Just hold it right there, Fred. Time out. Time freakin’ out. This is bullshit. “Let’s split up, gang”? Split up, my ass. Like I don’t know what that means. You and the whore go one way, while I, the burnout, and the mutt go the other—that’s what that means. Well, here’s a newsflash, Neckerchief: We’re not playing it that way anymore. I’m the brains of this outfit and I’m calling the shots now.

Go with Shaggy and Scooby? Are you out of your mind? Do you idiots have any idea what it’s like to be extremely nearsighted, lose your eyeglasses while putting in the only real legwork to find these creepy ghosts, and then have only some spaced-out loser and a freakin’ dog around to help you find your way? Huh? Well, let me tell you, it’s really goddamn scary. I’m talking about pee-running-down-your-leg scary. Show of hands, people. How many of you have mistakenly walked arm in arm with the Wolf Man down a deserted hallway? Hmm? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Some giant hairball is copping a feel while the pothead and the fleabag are off raiding an abandoned pantry for food that expired months ago. Well, hey, here’s a genius idea. Pair me up with one of the sober, human people!