Interior.

Shane Dawson, Maximum Security Prison for the Criminally Insane.

Evening.

The scene opens on a tight close-up of a familiar face, a Yoda who has seen better days.

Face pressed up against the unobtainium bars that keep him from escaping.

Around his head is an Adidas force suppression sweatband that keeps him from unleashing hell

in the unsuspecting jolly beans who guard his cell.

So, um, yeah, I described you, Patrick Yoda.

My name is Dr. Patrick Yoda.

I'm the first Yoda to ever get a degree in archaeology in prison.

I hate detective work so much.

Too much finding new dead bodies.

And you don't even get to play with them, neither.

I hate it.

I used to accidentally walk on all the dead bodies all the time and everyone would get mad at me as if the dead body

wouldn't still be there after I stepped on it.

You're tampering with evidence.

Don't step there. Don't put your hands on that.

Hey buddy, you're tampering with my fucking good time.

I'm into old dead bodies now.

Mommies, dinosaurs, mummified dinosaurs, all that crap.

I'm the number one Yoda archaeologist in all of the world, and it helps that I'm so small.

...