I hate to break the rules and spoil the fun, but our horror treatment seems to have wound down, and I found myself outlining the rest of the story.
Back in Louisiana, Gator and Jeremey don't know what to do, as their buddy Randall phases in and out, between alligator-man and human-man. They decide that they have to follow their only clue, something about Paris, and France, and the Eiffel Tower.
Gator says they have to throw Randall in the back of the truck and drive to France. Jeremy explains that, one, you can't drive to France, and two, even if you could, they didn't have a truck. It got blowed up. Real good.
Meanwhile, in a flashback, Dubois explains to the baby alligator how it came to be. Doing research in hidden basement archives in the Louvre, he had discovered that the famed gargoyles of Norte Dame Cathedral were once actual creatures, reptile-mammal hybrids, created by mideival alchemists, and now encased in stone. He stole the relevant documents and began his unholy experiments.
But one experiment had escaped, infecting his lovely bride, Fifi, the lead can-can dancer at the Folies Bergère. Doing further research, he had discovered a voodoo witch doctor, deep in the Louisanna bayou, who had performed these kinds of transformations, and who might have a cure. So Dubois had anesthetized Fifi and shipped her, in a crate, to Louisiana. But something must have gone wrong, because she had disappeared.
Meanwhile, to buy plane tickets, Gator is talked into selling the family heirloom, a bale of weed, which, it turns out, is no longer much of a bale, but which, it turns out, is enough--with enough left over to get Randall super-high, which they hope will delay any transformation long enough to get to Paris. It works, but in the Paris airport the dope wears off and Randall transforms again. But the guys are prepared. Randall is disguised as an Old English Sheepdog, with collar and leash. Perfect, Jeremy tells Gator, because French people, unlike normal people, take their dogs everywhere.
Then some other stuff happens. Like Randall, in his disguise, getting a crush on a French poodle being abused by some frog waiter. The poodle, Desdimona, is rescued, and our threesome becomes four.
Anyway, the thing climaxes with a battle between the two Alligator-Men, Dubois and Randall, Godzilla v Mothra style, King Kong v Army style, at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Jeremy and Desdimona anxiously watch on, providing help where they can. Gator, however, is AWOL. He is in a cafe, on the Champs-Élysées, eating croissant after croissant. He had never seen one before and now can't get enough of them: "It's like a donut, only better. And it's curved!"
Anyway. Who will win the battle of the Alligator-men? Tune in next time, same alligator-time, same alligator-station.
Gator says they have to throw Randall in the back of the truck and drive to France. Jeremy explains that, one, you can't drive to France, and two, even if you could, they didn't have a truck. It got blowed up. Real good.
Meanwhile, in a flashback, Dubois explains to the baby alligator how it came to be. Doing research in hidden basement archives in the Louvre, he had discovered that the famed gargoyles of Norte Dame Cathedral were once actual creatures, reptile-mammal hybrids, created by mideival alchemists, and now encased in stone. He stole the relevant documents and began his unholy experiments.
But one experiment had escaped, infecting his lovely bride, Fifi, the lead can-can dancer at the Folies Bergère. Doing further research, he had discovered a voodoo witch doctor, deep in the Louisanna bayou, who had performed these kinds of transformations, and who might have a cure. So Dubois had anesthetized Fifi and shipped her, in a crate, to Louisiana. But something must have gone wrong, because she had disappeared.
Meanwhile, to buy plane tickets, Gator is talked into selling the family heirloom, a bale of weed, which, it turns out, is no longer much of a bale, but which, it turns out, is enough--with enough left over to get Randall super-high, which they hope will delay any transformation long enough to get to Paris. It works, but in the Paris airport the dope wears off and Randall transforms again. But the guys are prepared. Randall is disguised as an Old English Sheepdog, with collar and leash. Perfect, Jeremy tells Gator, because French people, unlike normal people, take their dogs everywhere.
Then some other stuff happens. Like Randall, in his disguise, getting a crush on a French poodle being abused by some frog waiter. The poodle, Desdimona, is rescued, and our threesome becomes four.
Anyway, the thing climaxes with a battle between the two Alligator-Men, Dubois and Randall, Godzilla v Mothra style, King Kong v Army style, at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Jeremy and Desdimona anxiously watch on, providing help where they can. Gator, however, is AWOL. He is in a cafe, on the Champs-Élysées, eating croissant after croissant. He had never seen one before and now can't get enough of them: "It's like a donut, only better. And it's curved!"
Anyway. Who will win the battle of the Alligator-men? Tune in next time, same alligator-time, same alligator-station.
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