by Patsy Wackelwitz – Der Endboss Episode 2 – The unabridged script
The new episode on YouTube from Darkbats Fantasy
Dear diary,
So, today was a totally fantastic, incredibly sweet day! Wait a minute… that sounds kind of familiar… I’m so stupid – I already wrote that yesterday. How unoriginal!
Ha… what the hell.
So… yeah… er, how do I start? I had one of those – well, how do you say it? – strange dream. Or rather… crazy dream. Or, um, no, wait… unbelievably totally absurd dream! Oh yes, that sounds good!
So, there was this bard – and of course Skeletti again. Sure, who else? And the bard? Well… he sang. About me! Can you imagine that? About what exactly? Hm… yes, well… it was somehow – something like a musical. Or rather a very dubious, improvised drama with a melody. In any case, it sounded something like this:
Scene: Song – Lyrics of “Yes, No, Maybe”
(1st verse)
No bow, no sword, she’s got nothing with her, just an old spoon – and even that’s already breaking in two. A hero like from the legends? No, she’ll never be that, but she’s got a good line and an arrow in her knee.
[Refrain]
Yes, no, maybe – who knows what will happen, but Patsy stumbles on, even if she often loses. With an arrow in her knee and a plan that never works, she’s the heroine who somehow wins!
(2nd verse)
She never shuts up, flies over every tree, in the fight against chaos she shows her pride. She fails at doors, loses every argument, but Patsy keeps at it – ready with gallows humour.
[Refrain]
Yes, no, maybe – who knows what will happen, but Patsy stumbles on, even if she often loses. With an arrow in her knee and a plan that never works, she’s the heroine who somehow wins!
(3rd verse)
Whether skeletons or opponents, she usually runs away, her courage is not enough for anything – and that bothers her. One step forward, two steps back, that’s her style, but with Patsy it’s never dull, and that’s her goal!
[Refrain]
Yes, no, maybe – who knows what will happen, but Patsy stumbles on, even if she often loses. With an arrow in her knee and a plan that never works, she’s the heroine who somehow wins!
(Outro)
This is how Patsy goes through the world, in her very own way, her actions – plemplem, but the journey is never quiet. An adventure full of chaos, and even when things go wrong, Patsy Wackelwitz is the one who always gets up.
So… I mean, yeah, that wasn’t exactly the epic hero song you’d dream of, was it? But, hey, the spoon. Yes, the spoon! But why on earth a spoon? I mean, what is my brain thinking? “Let’s equip the heroine with the most indispensable everyday kitchen utensil?” Couldn’t I at least have had a dagger? Or a sword? But no, a spoon. A wooden spoon! I mean, did I even have one? Maybe the spoon was just the physical manifestation of my total chaos. Or was it the symbol of what I really need in my life – a good, sturdy spoon to stir me out of this crazy world?
Hmm, who knows!
Afterwards – that applause! Yes, applause! But instead of feeling flattered, I just thought: “Wait a minute, who was clapping?” At first I thought maybe it was an audience member. But no, surprisingly it was simply the applauding echo of my brain cells, which were probably mocking me in the most amusing way.
Additional entry
I think I should seriously think about hanging out less with a wooden brain. Or should I? Erm… yes, I mean… maybe not. It’s entertaining in a way.
Anyway, enough about dream interpretation. Let’s move on to the real, worst challenge of my life – the (final boss, so to speak): my grandma Irmintrude Wackelwitz. Well, if you look at life as a role-playing game, then she’s definitely the boss enemy who always knows when I’m late, when I’m talking rubbish and when I’ve done everything wrong again. Spoiler: Always.
So, I was at my grandma’s today and…
Grandma: “Patrizia, you’re clearly too late! I said four o’clock and not four seven!!!”
Patsy: “Yesssss, Grandma, I’m here! Jesus, seven minutes – are you going to whip me or disinherit me right now?”
Grandma: “Don’t exaggerate! Have you been lolling around in bed again and celebrating your lottery life, huh?”
Patsy: “No, Grandma, I negotiated world peace, tamed a dragon and then milked three cows.”
(pause)… “Well, yes, I chilled out a bit, but at least I turned 180° in the process – so technically it was sport. Er, what did you want again?”
Grandma: “That it’s time for a grown-up life! Finally find a husband, practise your housework and then it’s time for children!”
