Carey’s Crackhouse

Carey’s Crackhouse

Posted on April 23, 2024 at 2:47 pm by Evan Ward

Behold, the intro package to today’s visual and auditory delight, a hit kid’s TV show, streaming live, pre-recorded, carefully clipped together on Nutflux! As the theme music began with harmonised vocals of some cows, we are greeted by a series of unflattering, distasteful clips from Bobinette Carey’s career. They were clips of defeat, of humiliation, of embarrassment, but in typical fashion for the intro sequence to a kid’s show, they were flicking past so fast you really couldn’t latch onto the specifics and details of these scenes, you just came away from those 15 seconds feeling dirty, repulsed and needing to either take an ice cold shower while thinking of England or spend twenty minutes in the bathroom with a box of kleenex.

🎶 Moo, moo, moo, moo, mooooooo. 🎶

🎶 Hey, Carey, take us to the crackhouse 🎶

🎶 Hey, Carey, little by little let’s live like a cow! 🎶

🎶 Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo. Moo-ooo. 🎶

🎶 Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo. Moo-ooo 🎶

🎶 Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo! 🎶

🎶 Hey, Carey (Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo) 🎶

🎶 What’s the big surprise? (Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo) 🎶

🎶 Let’s go on down and eat your thighs! 🎶

🎶 Hey, Carey! (Mooooooooooo) 🎶

The horrific assault on the senses which was the intro sequence was thankfully over and short lived and cut away to-[PAUSE]

… twenty minutes later …

[UNPAUSE]- a cute, colourful little bedroom. Evan Ward is stood facing the camera wearing a black and white, horizontal striped t-shirt, a dark pink knitted cardigan and a pair of jeans. On his hair, all curly and wavy, was a pair of fluffy cow ears. He was smiling a fake, cheesy, kids-show-presenter smile. He was holding a very crudely made cow-themed Bobinette Carey plush in front his face and made it wave to the camera. How crude? Imagine a puppet made by an intern at Jim Henson who took far too much bad LSD to calm his first-day nerves after falling face first into a pile of blow. That crudely.

“Hi, I’m Carry Cow!” Even said, doing as crude an imitation as the puppet. “I’m Evan Boy’s udderly bestest friend!”

Evan lowered the doll and smiled at it. “Well, gee, thanks for the introduction, Carey Cow! But you’re not my best friend, Hobo America is. I barely even know you. You’re just a cow stuffed with her own shit.”

He shook his head and looked at the camera. “Welcome to my room! So glad you could make it, let me show you around, I’m sure you’re excited to see it all!”

“Over there is a crack lamp, a glitter crack, fairy crack…” He turned and gestured around the room. “And over there is my real life crack-cracker, Floyd.”

“Urgh muhh gumbruh! AAARRRGGHHH!” Yelled Floyd, the ancient homeless man who was curled up in the corner, who threw an empty can at Evan.

 “Oh, Floyd, whatever are we going to do with you?” Evan shook his head. “And most cracktastic of all, there’s my very own crackhouse!” Evan pointed out the derelict, boarded up and crumbling, almost certainly haunted dollhouse by the bed. If it were real there would certainly have been blocked off with a chained up, barbed wire fence with “DANGER: CONDEMNED BUILDING! KEEP OUT!”  signs all over it.

🎶 Moo, moo, moo, moo, mooooooo. 🎶

“You hear that?” Evan stood up straight, taking notice of the sudden jingle. “You know that that means! Time for another crackhouse delivery! Look over there!”

The camera cut away to a small box on wheels, decorated to look like a very strung out cow, rolling along the toy train tracks attached to the wall and rolled down to the table in front of Evan. He picked it up.

“This is my Moo Moo Mailbox, I wonder what’s inside!” He opened it up and pulled out a small baggy of weed and a tiny little box of curry. “Wow, Carey Cow, this is exactly what our friends in the crackhouse have been wanting! We should shrink right down and take it to them!”

He started singing and doing an obnoxious dance.

“🎶A pinch to the left and a pinch the right, grab Carey’s hand and hold on right. 🎶”

He clutched the plush tight before the whole scene froze and a really, extremely bad vortex wipe effect moved the scene to the street outside an actual crackhouse with a chained up barbed wire fence covered in “DANGER: CONDEMNED BUILDING! KEEP OUT!” signs. Evan stood looking up at the crackhouse holding a huge box of curry with a giant bag of weed atop of it. 

