Other Character Email Trogador/da kidz

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The New Trogador Adventures

Episode 018: Da Kidz
Trogador tries to diversify his audience by being a straight up g. No fronting allowed!

Transcript

{cut to black screen that says "IN A.D 20X8". The screen then changes it's text it to "THE KERREK MADE HIMSELF HATED WHILE A DRAGON'S GUITAR GENTLY WEEPED. THAT DRAGON IS..." The words disappear, and TROGADOR in orange letters appears. Below are the options "START GAME", "SECRET CODE WORD", and "OPTIONAL OPTIONS". The first set of words light up, and we get taken to this screen....}

{cut to The Living Room. Kray sits on the couch. Clyde sits next to him, looking angry.}

CLYDE: {growls}

KRAY: What was that?

CLYDE: Hmm? Nothing.

{There is a pause. Clyde growls again.}

KRAY: Look, Clyde, I said eh was sorry!

CLYDE: You blew up my computer! Sorry doesn't cut it!

KRAY: What if I buy ye a new'un?

CLYDE: ...would you do that?

KRAY: Nope.

{Clyde growls again. Trogador walks in the room, fully healed, with an also fully healed Drew behind him.}

TROGADOR: Hey everybody, I'm back from the hospital.

DREW: Me too! We sure had fun there, didn't we, Mr. Trogador?

{Trogador sighs in a very long, drawn out fashion.}

DREW: That means he's having fun!

{Drew walks over to the Dining Room.}

TROGADOR: If I ever get horribly injured again, please let me die.

CLYDE: Trogador this pigface jerk blew up my computer and tried to kill the rest of us and NNNNNNNNNNNNN!

TROGADOR: Did he continue my email show?

CLYDE: Uhh, maybe, but-

TROGADOR: Then he's an okay dude in my book! Speaking of which, can I have the TrogPilot?

KRAY: What? Eh, yeah, sure...

{Kray reaches into his pocket and throws the TrogPilot to Trogador.}

TROGADOR: Sweet!

{Cut to Trogador laying down in his nest. He is holding the TrogPilot.}

TROGADOR: I missed you so much, email! So much!

{Trogador tries to read the email, but a scared "uhh" just comes out of his mouth.}

TROGADOR: Well, uhh...Sock...al...add...e...1991...I don't know whose soul is in this boy, but I'm not really sure how to click links on this thing either. So, in closing, sorry, but your little dead kid's soul is only worth a 7.

{cut to a boardroom. The camera pans out to show that the previous scene was just on a laptop. Trogador sits on one side of a brown table, with an Astromund wearing a blue tie on his other side.}

ASTROMUND: So, you see, Trog, episodes like this aren't gonna help your ratings at all!

TROGADOR: Uhh...who are you?

ASTROMUND: I'm Reese Malcolm, your agent.

TROGADOR: I have an agent?

REESE: When you became Defender, I was immediately appointed to be your agent, alongside PR representative, manager, and financial adviser. And I'm advising that that last episode sucked!

TROGADOR: What was so bad about it?

REESE: Look, baby. You obviously don't have any understand of the kids these days at all. And when we try to appeal to the kids, well, that's a problem!

TROGADOR: What do kids these days like?

REESE: Oh, quickly yelling racial slurs while they drive in stolen cars and shoot people that wear different colored clothing.

TROGADOR: I've never seen a kid do any of that.

REESE: I'm the expert on this, baby. You just answer the emails and look real pretty.

TROGADOR: How do I appeal to these kids, then? Do I have to kill anybody?

REESE: No no, but that's a good idea in case ratings start to drop. We'll send you into Inner Challenge City so you can meet up with the kids. By extending your friendship to them, you'll appeal to them.

TROGADOR: I'm not going into Inner Challenge City.

REESE: And why not?

TROGADOR: I'd get shot!

REESE: Fine, we'll send you to the suburbs.

TROGADOR: The kids in the suburbs are still pretty dangerous, Reese!

REESE: It's either the suburbs or an orphanage!

TROGADOR: Eh, I'll go to an orphanage.

{cut to some suburbs. A hedgerow is in the background. Trogador stands on the sidewalk.}

TROGADOR: What the crap?

{Trogador hears some chattering. He walks over to find a bunch of Astromunds wearing pink polo shirts standing on the corner.}

ASTROMUND 1: {in an over-exaggerated California accent} So I like, I was like, like...

ASTROMUND 2: {same accent} Heeeeeeey broooo, let's go pick up some small pizza rolls and go skating down by the radical park! Gnarly!

