Scene: The Temple of Poopsmithery, "Where the Poop meets the Sky". Huge steps lead to a massive archway, framed by marble columns. The Temple itself is some 80 stories high. In all, it is an intimidating sight. The gang approaches. The King is now able to walk under his own power.

KING OF TOWN: There it is. I haven’t walked these steps since the day I was but a young Prince, seeking a loyal servant to aid my kingdom with a crisis situation. Without my Poopsmith, our good town would have been nothing more than so much fertilizer.

STRONG BAD: Speaking of fertilizer, would you cut the reminiscing already? Geez, you haven’t closed your mouth since we picked you up!

KING OF TOWN: Well, I’m just trying to catch up with everybody. We are like family, you know.

STRONG BAD: Yeah, whatever. Let’s just get in that place, find that brain-dead crap-slinger, and get outta here.

HOMESTAR: Uh oh.

COACH Z: What’s the matter, Homestar?

HOMESTAR: Don’t look now, but I think we’re downwind.

A pause. Everybody grimaces and covers their noses.

BUBS: Woo-eee! That’s ripe!

THE CHEAT: Ewwww!

STRONG BAD: And we have to go in that place? That’s a freakin’ suicide mission!

KING OF TOWN: It does take some getting used to. Now, before we go in, there are some protocols I think you should remember…

STRONG BAD: Your Majesty, please. Your voice is giving me pain in the craniumal region. Let’s just shut up and go in there. I’m getting dizzy.

Everybody heads up the stairs.

KING OF TOWN: Oh, dear, oh, dear…

He follows them. They enter the main archway and approach a massive corridor. Guarding the corridor from either side is a legion of towering, ominous Poopsmiths. They wear ceremonial black robes and hoods and are completely hidden except for their lower lips. Each of them holds a shovel at his side.

COACH Z: I didn’t know that the Gaerthic look was in again…

STRONG SAD: Actually, those robes are rather more indicative of the Spanish Inquisition. The Gothic look is characterized by…

STRONG BAD: Shut your trap, Strong Sad. I’ll do the talking around here.

KING OF TOWN: If I may make a suggestion…

STRONG BAD: No, you can’t. (to the guards) Hey, dung diggers! Where’s the guy in charge?

In one fluid motion, all of the Poopsmiths unsheathe their shovels and point towards the far end of the corridor.

HOMESTAR: Hmm. I think they want us to go that way.

COACH Z: Much obliged, fellahs. Do you happen to know how to get stains outta basic black? I once was at a Jam Master Jay concert, and they were throwing T-shirts around, but then I…

The guard glares.

COACH Z: Uh, okay. We’ll talk later, I guess. Wait for me, fellahs!

The gang walks down the corridor, flanked on either side by hundreds of Poopsmiths. All is silent, except for their footsteps.

HOMESTAR: Wow. I feel like Indiana Jones. Except that I have a cooler hat.

STRONG SAD: I’m going to die here. I just know it.

COACH Z: That’s nice, Strong Sad. Do ya suppose that the guy on that big chair over there is the head honcho?

In front of them looms the all-powerful High Bucket Master. He is a Poopsmith clad in ceremonial robes topped with a massive miter and a scarf, leaving only his eyes exposed. He sits impressively on his massive throne, which rather resembles a toilet.

KING OF TOWN: That’s the…

STRONG BAD (interrupting): …gaudiest outfit I’ve ever seen, too.

POM POM: (bubbles)

HOMESTAR: Me too, Pom Pom. Maybe he buys his clothes the same place the King does.

A round of derisive chuckles from the gang.

KING OF TOWN: I’ll have you know… actually, I think he does.

STRONG BAD (stepping forward): I’ll handle this. (To the Master) Hey, how’s it going, man? I’m Strong Bad, and I…

The Master rises to his feet. The mere sight is enough to silence even Strong Bad.

STRONG SAD (whispering): I think this is the part where we all get killed.

POM POM (sharply): (bubbles)

STRONG SAD: I am thinking positive!

MASTER: Welcome, oh commoners, to the Sacred Temple of Poopsmithery, the highest calling to those of us gifted with the task of the ancients. Pray, what business do you have here today?

BUBS: Well, he seems like a nice guy.

STRONG BAD: Here’s the deal, oh oddly-hatted one. We need to find a Poopsmith. He…

MASTER: Your timing is fortunate, my friends. Our latest castes of acolytes have just completed the trials and were ordained as Poopsmiths just yesterday. I am certain that one of them will serve you very well.

STRONG BAD: No, man. You don’t understand. We’re after a Poopsmith who worked with us before. He returned here about five years ago.

MASTER: One of our venerable members? I am afraid that he has been taken to our most revered place, where our retired Poopsmiths spend their time answering our highest calling. You will never be able to reach him. One of our younger members will serve your purpose.