Patsy: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – oh, wait, you’re serious? … So really serious? OMA, why do I always HAVE to do three things at the same time? Marriage, household and children?! Is this a role-playing game with side quests or what?! Can’t I complete one of these tasks first?”
Grandma: “Patrizia! Take this seriously and stop laughing so outrageously hysterically – it’s unhealthy!”
Patsy: (mimicking her) “PaTRIiiiiiziaaaaa!”
Grandma: “Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.”
You know when someone talks so much that your brain just goes into standby mode? I’m basically just a blinking light – “System overloaded, please restart…” Somewhere deep inside me, the desire to draw a sword in an epic heroic pose and end this monologue with a dramatic “Silence, demon!” is forming.
(Scene: fight) (Scene: muzzle)
But unfortunately I don’t have a sword. And unfortunately Grandma isn’t a demon. I think.
I imagine how epic it would be to just conjure a muzzle out of thin air and put it on her in slow motion.
Grandma: “Patrizia! Are you even listening to me?”
Patsy: “Yeah, I’ve got a counter-question, Grandma… How exactly is that supposed to work if you want me to either look for a man or practise housework? Is this some kind of 2-in-1 deal? Is there a discount for that? ‘Buy a broom, get married for free’?”
Grandma: “Patrizia, now shut up and sit down. I’ve had the finest sweet curls baked – only the best for my grandchild!”
Patsy: “Grandma, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said today! Sweet curls! The true currency of life!” chomps
Grandma: “Suspicious, child, is that an arrow?”
Patsy: “Oh, that? You know, I wanted to try something new. It’s an experimental acupuncture trend – ‘less balance, more drama’. It’s a big thing in the capital.”
Grandma: (continues crocheting calmly) “So, how’s the apprenticeship going? Have you been successful?”
Patsy: ( stuffs a curl in her mouth) “So… er… yes… no… maybe? So actually… swallows HAHAHAAHAAAAAA – blunt – no.”
Grandma: “As expected. I’ll speak to my neighbour and ask her to train you in her tailor’s shop. As soon as possible.”
Patsy: “Great! I can start sewing curtains for my future husband straight away! Maybe I’ll even get a certificate for ‘Traditional image of a woman – with honours’! I should be looking for a man right now, what now?”
Grandma: “Yes, you obviously can’t do THAT either, Patrizia. What about that nice gentleman from the Mages’ Guild I introduced you to recently?”
Patsy: “Him? He started talking, and in the meantime I rethought my life three times, moved inside and got myself an imaginary dog, trained it and took it to the grave – and then he was finally finished! Grandma, I swear that guy sucked more magic out of me than a vampire. After five minutes of talking, I felt like I was trapped in an endless loop.”
Grandma: “Child, grow up already!”
Patsy: “Grandma, I’ve done my research: There is no cure for my inner chaos child. It’s a chronic case of ‘I won’t, I won’t, I can’t’. Doctors advise more candy cranks as therapy!”
Grandma: “Speaking of doctors!”
Grandma is a treasure – a tireless, persistent, never-switch-off treasure with an in-built broadcast function for dodgy life advice. When I told her about Skeletti – my personal horror film without credits – she only had one solution: visit the doctor! But not to just anyone, no, of course to her “good friend” who happens to practise just around the corner. I’ll tell it like it is: the guy probably has less medical interest in me than a charlatan at a fairground, but hey, if it makes Grandma feel better… The idea of the two of them debating alternative healing methods and the healing power of moist compresses over “Tea blend 4711 for long life” is a mental cinema that I’d rather not continue. Oh yes, his name? Dr Salbadius Cornelius Quack. Sounds reassuring, doesn’t it? I suspect he only bought the doctor’s surgery to give his name some respectability. But I don’t have that appointment until tomorrow!
Dear diary,
With an inward curtain fall, I said a mental goodbye to my grandma and set off in the direction of the tavern – my sacred place of enlightenment, where decisions mature, plans are forged and are consistently forgotten the next morning.
And then – BAM – there he is: wooden brain. My old mate, who proves every second that “madness” and “greatness” go through life like best friends. Why? Because his energy is so powerful that you’d think he’d just forged a dragon’s sword and destroyed an entire royal court with a single glance. If he carries on like this, he’ll soon set the entire kingdom on fire – and I, well, I’ll be standing in the audience with a bag of popped corn and a ticket for the “wood-brain fireworks of destruction”. But hey, you can still dream!