ASTROMUND 3: {same accent} Let's all...let's all go to the beach...and then a party...and then it'll be all like...drama. And then we can...we can go kill off a core cast member who grows tired of our show and wants to move onto better things but stars in a failed 8 episode sitcom.

TROGADOR: Uh, hey, are you guys average kids?

ASTROMUND 2: I'm anything but average, grandpa. I'm a RAGE BEAST SKATING MACHINE!

ASTROMUND 3: Get out of my neighborhood, you nerd-jerk-scumbag. You're like...making us look uncool.

ASTROMUND 1: Yeah man, you're all like...like...that guy's like...

TROGADOR: Have you ever heard of Trogador Emails?

ASTROMUND 2: Isn't that an X-Games event? Man, I love the X-Games. Awesome to the radicalest power!

ASTROMUND 3: No man, I watched that show on my iPhone once.

TROGADOR: You guys use iPhones?

ASTROMUND 3: Yeah man, we be all hip n' cool.

TROGADOR: They're hundreds of years old!

ASTROMUND 3: {scoffs} You don't understand it, do you? They're vintage. Loser.

{Some stereotypical rap song starts playing. Astromund 1 takes out his iPhone and the three start dancing.}

ASTROMUND 1: This song is like...so ghetto!

ASTROMUND 2: This song is all vicious ghetto! It's EXTREME!

ASTROMUND 3: Oh, man, so ghetto.

{The kids continue dancing. Trogador just stands there and watches. After a few seconds he sighs and walks away.}

{cut to the boardroom seen before. John and Master Z sit across from Reese.}

JOHN: ...so, as you say, if I'm the third most popular character, would a spin-off be viable in the future?
MASTER Z: I'm sorry, but this contract is terrible. Not enough cash from merchandising, I need some of that!

REESE: Ah, Trogador, baby, nice to see you! Boys, we'll discuss these matters later.

{John and Master Z get up and walk away. Trogador sits in a chair across from Reese.}

REESE: So, how did the suburbs go?

TROGADOR: Pretty bad. They were all snobby and snooty and listened to fast talking on their outdated technology.

REESE: Ahh, yes, that's the audience we want!

TROGADOR: Can I go home now?

REESE: No, no, I don't think you've connected to the teens enough...we also want you to connect with the urban youth.

TROGADOR: Urban youth? Does that mean...

REESE: You're going to Inner Challenge City!

TROGADOR: Why can't I connect with the orphan youth!?

{cut to an Inner Challenge City Street. Trogador stands against a red brick wall that's littered with graffitti. Trogador sighs and starts to walk to the left. He stops at a group of three Poorbts standing in a circle, wearing blue bandanas and low jeans.}

POORBT 1: So I told the gringo, "Hey, holmes, if you know what's good for you you'd jet outta here!"

POORBT 2: Way to be a G, homie! Shoulda tagged up his crib, we can do that later!

POORBT 3: Yo man, that guy was a busta! A straight-up busta!

TROGADOR: Uhh, hey, jays...anybody fronting over here?

POORBT 2: You accusin' us of bustin?

POORBT 3: Yo man, we ain't no bustas! You just be a stepheaded redchild!

POORBT 1: You ain't no ese of mine, dragon. Get outta here before I bust a cap in you.

TROGADOR: I have a right to max and relax here just as much as you orignal gentleman do!

POORBT 3: Yo, get out of here! Don't make me flip you the bird!

POORBT 2: Do it, man. Show this busta he ain't a member of our posse.

POORBT 1: Yeah holmes, do it.

{Trogador steps back scared...idly. Poorbt 3 takes a dead bird out of his jeans and flips it around a few times. He then puts it back in his jeans.}

POORBT 3: Now get outta here before I do a drive-by on your tail!

{cut back to the boardroom. Trogador walks in and sits down across from Reese.}

TROGADOR: I almost got murdered. And some kids spinned a bird around at me.

'REESE: Ouch, sounds tough. I was afraid that we'd have to do this...

TROGADOR: Do what? Orphanage?

REESE: No...I'm sending you to the Department of Youth Culture.

TROGADOR: What's that?

REESE: The geniuses at work there, bless 'em, they decide what's cool for the kids and what's not. I can get you in there and they can make you cool.

TROGADOR: Awesome!

{cut to a square white building. The building has glass double doors. Out front, an Astromund wearing a woman's one piece bathing suit with blue dreadlocks sits on an orange couch. Trogador walks up to him.}

TROGADOR: Uh...hello. Is this the Department of Youth Culture?

ASTROMUND: Sure it is.

TROGADOR: What's...what's the deal with all of...this?

