIS: Christ, get some originality, you useless prick! No one likes a derivative work!
The Leather Daddy charged towards Cornwallis, however Artyom Antonovich, who had apparently gotten bored with just watching the brawl, slammed into him from the side, hoping to take him down. Albert Satre barely moved, being that he was potentially at least 300 pounds of solid muscle, and bludgeoned Artyom with the full-force of his dildo-bat.
LEATHER DADDY: You’re one very naughty boy!
The Leather Daddy attempted to force his diddler down Artyom’s mouth, apparently forgetting about the inter-dimensional technically dead British politician he had been running towards. Cornwallis was eager to remind him that he was there, though, and delivered an almighty backhand-slap to the Leather Daddy, causing Satre to fall backwards onto his shite gilded throne. Cornwallis picked-up – with some amount of hesitation – the diddler, and rapidly beat Satre over the head with the monstrously queer construct.
LEATHER DADDY: Mercy! Mercy! I have…contacts! I can give you whatever you want!
CORNWALLIS: I very much doubt that, unless you can provide me with a time machine, approximately thirteen pounds of cocaine, and the complete works of Fleetwood Mac.
LEATHER DADDY: No…what you clearly want is…death, and your Daddy’s favourite son will oblige!!
Just then, a single figure appeared to shimmer through the door, and slammed into Al-Stalin, sending the titanic Russian to the ground. Charles FitzSimmons attempted to swing at the entity, however it moved so fast that it had already gotten behind him by the time he had decided to punch where it had originally been, and it threw him into the wall, which he roughly rebounded off. The creature came to a stop, allowing the Guards to get a clear look at it. Wellesley and Windsor had regrouped in the middle of the room, whilst Cornwallis was still holding down the Leather Daddy. The being before them was more machine than human, made of carbon and recycled bubblegum.
LEATHER DADDY: I give you perfection in humanoid form….he was to be the pièce de résistance of my party. Subject 13 created by the Nestlé corporation as a God…he is the world limbo champion, and a master of go-kart racing and he is entirely loyal to Laurent Le Foll…ahh…good luck, children.
Subject 13 moved towards Cornwallis in the blink of an eye, and threw him off the Leather Daddy, before turning to Arthur and William. The Duke of Wellington threw one of the many throwing knives he now carried at the cyborg-clone, however once it hit the creature, the wound immediately healed.
WILLIAM VI: You know, I know that we aren’t quite meant to do this in the name of sportsmanship, and, you know, fitting in, but frankly, sportsmanship can go and bum itself with a curling iron, and fitting in is for faggots who can’t trailblaze.
The Englishman dropped his rapier and unsheathed a second sword, which glowed a faint yellow. The Leather Daddy looked at it mockingly for a second, and Subject 13 took no notice of it as he stared down the two Guards, however suddenly the sword flashed a glorious gold, and a stream of yellow light flashed between it and Subject 13, who quickly dissolved into ash and floated away on the wind.
WELLESLEY: Really?! We have regulations! Fucking codes and regulations!
LEATHER DADDY: Well…that’s not fair.
Albert Satre was quickly apprehended, and tied up on his own queer throne of sodomy and gayness. The Dynamic Duo and Alessandra Matriziano, having composed themselves, made their way over to the group to investigate what was happening.
KONSTANTIN: Jesus, you guys are cool!
WELLESLEY: Christ, why is this prole trying to talk to us!
CORNWALLIS: I’m not sure, I think that they don’t realise they sound like they have bell’s palsy. Talk to the wench, she’s fluent and apparently important.
MATRIZIANO: Does someone want to fill me in on what’s going on here? The last time I checked, the English King wasn’t William the Sixth, so you obviously aren’t who you say you are.
WILLIAM VI: Christ, she’s bright. Where exactly did you find her, Francis, Mensa? Next she might let us know that 2+2=4, or some other such inspired, insightful, genius statement.
FITZSIMMONS: What we are isn’t fucking important, what matter is that we’ve been sent to help, because you fucks haven’t even been able to figure out the wider game, here, and you’ve let Ziggy fucking Stardust dick you for the past decade. That’s impressive, that is.
ARTYOM: Who sent you fellas, then?
FITZSIMMONS: Christ, I can’t understand these fucks!
AL-STALIN: Hello, my Slavic brethren and soon-to-be awakened members of the eternal, glorious, and democratic Communist revolution. Although I am not at liberty to disclose the nature or identity of our employer, I can tell you that you have already met them before, not so long ago.
CORNWALLIS: Why is Al-Stalin going on like some kind of Chechen terrorist? I do not like it when he decides not to speak English, because he is in all likelihood planning some kind of socialist revolt against any and all states!
WELLESLEY: He’s probably just banging on about Tetris? Are you, Al-Stalin? Are you talking about Tetris?
AL-STALIN: Tetris is game of revolution! Blocks built as blocks be built brick by brick for the castle of people’s revolution!
MATRIZIANO: Right, well, since you seem to be so “wise”, can you tell me what’s going on?
CORNWALLIS: Why don’t you ask this gimp?
Francis ripped the mask off the Leather Daddy, revealing, as suspected, Albert Satre, perennial party defector and Genevois Defence Minister for the last 29 years.
SATRE: I’ll…I’ll tell the police about this!
CORNWALLIS: I’d much rather that you tell these fine people about Arcangelo and Le Foll’s various other gay schemes!
SATRE: I…I’ll…ah, what the fuck, I have nothing to lose. Laurent Le Foll is going to use Arcangelo, the supercomputer AI that we all built, Alessandra, to take control of the entire population of Geneva, and force them to do his bidding, and he’ll be doing it using the implants and chips that literally everyone has! Well, everyone stupid enough not to have had them removed, and it’s happening in an hour! You’re so fucked! You can’t stop him now!
WILLIAM VI: He’s entirely right, you know. You can’t stop Le Foll.
MATRIZIANO: Meaning that because you’re so, ahem, “superior”, you can?
WILLIAM VI: No, we have much bigger fish to fry – literally, I’ve always wanted to try frying a whale shark, and we’re going to do that – and, frankly, we aren’t allowed to, yet.
MATRIZIANO: What the fuck are we meant to do, then?
CORNWALLIS: Remove whatever chips or implants you have – this naturally extends to breast implants, the surest means of mind control – get yourself to Laurent Le Foll’s concert, and have the utmost faith on our man on the inside.
FITZSIMMONS: Because you’re probably too clueless to figure this out, too, the three of you might want to consider putting some fucking clothes back on.
WELLESLEY: Before we leave, what about all of these queerhawks around here, who’ve seen what’s happened?
CORNWALLIS: Oh, don’t worry, I spiked the wine long ago. Complete 24-hour amnesia in most cases, and in some, rare and unfortunate cases, fatal brain hemorrhage. Let’s not think about those people, though, they died for a good cause.
WILLIAM VI: And a lot of them were niggers, chinks, and queers!
CORNWALLIS: Exactly! Better to have them out of the gene pool.
MATRIZIANO: That’s really extraordinarily racist and generally bigoted Like…I’m genuinely impressed. I thought that kind of thinking was restricted to Nazis, self-haters, and Le Foll in this day and age.