The teens park the camper in an open space by a lake. The storm continues unabated. Thunder rumbles ominously, and lightning bolts scar the night sky.
Todd is concerned. This is nothing new. Todd is always concerned about something or other. At this point in time he is concerned because his girlfriend, Angie, who really wants to sing 'I Will Survive' by Gloria Gaynor on a karaoke machine somewhere, is somewhat damp. And being scantily clad, her physical assets are - to say the least - outstanding.
"You okay babe?" he asks her.
"Of course I'm okay," she says nonchalantly. She shudders a little so that certain parts of her anatomy shudder in sympathy. Like really firm jelly on a plate. "I could be better though," she pouts.
"How?" Todd asks. He loves this girl. He would lay his life on the line for her. If she's unhappy about something he wants to put it it right.
In a little girly voice, the same one she's always used to wrap her father around her finger, she says:
"Me just wanted to sing 'I Will Survive' on da karaoke machine Toddy-woddy. Dat's all. Much as I wuv you tweety pie, I was just so looking forward to singing 'I Will Survive' on da karaoke machine. I been pwactising real hard, an I jus wanted to do it to make you feel pwoud of me. Coz I loves you."
Todd's heart melts. She's a darling. She's adorable. And she's as horny as a fucking rhinocerous with...more horns than it ever should have.
"Baby..." he says.
As Nick looks on, his heart filled with lustful intent, as he can only gawp at the damp tee-shirt and the protuberant radio tuning buttons...
A rap on the door unbalances the equilibrium.
"Who the fuck is that?" Lola squeals.
"Dunno," Johnny Boy says. His mind is still semi-focussed on pool tables and rampant sex. "I haven't yet acquired the art of recognising people through closed doors."
"Asshole!" Lola hisses.
Johnny Boy ignores her. His mind struggles to get beyond the image of Angie's erect nipples. They torment him. He really wants to get jiggy with those nipples. He can't understand where the pool table sex thing came from. He wonders if he caught it from Nick. Or vice-versa.
He realises that we have a continuity problem here, but hopefully, the heaving bosoms and upstanding nipples will divert readers from any errors.
He hopes so.
He can see Lola checking out Angie's lady points with lustful intent. He vows to record any hot girl on girl action on his mobile and post it on You Tube.
Another knock on the door.
Johnny Boy opens up as the rain lashes the camper.
"Sorry about this," a male voice says. "But may I come in for a moment? I have matters which I'd like to discuss with you."
Johnny Boy steps aside and allows the door-knocker entry.
The newcomer is a distinguished looking gentleman, who bears an air of authority about him, yet without being a stuck-up son of a bitch with it.
"Jeezus!" the newcomer squawks upon clocking Angie's protuberant nipples. "You don't get too many of them for a pound!"
"And thrusting against damp fabric..." Nick added. His filthy mind reverting to pool tables and steadily grinding love-making.
"So what is it?" Johnny Boy snaps impatiently. Wishing he could be with Angie rather than Lola, glaring at Todd, who is blissfully unaware that just about the whole male population of the planet wants to fuck his girlfriend rigid.
"May I sit down?" the visitor asks.
"Sure," Johnny Boy says.
Todd's mind is a blank.
He too has been mesmerised by his girlfriend's upstanding lady-points.
The visitor takes a seat.
"My name is Morse," he says. Trying desperately not to stare at Angie's protruding nipples. For they are causing a great deal of internal foment. "And I come here tonight to give you fair warning..." the visitor announced.
"Warning of what?" Angie said, absently tweaking both nipples and sending the temperature inside the camper off the scale, despite the storm outside.
"Let me explain," Morse says. "I was once the proud Captain of HMS Buggerall, a ship out of Bristol. I was a proud Captain, but at times my crew let me down. Don't get me wrong, I loved them like brothers. But taking command of conjoined twins, fake reverends, Irish bosun and cannibalistic cook takes its toll. Not to mention the fucking parrot, Bollocks..."
"I've heard enough of this crap," Angie says. "I'm going out to see if there's a karaoke night going on anywhere. I'll get 'I Will Survive' in at some point if it fucking kills me..."
"Wait!" Todd shouts. But she's gone. He redirects his focus onto the Morse fellow:
"So what exactly are you trying to tell us here Captain?" he asks.
"I'm trying to tell you that you're in mortal peril," Morse says. "I got involved in a Spoof collaboration. That was hard enough. This is worse. You've got yourselves involved in the twisted imagination of a single super-freak. I believe that the person responsible for this load of old bollocks is none other than my psychopathic cannibalistically inclined cook. Skoob. The psycho in the long coat.
"I'd advise you to get out while you still can. It's only part 4. Just walk away. There's no telling where this twisted genius will lead you. He's already got you all salivating over protruding nipples and sexy chicks made up to look plain..."
"I hope you're not referring to me there!" Fran erupts.
"You don't know how evil this person can be," Morse warns. "He used to cook human legs for us to eat on the Buggerall. With Leeds United and Huddersfield Town tattoos on the skin. He's the worst kind of evil bastard there is."
"Sorry, but I don't believe you," Lola says. "For a chick with small tits and a loose pussy who doesn't really have that much to offer a man, I can be pretty fucking evil myself."
"Okay," Captain Morse says. "Have it your way. You don't exactly have any tits to get excited about. You do have luscious lips though...they'd look real good wrapped around my..."
As Morse opened the camper door his heart froze.
Facing him, hanging upside down by a length of rope, was a mutant hoody zombie.
Who had been skinned.
The blood dripped, only to mingle with the pounding rainwater in a kind of blancmange pink shade.
"Oh fuck!" gasped Nick. All thoughts of pool table sex forgotten...
To be continued. Maybe.