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Mistress al’Vere: [Beating a Trolloc with a broomstick] Shoo! Go on, shoo! Run along! Get lost, we don’t want you here!
Trolloc: Haw-haw!
Mistress al’Vere: [THUMP!]
Trolloc: [Eyes roll to the back of his head as he falls senseless to the ground.]
[Another Trolloc leaps out of the shadows, brandishing a scythe]
Mistress al’Vere: [Screams hysterically] [Is overtaken by a Spontaneous Act of Self-Defense Due To An Unexpected Trolloc Assault and immediately kills the Trolloc with her broomstick]
[Another Trolloc leaps down upon from the roof]
Mistress al’Vere: [Shrieks]
Padan Fain: [Silently standing beside his cart] Excuse me, madam, but can I interest you in this lovely, intricately hand-carved water jug, only ten Andoran crowns including tax?
Mistress al’Vere: [Clawing the Trolloc away] AAAAAAAAAGH!
Padan Fain: Or how about this hairbrush? Certainly you could use a hairbrush...
Mistress al’Vere: AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!
Padan Fain: No? Perhaps you’d be more interested in this handy piece of reference material, "39 Easy Ways To Tell If Your Peddler Is A Darkfriend"?

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Rand: [Approaching the burning village, still struggling with the cart containing the feverish Tam] Gasp, gasp...
[Huddled in an overly-cool manner in the shadows, wearing baggy ghetto cargoes and the stereotypical ghetto gig, are the meanest bunch a Trollocs that ya evuh did see, BOY. These mothuh’s are dooooowwwwn wid it. These Trollocs be the Just-To-Be-Politically-Correct Negro Trollocs fabricated by Darrel Sweet on the cover for The Great Hunt. They’s hangin’ in the hood and they’s up to no good, and they’ll break ya face.]
Trolloc 1: Yo, wassUP, homes??!!
Trolloc 2: Yeah, ‘sup, MAN??! Ya headed sumwheh thatcha can’t stop and smell da hippidy-hoppidy-hypothetical roses, man??!
Rand: [Confused] S-sorry, I-I don’t do d-drugs. [Tries to walk away]
Trollocs 3: DRUGS?! Man, wus wich you?! We’s doin’ MAYO, man!! DAS how it’s hangin’!!!
Rand: M-mayonnaise??
Trolloc 1: Das right, homeboy!! MayoNAAAAAAAISE!!
Trolloc 2: [Digs a spatula into the jar, then waves it under Rand’s nose] C’mon, MAN, take a whiff!!! ‘Sperience da thrill o’ the may-YO-naise!!
LL Cool Fade: [Shaking his head, saddened by the behavior of his Trolloc Horde] Jippidiy-joppidy-jeez, you mo fo brothus keep changin’ yo styles by the second. Couple days ‘go you wuz sailin’ off Listerine, yestuhday it was Lip Balm, and now yous doin’ Mayo, MAN! Make up yo mind!
Rand: [Hurries on, quivering in fear]
Trolloc 3: Hey, where you goin’, you mo fo sunnavuh-
Editor: *Ahem* We don’t say those type of words in this story, son.
Trolloc 3: I’m so sorry...

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[15 Minutes later, Rand FINALLY arrives in the village.]
Village: Cough, cough.
Rand: Oh, no! Trollocs here, too?
Village: [Nods head] Most of my buildings are completely burnt down. And all this smoke! [Coughs again] My mother used to smoke, but there’s quite a difference between filtered second-hand smoke and direct, thick, black smoke mixed with the stench of dead people!
Watch Hill: I feel your pain, brother. I’ll try to warn the others.
Rand: [Clutching his head dizzily] This is crazy, Pablo...this is nuts! What are you ON??
Pablo: Mayonaaaaaise...
Egwene: [Running by faster than a speeding bullet with her arms full of bedsheets, suddenly sees Rand and screeeeeches to a halt.]
SFX: Scrreeeeeeech!
Egwene: Oh, no! Rand, your fath...? Is he...? Was it...? Should I...? Do you...? Here, I’ll take him to Nynaeve.
Rand: [Tired and stunned. SuperStunned. He looks around at aaaaall the chaos...the realization of the reality of the Trollocs had finally set in. All this time he had viewed Emond’s Field as a safe haven, but now he saw that...this, too, was just part of the Wheel of Complex Marketing Ploys. All this destruction just for a couple bucks. He sobbed and sobbed, screaming hysterically at Mr. Jordan for destroying his village, and shrieking angrily at Pablo for not altering it...]
Pablo: Phhhbhbhbt!
Rand: [Raises his fist skyward in hatred, and curses angrily].
Pablo: [Drops a thirty-pound sack of cornmeal on Rand’s head.]
SFX: ShhhhhhhwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwooooooooossssssshhhhhhhCLUNK. [Sound of a thirty-pound sack of cornmeal hurdling downwards from the sky at 200 mp/h then striking a Hero™ on the head]

