Missed episode one? Here it is.
Want to watch along? Here is the episode.
Before jumping in, let me explain that the screencaps here have the ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.com address on the bottom from the original video. You can visit, but it will redirect you to the Channel Awesome website.
(Legend has it if you’re on dial-up and make a pentagram over a Neverending Story 3 DVD while singing the theme song backwards as the TGWTG url is redirecting, you’ll be transported to a place where the 90s never went away… but it may be the 1690s, so keep that in mind.)
In honor of the antagonist of this episode and the holiday taking place herein, I’ve concocted these gut-busters.
To make these miniature challenges, you’ll need:
- 1/2 cup (about 4 ounces or half a block) cream cheese or mascarpone
- 2 tbs. brown sugar
- 2 oz. cola (I used Coca-Cola)
- 2 oz. straight bourbon whiskey (Wild Turkey)
- Soften—don’t melt—the cheese. A microwave is recommended, as is a microwave-safe bowl. Try for about 20 seconds, then add 10 more seconds if it’s not softened enough. You should be able to dip a spoon into the mass without resistance when it’s ready.
- Using a mixer (a hand mixer is recommended), further soften the cheese on the lowest setting for 3-5 minutes.
- Mix in the brown sugar and use the mixer on the lowest setting again until the sugar is fully dissolved, about three minutes.
- Slowly mix in the cola, once more using the lowest setting, for about a minute.
- Slowly mix in the bourbon, once more using the lowest setting… unless you want to make a mess.
- Chill the mixture for six hours or overnight.
- Pour into shot glasses. Best of luck.
Serves: 6 individuals or your one lonely ass 6 times over
Quit grimacing, this isn’t half bad. Well, parts of it don’t taste half bad. If you’re afraid of tasting cream cheese, the flavor isn’t potent. It adds a creaminess to the overall drink, which helps everything go down smoothly. If you’ve never had bourbon straight, it’s a breathtaking experience… literally. It feels like something has gone down your throat and rammed into your diaphragm. So the cream cheese and soda helps mellow the bourbon’s power, but the alcohol will still knock you sideways.
The soda is more for dilution than anything. I couldn’t pick out the flavor. I guess any kind of carbonated beverage will do, then, but I can’t account for flavor in this case. Feel free to experiment, but don’t come crying and drunkenly stumbling to me if your version sucks.
Like regular whiskey, it’s best to let this breathe. Let it sit for a minute or two, then sip it. Don’t down it all in one go, you fool.
With a shot glass in hand (or a whole tray of them, if that’s how you’re spending the day), let’s tune in to the second episode of Demo Reel.
The shrill ring of a cell phone breaks the screen from total blackness. A tense Bryan Mills (Donnie) answers it. His expression is calm apprehension with controlled fury close to breaking the surface.
VOICE ON PHONE: There’s something I have… that you want.
BRYAN: Not…?
VOICE ON PHONE: Yes.
Bryan gives the caller a warning in his faux (but strangely pleasing) Irish accent. He has no money, but his particular set of skills make him “a nightmare for people like you.”
BRYAN: If you return what is mine, that will be the end of it. But if you don’t… I will look for you. I will find you. And I will kill you… Then I will hunt down your family and kill them. Then your pets, coworkers, even that waitress you’ve been eyeing at the Red Lobster…
A number of living things will pay for Bryan’s misfortune, including the mass extinction of the avian populace on the eastern seaboard. Bryan Mills does not dick around when it comes to getting what he wants.
VOICE ON THE PHONE: Dude, I just wanted to give you your pizza.
A confused Bryan opens the door to find the delivery guy (Tacoma) with the very thing Bryan wants. From the look of the box, it isn’t even a deep dish pizza. Cripes, Bryan, you’d commit genocide for thin crust?
With the thing Bryan wants in his hands, he shafts the delivery guy and shuts the door in his face.
DONNIE: I think it works.
REBECCA: Got to the point.
Donnie, Rebecca, Tacoma, and the Tombow brush pen sit at the brainstorming table. Tacoma gives the results of Taken and Delivered. People loved the brevity of the film, but found it lacking substance.
