Work Text:
The screen flashes with the bold, stark letters: IRSU'S TUTORIALS. Then, with a jarring cacophony, an explosion.
Irsu's Warehouse - A chaotic space with historical artifacts interspersed with modern DIY supplies. A photo of Suppiluliuma hangs prominently, a megaphone rests on a table, and a spear and shield are mounted on the wall. A poster reads "LION OF CANAAN."
Irsu: [voice booming, laced with aggression, pointing a finger directly at the unseen audience] Hey, you bunch of haughty rich bastards! [He paces near the table.] With these tutorials, we learn while having fun! Today, I'm gonna teach you how to make a papier-mâché ashtray.
Irsu picks up a piece of papyrus, then frowns. His internal thoughts are heard.
Irsu: [thinking] An ashtray? But smoking sucks! Yeah, it causes lung and throat diseases, uh? Utterly pointless.
A close-up on Irsu's scowling face.
Irsu: Shut the hell up, hippie bird! [He jabs his finger at the audience again.] Shut up! Otherwise, I'll empty the ashtray in your freaking mouth!
To prove his commitment, or perhaps to silence the voice for good, he snatches a cigarette from a crumpled pack. He tries to light it, his hands shaking with indignation. He takes a drag and immediately erupts in a fit of violent coughing.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: Aaaaah! [He grabs a bottle of water and chugs from it, then slams it down.] I said we'd make an ashtray, so we're making an ashtray! Who the hell is the boss?!
Text appears on screen: 1. The MATERIALS.
Irsu gestures wildly at the items now laid out on the table.
Irsu: For this, we need: a large bowl, a pair of scissors, white glue, and a papyrus.
Text appears on screen: 2. The PREPARATION.
Irsu holds up a pristine sheet of papyrus, his expression briefly softening for a fleeting moment.
Irsu: "We start by taking a sheet of papyrus." [His eyes scan the fine grain of the material.] A civilised papyrus? [The word “civilised” curdles on his tongue, and the euphoria vanishes, replaced by his signature disgust.] Who cares about civilisation! They all kinda suck!
He drops the papyrus sheet onto the table with a thud.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: [pissed off] The Ancient Egyptian books, the Hittite bronze standards, Chancellor Bay's stylus—they're just pathetic historians spouting their nonsense on paper!
Irsu grabs the megaphone and unleashes a torrent of boos directed at the audience. After ten seconds of this, he abruptly stops, clearly annoyed.
Irsu: Well, shut up!
Irsu snatches the scissors and begins aggressively cutting the sheet of papyrus into strips.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: [voiceover, with a grimace] We cut a sheet of papyrus with scissors, or we can even put them in a blender... [Irsu appears on screen again, looking stressed and agitated.] ...or have that young Rammie boy chew them! Who cares!
A close-up of Irsu's tense face.
Irsu: Hey scribbler, did you write this? [He holds up the massive Papyrus Harris, its sheer historical weight covering his enraged face, as if accusing it.]
Irsu aggressively rummages through the torn papyrus fragments on the table, his anger building.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: [self-punching his own forehead, muttering] Bang! Boom! [He looks enraged, throwing his hands up.] "I'm absolutely sick and tired of doing this," you know!
Text appears on screen: 3. The REALISATION.
Irsu pours a stream of white glue into the large bowl, then starts tearing the papyrus fragments and tossing them in.
Irsu: We mix the little pieces of paper with white glue or blue glue... [He plunges his hands into the mixture, stirring.] ...or green glue. [His movements become more frantic, fed up with the entire charade.] Or we don't care!
He pulls his hands out, dripping with the milky sludge, a look of profound disgust on his face.
Irsu: "Oh, baby, that's disgusting!"
He continues mixing, his movements becoming more aggressive, more impolite. He’s not mixing anymore; he’s attacking the contents of the bowl.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: [ranting] The wealthy getting richer while the people are dying with their mouths wide open! [He messes up the mixture, splattering it.] Isn't that disgusting?! [A close-up of Irsu's tense face, his eyes narrowed.] Stupid!
With a final grunt of disgust, he scoops the entire glob of papier-mâché out of the bowl and drops it onto the table with a wet slap. He gives it a single, dismissive push with the heel of his hand.
Irsu: Then all you have to do is shape your ashtray as you wish!
Text appears on screen: 4. The RESULT.
The camera cuts to the finished product. Irsu holds up a crude, one-eyed skull-shaped papier-mâché mask. He then begins to haphazardly paint it, transforming it into a garish clown mask.
Irsu: [voiceover, with a forced cheerfulness] And there you have it! A little coat of paint, and you have a superb personalized ashtray! [He lets out a harsh, loud laugh.]
Irsu now "critiques" the mask he's made, his initial enthusiasm fading.
[Audience laughter]
Irsu: Honestly, it's not that great, is it...
Then, a wicked grin spreads across his face. He thrusts the clown-like Cyclops mask towards the audience, its painted smile and single, empty eye socket a vision of pure nightmare fuel.
Irsu: [laughs rudely, holding the mask close] It's another one of those accursed historians' tricks with their crappy paper!
A chorus of screams from the audience is heard.
Irsu: [sighs, dropping the mask slightly] Okay, well, I'm off now. I have to go give an interview to Canaan TV. [He grins, a hint of euphoria returning.] Tenderness and chocolate.
He suddenly turns back to the audience, his face contorted with anger.
Irsu: You freaking suck! Bye!
Irsu stomps out of his warehouse, leaving behind the chaotic remnants of his peculiar tutorial. The audience, now seemingly safe, erupts into a smattering of applause.
The scene ends.