So here it is, the final installment of the Dramobil saga that took place in and around a Playmobil dollhouse. Perhaps I should’ve mentioned upfront that there’s no resolution to this tale. Maybe there will be someday, but that’s likely of no help to you now. Still, read on for a further lack of closure, won’t you?
Tthe ignorant Sheriff was trying to heat up a pizza and made the terrible faux pas of mistaking a Robot for a microwave oven.
The proud, gun-jumping Robot, who was no stranger to discriminatory treatment, was wildly offended and demanded an apology. Made brave by the badge, the Sheriff chortled derisively. The outraged Robot challenged the Sheriff to a duel, even though it was a quarter past high noon. Cocky as ever, the Sheriff whipped out his pistol in acceptance.
The Robot leaped into the wedding carriage, startling the Bratty Bridal Ponies, who neighed with alarm.
The Robot also recruited the assistance of the Shriner, who was sick of being untreated by unfairly because of his Masonic principles.
The Sheriff nabbed Blond Beardy, one of the King’s ineffectual guards, to fight by his side in this battle to the death, and everyone set out to make mince meat of each other.
Who will live? Who will die?
Meanwhile, The Milkmaid awoke that morning in quite a state (i.e., hunched over the bathroom sink in her own vomit with the goateed, beatnik Artist dead face-down in the toilet).
Shaking with horror, The Milkmaid looked into her reflection’s bloodshot eyes and desperately tried to recall the events that might’ve led to this sordid point.
As The Milkmaid remembered, she’d walked into the bathroom, humming to herself, only to find The Artist, drunk in a bubble bath and wearing all his clothes as he cooed into a handheld mirror, murmuring sweet nothings about his greatness.
“I’d do me,” The Artist had been in the midst of saying to his mirror. “I’d do the hell out of me, especially if I were a hot blond milkmaid who’d never felt the touch of sexual genius.” He looked pointedly at you-know-who.
The Milkmaid, having always had a bit of a crush on The Artist, blushed and attempted to turn away; she’d never before realized he’d known she existed, let alone knew the status of her carefully preserved virginity.
The Artist, not used to being ignored and prone to great theatrics, declared he would drown himself in the tub should she not cave into the passion he knew she craved. With that, he ducked beneath the bubbles.
Horrified, The Milkmaid had agreed. The Artist had emerged from the water with a grin and offered her some of his drink to help her relax. Some potent concoction from the Orient he swore was more potent than absinthe.
It must’ve been, because that was the last thing The Milkmaid could remember.
Now, The Milkmaid inspected herself in the mirror with worried eyes. What in the world happened? How long had she been out? Why was The Artist dead in the toilet? Did they ever make with the love? What was that stuff she drank?
More importantly, was she looking a little bit fat all of a sudden?
Officially whipped into a hysterical frenzy and no longer thinking clearly after what was assuredly a traumatic evening, The Milkmaid–who’d never been properly educated on the ways of love and also believed Immaculate Conception was entirely possible–flung herself on the bathroom floor and sobbed and screamed. After all, she knew what happened to all the newborns around here…
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUNNN!
Okay, that was the last of it. I apologize going out on such a grim note. Furthermore, I wish I could recall the ending Alien, Tetra, and I dreamed up. I assure you it wrapped everything up so neatly you could’ve slapped a bow on it and given it to your grandma. But it’s tragically lost to the annals of time.
The only thing I could speak to in certainty is that last bit about the newborns. The sight that Cragsman had seen that had shocked him to his very core was the sight of a bunch of dead babies being swept underneath an attic rug!
This was supposed to feature prominently at the very end of Dramobil. When playing with the dollhouse, Tetra put all the dead babies in a tree top: “The Rapture did happen and they were the only ones who ascended but got stuck in a tree on the way up.” That was going to be the finale. I hope knowing that brings you some modest comfort.
(One night at Sir and Pickle’s, I requested of Tetra, “Draw dead babies being swept under a rug,” to which Sir and Pumpkins and those who were not in the Dramobil know were like, “What?!” I’m laughing just thinking about it. Pumpkins was like, “What if you took that drawing to a tattoo shop and were like, ‘Yo, can you clean this up some?’”)
I do, however, have some hastily taken photos of what I’d intended to happen in Dramobil—let me now hazard a guess as to what might’ve been:
The IRS guy appears to be alive! (Or is that the Union Soldier? Oh, who can even say!)
The band of clowns—one wielding a rather large gun—hang out on the patio.
JoAnn the Wiccan rides on a train with cats and woodland creatures.
This unnamed gentleman winds up face down in a giant pumpkin.
The Milkmaid might be giving birth in the attic here, but that’s up for debate.
The Shriner attempts to plunge a spear into Blond Beardy! Blond Beardy bonks the Shriner with a spoon!
But then they cool, they buds.
Some Michael-Jackson-on-a-hotel-balcony-type high jinks are underway!
Red Beard the Transvestite Nanny shows up to put an end to this crazy shit, but oops! The baby falls during the scuffle!
The baby lands safely in the carriage located conveniently just underneath the balcony. Pumpkin Face doesn’t seem to notice.
Then the clowns kidnap the baby!
Alon and the Good Fairy team up and venture off together, perhaps in the direction of their own spinoff.
Meanwhile, this blurry business is occurring. Lis appears to have commandeered the Bratty Bridal Ponies, the Robot in the backseat.
Then there’s THIS indescribable chaos. Everyone except Lipis, Jink, and their dog, Oh Belvedere might be dead. Except for the Apparition. He’s EXTRA dead.
Then there’s this Love Triangle…Quadrangle…Pentagon… I lost track of how many people are involved. The Snowman—The Bride’s SUPER TRUEST LOVE—shows up with his snake wand and defeats the King, Trumpet, and Jesty.
The Snowman then sells the Groom to the Pimp.
Then the Bride and the Snowman live happily ever after.
And then these people are hanging out, having snacks and basically living the life.
Not every story had an ending, it’s true, but hopefully you’ll be able to sleep tonight anyway. And with that, I say:
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