REBECCA: I knew we should have had the pizza arrive late. It would have built tension!
TACOMA: I just don’t think ransoming a pizza is much to hinge a plot on.
REBECCA: Maybe if it was a lasagna?
TACOMA: Or a human!
REBECCA: Ick. This isn’t Silence of the Lambs.
Hindsight being 20/20 and all that, the crew moves on to the next idea. Thanksgiving coincides with the next film, so Donnie wants to recreate something that’s “timeless, classic, and a little nostalgic.” That year’s newly released Wreck-It Ralph fits the bill.
Unfortunately for Donnie, he may be doing it alone. Tacoma can’t hang around because he plans on doing “stuff.” Rebecca is exhausted from doing the night watch on her security job and is in dire need of a day off to do “stuff.” But why is Donnie so keen to work on the holiday? What “stuff” is he planning?
TACOMA: Don’t you have a wife?
DONNIE: She’s with relatives.
REBECCA: Then why are you here?
DONNIE: *turns the pen between his fingers, studying the barrel* It was… part of the… prenup.
TACOMA: And about your family?…
DONNIE: They were part of the prenup, too.
REBECCA: That’s one big prenup.
DONNIE: *studies the hell out of the barcode* Yeeeaaah, it was kind of a big family affair, everyone was invited to talk about it except… me. So it doesn’t matter. You’re the only thing I got. So please.
Way to lay on the pathos. Tacoma makes a deal: If he and Rebecca can’t find something else to do for Thanksgiving, they’ll stick around and placate their sad sack employer.
So our writer and actress seek avenues away from Donnie. Tacoma calls his mother and spends several minutes trying to jog her memory of her own son. Just as he makes a breakthrough, he’s ordered to pay 99 cents for the first minute and $2 for each additional minute.
Rebecca herself has no joy. Her parents are quite tech-savvy, using Skype to communicate and create a barrier between themselves and their offspring. To add an even wider barrier, they’re heading off to Paris for the holiday and are quick to mention they don’t have another ticket.
Defeated and unwanted by their own families, the duo slump on the couch and begin some soul searching. Neither of them figured they would be doing anything like Demo Reel at this point (or at any point) in their lives. Truly a depressing notion, especially since Tacoma had bright beginnings. As a greenhorn investigative journalist, he took down the ringleader of one of the biggest Ponzi schemes in the Pacific Northwest. It even earned him a Pulitzer Prize.
REBECCA: Your father must be so proud!
TACOMA: My father was the ringleader.
REBECCA: Oh.
Yep, win a Pulitzer Prize in your twenties and it’s all downhill from there. Or rather, you tumble down the hill, plummet through a construction hole, and smack headfirst into a broken sewage pipe.
Rebecca’s own family issues stem from her parents not supporting her career choices. All of them.
TACOMA: Some people take a while to figure out what job is right for them.
REBECCA: That’s what I said! But apparently, forty-two is their limit.
TACOMA: Well, at least you’re not hurting anybody. And… that’s why I like it here. Y’know, this place is kinda removed from the rest of reality.
It sure seems like it, doesn’t it, reader?
Making peace with the fact that Turkey Day will be spent making a turkey, the two prepare for work. Tacoma churns out the script in record time, which doesn’t make Donnie balk and demand a thorough rewrite. But, really, are you surprised? Rebecca is still battling exhaustion, which won’t do for a hyperactive character from a game called Sugar Rush.
Fortunately, Carl has brewed a cure for the “cranky fraulein.” Brunhilda’s Homebrew. More potent than the most caffeinated coffees and chewier than stale Starbursts, it’s guaranteed to get your motor running and shave years off your life.
Or perhaps kill you instantly. Rebecca’s head thunks hard on the table. Surely it’s a medical emergency. But Carl holds back a panicky Tacoma and gives it five seconds…
Rebecca is fucking wired and ready to “shoot this mother*bleep*er!”
TACOMA: You don’t even have the script memorized!
REBECCA: *grabs the binder and bonks her forehead with it* Done!