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Rand: [After being told by Nynaeve that there is nothing that she can do to help Tam.] H-he’s dying!
Nynaeve: [Dryly] Your perceptiveness overwhelms me...
Rand: You have to do something! You’re the Wisdom! You have to!
Nynaeve: Wellll...what I COULD do prop his upright and discuss scientific theorem when compared with certain current events, then make myself a cup of tea and sing a ditty about vegetables, if that will satisfy your craving for activity on my behalf.
Rand: [Thinks for a moment] Well, yes, that might do.
Nynaeve: [Props Tam upright in a chair] So, Tam, considering Einstein’s theory of relativity but also taking into account the recent study done by the group of Ludenberg physicists, what-
Tam: Einstein hasn’t been invented yet.
Nynaeve: [Censored]! [Makes herself a cup of tea, then grabs a microphone and clears her throat.] And now for my next number...Vegetable Symphony in A Minor.

This quick refrain concerning beans That tells about my sweetheart greens It is not entirely what it seems And ain’t by voluntary means.

This song was coerced by a lad Who cared about his dying dad And wouldn’t let his dad be had Without me singing this ballad.

In all sobriety, I admit My ardor for this dear carrot Obligingly I sing of it Conclusively, it’s time to quit.

Audience: [Cheers wildly]
Tam: I feel better already!
Rand: I yam impressed! ...HEY! [Jumps up] The mayor will know what to do! [Grabs Tam, runs outside, plunks ‘im in the cart, and drags him towards the Inn] [Rand enters the Inn, and finds it empty.]
Rand: HEY! BRAM! YOU HERE?? ANYBODY KNOW WHERE BRAM IS?!
Bram: [Clutching his ears in pain] [Weakly] Standin’ right beside you, boy.
Rand: Tam’s hurt! What should I do?
Bram: What, do I look like a Magic 8-Ball or something?
Rand: [Looks at Bram’s round, fat figure] Er...
Bram: [Growls at Rand]
Thom: I know! I’ll go get the Wisdom! She’ll know what to do! I’ve seen her work. She’s incredible. I’ll be right back.
Rand: But I’ve al-
[But Thom had already disappeared through the door]
[Five minutes later]
Thom: [Clutching a bleeding nose and holding his bruised shin with the other hand] You didn’t tell me you had already seen her!
Rand: You didn’t give me a chance!
Thom: I’m too bloody tired to give anybody a chance.
Bram: At least you HAD a chance.
Rand: He didn’t give ME one.
Thom: So?! I’m saving up my chances for a free Frisbee. I only need one more.
Rand: How many have you saved up so far?
Thom: Thirty-two.
Rand: Thirty-two chances and you couldn’t spare one??
Thom: With that attitude, you don’t stand a chance anyway!
Rand: Which is exactly why I wanted one! And I’ve giving you one last chance to apologize.
Thom: Yeah, right! Like I’m using that chance to apologize. I’m sending in for my Frisbee!
Rand: Listen, bucko. You running out of chances here.
Thom: [Tries to suppress a hysterical laugh] [Can’t make it] Chance, chance, chance. Chance! Chancechance! Ha-ha! That word is officially been overused and has thus become uuuuuseless! Ha-ha-ha!
Rand: It didn’t have a chance, anyway.
Thom: Chance! Chance! Haha! It doesn’t meeeean anything anymore! Chaaaaaaance! Chancechancechance!
Rand: Ah, shut up.
Thom: [Giggling] Chancechance. CHANCE!!
Rand: Alright, Thom, that’s enough. Last chance.
Thom: Hehehehehehe! You said that word! What a lucky CHANCE! Haha!
Rand: [Whispering to Bram] Where’s Lan and Moiraine?
Bram: Categorizing dead Trollocs on the other side of the bridge.
Rand: Thanks! [Hurries away]
Thom: FAT CHANCE!! HAHA!