“Here we are, Carey Cow! Welcome to the crackhouse!” Ward said in a sickly sweet voice.

“I’m gonna fucking murder you.” Trent grumbled, dressed in Bobinette Carey’s signature wrestling gear, complete with purple wig. He was less than thrilled to be doing the skit. Ward glared up at him, to which Trent rolled an eye. “It’s me, Carey Cow!” Trent did his best Carey impression, which also happened to be the worst impression in the history of TV. “Out there I’m just a fucking stuffed up old bag but, in here, I’m a real fucking girl.”

“That’s right, kids!” Ward smiled at the camera. “and today we’re here to deliver this delicious meal and herbal remedy to our friends, Fairy Crackcow and DJ Cracknip. Let’s go into the crackhouse and see if we can find them!”

The duo approached the double doors, stepping over the detritus and possible crackhead corpses to get there, and headed on in. Of course it took the full weight of the towering giant pretending to be Carey slamming against the door a couple of times to open it. Trent crashed through and Ward followed, striding in like he owned the shambles of a place. Suddenly an extremely strung out, rodentesque man jumped out at them and snatched the weed from atop the curry box.

“Nyahahahaha!” Laughed the man through his extra long front teeth and whiskery moustache. “Shiny is miney!”

“Oh no, it’s Crackrat!” Ward exclaimed, feigning shock. “And he’s taken the herbs! Quick, Carey Cow, catch him!”

“Sure fucking thing, Evan!” Trent said in his Carey voice as he lunged at Crack Rat who ducked out the way and ran into a rickety elevator, slammed the cage shut and cranked the handle to send it upstairs. “Oh no, he fucking escaped!”

“Whatever can we do now, Carey Cow? DJ Cracknip will get so mad if we don’t deliver those herbs!” Evan asked, clutching the box of curry tightly just in case Crack Rat came back. “I know! Fairy Crackcow will know how to find him! I bet she’s in the fairy garden, come on, Carey Cow!”

The pair trudged through the dilapidated building, over rubble and avoiding the broken floorboards, into the “fairy garden.” The garden was actually a kitchen, though its time of culinary utility had faded into history long ago and was now more like a lab. This garden-come-kitchen-come-lab, was filled with tubes and bottles and bunsen burners and all the other paraphernalia one would expect from a crack house cooking their own drugs. Ward had assumed it was being used to cook crack, though his rudimentary knowledge of the substance made him question whether that needed such a complex setup, not that it particularly mattered as he was only here for the skit.

Standing over a large, bubbling pot of viscous liquid, stirring with a wooden spoon which seemed to be larger than herself, was the Fairy Crackcow. A short, haggard old lady who looked like she had been a prostitute in her last life, and the five lives before that. Her low slung top barely contained the wrinkled, baggy tits which knocked back and forth like conkers as she stirred. She looked up to see the pair enter the room and grabbed her knife. “WHASSA WANTEN GE’OUT!” She shouted an indecipherable series of syllables.

“Hey, Fairy Crackcow, it’s me, Evan Ward!” Evan replied cheerfully.

“WHO?!?!” She shouted back.

“It’s me!” Evan replied, less cheerfully. “Evan Wa- Hold on. Trent?” Ward turned to the big man, breaking character for a moment. “Give it to her.”

“Urgh.” Trent rolled his eye and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, passing it to the drug addled lady before returning to Evan’s side.

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember.” The lady coughed as she counted the money and stuffed it into her bra, down below her belt. She pulled out a pair of fairy wings from a drawer and put them on as she suddenly changed to have a smiling and friendly persona. It was amazing what a few hundred quid could convince a random crackhead to do.  “Hello, Evan, it’s so good to see you! What brings you to my wonderful fairy garden?”

“We brought you and DJ Cracknip some curry and medical herbs, Fairy Crackcow.” Evan explained. “But when me and my bla-” Ward paused and looked up at Trent, suddenly noticing something wrong with his costume and broke character once again. “Dude, what’s with this?” He gestured at Trent’s face. “I told you to come in full costume.”

“Fuck off, you insensitive fuck.” Trent snapped. “It’s fucking bad enough you’ve got me fucking doing this, but I’m not fucking doing that and getting lynched by a fucking mob for offending half the fucking audience.”

“I don’t believe you, Trent!” Ward sounded legitimately shocked. “You’re so racist! How could you think people would lynch you for blacking up? Shame on you!” Trent punched Ward in the side of the head. “I deserve that.” Ward said as he stood up again and decided to move on.