Don’t doubt Rebecca’s newly acquired power of instant memorization through low trauma head injury. She correctly recites a line from the exact spot in the script Tacoma points out. But why stand around jabbering when Rebecca is already moonwalking out to the set?
TACOMA: That’s amazing!
CARL: Zat’s German engineeringk.
Now we go to the movie where we find Donnie in the role of Wreck-It Ralph, marveling at… oh, lord, what the hell kind of accent is he doing?
WRECK-IT DONNIE: Wail, now that Ah left th’ world of cahpyraighted characters, perhaps Ah c’n relax fer a while without payin’ through th’ nose.
It’s like a mixture of Texan drawl, Appalachian hermit, and straight trailer park. It’s awful, pure violence against human speech.
I gotta hear more.
WRECK-IT DONNIE: So what’s th’ name of this here place?
*a handwritten sign helpfully names the environs*
WRECK-IT DONNIE: “Sugar Rush.” Bah Gawd, looks lahke if Candy Land farded out Mahrio Kart.
Here comes Glitch, Rebecca’s character, and she sure nails her introduction. Nails it like she left impressions of the hammer face three inches into the splintered wood surrounding a rat king of mangled nails. Donnie couldn’t ask for a more enthusiastic performance.
He takes time to check up on his special prop. A living prop, at that. To be more precise, a bird with a camera strapped to its head. Carl has gone this extra mile and is quite pleased with himself.
CARL: As requested, vun angry birdt.
QUINN: Aye, that’s one angry-lookin’ bird.
DONNIE: *slit-eyed* It’s a turkey.
CARL: *rolling his eyes* Ja.
If you’re thinking about PETA right now, Tacoma is right there with you. Carl assures him that they have a net, so everything will be fine. But don’t ask how Carl and Quinn know about the importance of the net.
QUINN: It’ll only make ye cry.
Back on set, Fix-It Felix (Tacoma) and Commander Calhoun (Rebecca) find themselves surrounded by unseen high-def villains and raining gunfire sound effects. Tacoma is on point while Rebecca spins in place like a cat in its carrier.
FIX-IT FELIX: What should we do, dynamite gal?
COMMANDER: Shoot the angry old man!
FIX-IT FELIX: Um… what?
COMMANDER: You heard me!
FIX-IT FELIX: I think you meant ‘angry birds’!
COMMANDER: You don’t know me!
FIX-IT FELIX: Um, I think we shou—
COMMANDER: SHUT UP, DAD!
FIX-IT FELIX: Donnie!
Donnie stops filming to reel Rebecca back in.
DONNIE: Uh, I don’t know what angle you’re going with, but the commander is a badass leader who sticks to the script! So why don’t we try that, okay?
REBECCA: Your words become colors when they leave your lips.
*uncomfortable pause*
DONNIE: … ‘kay…
Suffice it to say, Donnie does not enjoy the subsequent takes. Neither will you once Rebecca starts revealing some dark family secrets.
In the kitchen, Carl is preparing for the turkey’s second and final performance. Its swan song, if you will. Possessing the remarkable talent of understanding human speech, the turkey learns of its fate and scrabbles out of the box while Carl has his back turned.
Obviously not one to pass up a chance to spill blood, Carl enlists Quinn in the hunt. Rather than use common methods like a turkey call, they go super macho and arm themselves with possibly illegal firearms. Why do I get the feeling these guys would clean carpet stains with hydrofluoric acid?
Shortly after embarking on the hunt, they split up. Carl soon learns the sly hen is several steps ahead of them. She’s left her handiwork out in the open: A tampered electric box and a cut power cord dangling from the ceiling.
Carl marches forward. Brave though he is, all his training couldn’t prepare him for this face-to-beak encounter…
And what a magnificently cheesy turkey it is. *raises shot glass* Prost!
Eyes locked on the enemy, Carl speaks to Quinn through the walkie—er, phone. It’s a face-off, spaghetti western style. Or spaetzle western style. To his credit, he has the presence of mind to keep filming in the face of terror. Loyal to Donnie, he’ll get the footage, even as the terror itself is charging right at him.
