Royal Crackers

First off, I'd like to thank you all

for being part of today's focus group.

My name is Alfred Winstanley, and in front of you

are serving bowls of our company's latest concoction.

Please, enjoy.

-Hmm. -Mmm. Salty.

Tastes like the body of Christ at a local church.

Reminds me of the rations we ate in the cut.

Yeah.

That unmistakable rush of stabbing a man

in the throat with a bayonet.

What if I told you that you were eating none other

than the new-and-improved saltines

from Royal Crackers, Incorporated?

Wait, is this the Royal Crackers building?!

Is that why we were blindfolded after being abducted?

Take us back to the DMV this instant!

Weren't these single-handedly responsible

for a statewide polio outbreak?

Any man or child who falls to illness is dead weight.

Kick 'em out of the foxhole

and let the artillery sort 'em out, I say.

I'll never give a dollar to your company

as long as Theodore Hornsby remains at the helm.

He's a monster! And quite the eyesore.

He's not more than a sad old man stuck in the past.

And a bigot!

-Aaah! -What the hell?

Well, well, well, where do I f-f--

Fucking shit!

Where do I begin?

Okay, you first! I'm an eyesore?

Why, if I hadn't shattered that two-way mirror,

I'd ask you to take a good look at yourself

and explain how that crucifix hasn't burned through

that Nosferatu-like body of yours!

Be gone, Satan. You there!

Aah! You think I'm stuck in the past, unhip?

I've rubbed elbows with the likes

of Buford Stanley and the Spinners,

Fred Gladys and the Brooklyn Berries,

Donald Grimley and the Puerto Rican Seven!

And then you have the nerve to call me a bigot?

I'm sorry, then why are there two

Donald Grimley and the Puerto Rican Seven albums

in my record collection?

And you!

You're alright, actually. I-I like you.

No notes!

And you. If I had any idea what race you were,

I'd be having a field day right now.

Good day!

So, due to Theo's provocative bleat,

every network has stopped running our ads,

and supermarkets have pulled Royal Crackers

from their shelves. We're canceled.

Welp! It's been a fun ride.

I don't know about you guys,

but I'm going out the old-fashioned way.

-Don't gotta twist my arm! -This is for Putin!

Everyone cool it! Look at yourselves!

Since when has a little bump in the road ever stopped us

from being the best snack-food company in the world?

We'll get through this.

And we'll get through it... together.

The years I've wasted

searching for such wisdom.

I bow to you, Steben.

But what about Putin?

Putin? I don't give a flyin' cuss about Putin.

Or tootin'!

Did I do that?

I love you, Stebe!

Aah! Aah!

Dad? I had another bad dream.

Would it be okay if maybe I-I-I

slept in here tonight again?

Thanks, Dad.

Ah! Alright.

Sleep time.

Going to sleep.

Three, two, one, sleep.

One -- One ticket to sleep land, please.

Oh, okay, guys. So first thing on the agenda --

Theo's provocative bleat.

What?! I don't even have a Bleater account, moron!

Yeah, there's nothing on your agenda about that, Stebe.

In fact, It's just a drawing of --

Is this a dog? Yeah.

Been having recurring nightmares

about a humanoid dog monster for six weeks now.

Haven't slept a wink.

But creative juices are flowin',

and I got a big announcement.

Uh, maybe you should get some rest, hon.

Go home and put on some --

Did someone say Putin?

Did I do that?

You need to see a doctor, my guy!

[ Alarm blaring, people screaming ]

I-I have a big announcement!

From the sick mind of Stebe Hornsby,

everyone make some noise for the new Royal Crackers mascot,

Mr. Cracky! Aah!

Oh, my God! Fuck that!

Stebe, is this the creature from your nightmares?

Why would you pitch a mascot from your nightmares?!

Get away from me, you freak!

Therapist said I gotta harness my fears through creativity.

Now I'm in the pilot seat.

I...ugh!

I can't...breathe.

Agh! Oh, my God!

-Al! Al! -Are you okay!

Do you love it!

-Al! -Al!

Hornsby Sr.: Lady and gentleman, I'd like you all to meet Mr. Cracky,

a flamboyant cartoon dog that will serve as the mascot

for Royal Crackers' newest frontier!

Who drew that?

Uh, uh, he did!

I-I told him, it has too many colors!

No, it's wonderful!

Your childlike sensibility

is exactly what we need around here!

What?!

He's also much easier on the eyes.

Uh, s-so -- so I know this board

has voiced concern about our plummeting sales

and their correlation with public perception of me as CEO,

baseless accusations that I'm coldhearted,

vain, narcissistic!

Well, would a narcissist create this?

HornsbyLand,

a seaside theme park that will provide fun

for adults and younglings alike!

Visitors will be greeted by a beautiful 100-foot statue

of myself and Mr. Cracky! Oh, boy...

Enjoy a leisurely stroll through Cartoon Avenue

in your very own Mr. Cracky mobile.

Oh, I like that!

Now slam it into Howard Hughes' private airplane!

The Lindbergh Pursuit.

Can you out-pilot and expose him

for the over-celebrated fraud that he is?

Or the Amelia Earhart Skynanza,

where you'll crash into the ocean,

confirming everyone's well-placed biases!

Are you mad?! Do you have some sort of resentment

against aviation? Now, I know what you're thinking --

"How do we skirt the unrelenting cost of beachfront property?"

This is Catalina Island,

right off the California coast and free for the taking.

And this is Hornsby Bridge,

the longest and most expensive bridge ever built!

Stop! Oh!

You want to turn Catalina Island

into a tourist destination?

It's completely infested

with the most ruthless savages known to man!

What? But -- But...HornsbyLand!

Enough! You have done irreparable damage to this company,

and we will not stand by as you bankrupt it further

with your questionably motivated decisions.

I hereby call for a vote of no confidence!

All in favor of the immediate removal of this man,

sit perfectly still and gawk menacingly at him.

But -- But I built this company from the ground up,

all by my lonesome!

It's everything to me!

Mr. Hornsby, you are officially terminated

as CEO of Royal Crackers.

Mr. Cracky Mascot: Stebe?

Stebe? I'm still looking to get that payment.

Oh, God!

Stebe, I'm not trying to make trouble here.

You swore to pay the union minimum!

Go away! Get out of my dreams!

Look, I'm sorry the old guy had a heart attack,

but that wasn't my fault.

I'm coming in, okay? No! I hate you!

Okay, Stebe, you do this,

you escape this twisted nightmare

and wake up snuggling with your dad in his bed.

Stebe? Aah!

Aaaaah!

Get in!

Theo, you need to wake me up from this dream.

You're not dreaming, Stebe.

And Mr. Cracky didn't come from your imagination.

Oh, yeah? Where'd he come from, then? My butthole?

Not exactly. Look in the glove box.

My dick? What? No!

The plushy!

Listen, Alfred, I'm sure you think