User:Rainbowderp01/The Chefshank Redemption (Transcript)

Chris: Last week, the dry desert heat baked our favorite partners like roadkill on the blacktop. But crispy bottoms or not, they still had to mount their ancient steed... from a hundred foot platform! Haha. But that wasn't all. A calf-roping contest had the teams lasso each other. When Trent's crazy love act led him to throw challenges for Gwen, she gave him the old heave-ho. And then she got busted by his furious teammates, which led to some Total Drama. Well, poor old deputy Trent found himself hitching a ride on the 3:10 to Loonyville. The Screaming Gaffers won the west, and only ten remain! Stay tuned to find out who will win this week. Could it be... the Grips?

Owen: Hey, we heard that!

Beth: It could still happen! We're not losers!

Chris: Right. See for yourself next on Total. Drama. Action!

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[ Theme song ]

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Harold, Duncan, and Owen: [snoring]

[airhorn blares]

Duncan: Huh!

[crunch]

Duncan: Whiz dibs, I called it. Hey, a little help?

Justin: This is day twelve of my manicure. To risk anymore cuticle damage would be madness.

Owen: Dudes, I got this.

Harold: [gasps] Uh-oh. [confessional] Rule number one, do not wake Owen's beast within first thing in the morning.

Owen: [grunting] Come on!

Harold: Owen, we had cowboy beans last night! You're seriously risking a toxic gas leak!

Owen: That's all I am to you? Some kind of human fart machine?

Duncan: Ah, we just value our lives is all, all right big guy?

Owen: Aw, I love you guys. And I promise I'll never ever blow another morning-- [farts] Starting now. [farts] I mean, now.

Duncan, Justin, and Harold: [coughing]

Gwen: They've gotta open the door, right?! I have claustrophobia.

Heather: Oh, boo hoo. This trailer is as tight as the space between Lindsay's ears.

Lindsay: Aw, thank you!

Gwen: Up there! Maybe one of us can squeeze through!

Heather: What?

Gwen: [confessional] Ever since the whole awful Trent thing went down, I've just been waiting for karma to bite me in the butt. But what could I do? He was my weakness, my Achilles heel. We all have one. And luckily, Heather has a whole bunch of useful ones. Glittery objects, new hair products, shameless flattery. [real time] Of course, only the toothpickiest of us is gonna fit through that vent. I'm talking model thin. THough surely, the most athletic of us would wanna show off her natural sleekness.

Heather: For once, I agree with you. I'll do it.

Leshawna: Sometimes, I really wish I was one of the guys.

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Owen: [grunting]

Harold: Owen, you'll never fit!

Owen: I can try my best!

Harold: It's not about trying, it's just a scientific fact.

Justin: [screams] A hangnail!

Harold: No time, Justin. Climb! Climb!

Justin: There'd be a lot more to climb if Mount DJ was here.

Duncan: Yeah, where is DJ anyway?

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Chef: Okay, maggot! I'm gonna ride you 'til your confidence coats the back of a spoon and your self-respect forms them peas! No more mama's boy, DJ. Watch and learn.

[chop chop chop chop]

DJ:Uh, what is that?

Chef: Taste perfection, boy. What you're tasting is pride, son. The most important virtue in a man's life. Now stir that pot!

DJ: If Chef wants pride, mama's gonna show him pride with her special flavor blend. Mama spice.

[bubbling]

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Duncan: Are you sure you wanna do this?

Owen: Kiverahhh!

Guys: [scream]

Owen: Ow!

Chris: Hope you all enjoyed your first taste of the gulag.

Lindsay: Gulag? I didn't get any gulag!

Chris: Well, prepare for it to get a whole lot worse. Because today... is prison flick day!

Leshawna: Man...

Beth, Lindsay, Owen, and Justin: Aww...

Heather: Lovely. At least we've got the only actual ex-con on our team.

Duncan: It was only juvenile detention, don't get too excited.

Chris: Ah, prison. The confinement. The claustrophobia. The vile, nasty food. And you're always looking over your shoulder 'cause Mr. Killer Dude wants to cut ya for taking the last tater tot! And no matter how hard you try, digging out spoonfuls of dirt, year after year, there's no escape! Unless you get voted off, of course.

Harold: [confessional] Talk about overkill. This place is plenty prison-like already. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I should probably be locked up for the ladies' sake anyways.

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