Through Quinn Cam, we see the loyal assistant rushing to his boss’s aid. But he’s too late. Carl is down but not out, although he could use a good facial scrub.
QUINN: Nobody puts their arse on my friendt! I’m gonna go get her!
CARL: Nein, Quinn! It’s too dangerous!
Back on set, Rebecca is reciting her lines as though she’s going down a honey-do list while battling an insomnia-induced migraine. They’re so close to finishing the scene when Carl runs into the shot and ducks for cover. An exasperated Donnie bellows “Cut” and admirably does not camera-whip everyone in sight.
After getting a rundown of events from the B story shenanigans, the crew finds one man down in the kitchen. Quinn spits feathers as he sings a trembling, soulful version of Danny Boy. It’s graver than it looks. He’s contracted vampiric bird flu, a strain of virus that can reduce a hale adult into a delirious wreck singing cultural songs.
Carl comes clean and admits he bought the turkey cheap from overseas—Romania, to be precise. He himself may have contracted the flu as well, but his iron German blood may withstand it longer than an average man’s frail blood. We’ll see soon enough if Carl’s immune system collapses like the Berlin Wall. (Come to think of it, that joke doesn’t work, because the Wall coming down was actually a good thing… never mind.)
Suddenly, alarmed shouts sound from the other side of the facility. The security guards!
REBECCA: The tenets! My bosses! Eeee!
Through the cinder block walls, the crew hears the guards confront the turkey. Ominous gobbling weaves through the chaos of gunfire and horrified screaming. Then silence.
REBECCA: Oh, good, I thought they were in trouble! *goes to cartwheel and dance around the warehouse*
Donnie can’t afford to lose any more time on filming. He’s leaving it to Carl to snag the bird. As for Tacoma, he needs to finish the inspiring speech that’s supposed to “tie everything back to the Thanksgiving spirit!”
TACOMA: Thanksgiving sucks! It’s nothing but a bunch of high-minded individuals getting together and judging everyone ’cause it makes themselves feel big. We have the internet for that!
So they just lost their Fix-It Felix. But Donnie can fix it!
Well, kludge it, more like. Kind of like a pool noodle duct taped to a car’s nose.
WRECK-IT RALPH: So, Fix-It Felix, Jr., Ah see that t’ spaht me, yuh changed yer skin color from white to black back to white again an’ then grew a goatee very sim’lar to mahne just t’ make me more angry that you look like me!
FIX-IT FELIX: All the stuff you just said is true.
Carl suits up Tacoma for battle, helpfully coughing on him. He claims that he can’t go with him because he’s sick. I call bullshit. A real German would have made a cocktail from coffee and cough syrup, called it something throat-constrictingly cute like Kaffeehustensaftkacke, and dragged his sick ass into battle.
TACOMA: But what if I fail?
CARL: Don’t worry. You are in ze military now. Should you die, someone vill come und replace you.
Tacoma has to brave it alone in the warehouse. He takes along the camera, because Donnie decrees it, I guess. Ears open for turkey steps, he turns toward the electric box. A shadow flashes across his vision trailed by an eerie call.
TACOMA: I know you’re out there, you buzzard bastard! Show yourself!
Perhaps offended that he dared to mis-species her, the turkey plunges the studio into complete darkness.
TACOMA: What the hell? She cut the power?! Son of a bitch, she cut the power! How can they do that? They’re animals!
Bad move, Tacoma. You don’t want to piss off a creature that’s demonstrated electrical know-how.
Especially if she’s raising an army.
Tacoma hightails it, consumed by panic and guided only by the night vision mode on the camera. But he may as well be running in circles for all the good bolting out into the open does for him…
Rebecca runs to the kitchen to check up on the others. Three men down. Quinn seems stabilized but is still the worse for wear. Carl is on the floor, succumbing to the illness. But it’s seeing Tacoma in the throes of infection-induced spirituals that tears it for her, and she arms herself for the death match.
CARL: Do not vorry, should you die, someone else vill replace you.
REBECCA: Really?
CARL: Nein. You are our last hope.
REBECCA: What about Donnie?
CARL: As I said, you are our last hope.
