A war torn countryside. Homes and buildings reduced to smoldering rubble. People sick, dying, and generally unamused. Wholly unqualified doctors and priests stand about, pretending to look busy.
NARRATOR: (voice-over) The year is… I’m not sure. The place… Moronika, a once miserable place to live, now marginally worse on account of a bloody, costly, yet rather profitable war started for reasons no one can quite remember.
Slightly less sick and dying people, line-up by a cliffside. A COUNCILMAN sits behind a little table at the cliff edge. HUGO, an armed guard stands nearby.
And as the doctors tend to the dying and the priests pray for the dead, the living wait in line…
COUNCILMAN: Now serving number eleventy-seven.
MORONIKAN: Thank god! I thought I’d be stuck in this line forever.
COUNCILMAN: On behalf of the newly consolidated and collated Moronikan Monarchy Incorporated family, I do sincerely apologize for any wait. How may I assist you today?
MORONIKAN: (puzzles this) I’m not sure.
COUNCILMAN: Do you often stand in lines without rhyme, reason, or rhyme?
MORONIKAN: No. But a large, angry man covered in blood told a bunch of us to stand in this line.
COUNCILMAN: Oh! So, Herman recommended you to us, then?
MORONIKAN: That’s right. I was standing in the bloody, smoldering rubble of what used to be my house and family–
COUNCILMAN: And now you’re in need of a new house and family?
MORONIKAN: That’s right. Some food would be nice, too.
COUNCILMAN: Of course. You might be a bit surprised to hear, but we’ve had a bit of a run on new houses, family, and food today.
MORONIKAN: Is that right?
COUNCILMAN: Oh, yes. It was a bit of a shock, but you know how it goes with these sorts of regime changes. All this death and destruction always motivates people to finally trade-in, move-up, sell-out, back-stab, and whatever other hyphenations they’ve put-off forever.
MORONIKAN: (nods) Of course.
Councilman hands Moronikan a pen and clipboard with several forms attached to it.
COUNCILMAN: Just fill this out for me real quick, and we’ll have you on your way.
Moronikan fills out, returns the forms.
MORONIKAN: There you go. I think I got it all right.
Councilman takes, looks over the forms.
COUNCILMAN: It does indeed. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to follow Hugo here to the edge of the cliff just over there, he’ll be happy to expedite the rest of your execution.
MORONIKAN: I’m sorry?
COUNCILMAN: Would you prefer self-checkout?
MORONIKAN: I’d rather not be executed.
Councilman double-checks the forms.
COUNCILMAN: But it says right here you voted in the last election.
MORONIKAN: Yes, but I don’t see why I should be executed for such a thing.
COUNCILMAN: Look. I’m sorry the system isn’t perfect, but it’s the only one we have.
MORONIKAN: Oh, sure. That might be all fine and good for you, Hugo, and the Moronikan board of executives–
COUNCILMAN: It really is.
MORONIKAN: Right. Well. Isn’t there any recourse for your average Moron?
COUNCILMAN: (considers this) Would you like a big, heavy rock to speed things up?
MORONIKAN: Will it cushion my fall?
COUNCILMAN: Would it help if I lied?
COUNCILMAN: Exactly. Hugo?
Hugo escorts, casually throws Moronikan off the cliff.
(to Hugo) Thank you so much, Hugo. (to line) Now serving number eleventy-eight!