And those looks! He looks at you like he knows you’ve just secretly eaten a piece of cake in your pyjamas while you’ve switched off the light because you’re ashamed of it.
His movements are like an epic play, only without the explosions. When he sits down or stands up, you could almost shoot a time-lapse film – as if a mini volcano is erupting at a bench in the tavern. And yet he remains calm, like a warrior on the brink of battle.
But here’s the best part: our conversations. They are a mysterious labyrinth of words in which I am the only one who has the map – but only because I made it myself. And sometimes, in the midst of this word acrobatics, I wonder whether I actually said what I just said or whether my brain is secretly putting on a comedy programme of its own. I try to impress him with looks and jokes – the kind of jokes where I have to look for the punch line even while I’m making it.
But sometimes I get the feeling he doesn’t even realise I’m here. He probably thinks I’m just one of the many NPCs in this wild theatre play we call life. But that doesn’t matter. What really matters is that together we’re living the chaos we’ve always wanted – a bit of laughter, a lot of confusion and the incessant attempt to win woodbrain. A touch too far from reality, but just a pint of beer away from ultimate wisdom.
Ha!
Patsy: “You know, woodbrain… if you were a tree, you’d be… er… well… I wouldn’t cut you down!”
Woodbrain: “Huh?”
Patsy: “Exactly! And I’d be your squirrel!”
Woodbrain: “Wait… WHAT?!”
Patsy: “Yay, such a cute little squirrel that climbs on you and hides its nuts in your tree bark!”
Woodbrain: “Is the beer bad today?”
Patsy: “You do like me, don’t you? Or do you just not like me enough to admit that you like me? … Or do I like you too much to realise that you don’t like me at all?”
Holzhirn: “Huh?”
Patsy: “So you don’t?”
Holzhirn: “What? No! So…”
Patsy: “Did you just say ‘no’?!”
Wooden brain: “No, I mean, yes, or what did you say?”
Patsy: “AHA!”
Wooden brain: “Huh?!”
Patsy: “OR?!”
Woodenbrain: “What are we talking about?!”
Patsy: “That wasn’t the question!”
Wooden brain: “What question?”
Patsy: “EXACTLY!!!”
All right, dear diary, I could now say: all settled, all over, nothing more to see! But… are you ready for the epic epilogue? Yes? You have no choice anyway! Hahaaa!
(vomit scenes)
Dear diary, beer is a bit like an annoying guest: entertaining at first, then it becomes unpleasant, and in the end it throws itself out – only through my stomach. After leaving my leftover dignity somewhere in the tavern, I made the shameful journey home. Or rather: I staggered towards the horizon. But as soon as I put one foot in front of the other, I felt this one ominous presence…
(Drunk in front of the wardrobe)
Oops, look, the fighting wall of muscles and concentrated disappointment! Well, did you miss me? I mean, that would be understandable. I’m great too. Most of the time. Except now. “I knew you liked me, but lying in wait for me here in the middle of the night… Tststs, a bit stalkerish, don’t you think?”
(wardrobe stands up and cracks its fingers – )
Patsy: “Oh yes, do you remember back then? I mean, of course you remember – you were there. Me too. But you know what you DON’T remember? That I almost beat you! Almost! That counts too, right? Well, I don’t know, but I’ve evolved! Back then I thought a fight was decided by strength – now I know: No! It’s decided by… flexible relocation! You could call it flight, but that sounds so negative. I prefer ‘dynamic threat management’! And if that’s not evolutionary, I don’t know what is!”
“Ohhh, look back there! A three-headed troll with cake! … No? Well, it was worth a try.”
(slap in the face)
Well, if I ever write an autobiography – which of course I will, because these legendary escapades must be preserved for posterity – then it will be called:
“I actually only wanted a beer, but then it became an adventure”.
With a foreword by Skeletti, an introduction by Holzhirn and a very special chapter about my most legendary falls, a collection of my cleverest last words and a review by Grandma that will probably read: “I laughed, I cried, I wondered if I could give back the parental authority for this child…”
Well!
End of the script