Be honest, would you trust Donnie to win against a hand turkey?
Ugh, you know, it’s always bugged me when characters rest their fingers directly on triggers instead of the trigger guards. Responsible gun operators would never put their fingers directly on the trigger. That said, carry on, guys.
And Rebecca does, running around in circles, firing at the defenseless warehouse ceiling.
While Rebecca plays with her real life cheat code for unlimited ammo, Donnie checks up on the crew. The half-lucid Carl and near-dead Quinn don’t concern him as much as Tacoma, who’s entered the dreaded third stage of the sickness… the gobbles.
Ever the trooper, Tacoma has finished the speech Donnie requested. He pushes the binder toward Donnie, imploring him to film it.
TACOMA: All I’ve ever wanted to do… was to make somebody proud…
DONNIE: *quiet sob as he one-arm embraces Tacoma* I shall avenge you.
Donnie runs off, script in hand, bent on finishing his vanity project with what could be Tacoma’s final work.
CARL: Vait! How are you going to finish mit just yourself?
Donnie Style, of course. Our hero gives it his all and then some. It’s insanity squeezed into nearly half a minute, and it’s worth the watch. Suffice it to say, Donnie deserves his Tylenol reward.
Donnie carries on, little knowing how his friends are faring… or even surviving. Quinn is down for the count, leaving Tacoma and Carl to face the Turkeynator. Sick and weak, literally up against the wall, Tacoma isn’t ready to meet his Maker, but Carl pragmatically lights a cigarette and welcomes death from their formidable foe.
REBECCA: Hey, turkey… Gobble this!
Fueled by the last strains of the homebrew, Rebecca wields the power of a thousand tweakers. Her swings are swift, her strikes true, her smile savage. She is a killing machine hell-bent on bringing order back to Demo Reel and saving the only family she has for this holiday. The violence interspersed with Donnie-Ralph’s somber family speech is kind of a humdinger.
Another movie in the can, another victory scored for Donnie. But what about our Brunhilda personified? How has she fared through battle?
Donnie finds Rebecca crashing from her rush. A wild-eyed, bloody mess, the proud fighter can barely remember her actions… save for the chewed head of her enemy. And possibly several thousand eggs. How she isn’t bloated to the size of an elephant, well, we can only attribute that to a monster metabolism.
And wouldn’t you know it? Carl, Tacoma, and Quinn have all recovered, as if the sickness was tied to the enemy’s life force or some bunk. It’s a Thanksgiving miracle.
TACOMA: What a way to celebrate Thanksgiving, huh?
DONNIE: *soft laugh* Yeah.
The Demo Reel family sits down for a bountiful meal of Stouffer’s. They’re a dysfunctional family of broken souls and dark pasts. Maybe it’s not the family they want, but it’s the one they have and the one they love. Or tolerate.
If every Thanksgiving were like this, I’d never complain about it again. In fact, I’d tag team with the turkey and we’ll take out an in-law.
Well, that was a pretty filling episode, if I do say so. Heh heh. Filling. You know, I wonder if I can drink Wild Turkey straight—
VOICE: Greetings, internet.
Dag! What the—?
SWAG LEADER: I am the leader of SWAG, the Swede Actors Guild. We specialize in remaking movies, inspired by the cinematic not-blockbuster, Be Kind, Rewind. I come here, not to reward… but to punish! An organization has threatened our very existence… Demo Reel. These hacks, led by one Donnie DuPre, represent a grave threat to the Guild. Besides being really sucky—even by our standards—they have continued to thumb their noses at us. Hacks like these give us a bad name. They cheapen the very cheap foundation on which our art is based. That is why you must heed my warning: Avoid Demo Reel at all costs… and destroy Donnie DuPre! That is all.
Wow. Now I’m concerned for Donnie and the gang. These guys mean busin—
SWAG LEADER: Oh, and also, please join us this Thursday for our annual SWAGsgiving Potluck. Remember, there will be a raffle, so bring your cash and your sense of fun! That is all. Again.
Nevermind. *knocks back another shot*
Prep Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6 Cleanup