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[Seven neat and tidy stacks of Trolloc corpses, each pile labeled orderly with stiff pieces of parchment scotch-taped to the bottom member’s left foot, lay next to Lan. Moiraine is absorbed in playing with a bright yellow yo-yo as Lan continues his Trolloc classification.]
Moiraine: [Exasperated sigh] Lan, why is it that every time someone dies, you have to take note of every single minute detail of their death and the surrounding circumstance?
Lan: [Bent over a notebook, madly scribbling down calculations concerning the mathematical improbability of the presence of Trollocs this far south, doesn’t look up.] Mrgh niprln aghnblk.
[Delineates a diagram of the seven piles of corpses, nothing the unlikliehood of the collaboration and cooperation of these seven bands under any normal circumstance.]
Moiraine: Lan?
Lan: [Muttering softly to himself as he approximates the figures regarding the ratio of Ram-Horned Trollocs:|:Goat-Torso’ed Trollocs]
Moiraine: Lan...?!
Lan: [Scrawling notes as he attempts to figure out the plausibility of a train collision if the first trains leaves Boston at 6:00 and the seconds departs from Cincinnati at 4:09 and if the wind velocity from N/NE is approximately 200 metres per second and the first train is traveling at a speed divisible by 9 but not re-]
Moriaine: LAN!!!
Lan: Huh?
Moraine: [Shakes her head sadly]
Rand: [Approaching Moiraine and Lan from the bridge] E-excuse me Mistress Moiraine...I-I mean Sedai Master Moiraine. I-I hear you a Sedai Knight, a-and all the stories say that Sedai Knights c-can he-
Lan: [Whips his head up] THEY’RE WATCHING YOU!! AAAAAAALL DAY!!
Moiraine: Lan, knock it off and let the kid talk.
Lan: [Whimpers]
Rand: So anyway, my dad’s almost dead. Can you help?
Moiraine: I’d love to, Rand...[Turns to the camera] Right after this important sponsor message!

[Scene: A television talk-show studio, stage empty, bleachers full, audience cheering wildly as credits scroll across a big-screen vid. screen at the front.]
Voice-over: A scruffy blacksmith with yellow eyes who talks to wolves and kills people with a hammer, an army general with an inexplicable connection to ravens who hears voices in his voices and unintentionally and spontaneously speaks in foreign languages, and the self-proclaimed savior of the world who has three women wrapped around his fingers and little man in his head who tells him what to do...Tomorrow, on Jerry al’Springer!
[A chair flies across the room, hitting a departing guest on the head. A Ku Klux Klan member wielding a machete pounces ferociously on the woman with thirty-two boyfriends. Screen fades to black. Sound of a scream, and then evil laughter.]

Voice-over: We now return to our regular programming.

[Scene: Rand, Moiraine, Lan, and Mistress al’Vere are in Tam’s newly-appointed room in the Inn.]
Moiraine: [Leaning over Tam, clutching an angreal and touching Tam’s forehead.] Aaaaabracadaaaabra...[POOF!] All better!
Rand: Wow, gee, thanks!
Moiraine: No problem. But in return, you have to leave your town and come with me all over the world and do whatever I say, okay?
Rand: [Shrugs] Okay. B-but where are we going?
Lan: No time to explain. Quick! To the Millennium Stallion!
Chewebacca: Aaawwwwrgh! Ohar!
Lan: Calm down, Chewy.
Chewebacca: Aaaaorgh...
[Lan, Moiraine, and Rand race out the door. Rand leaves a message with Mistress al’Vere to give to Tam, and then makes like a...dog and fleeeas.]
Pablo: [Whimpering] I’m sorry.
[The trio nabs Mat and Perrin on the way, meet up with an headstrong Egwene and a stow-away Thom, then prepare to hit the road]
Lan: [Admiring his Millennium Stallion.] Fastest horse in the galaxy...[Boots the horse.] Hyperspeed!
Moiraine: [Shakes her head.]
[The group is speeding towards an unknown destination at a velocity never before heard of by man, when all of a sudden...]
Rand: WAIT!
Group: Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech...
Rand: Pablo forgot to include my scary dream sequence!
Group: [Groooooooan...]
Rand: [Cheering up] But, knowing Pablo, it was no doubt for a good reason.

Pablo: [Hidden behind the clouds, lounging in a reclining chair, munching Dorito’s and guzzling pop.] BURP! [Pats his stomach.] Atta boy. [Takes a bite out of a piece of licorice.]

Lan: To infinity, and beyond! Hyperspeed, Chewebacca!
Chewebacca: Aaaaaoooorrrgh!
Lan: Whoa, not so restless, big guy.
Chewebacca: Aaaorgh.