“When me and my ‘black’ friend,” Ward continued, using air quotes. “Were accosted by Crackrat! He stole the weed-I mean medicinal herbs and disappeared up the Cowevator! Whatever are we meant to do now, Fairy Crackcow?”

“Oh my oh my, Evan!” The fairy impersonator replied flatly, reading her lines from a piece of paper she inconspicuously held an inch from her face, squirting to read it. “DJ Cracknip will not be happy about this. You must go see him now and beg for forgiveness before he cuts you up and busts a cap in your rectums.”

Trent frowned. “Hey, that’s not the fucking script.”

“Shut up, she’s improving.” Ward elbowed Trent in the ribs. 

“Come with me, and I’ll show you the secret way up to the music room!” She climbed down off her stepladder and hobbled over to a closed doorway, hunching over so her boob all but dragged along the floor. She waved her glass wand and incanted the words “Abracadee, zibbedy zee, alakafuckoff!” And kicked the door off its hinges (it probably wasn’t even on them in the first place) to reveal a rickety staircase. She started smoking crack from her wand as Evan and Carey Cow walked past.

“Oh, thank you, Fairy Crackcow!” Ward profused. “How can we ever repay you?”

“Your thanks is all the payment I need.” She said, holding out a begging hand to Trent. Ward nodded at him and, with another groan, he handed her another wad of cash before following Evan up the stairs.

The pair emerged in possibly the grossest bathroom you had ever seen. It was even more disgusting a room than their kitchen dojo that time when they had been accosted by the FDA. At least that was only vomit, this place was covered in vomit, shit, piss and ejaculate, forming a grotesque tableau of bodily fluid. Ward stopped and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell, Carey Cow?” He said, not convincing anyone that it was a legitimate question. “It smells like… Tar!” Ward dodged out the way as a bucket of thick, black tar fell over Trent’s head.

The big man looked mightily unimpressed. Clearly, Ward had not informed him of this part of the skit. “You’re so fucking dead.” He growled at Ward.

“Don’t be so soft.” Ward sniped back. “Look on the bright side, at least you’re in full costume now.”

“Why am I even fucking doing this?” Trent wiped some of the sticky tar off his face so he could see. “Ain’t nothing fucking worth this bullshit.”

“An extra ten percent of the Curry Cart business.” Ward nodded.

“Oh yeah. Worth every penny.” Trent nodded, no longer complaining.

Suddenly, Crackrat dropped down from the rafters where he had laid that trap, clutching the bag of weed tight. “Nyahahaha!” He cackled as he scurried away into the hallway.

“Quick, he’s heading to the music room!” Ward pointed after him. “Hurry, Carey cow!”

The duo ran after Crackrat, heavy squelching sounded with every step from Trent’s tar covered body. They pushed open a large pair of double doors and entered the music room. It was basically a rave. Music was booming, strobes flashed in the darkness and a disco ball span from the ceiling. Okay, less of a rave, more of a rollerdisco, but still the room was surprisingly accurate to its name. Sitting on a sofa opposite the entrance was a large, plump man in a purple fedora and a similarly coloured, zebra patterned fur coat.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Evan Ward and my ho, Carey Cow.” The man said as he leaned forward.

“Good to see you, DJ Cracknip!” Ward said in a friendly manner.

“It’s our pleasure to be here, my prince in my palace…” Trent trailed off his line and looked at Ward. “Did you just fucking make me call him my fucking pimp?”

“That’s right, motherfucker, I’m your daddy and you my baby.” DJ Cracknip rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “Gonna have fun wit you tonight.”

“Ahem.” Ward coughed as he approached the pimp and laid the box of curry on the coffee table in front of him. “We’ve brought you gifts, DJ Cracknip, a big box of our very special mystery meat curry.”

“‘Bout damn time this turned up.” DJ Cracknip snapped. “I ordered it hours ago.” He looked at the curry and then at his two guests. “Where the fuck is my product? I got hos waiting to shift it.”

“Well you see, DJ Cracknip, we had brought a giant back of medicinal herbs but we had a problem-” Ward began but was cut off by the pimp.

“I don’t give a shit ‘bout your problems. I gots problems of my own. But I’ll let this slide…” He pulled out a large knife and threw it on the floor between Ward and Trent. “If you fillet that bitch. I heard Carey Cow’s been turning tricks on the side and DJ Cracknip ain’t havin’ that.”

