hpe/dvd4/mock opera

Script
HP: {on the phone} Yes. No. Yes? Maybe. Never! Of course! Nah. {long pause} Yes-yes-no-yes-no-sure. You too. {hangs up}

GOBLIN: Who was that?

HP: Boss wants us to make a song using one random word from each of our 25 emails in order.

GOBLIN: {clicks a button on his computer} Done.

HP: You're done now?

GOBLIN: Sorry, I could've made it faster if you weren't distracting me with your incessant rambling.

HP: All right, let's see it.

{A music video plays, featuring clips of every email in order from when each word was spoken.}

HP: Don't catch a headache. A

SIR PHOTO: tasty

HP: steak will break the hardest dream

CREEPY PICTURE: to

HP: take. The

SIR PHOTO: decades

HP: remember, you

HOMESTAR RUNNER: forget,

THE PRINCE OF TOWN: until

HP: you finally

DIRECTOR: giggle

HP: with regret.

GOBLIN: What do you think?

HP: It's too short, and sounds like a pretentious poet trying to make his poem sound sophisticated with vaguely depressing phrases that don't make sense.

GOBLIN: Is that, like... a common thing?

HP: I dunno, I don't read poems. Also, I wasn't really paying attention to your song because I was too busy making the infinitely superior second verse. Same emails as the first.

{A similar music video plays.}

HP: Who put that secret dance

SIR PHOTO: in

HP: my style? I

GOBLIN: can

HP: almost think,

CREEPY PICTURE: but

HP: I tried

GOBLIN: asking

HP: for a while. I could make a gnarly pile.

HP: Well? Surely you can see the supremacy of my opera rockening compared to your feeble attempts.

GOBLIN: It didn't make any sense.

HP: What?! Clearly it's about someone finding a secret dance in their style, and trying to find out where it came from.

GOBLIN: And... making a gnarly pile.

HP: Exactly! What's not to understand? At least it makes more sense than "the tasty steak will break the hardest dream to take".

GOBLIN: My verse is intentionally indecipherable. Its central theme is of the futility of finding meaning in absurdity. It's something I've learned after being on your email show for ten years.

HP: What's that supposed to mean?

GOBLIN: That your perspicacity is oft superseded by your erroneous vanity.

HP: Yeah? Well, you're a dumbface whose face is dumb.

GOBLIN: That is demonstrably untrue. In fact, I have several corroborating sources who specifically deny this claim. {holds up a page} My boss is on record as having said "Goblin is not a dumbface". "Goblin's face could not be further from dumb," concurs my university professor.

HP: Yeah? Well, they probably have dumb faces too.

GOBLIN: {fumbles through papers} Well, dang, you've got me. I don't have anything to confirm the intelligence of their faces, or any other body parts for that matter.

HP: See? I'm always right, even when I'm only kinda right. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat a tasty steak.

{The Goblin does his usual dance.}

GOBLIN: Hey! Who put that secret dance in my style?!

{Cut to the Goblin's computer, on which the following text appears:}

Context
Unless stated otherwise, all quotes are spoken by HP. Ones in quotation marks come from the reading of an email.