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The crisp October air bites at Stan’s cheeks as Sharon fusses with the straps of his Captain America costume. Inside the brightly lit aisles of Blockbuster, the stale scent of popcorn and rented DVDs hangs heavy.
“Just a little tighter, sweetie,” Sharon murmurs, adjusting the last buckle on his shield.
Stan wiggles, eager to get out there. Trick-or-treating with Kyle is practically a holiday itself.
Suddenly, Randy’s voice booms from the front of the store, amplified by a cheap megaphone. “Alright, folks! Biggest sale of the year! Everything must go, even the Shrek movies!” He sounds particularly manic.
Sharon sighs, giving Stan a final pat. “Your father, bless his heart.”
Randy reappears, his eyes wide and a manic grin plastered across his face. “Everyone! To the front! We need all hands on deck! This is gonna be bigger than the Colorado Gold Rush!”
Stan’s heart sinks. He pulls out his iPhone 4S and speed dials Kyle.
“Dude, I can’t go,” Stan mumbles into the phone, watching Randy try to upsell a copy of Gigli to a bewildered elderly couple. “My dad’s having some kinda Blockbuster meltdown. He says I gotta help.”
Across town, Kyle, resplendent in his Thor costume, complete with a plastic Mjolnir, clutches his own iPad. He listens, his brow furrowed in thought. “Dude, that sucks ass,” he says, then his eyes light up. “Wait! I got an idea! Get your iPad!”
Minutes later, a bizarre procession makes its way down the sidewalk. Kyle, ever the ingenious one, has rigged his iPad onto a skateboard. Stan, still stuck at Blockbuster, is on FaceTime on his end, his face filling Kyle’s screen. He’s no longer Captain America, but a beleaguered Blockbuster employee, complete with a blue vest Sharon forced him into. Kenny, a surprisingly convincing Iron Man with a clunky voice changer making his muffled exclamations even more unintelligible, pushes the iPad-skateboard contraption. Cartman, a truly massive Incredible Hulk with ripped purple shorts barely containing his girth, stomps alongside them, already fuming.
“This is bullshit!” Cartman roars, his green face paint smeared around his mouth. “People aren’t gonna know who the hell we are! Stan, you ruined Halloween, you goddamn turd!”
They approach the first house, an old Victorian with a flickering porch light.
A portly man with a kindly smile opens the door. “Well, look at you boys!” he chuckles. “Thor! Iron Man! And… you,” he gestures to Cartman, tilting his head. “Are you… Bruce Vilanch?”
Cartman’s jaw drops, a vein throbbing in his temple. “I’m the Hulk, you fatass!”
The man’s wife appears. “Oh, dear, I thought he was the incredible Chaz Bono!”
“No!” Cartman screams, stomping his foot.
“Perhaps the incredible Harvey Fierstein?” the wife suggests, ever so sweetly.
The man snaps his fingers. “Ah! I’ve got it! The incredibly fat and gay skinny straight man!”
Cartman lets out a guttural roar, his green face turning an even deeper shade. “I’M NOT GAY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
At the next house, a woman with a beehive hairdo peers at them. “Oh my goodness, Thor and Iron Man! And you must be… Honey Boo Boo!”
That’s it. Cartman explodes. “I AM THE INCREDIBLE HULK! I’M GONNA SMASH YOUR STUPID FACE IN, YOU WHORE!” He lunges forward, only to be yanked back by Kyle and Kenny. All the while, Cartman’s angry green eyes dart to the iPad on the skateboard. “This is all your fault, Stan! If you weren’t such a goddamn Blockbuster loser, people would know who I am!”