Chapter 4. The Visit.

Paul Blart blinked the crust from his eyes. His surroundings were dark and reluctant to come back into focus. "Is it still there?" he thought as he frantically rolled onto his toilet-wet back and patted the front of his pants. After seven rough slaps he was confident enough to breathe a sigh of relief. He was safe. Or WAS HE?

"You are safe, Paul Blart"

-"WHO SAID THAT?" Paul waved his hands in the murky air in front of him as he tried to sit up. He screamed as is moustache became entangled in the world's tiniest chandelier.

"Be careful with that! It cost me like $2000 rat dollars!"

Blart stroked his chin thoughtfully while tapping his forehead. " Rat dollars? Tiny furniture? What is this? Some kind of RAT HOUSE?"

"Yes." said the famous and wealthy rat standing on its hind legs to keep its front paws clean. The Rat winced politely as his uncoordinated guest quizzically poked and damaged each and every tiny furniture item within reach.

"Got any chow in this joint? ME HUNGEE" Said Paul, gesturing to his open mouth.

"Do I have any CHOW?" The rat repeated sarcastically and rhetorically as he pointed at the tiny chef's hat on his tiny rat head. "Who the #&$ do you think I am? How do you think I can afford this RAT PALACE you are sitting in? I'm GODDAMN RATTATOOIE YOU UNCULTURED SLOB!"

"Not a fan." said Blart. Nonplussed by the enraged bonafide celebrity chef who was also a rat.

Ratattooie picked up a human sized meat cleaver in his scratchy little rat paws and advanced on Blart. "GET OUT! You PHILISTINE. You were supposed to be the perfect ingredient, but I can't work with someone who doesn't acknowledge my ART!"

"Maybe I will!" Indignant, Paul crawled over several fresh human skeletons in the grandiose foyer as he fumbled the luxurious double door open. He couldn't help being a fallible everyman that was just unfortunate enough to empathize with, but clumsy enough to still play the clown. Why should some fancy rat think he's so much better just because he's got a billion rat-bucks and a gorgeous rat wife and a fancy rat-convertable parked in the driveway with the keys still in the ignition?

Paul regarded his surroundings. Rattatooie's estate was apparently in the back room of the mall's Bed Bath and Body Works. There were crates of overly-scented hand sanitizer up to the ceiling.

"I've just GOT to let everyone know the truth about the Baby Dinosaur Gang™!" Blart explained to himself.

"But the show starts in TWO MINUTES! How will I get there in time?" Blart said as he careened out the door driving Rattatooey's tiny rat luxury car.

TO BE CONTINUED.