Setup: It's 18-30 years from now. A handsome young lad knocks on a mansion door (specifically, Freeman Manor). A British-looking butler answers.
BUTLER: And who may I ask is calling?
BRATFACE: I'm here to see my father.
BUTLER: Master Freeman expects no guests today. He's polishing the Magic Sword of Agamemnon, which he recently won in an intergalactic gladiator contest. So run along, young scamp.
BRATFACE: You don't understand, Master Freeman (ultra-dramatic pause) … (with ellipses thrown in to make it even more dramatic) … Master KC Freeman… is my father…
SOUND FX: Dun Dun DUNNNNNN!
BUTLER (over super technological intercom system): Master Freeman. You have a caller at the door.
MASTER FREEMAN (Yelling): Will this require a revolver, Winston?!
BUTLER: I don't believe so.
MASTER (Yelling): Must I change from my smoking jacket?
BUTLER: No sir. It's only an informal reunion.
MASTER (Yelling): I have the revolver right here. It's not much trouble.
Master Freeman walks to the front door and looks at Bratface.
MASTER: Who's this fucking asshole?
BUTLER: Sir, you promised the Emperor of Rio de Janeiro you'd quit swearing. You're such an influence to all the hot naked ladies over there. You can't have every bikini model in the world with a potty mouth such as yours.
MASTER: So be it. What's your name, lad?
BRATFACE: My name is Clarence Johnson. You banged my mom 18 to 30 years ago. I'm your long lost son… (more intense ellipses and dramatic dun dun DUNNNN music)
MASTER: I knew this day would come.
BRATFACE: So you HAVE heard of me?
MASTER: No, I knew that filthy gutterslut Ms. Johnson would continue attempting to ruin my life.
BRATFACE: How dare you? My mother. The mother of your only son.
I'll die for many things. But not for a whiny amateur. Butler Winston, prepare some Jamba Juice for me. I feel I may be thirsty after this exercise.
MASTER: Perhaps to you she was a loving mother. But to me? Just another trollop I banged in my youth. You do resemble her. In the eyes.
BRATFACE: Yes, mother did have beautiful eyes.
MASTER: I never said that. You share the same crazy "I'm gonna a stab a fool" eyes as your dear former skank mother.
BRATFACE: That's it! (Draws out ninja sword!) I will not have you insult my mother that way!
MASTER: How would you have me insult her? Yo mama's so ugly National Geographic kept calling me asking if I'd banged the Missing Link.
Bratface raises sword up to Master Freeman's throat.
BRATFACE: I shall run you through, Dear Father.
MASTER: (Yawning and polishing his fingernails on the lapel of his smoking jacket) Are you sure you know what you're doing? Youngster?
BRATFACE: I'll have you know I trained with Lee Chinese Swordmaster Chang, the French Olympic Fencing team and finally with (more dramatic sound FX) the Scarlet Zorro.
MASTER: Hmm. The Scarlet Zorro is still pawning himself off as a cut rate swordfight instructor? I thought I taught him better than that. Oh well, he's one student who shall never outshine his master. One of my few failures. Young fool, your name was?
BRATFACE: Clarence. Clarence Johnson. The man who will kill you. The word I'm looking for is … Dun Dun DUNNN… Patricide.
MASTER: Very well. May I adjust my ascot and call for my cane?
BRATFACE: Old man, prepare to die however you like.
MASTER: Butler Winston. Fetch my cane.
BRATFACE: I would have preferred to kill you in your earlier years. But this will do.
MASTER: Hmph. I am like a fine Master KC Freeman Brand Whiskey. I just get better with age. (Master Freeman drops his smoking jacket but keeps on the ascot, revealing a George Clooney-esque old man frame.)
BRATFACE: Hold nothing back you Old, yet incredibly good looking, Geezer!
MASTER: I'll have you know, young lad, I'm only giving you this opportunity because I'm killing time until my meeting with the president of England soon. I'm buying his cute little country and turning it into my personal waterslide park.
BRATFACE: (charging) DIE!
Master parries. Thrusts, pushes Bratface to the ground and then checks his watch.
BRATFACE: You'll die for that.
MASTER: I'll die for many things. But not for a whiny amateur. (Yelling) Butler Winston. Prepare some Jamba Juice for me. I feel I may be thirsty after this exercise.
BRATFACE: I'll kill you! (Charges again)
Master dodges and pushes Bratface into the mud again. Bratface fumes.
MASTER: Yes. Feel your anger. Use it. Strike me down. I dare you. You fucking pussy.
BRATFACE: Arrrrrrg!
MASTER: Certainly not an eloquent bastard, are you?
BRATFACE: This is for my mother!
Somehow, Bratface slips through Master KC's defenses, and runs his sword through Master's chest.
BRATFACE: I am the victor. My mother can rest in peace. Any last words, you old dickwad?
MASTER: (apparently dying and wheezing) I have…but one thing to tell you.
BRATFACE: If it's not an apology or anything to make up for the last 18 to 30 loveless years, I'll lop your brilliant head off.
MASTER: (gurgling) Come closer. (Bratface takes a step nearer). Closer. (Another step). Closer.
BRATFACE: Make it quick, my expiring father. I wish not to spend my celebration in this den of pleasure and awesome comic book collection.
MASTER: (whispering) I want to tell you, what I never told your mother…
BRATFACE: (getting emotional): Yes, Daddy?
MASTER: (whispering) You stabbed me through the chest. And there's one thing you should know…
BRATFACE: (getting more weepy) Don't die, Daddy! I never got to know you.
MASTER: (still whispering) I have no heart. I lost it when I was a hero of the Fourth World War. And again in first Alien Galactic War. (Master KC speaks fully now.) You have no more killed me than you have impressed me. Pity.
BRATFACE: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
With a few sly swipes, Master KC severs both arms and legs of his opponent, who squirms on his torso.
MASTER: This reminds me of a Monthy Python joke. But I fear your idiot mind wouldn't get the reference.
BRATFACE: I'll gnaw your legs off, you coward.
MASTER: I shall leave you to my robot Dobermans. They get hungry when they smell the blood of a failure. Good day, Chap.
BRATFACE: One day, I'll have my revenge.
MASTER: Good luck, Clarice.
BRATFACE: My name is Clarence!
MASTER: The proper verb conjugation is "My name WAS Clarence." Enjoy getting eaten. I have a meeting to prepare for, and it seems I've ruffled my pajamas so I must change. And now, I bid you adieu.
Robot guard dogs eat the torso of the young villain. Butler Winston hands Master KC a drink.
MASTER: Mmm. Jamba Juice. Nutritional and delicious. I'm glad I installed one into this mansion. Winston?
BUTLER: Yes my Master?
MASTER: I have yet another brilliant idea. Let's have another Miss World pageant. And invite the incredibly hot Minnesota Twins cheerleading team over. I wish to procreate on a mass scale.
BUTLER: But Master. If I may question your perfect logic… you just killed your only son.
MASTER: Yes. I'd like to create more. I feel in another 15 to 30 years, I shall grow bored again. I rather delighted in this short challenge. Perhaps the next batch will be more interesting.
BUTLER: Very good, sir. Shall I use the Slut Signal to call over these skanks?
END