STRONG BAD: You’re not getting it, fellah. We need this guy, and he’s the only one who could help us, and my breakfast bagel was stale this morning, so the last thing I need right now is a poorly-dressed jerk like you treating us like…

HOMESTAR: Um, Stwong Bad?

STRONG BAD: What?

Strong Bad looks up and sees that the group is surrounded by Poopsmiths, shovels aimed directly at them.

STRONG BAD: Oh, crap.

MASTER: I would suggest that you leave immediately, friends, lest some unfortunate fate befall you.

STRONG BAD (whispering): Think we can take these guys, Strong Mad?

Strong Mad is curled up in a ball, whimpering. The Poopsmiths come closer.

STRONG BAD: Why me?

HOMESTAR: Iwony can be weally nasty, Stwong Bad.

STRONG BAD: Shut up, Homestar. I don’t want the last thing I hear to be your voice.

The Poopsmiths come closer still.

HOMESTAR: Uh, I don’t think it will. Not if you count the cwunching noises.

KING OF TOWN (pushing his way to the front): Now, just a minute!

STRONG BAD: Oh, great. If we’re gonna get smeared, we may as well give them a good reason to.

KING OF TOWN: I say you’re all being rude! All we want is…

MASTER (horrorstruck): Your Excellency! Forgive us, we didn’t… kneel! Kneel, you fools! Kneel before the King!

As one, the Poopsmiths sink to one knee, heads bowed in reverence, shovels dropped to the floor.

STRONG SAD (covering eyes): Are we dead yet?

STRONG BAD: What the crap is this?

MASTER (penitent): Forgive us, forgive us, your Majesty. We did not know these were friends of yours.

KING OF TOWN: No, no. It’s quite all right.

STRONG BAD: Would somebody please explain what’s going on here? I’m being left out of the loop here!

HOMESTAR: I feel for you, man.

MASTER: The King of Town is a legend amongst our order. From his kingdom flows a never-ending supply of our most consecrated matter. We believe that he is the Wellspring that our founders prophesied.

STRONG BAD: I don’t believe this.

KING OF TOWN: High Bucket Master, we need your services to reclaim my kingdom and continue the abundance.

MASTER: We live but to serve you, my liege. What services can we provide? You need but to ask.

KING OF TOWN: Pom Pom? Would you be so kind as to explain our situation?

POM POM: (bubbles)

MASTER: I see. And how can we help?

POM POM: (bubbles)

STRONG BAD: That’s right. Here’s a picture of him.

Strong Bad hands the Master a photograph of the Poopsmith. On it is written "Best wishes, KOT; keep it coming".

MASTER: Ah, yes. I know him well. As I said before, he has been taken to our secret location where he has been serving our highest cause. Only Poopsmiths are allowed there, but in an extraordinary case such as this we will make an exception.

COACH Z: Sound great! When do we leave?

MASTER (pulling out a smoke bomb): Forgive me, my friends.

STRONG BAD: Huh?

The Master throws the smoke bomb, which explodes in the middle of the group. When the smoke clears, all ten are knocked out.

MASTER: Quickly! To the chariots! We haven’t a moment to lose!

The Poopsmiths quickly take the limp forms of the gang and exit, the Master following.

SCENE: Unknown location, day. We see a close-up of a slumbering Strong Bad’s face.

STRONG BAD: …to the limit… leg made… of tape… comes in the night…

He opens his eyes.

STRONG BAD: …check my e-mail…

The sun blinds him.

STRONG BAD (holding his eyes): OW! Holy crap!

He holds his forehead.

STRONG BAD: Oh, man. What happened? How long have I been out? And where’s my shirt?

MASTER: Be still, brother Strong Bad. Your faculties will return shortly.

Strong Bad looks around and sees that he and everybody else is riding in a multi-seated rickshaw, pulled by four robed Poopsmiths. The surrounding area is a deep canyon.

STRONG BAD: Ohh. I dunno what you did, man, but it sure knocked me out. I feel like… a narcophiliac or something.

MASTER: It was a necessary precaution. Our destination is our most guarded secret, and not even you can be trusted to keep our secret. The rest should be recovering soon.

STRONG BAD: Uh… what’s this weight on me?

He turns and sees Homestar cuddling next to him, murmuring to himself.

HOMESTAR: Mmm… Marzipan… is that a new after-shave you’re wearing?

STRONG BAD: Get off me!

He smacks Homestar. Homestar groggily returns to the waking world.

HOMESTAR: Oh, man. What happened? How long have I been out? And where’s my pants?

MASTER: Welcome back to the world of the waking, brother Homestar.

STRONG BAD: Hey, how do you know our names anyway?