ASTROMUND: Outdoor couches? They're cool. Blue dreadlocks? Twice as cool. Guys wearing chick's bathing suits in public? Unbelievably cool.

TROGADOR: Are you in charge here, Mr...

ASTROMUND: Name's Javier. That's a 10 on the cool name scale, you know. And yeah, I call the shots here. What are you in the neigborhood for, Mr...?

TROGADOR: Trogador. I'm the Defender of Challenge City-

JAVIER: Ooh, that's not good for you on the cool scale. You're about a 3.

TROGADOR: Good to know...anyways, I was wondering if you could somehow make me cooler to the kids?

JAVIER: You know, I don't usually take requests for cool-osity here...but you saved our city from destruction that one time. I'll bump you up to an 8.

TROGADOR: Thanks, I apprecoate it!

JAVIER: No problem, slice. Now go visit some kids and test your cool factor out. Here's a book of their language, bra. Keep it.

{Javier gives Trogador a blue book. Cut to Inner Challenge City, as seen before. Trogador walks up to the three gangsters.}

POORBT 1: Hey holmes, what are you doing here?

TROGADOR: Nutin' much, g. Just izzlin' and fizzlin'.

POORBT 3: Yo man, stop izzlin an' fizzlin' so much.

TROGADOR: Yo, I'll izzle whenever I day-um well plizzle.

{The gangsters collectively gasp.}

POORBT 2: Guy's disrespectful!

POORBT 3: Yo, you hear him curse?

POORBT 2: Straight-up rebel, man!

{The gangsters huddle together and whisper. A few seconds later, they come out of the huddle.}

POORBT 1: Hey, Trogado. We hereby give you this medallion, signifying that you're cool. With it, us punks will look up to you as a modern-day famous philosopher and take cues on our lives from your shows.

TROGADOR: Ain't nutin, you.

{They hand Trogador a gold medallion. He puts it around his neck. Trumpets are heard. Cut to the Living Room of The Temple. Clyde is sitting on the couch. Trogador walks in and sits down next to him.}

TROGADOR: Hey Clyde, how's it hangin'?

CLYDE: Bad. I don't have enough money for a computer and I'm unable to steal one properly. Why are you so happy?

TROGADOR: The guys at the Department of Youth Culture made me cool to the kids! They even gave me this Medallion of Respekt that makes me adored by all of them.

CLYDE: Is there a job opening at this place?

TROGADOR: Eh, I dunno. I might be able to pull some strings. I am a very cool individual, you know.

CLYDE: Well, I'll get straight to it!

{Clyde gets off the couch and hovers away. Trogador sits down on the couch and takes out the TrogPilot.}

TROGADOR: I think it's time for an email! Sponsored by Bubs's Wares. If you need wares, go there! Where? Bubs's Wares!

TROGADOR: Well, Johnny, I know just the perfect advice for you! As you can see, I am quite the cool guy. Being a cool guy means getting a lot of ladies! So listen closely, and I'll make sure you're succesful!

{cut to a dark room. Clyde and Javier walk into it.}

JAVIER: So what's your name again?

CLYDE: I'm Clyde.

JAVIER: Ooh, Clyde, nice name. If I recall correctly, that's a 6 on the cool scale. Not bad, not bad.

{cut back to Trogador.}

TROGADOR: First, you're probably gonna need to something about your hair. If you're going for that bad-boy look, buzzcut or fauxhawk. Want to show an extra level of cool, jet black, shoulder length. And remember: you can never go wrong with blue dreadlocks!

{cut back to Clyde. Him and Javier stand in front of a small computer.}

JAVIER: This is where you'll be working.

CLYDE: What, I sit at a computer all day?

JAVIER: No no no, my orange friend. You get to guard this computer. This baby's way too important for me to let you touch it.

CLYDE: What is it?

JAVIER: This is the CoolCom. It's where I enter in what's cool and what isn't. It holds this city together. It's important to the max, yo. So keep guard over it and don't touch it.

CLYDE: Certainly!

{cut back to Trogador.}

TROGADOR: So, in conclusion, just spray a lot of that crap all over your body. Nobody cares if it smells bad, she'll be able to tell that you've got cojones!

{Trogador gets up off the couch.}

TROGADOR: Think I'll go for a walk in the park. Celebrities do that these days, right? Pretend to be normal?

{cut to the suburban street seen before. Trogador walks up to the three Astromunds, who all seem to be wearing penny loafers and carrying payphones around.}

ASTROMUND 2: Man, these penny loafers are so grotto! Got 'em in a sale, too! it was tubular!

