Chapter 1
CAILLOU HAS BALL CANCER
ACT I:
Rain was pounding. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The ominous clouds’ caterwauls drained the incessant nearby drone of the black teenagers from next door blasting Ace Hood’s “Bugatti” as the city of Montreal snoozed. It was the first rainfall since the arctic winter that left those political naysayers screaming about global warming being a hoax. Other than those cornrowed bastard children, everyone was sound asleep.
But Caillou, now 10 and awaiting his evening chemotherapy treatment, is sobbing as hard as it was raining. To his mother, now a stripper at joint, Le Cat House, just coming home from work, he cried. “Mommy! My testicles are the size of pool balls! How can I fit them inside Leo’s fudge tunnel?”
“Caillou, stop being such a whiney nincompoop! Get yourself together!”
Then, Caillou’s dad, turning off his pirated Christmas with Colonel Sanders album screamed, “Caillou! You’re making it hard for me to fap to this Playgirl!”
“Play….what!?” Caillou’s mom screeched.
“Oh shit, nevermind. I’ll be off at GRS…I mean uh…My ten o’clock shift at the Outback Steakhouse!”
“Wait! You aren’t gonna give me a ki--”
“BYE!”
Caillou and his mom then did some knitting and making their favorite night time snack: Scrambled eggs mixed with assorted contraband. After his mom went to sleep, Caillou got a phone call.
“Oh no! Who’s calling me?!” Caillou whispered. “Who could this be?”
Caillou did not have caller ID at the time, so he took his chances by answering the phone.
“Hi. Are you Caillou?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m Michael Jordan. I would like to--”
“That annoying black boy from down the street? Yeah, I...”
“Whaddafuck are you saying!? I go Space Jam all over you till yo ass can’t-- Sorry about that. I’m really sorry. But congratulations! You have been selected in a raffle of cancer patients to meet me.”
“YAY! I LOVE YOU!”
“Okay, you didn’t have to get all homosexual on me there but yeah! I’ll give you directions man.”
“YAY! I WUV SPACE JAM! MOMMY! GILBERT!”
Caillou’s mom woke up. “Caillou, come here. Caillou, when we said that Gilbert was gone.”
“Someone else has him?”
“No, Caillou, you know how Rosie died? Gilbert was killed in that giant fire too. I’m really sorry!”
Caillou was in shock. “No. No. NOOOO!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Caillou started pelting his toy cars across the room until his mom intervened.
“No Caillou, it’s okay. Need a hug Caillou?”
“NO! WAAAAAAAAAAH! WAAA--”
“Caillou. You know that things like this happen. I know it’s tough, but you can get through this. I remember when my mother died. She died after a crude implant procedure. We had tickets to see Jersey Boys, and I had to watch the three dudes engage in oral after my mom choked on some foie gras. It’s okay Caillou. I love you. I always will my baby boy.”
“I love you mommy!” Caillou and his mom embraced each other passionately like a non-incestuous jerk circle. With two peop--
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Caillou’s mom was mad. “Who’s there? This better be my hubby!”
“Caillou De Salle? Come here, it’s Michael Jordan! I think I’ll pick you up instead of making you guys drive like twenty minutes.”
Caillou bolted down the stairs without hesitation. Caillou opened the door.
“Caillou De Salle and whatever your mom’s name is, it doesn’t fucking mention it in the serie--”
Another cop slapped him. “You are both under arrest!”
“What for?” Caillou’s mom demanded.
“Well here in Canada, we don’t give a shit about you letting your son drive, so we’ll book you at $1,000 bail, but we do care that your son killed Jaclyn Linetsky on the way to his doctor’s appointment, the voice of you on your show Caillou. We also looked in your car and found the imprint of two large testicles, and the soundtrack to Space Jam!”
“Caillou,” his mom said, “is this true?”
“WAAAAAH!!! WAAAAAH!!! YES!!!”
“Alright, take him away boys!”
“NOOOOOO!!!! MOMMMMMMYYYY!!!!! FUCKING PIGS!!!!”
Caillou bitchslapped the cops immensely hard, and as they were lying on the floor, he pulled down his pants, took his radiating boner and engulfed the cops in carcinogenic semen.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
“Oh, no. Jacques! There’s fat on me balls! THERE’S FAT ON ME BALLS!”
“SHUT UP! IT’S CALLED CANCER. AND IT’S NOT CONTAG…..ious?”
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
“OH SHIT!!!! THERE ARE MOTHERFUCKING RADIO WAVES RADIATING THROUGH MY RADIATING DICK OF RADI-FUCKING-ATION!!!!”
Both cops fell to the floor. “AAAAHHHHAAAAHHHHDICKTOASTAAAAHHHHAAAHHHAAAHHH!!!!!”
Caillou sobbed and sobbed as he bolted down his suburban street. He thought he could hear Jaclyn Linetsky singing Frère Jacques in such a sweet, high pitched French voice. As Caillou passed by the local Couche-Tard, the black kids, sipping on creamsicles screamed “Yo, this kid’s a crunk wigga goin ham on the po po!”
The other members of the gang exclaimed, “YEAH!!! Let’s hit ‘em up to join our gang!”
“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!” Caillou’s streaking father said.