MASTER: We have our sources, brother Strong Bad. I took the liberty of researching your personal histories.

STRONG BAD: I dunno if that’s really flattering or really creepy.

HOMESTAR: Hey, Bucket Guy? What did I have for bweakfast this morning? I forgot.

MASTER: Eggs sunny side up, which had been dropped on the floor.

HOMESTAR: Oh, wight.

STRONG BAD: Hey, wait a minute. Were my eggs dropped on the floor?

MASTER: No.

STRONG BAD: Ah, that’s good to know.

MASTER: Yours got stuck to the wall instead.

STRONG BAD: What?!

He leans back and smacks Bubs over the head.

STRONG BAD: That’s the last time I let you handle my chicken pearls!

BUBS (rubbing his head): Uh… is it time to serve breakfast yet?

COACH Z: Wowee, man. I haven’t been out like that since that Digital Underground concert when Humpty’s beehive fell on my head.

Strong Mad awakens.

STRONG MAD: Da Cheat?

THE CHEAT (jumping up on his lap): Meh!

Strong Mad grins.

STRONG BAD: Aw, that’s almost touching.

The Cheat leaps onto Strong Bad’s head.

STRONG BAD: Ow! Geez, The Cheat! Don’t jump on a be-migrained head like that!

The Cheat shrugs and jumps onto Pom Pom’s belly.

MASTER: Refrain from raising you voice just yet. The King still slumbers.

STRONG BAD: I wouldn’t worry about that. The King could sleep through a train wreck. And he could probably eat through a train wreck, too. You know, if there was, like, food at the crash site.

POM POM: (bubbles)

STRONG BAD: Hey, you’re right. Where’s Strong Sad?

STRONG SAD’S VOICE: Uh, back here.

He proves to be behind the rickshaw, hoisted on top of a golden plate by two Poopsmiths.

STRONG SAD: There was no room on the rickshaw, so I had to be here. I don’t mind it, actually. They haven’t dropped me or anything.

HOMESTAR: Way to go, Cousin Vincenza!

POM POM: (bubbles)

MASTER: Not long, brother Pom Pom. I hope the King revives in the meantime.

STRONG BAD: Oh, I can handle that. (loudly) Look! A flock of dumplings with vinegar!

KING OF TOWN (waking with a start): Where? Where?

STRONG BAD: Oh, uh, too late. They all, uh, flew away.

KING OF TOWN: Blast. That happens every time. Where are we going, anyway?

MASTER (excitedly): You’ll see for yourself, your Highness. Behold! Over this rise is the very impetus of Poopsmithery!

All peer forward. The rickshaw crests the rise, and in plain view appears a massive pile of…

STRONG BAD: Holy crap!

MASTER: That’s precisely what it is, brother Strong Bad. The Sacred Pile. Ten stories high, ten miles in diameter. After a Poopsmith has honed his skills in the outside world, he must pledge his remaining service to the Pile. Constantly shifting, constantly moving. Never to let it dry up.

COACH Z: So, uh, where’d alla that whatchamacallit come from anyway?

MASTER: We are not certain. Some say it was the product of the legendary Minotaur, slain by Theseus. Others claim its source was the Golden Calf from the Scriptures, but nobody will ever know. Nevertheless, it is the subject of our utmost devotion and dedication. As the first non-Poopsmiths to see it in 600 years, your lives will be thrice blessed.

STRONG BAD: Well, if we don’t stop soon, this rickshaw is gonna be thrice thrown up on. I’m getting nauseous.

The Master raises his hand. The rickshaw halts.

MASTER: Thank you. We will continue on foot.

Everybody gets out of the rickshaw. The Poopsmiths set down Strong Sad’s plate.

STRONG SAD: Uh, so thanks again for not dropping me. I think that’s the nicest thing to happen to me all week.

He joins the rest of the group. Literally thousands of Poopsmiths are working tirelessly at the pile.

HOMESTAR: Wow. Look at all of them. How will we know which one is our Poopsmith?

MASTER: He will reveal himself to you. Attention, Poopsmiths!

All of the Poopsmiths cease their work and turn to the Master.

MASTER: My sons, we are truly fortunate on this day. Look who has graced us with his presence!

KING OF TOWN: Oh. Hello!

All of the Poopsmiths bow reverently.

STRONG BAD (whispering): That has gotta be the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen. Eh, Homestar?

He sees that Homestar is kneeling as well.

STRONG BAD (hitting Homestar): Get up! You’re not even a Poopsmith! Even though you smell the part…

HOMESTAR: Sowwy. I got caught up in the moment.

MASTER: Poopsmiths! We seek the one amongst you who served the King and his subjects years ago! Show yourself, if you will.

There is no response. The Poopsmiths only stare.

