Everything you've been through before now has led up to this moment. With a zen-like calm you realize that the weapons you've needed to defeat this horrible menace were available to you all along. You only had to achieve the inner-peace and wisdom required to see that! My god! You feel like Neo must have felt at the end of The Matrix.

"Alright, you fat bearded freak. It's time to settle this. ONE SHALL STAND, ONE SHALL FALL," you say smugly, invoking the power of Optimus Prime. You calmly take out the moustache wax and squeeze the tube empty into the Dr. Phil mug. Then you decide it's time to get all tribal up in this piece, so you remove your clothing, place the Dr. Phil mug over your genitals where the moustache wax helps to form a comfortable seal (are you sure that wasn't super glue?), and proceed to do the Humpty Dance.

You look over to the bearded killer to gauge his reaction. Yes! You think it's working! It's driving him over the brink of madness! The day is almost won! Victory is yours!

Just then, a zipper at the top of the bearded killer's head that you've never noticed before rapidly pulls down the length of the body. Wait a minute! That killer wasn't actually a killer at all! It was just a costume! The next thing you know, Ashton Kutcher and a camera crew pop out of the body and he shouts "You've been punked, beeeeeeeyotch!"

You stop dead in your tracks, wearing nothing but a Dr. Phil coffee mug on your genitals. "Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that all of this, everything was a joke?"

"That's right, fool!" Kutcher cackles. "Oh, man! We HAD you! We got you good!"

"So all of these murders were staged? None of the other kids are actually dead?" you ask incredulously.

"Wha? No, they're dead." Kutcher replies matter-of-factly. "We GOT you good! Oh yeah, baby! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!" Kutcher is off in his own little world and starts taunting you with a rowdy a victory dance.

The next several hours are a blur, as you are whisked away to get cleaned up and conduct a seemingly endless stream of interviews, where everyone wants to know how it felt to be the butt of the biggest joke like, EVER! Unfortunately it takes time to digest what's happening, and it's not until it's far too late that you realize that you were standing there wearing nothing but a coffee mug and doing the Humpty Dance in front of a camera crew. Before you know it, you're a bigger laugh riot than that fat Star Wars kid, you're the butt of every joke on television and the internet, and your life quickly becomes enough of an embarrassing hell that you wish there really HAD been a real killer at Camp Chopleton and that you had been killed by him.

In the not-so-distant future you'll spend your days destitute on a street corner, begging for loose change and just trying to take a nap without getting peed on, occasionally shaking your fist in the air and shouting with a Tourette's-like urgency that Kutcher will rue the day. He will get his come-uppance! Oh, yes! Yes he will! Wait a minute! You just realized something! You wish there was a real killer at Camp Chopleton! You can make that happen! You can BE the killer at Camp Chopleton! And you can start with that bastard Kutcher! Yes, things may be over now, but there's always next year's story! Kutcher will get what's coming to him! Oh yes, yes he will!

But for now, you're still in this year's story, so you're pretty much a big loser.

YOU GOT FOOLED BY THE STAR OF DUDE WHERE'S MY CAR?
CHRIST YOU'RE DENSE. START OVER!