Disclaimer: In case anyone out there actually thinks I'm Danny Antoluci or whatever the fuck his last name is, no, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint y'all.
Peach Creek, 2060. A frail old man wanders out of his papier-mâché house for the first time in weeks. It's Edd, still known colloquially as Double D, and he has ventured out to meet up with his two similarly named friends. In his hand is a spray-gun full of a cocktail of pesticide, Windex, and shampoo. No, he is not the world's most inefficient school shooter; he is merely spraying the ground directly in front of him at all times so as to disinfect it. That way, no diseases will soak through his tender, worn-out shoes.
At the meeting spot- Ed's front yard- he is greeted by a shorter, hunched-over geezer with a one-hair beard. It's Eddy. If you thought Double D had gone senile, hoo boy, check out Eddy.
"Eddy," croaks old Double D, "where's Ed?"
"CHECK THIS OUT," belches Eddy in response, "what if we paint a bunch of bowling balls white and sell them to the neighbors as jawbreakers?! We'll be rich!"
"We already tried that, remember? We broke Kevin's jaw. His funeral was a week ago."
"Oh. Were we invited?"
"DAD GUM IT!" Eddy attempts to kick a nearby trash can over, but it barely budges. "Ow. Where's Ed?"
"That's what I asked you," Edd responds. "I thought you knocked on the door."
"I thought you did."
"I haven't been here 'till just now, Eddy."
"No, but Double D, check this out: let's make an arcade out of my basement and scam the neighbors!"
Double D ignores his friend because he knows he won't notice. Slowly but surely, he makes it to Ed's front door. One shaky hand extends out to press the doorbell. He waits. An old woman, slightly more spry than the Eds, answers.
"Double D," Sarah rasps in her most love-adorned voice. "Hello."
"Is Ed home?" asks Double D, who learned a long, long time ago that bitches ain't shit. A man can learn a lot from one week on Li'l Jon's tour bus.
Sarah's face drops. She would have to go down to the basement, meaning twenty minutes of slow, agonizing stair climbing front to back. "I'll tell him you're here."
About forty minutes later, Sarah makes it back to the front door, only to find that A: every fly in the universe is now in the house and B: oh, yeah, it was always like that anyway because Ed lives here. Oh, and Double D was asleep on the ground. Eddy had taken his place standing and waiting for Sarah.
"He says come up," Sarah says to Eddy, and they share a brief mutual disgust before Sarah departs back to the mummified corpse of Jimmy, dead by retainer cancer.
An hour later, Eddy and Double D manage to get their old, gray asses down to the basement, where Ed is partaking in a rowdy viewing of Sharknado and sipping only the finest gravy from a tea cup. Double D is no longer sickened by Ed's gravy obsession; after watching him eat cow-shit mushrooms and used Band-Aids out of the toilet in 2025, nothing disgusts him anymore.
"Ed!" Eddy yells. "We're here!"
Ed turns his head slightly. "Quite."
"Haven't you already seen this movie, like, twenty times?"
"As a matter of fact, no. This is my first viewing of Sharknado."
Double D's turn to speak. "Ed, are you sure? This looks really familiar."
"I can assure you it's new. You're perhaps getting this confused with Swamp Sharks, as the art direction is decidedly similar. This one's dialogue is trite, to say the least, but the idea still intrigues me."
Though some sort of voodoo not even Double D can quite explain, Ed's mind became sharper over the years as his two friends' minds dulled. He now had more intelligence than either of them combined. Unfortunately, that was still dedicated to all of the frivolous hobbies Ed had held his entire life.
"I apologize that our prior appointment escaped my mind," Ed says during a lull in the movie's action. "Tara Reid still captivates my genitals in ways I don't care to explain."
"Eww," says Eddy. "I don't get it," adds Double D. For someone whose name is basically a boob joke, he didn't get very many sexual puns. "Not shockingly," Ed says to Double D, who doesn't realize he's the one being addressed.
"I don't want to hear anything about your genitals, Ed, unless we can charge people money to not have to look at them."
Ed doesn't look away from his TV. "That's too bad," he says. He had such a captivating tale to share about how his urine was the color of gravy when he pissed yesterday. But it appeared he would be saving that one for Sarah and Jimmy.
"Ed, don't you remember what we were going to do today?" Double D asks, just now remembering himself.
"Yes, Double D," sighs Ed, "we were going to do one last scam to end all scams. Let me just get finished with my movie. You're starting to talk over the good parts."
Eddy's face lights up all at once. His miserable, wrinkled face bursts into a hearty grin. "That's it! I know what we'll-"
"Eddy!" Ed sharply reprimands. "I won't ask you to be quiet again!"
So the last hour of the movie elapses with barely a word spoken. After the end credits sequence, Double D breaks the silence… by waking up. He stares at a blank screen for 27 minutes. Then he speaks. "Oh… is the movie over?"
"Yes. Now we can do this… scam thing you and Eddy have been going on about," replies Ed in his usual tired sarcasm. "Eddy, didn't you say you had some sort of… idea or something?"
Eddy, who's been at the foot of Ed's bed for the hour, gives Ed a confused look. "Idea for what?"
"I don't remember."
Ed sighs and lifts himself slowly out of his time-worn purple recliner. "Well, if you aren't going to do anything of interest to me, I'm going to watch Sharknado again."
"What the hell's a Sharknado?"
And that's when they all died.