Uh, welcome, you.

Uh, welcome, congregants, get on in here. Wow. Man, it's good to see some familiar faces. Brother Reed and I have been through the ringer these past few weeks. We were flying high and rubbing elbows with Hollywood's best and brightest while trying to sell our screenplay Plunk to Mr. P.P. Brothers himself.

But he passed, and now we're right back here on Skid Row where we started.

Well, not Skid Row. The Church of the Story. It's not so bad here. The story must be told.

The story must be told. Now, uh, sorry about my raspy voice.

I screamed my gosh darn head up last night.

That's right, Brother Reed and I wanted one last night on the town in Hollywood, California,

and went to a poster maloney concert.

We got VIP seats, we drank non-alcoholic sparkling great juice,

we have bottle service with some of Hollywood's biggest stars that you might have heard of.

Uh, did these names ring about? Vince Diesel's, Willie eyelash, or, uh, Daxe Shepherd. Yeah,

that guy, once he sees you, you can't lose him.

He's like a stray dog.

He's like a fly-on stink, and you're the stink.

But why don't you give it up for us?

We met some famous people.

That's fun.

I know we talked about it for weeks and weeks, but I got some bad news.

Our screenplay, Plunk, was passed over by every producer in Hollywood and New York City.

We might have lost a lot of money, torched a lot of relationships, and been banned from

every award ceremony in North America and Europe.

But what's important is we're back here at the Church of the Story,

...