[The intrepid adventurers ride on. But barely even out of the village, a black shape flies slowly across the silvery ball of the moon...
Rand: [Gulp]
Lan: DRAGHKAR! DRAGHKAR! AAAAH!! THEY’RE WORSE THAN RAVENS!!
Moiraine: [Nods gravely] Not only do they spy on you, their voices are worse than Neil Diamond and they’re the worst kissers in the world. [Looks around, and blushes.] Not that I would know...
Thom: Aye, they’re worse than Trollocs and Fades, too. If you encounter one, you haven’t a CHANCE of escaping! Hahaha!
Lan: [Booting his horse] Ohio, Silver!
Tonto: [Confused] [Shrugs] Massachusetts, Scoot!

[And on they run. And run. Rand silently shouts at Bela to run faster, and, as if this is some sort of example of something stupid like FORESHADOWING....she runs faster.] [Abruptly, Lan slows - it’s Watch Hill. An opportunity supplementing a need. They all dismount and are promptly...attacked by a Draghkar. No, wait...that’s after Moiraine utilizes her Sedai powers to make everybody un-tired. But for some strange reason, Bela doesn’t need re-energizing by Moiraine’s Sedai powers. (Some idiots might also consider this to be FORESHADOWING as well. But then again, those are the same fools who suspect Padan Fain to be a Darkfriend. Jeez...people these days.) THEN they’re attacked by the Draghkar, and they ride on into the night.

Pablo: CUT! Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut. This is going nowhere. It’s just a bunch of parodied events in a sequence, going nowhere relevant at any tolerable speed. Let’s cut to a commercial, then call it a day.

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[Scene: Gramma and Grampa’s living room.]
Gramma: [Crocheting]
Grampa: [Reading the paper]
Telephone: Ring, ring.
Grampa: [Picking it up?] Hello? [Immediately breaks into a smile, and whispers to Gramma] It’s Patrick! He’s joined the Dark side. [Talking to Patrick again] Congratulations, son! But it must cost a fortune in monthly royalties...?
Patrick: Oh, no, dad. The Dark side is completely royalty-free! The only charge is membership, and the only thing you lose is your soul! Oh, and they have a GREAT health care plan too.
Grampa: Well, I’m proud of you son. But what’s the catch?
Patrick: No catch, dad! Just a lifetime allegiance towards evil.
Gramma: [Writing something down on a piece of paper. Holds up the piece of paper for Grampa to see... "Dental plan?"]
Grandpa: I see. [Reading Gramma’s note] What about a dental plan? Do they have a dental plan? The Light has a dental plan.
Patrick: Um...uh...
[Fade to Man Sitting At Desk With Hands Folded]
Man Sitting At Desk With Hands Folded: The Dark side of the Source - your way to financial freedom.
Myrdraal: [Snickering in the background]
[Fade to black.]

[Scene: Towering mountains shielding a grassy meadows situated beside a babbling brook and beautiful oak building. Dotting the field are pairs of women, one attached to the leash, and the other holding the leash. Large birds with riders soar overhead. In the foreground, a woman dressed in red silk is holding a leash fastened to the neck of the captive woman in dull gray]
Woman In Red ("Lady Gwen"): Sit, Frola!
Woman in Gray ("Frola"): [Sits obediently]
Gwen: Roll over!
Frola: [Rolls over]
Gwen: Good girl! Have a treat...[Feeds Frola a biscuit]
Frola: [Eats the biscuit happily]
Gwen: Up!
Frola: [Gets up]
Gwen: Ready, Frola?
Frola: [Nods eagerly]
Gwen: Okay, visualize a rosebud, Frola!
Frola: [Visualizes a rosebud]
Gwen: Now...reduce that mountain into smoldering bits of rubble by calling lightning down from the sky accompanied by a giant red fireball, on the count of three! One...two...three!
Frola: [Squeezes her eyes shut tight]
Scene: [A giant flash of light streaks across the blue sky, blotting out the noonday sun, and striking the mountain with incredible force. The mountain in the background erupts into a volcanic geyser of flaming lava and soot, and after the toxic black smoke is absorbed by the clouds, it can be seen that nothing is left of the mountain except for smoldering bits of rubble...]
Gwen: [Temporarily stunned] [Pats Frola] Good girl!
Frola: [Grins happily]

Voice-over: Tower of Ravens Damane Obedience School. Now open! Come join us...[Another mountain explodes into flame]...for the experience of a lifetime.
 
 Pablo