This week has been hell on wheels. First of all, I'm now officially in my late twenties. Which would be fine if...excuse me, I have to go moisturize. Where was I? Yes, the hell. So I'm old, I'm dry, and when I walked in my apartment this afternoon, my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was on fire. The Mulder action figure is poking it with one of those plastic swords that impale fruit in cocktails. "I'm burning them out!" he yells up at me. "Scully! And the Britney Spears! After weeks and weeks of off-screen profiling and investigating, I tracked them to a nook between your bookcase and the wall and I'm hoping the smoke drives them out!" And the hits? Just keep coming.
Nighttime. The suburbs. We fade up on an innocuous-looking tract house. Two guys parked across the street perch on the roof of their car, drinking Budweiser from cans and shooting the shit. One of them is played by David Faustino, best known as Bud Bundy from Married...With Children. NotBud whistles the theme song from The Brady Bunch as Bud throws back a mouthful of...Bud. Heh. NotBud insists drunkenly -- and, I suspect, not for the first time -- that the house they're staring at is "where they filmed The Brady Bunch." Bud stares at him: "What? Are you on crack? Does that honestly look like The Brady Bunch house to you?" NotBud insists that it does from the inside. "Straight up, dude," he chortles. He explains that he was delivering a pizza last night, and the dude who lives there was all crowding the door so he couldn't see inside. "And then, boom! He drops his Crazy Bread. And I see it all, man," NotBud coos. Bud makes a quizzical face and sips his brewski. NotBud interprets this reaction as a challenge to his manhood, and leaps off the car with a thunk. He races across the street and over to the house. Bud follows, mildly asking him to cut it out. NotBud shakes his head and bangs on the green front door. "My honor's at stake, man," he yelps. Bud rolls his eyes. "No one's home," Bud says, relieved. "Let's go." NotBud ignores him and peers inside the front window. Bud makes a half-hearted gesture toward the car. NotBud seems to be coming along...but gets sidetracked by the fact that the door is, conveniently, open.
NotBud skips inside. Bud follows. "See? I told you," NotBud crows. And, indeed, the inside of the house looks exactly like the set of The Brady Bunch. Bud is suitably impressed. They begin to explore. Bud, by the way? One foot tall. "Here it is! That weird horse sculpture!" NotBud says, caressing it in a disturbingly sexual way. He picks up a vase next to the horse. "And the vase that Peter broke! 'Mom always said, don't play ball in the house.' Remember that one?" Bud looks around, dazed, and whispers that he doesn't understand any of this. "Who's on crack now, huh?" NotBud asks. I'm taking that as a shout-out. Just because. At this point, a beaten-up football rolls slowly down the stairs. "Hello?" Bud calls. The football gently bounces on the ground. NotBud races over and scoops it up, yammering about Marcia breaking her nose that one time. Sadly, he does not use the phrase "Ow! My nose!" Bud finds this entire set-up creepy. "Screw this, man, I'm out of here," he says, scampering for the door. NotBud calls after him, telling him not to be "a puss," but Bud leaves anyway, slamming the door behind him. Stupid high NotBud shrugs. There are strange sounds from upstairs drifting down the stairs -- children laughing, mostly. A word to the wise: on The X-Files? Children laughing? Sure sign of impending doom. NotBud scampers up the stairs to investigate. He creeps into an upstairs hallway, where he's met by...Bobby and Cindy Brady. Well, a reasonable facsimile thereof. "Bobby? Cindy?" NotBud breathes. They stare at him like those twins in The Shining, then walk away. NotBud yelps for them to come back, and follows them through a nearby door.