ASTROMUND 3: Man, you need a new payphone. Yours is so last week, they have new models out!

TROGADOR: Hey kids...what's the deal with all this crap you've got?

ASTROMUND 1: Haven't you heard? Penny loafers are like, like...

ASTROMUND 2: Totally radical!

ASTROMUND 1: Thanks man, you're like..like...so grotto.

ASTROMUND 3: And these are some phat payphones we got. Payphones are awesome, bro!

TROGADOR: Eh..uh-huh...well, nice seeing you.

{cut to Inner Challenge City. Trogador walks up to the three Poorbts who, instead of dressing like gangsters, are all wearing burgandy vests and long sleeved white shirts. Classical is playing in the background.}

TROGADOR: Hey g's, wassup?

POORBT 1: Not much at all, my friend.

POORBT 2: Yeah, we're just being gents over here.

TROGADOR: What's the deal with all of this classical crap?

POORBT 3: Crap? Yo, man, don't be dissin' Vivaldi!

POORBT 1: Ese, what's your deal?

TROGADOR: What's your deal?

POORBT 2: We just be doin' what's cool, man. Gotta stay cool in the hood.

POORBT 3: Yo, man, look, the coppahs!

{An Astromund wearign a blue shirt walks by. The three Poorbts salute him as he walks by.}

POORBT 1: Respecting authority, that's what's cool!

TROGADOR: What's cool?

{cut to inside the Department of Youth Culture building. Clyde is sitting at the computer, typing.}

CLYDE: Hmm...let's see...how about...bushy eyebrows...snow boots...water pistol holsters...Christian metal...

{Javier burts into the room, holding two pistols.}

JAVIER: Alright, Clyde, I can see you aren't one to be trizzled.

CLYDE: Whatever do you mean?

JAVIER: You got onto that computer and now you're tearing this city apart. I'm okay with Vivaldi. I'm okay with penny loafers. I even have a pay-phone installed in my garage. But you cross the line when you make respecting police cool.

CLYDE: What are you gonna do about it? Kill me?

JAVIER: Of course.

{Javier fires two shoots at Clyde. He ducks down and the shots hit the computer, which catches fire. Clyde shoots Javier in the head, who falls over. Trogador runs in.}

TROGADOR: Clyde C. Clempincobb, what...what is the deal with the body?

CLYDE: It was completely necessary. He had us in an uncompromising situation.

{Tampo hovers into the building from the right.}

TAMPO: Thanks for destroying my scam, jerks!

TROGADOR: Tampo? What are you doing here?

TAMPO: Trying to conquer Challenge City, that's what. I took over the Department of Youth Culture secretly and used it as a way to train this generation as my warrior army. I was already in ateg 16! But nooo, a whiny dragon comes along, hooks a ghost up with a job, and now the building is on fire!

{The camera cuts back to show that, indeed, the fire has grown.}

TROGADOR: Yeah...let's...let's get out of here. I'll meet you at the house, Clyde.

CLYDE: {to Tampo} Do I get a paycheck or what?

{cut to the suburbs. Trogador walks up to the three Astromunds.}

TROGADOR: Hey bros, how's it hangin'?

ASTROMUND 1: It's...it's weird...I feel weird..

ASTROMUND 2: I feel...free!

ASTROMUND 3: I'm...having thoughts! Opinions!

ASTROMUND 2: Dude, that's lame.

ASTROMUND 1: I think it's awesome!

{The three Astromunds gasp.}

ASTROMUNDS: Free thinking and differing opinions!

TROGADOR: So...uhh..you guys still think I'm cool?

ASTROMUND 1: What do you do?

TROGADOR: Well, I have a show on the Internet.

ASTROMUND 3: Oh, really? What is it?

TROGADOR: I check my inbox.

{There is a pause.}

ASTROMUND 1: That's it?

TROGADOR: Yeah.

ASTROMUND 2: Doesn't sound like a very good concept to me.

TROGADOR: Wait, no, it's totally cool! Check it out!

ASTROMUND 3: Sorry man, maybe later...

{The three Astromunds hold hands and walk down the road. The camera gets behind them, showing them walking into the sunset. Trumpets blare.}

THE END!

Fun Facts

  • This email was cowritten by Noid, Chwoka, and Bluebry over IRC, with the latter two responsible for a lot of the gags.
  • This email has numerous references to snooty teenager cliches and gangsta cliches.
  • Everybody knows what the iPhone is!
  • "...maxin' and relaxin'" is a reference to some famous lines from the opening of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
  • The Medallion of Respekt is some reference to robbing big or something, I don't know.
Other Character Email Trogador

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