HOMESTAR: Do you think we have the wong pile?

Suddenly a shovel sticks into the ground with an audible clank, breaking the silence. The gang turns and sees a Poopsmith, but not just any Poopsmith. He is the Poopsmith.

COACH Z: That’s him, all right! I’d recognize that peculiar puss anywhere!

KING OF TOWN (stepping forward): The Poopsmith! My most loyal subject! We have gathered from all over to reclaim what we lost when Homeschool Winner took what was ours! We need your help, my friend. Will you aid us?

The Poopsmith stares, and then looks to the pile.

MASTER: I may not have told you this, but in the history of Poopsmithery, not a single Poopsmith has left the Sacred Pile and returned to the outside world.

STRONG BAD: Now he tells us! You mean this has all been a freakin’ waste of time? We came all this way for nothing?

The Poopsmith steps forward. He twirls his shovel and then strikes a battle pose.

KING OF TOWN: He accepts!

HOMESTAR: Yay!

KING OF TOWN: Er, you did accept, right? I’m no good at reading body language.

The Poopsmith looks annoyed but nods his head.

HOMESTAR: Yay again!

MASTER: Congratulation, your Majesty. So pleased that we were of service.

KING OF TOWN: We will be forever grateful, High Bucket Master.

BUBS: Well, it looks like the gang’s all here. Now what do we do?

STRONG BAD: Now, we can plan our strategy! Uh… if we get back, that is. Hey, Bucket Man! How are we supposed to get back? You’re not gonna gas us again, I hope. I have more chemicals in me than the last time I went to the dentist.

COACH Z: I hear ya, Strong Bad.

MASTER: No, you will not have to return by rickshaw. Now that your Poopsmith is accompanying you, you will be able to use our secret access tunnels. They will take you from one place to another in no time at all. Use them with our blessing. The Poopsmith, if you will demonstrate…?

The Poopsmith walks up to a patch of dry earth and strikes it three times with his shovel. The earth shifts and slides away, revealing a dark hole.

HOMESTAR: Cool! A hole! I love those things!

POM POM: (bubbles)

MASTER: No, they’re perfectly safe. They take a little getting used to, but they’re the best way to travel.

STRONG BAD: Well, I’d like somebody to try it first. Hey, Strong Sad, why don’t you be the Guinea hog?

STRONG SAD: Well, I’m not really comfortable with…

STRONG BAD: Good enough!

He shoves Strong Sad into the hole.

STRONG SAD: Whooooooaaaaa…..

MASTER: You see? Perfectly safe. He will arrive at the other end unharmed.

HOMESTAR: Come on, guys! We can’t let Stwong Sad beat us!

Homestar dives into the hole, followed by Coach Z and Bubs.

KING OF TOWN: Farewell, good Poopsmiths! Perhaps someday I will…

He gets knocked into the hole by an enthusiastic The Cheat. Strong Mad dives into the hole after The Cheat.

POM POM: (bubbles)

MASTER: Oh, yes. We did receive your donation. Many thanks, brother Pom Pom.

Pom Pom bows slightly and then jumps into the hole.

STRONG BAD: Well, man, it’s been fun, but I think my nostrils have burned out for about a week. Smell you later! On second thought, I think I’ll still be smelling you later… uh, I’ll go now.

He steps up to the hole, cringes slightly, but steps forward and falls into the hole.

MASTER: Good luck, my son. May the Poop be with you.

The Poopsmith bows low and then jumps into the hole, closing it behind him.

Strong Bad screams as he rockets down the tunnel at high-speed, like some crazy sort of waterslide. He tries to stop when he sees a massive pool of water ahead of him, but he shoots right into the water and into a drain. He is sucked upward and suddenly bursts out of the spout of a decorative fountain. He lands in the fountain itself, where the others are already, soaking wet.

STRONG BAD (panting): Holy crap!

COACH Z: You said it, Strong Bad! That was better than Disneyland! Well, except that there was none of those little ice cream things shaped like mouse ears…

STRONG SAD: For one glorious moment, I thought that I was going to drown.

HOMESTAR: Hey, Pom Pom. Can we do that again?

POM POM: (bubbles)

HOMESTAR: Aw, but I’ll keep my eyes open next time!

The Cheat shakes himself off and gets all fluffy.

STRONG BAD: Well, the wild world of water stuff is over, so let’s get ready to…

The Poopsmith lands on his head.

STRONG BAD: Did you really need to do that?

The Poopsmith shrugs.

STRONG BAD: Anyway, let’s get to Pom Pom’s place, where we can work on our game plan and possibly find some towels.

BUBS: Well, at least we won’t have to shower today.

HOMESTAR: Cool! I found a quarter!

The gang climbs out of the fountain and exits.