EXT. Night. A campfire burns in the middle of the forest. Around it are Michael Myers, darning his mask in preparation for the forthcoming Halloween 2. Next to him, lying down, is Jason Voorhees—wearing a neck brace, his arm in a splint, injuries he sustained from the last Friday the 13th. Tending to the fire, Freddy Krueger, now an old man, his blades rusty and broken. He is using them to open a can of beans.
The camera draws near.
MICHAEL (comforting): Don’t take it too personally.
JASON: It's hard not to. I mean I can’t believe I fell for that. A wood chipper. Jesus. That is worse than anything I ever did.
MICHAEL: Way worse.
JASON: It’s these new kids. They’re not playing the game the way it should be played. It’s all cellphones and pagers one minute and then they’re coming at you with baseball bats and knives and God knows what else. Whatever happened to taking a shower? Running in high heels? Losing the car keys?
MICHAEL (wistfully): Taking a walk in the forest.
JASON: Yeah right. ”Is anybody there?”
MICHAEL (girlishly): “I won’t be long.....”
Jason mimes bringing a machete down through the air, but cricks his neck and winces. Carefully, he massages his shoulder.
MICHAEL: It’s Scream. That film screwed everything up for us. Now everyone knows our shit.”
JASON: Bunch of artsy-fartsys Scooby-Doo crap is what it was. Putting ideas in their heads. They would never have thought of a wood chipper before. No way.
MICHAEL: If anyone’s feeding someone into a wood chipper it's you, Jay.
JASON: It’s fucked up.
MICHAEL: It's disrespectful is what it is.