The two wrestlers looked at the knife.

“Dude… I think this fucker’s gone a bit too fucking far.” Trent frowned.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, they guy’s a method actor. He really gets into the roles.” Ward nodded. “He even came with his own costume and props.”

“Dude, I think you just fucking hired a pimp.” Trent frowned.

“Stop yer mumbling to each other, bitches.” DJ Cracknip leaned forward, resting his elbows on his lap and lacing his fingers together. “Pick up that knife and do the deed and I’ll forget you lost my product. It’s curtains for Carey Cow.”

Ward picked up the knife and studied it. It was a really nice knife, the edge was so fine he imagined it could cut flesh with ease. Definitely worth keeping for preparing mystery meat. He pocketed the knife and looked at DJ Cracknip. “Curtains? Look, my man, as much as I’d love to feast on Carey Cow’s beef curtains, if I’m going to carve her up for cooking, I want to do it in our match, you know? Look at her, she’s just a helpless psychopathic schizophrenic lunatic. Sure, she could brutalise a bitch and leave them for dead while she trashes them with her potty mouthed quips, but could she really hurt anyone? Deep down, I mean. And, let’s face it, even if I stabbed Carey Cow with this beautiful knife, that won’t help you get your herbs, will it? Instead, if you help us find Crackrat you can get the herbs off him.”

“Crackrat?” DJ Cracknip raised an eyebrow. “That strung out motherfucker?”

“Yeah, looks like a rat on crack. Hence the name.” Ward nodded.

“No, I mean THAT strung out motherfucker.” DJ Cracknip pointed up above the door. Ward turned and saw Crackrat hanging from the rafters, the bag of weed hanging from his mouth.

“Yeah that’s the dude.” Ward nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t see him up there bef-”


Ward almost jumped out of his skin as Crackrat fell to the floor, bleeding out of three holes in his chest. He turned to see DJ Cracknip holding a smoking gun. “Problem solved, motherfucker.” The pimp said with an aggressive nod of his head.

“For fuck’s sake, Evan, you hired a real fucking pimp and now he’s fucking killed a real fucking crack head.” Trent complained.

“Uhh… no, this guy was a real actor.” Ward said through a grimace. “You watched Wes Anderson’s latest movie on Netflix, right? I saw that and thought the guy playing the rat catcher would be great for this skit.”

Trent looked dumb founded. “You just fucking murdered Ralph motherfucking Feinnes?”

“I DIDN’T!” Ward protested. “He did!” He pointed at DJ Cracknip, who looked satisfied with the outcome. Ward picked up the bag of weed and lobbed it at the murder. “There you go, best be off!”

Trent legged it to the door and Ward made to follow him, but stopped at the actor’s corpse. He looked down and licked his lips, pulling out the knife. “You know, it would be a shame to let this mystery meat go to waste…”

“YOU’RE NOT FUCKING EATING RALPH FUCKING FIENNES!” Trent yelled from down the hall.

Ward rolled his eyes and slouched after his crossdressing friend. “Fine!” He replied. “Or should I say… Fiennes.”

“I fucking hate you.”

The shot of the two running away from the psychopathic pimp twisted into that awful vortex wipe again and returned to the bedroom where Ward was smiling at the camera again, holding the plush doll of Carey Cow. 

“Wow, what a fun adventure, right Carey Cow?” He said.

“It sure was, Evan!” He mimicked Carey’s voice for the doll. “I’m so glad you didn’t gut me in that awful crack house!”

“Aww, don’t worry, Carey Cow,” he reassured the doll. “This Friday you’ll be the main course on the Mystery Meat Curry Cart’s menu. I’ll make sure you get treated every bit like the Ohionion lady you are beat you around the ring like your mama was beat around the kitchen for not having dinner on the table by the time your daddy got home. Southern girls like it that way.”

“That sounds swell, Evan.” He said as Carey Cow. “But Ohio is in the north, not the south.”

“Shh shh shh.” Evan replied, putting a finger to Carey Cow’s lips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about geography. Instead, how about we practice for the match?”

“Okily dokily, pidily pokily!” Replied the doll. The credits began to roll as Evan suplexed the doll and kerb stomped it, then locked in the Sacred Ward Family Credenza and mauled the fluff out of the puppet before the showed faded to Nutflux’s Watch Next Screen.