Three Assholes – Episode 102
Nate, Mike & Keith are childhood Maine friends. They’re also assholes.
Episode 102 – The Old Style
(Nate, Mike and Keith are out on the street outside Mike’s burnt-down trailer park watching Colombo re-runs on Mike’s beat-up old Magnavox, the only object salvaged from the fire…)
Keith: Ha ha. Oh, Colombo.
(Nate is rolling a blunt and Keith sneaks up and sprinkles some crack rocks in with the weed…)
Nate: A wooly, eh? I haven’t had one of these since high school. Not too much, though. We got Mike’s welcome home party tonight.
Mike: Where’d you get the crack, bud?
Keith: Your girlfr–a friend.
(Mike glares at Keith as Capt. Bryan Sanders of the Veazie Town Police saunters down the street…)
Sanders: Well, well, well. If it isn’t Keith Kowalski, Nate Shoops and Mike Miner; as I live and breathe. What do you boys think you’re doin’?
Keith: Hey, Bryan. We’re havin’ a street party!
Sanders: It’s Capt. Sanders to you, Kowalski. And there ain’t no such thing as a street party. Y’all are just drinkin’ in the middle of the road at eleven in the morning.
Nate: He meant to say ‘block party’.
Sanders: This ain’t a block, it’s a fire road. And this ain’t no party in any what which way. It’s just three assholes drinkin’ somethin’ gross and black out of a bucket. Oh hell, is that Black Sunshine?
Keith: (grins, handing the police captain a Dixie cup) Sure is, Bryan. Have a taste.
Sanders: (tips his cap back) Well, I reckon a little taste won’t hurt. It’s a light day. (sniffs the air) Do I smell reefer?
Keith: (nodding) And crack.
(Mike and Nate are walking down the fire road as Keith weaves between them on a ten-speed…)
Nate: Where’d you get that bike?
Keith: Some kid traded it for some dope. I don’t know why, but I’ve been getting great business from the high school this week.
Nate: Probably because the prom is tonight.
Mike: Oh man, the prom. Remember our prom night, guys? Us and six girls in the back of that limo.
Keith: It wasn’t a limo. It was a Lincoln Continental. I remember, ’cause I had such a smooth line…
(Pockmarked high school senior Keith woozily mumbles to three uninterested girls…)
Young Keith: This is a Continental, ladies. Very classy. Like Europe.
(A smiling Keith stops reminiscing and starts pedaling…)
Keith: I think I got two of those girls pregnant. But you know, those were the early 2000’s.
Nate: (glances at Mike) You don’t wanna go to this welcome home party, do you?
Mike: Not really. It’s just gonna be my family there and stuff.
Nate: You wanna go to the prom, don’t you?
Mike: (smiles bashfully) Yeah.
Keith: Aww yeeah, prom night! (pops wheelie, lands on back)
(That evening at the check-in desk to the Veazie High School senior prom, school secretary Beatrice James is confronted with a visibly-intoxicated Nate, Mike and Keith…)
Beatrice: And I’m supposed to believe you boys are chaperones?
Nate: Yes, ma’am.
Beatrice: (pointing at Keith) Haven’t I shooed you off school grounds before?
Keith: (eyelids drooping) Books.
Keith: Books. School.
Nate: Please, ma’am. We’re just here to make sure none of these wonderful kids — the future of our great nation, I might add — get into any hijinks or mischief.
Beatrice: You sure do smell an awful lot like alcohol.
Mike: That’s just a special cologne, to blend in. Like 21 Jump Street.
Beatrice: I’m not familiar with the hip-hop music. Write your name on a name tag and behave yourselves.
(Mike and Nate scramble inside. Keith stares at Beatrice and leans slightly to the left…)
Keith: (grooving in a powder blue rental tux) Thanks for the bump, man. I was fadin’ back there.
HS Freshman: No prob, bro.
(Keith dances his way over to the wall where Mike and Nate are leaning and drinking whiskey out of flasks…)
Keith: Pretty sexy party we got goin’ here, fellas. Lotta sexy energy. I feel like there’s a definite orgy atmosphere in here. You guys feel like there’s an orgy about to pop off in here?
Nate: Keith, there’s not gonna be an orgy. Half these kids are underage!
Keith: (dancing and rubbing himself) Feelin’ all sexy.
Mike: Man, I remember taking Minnie to her prom three years after I graduated. That was the night I knew I truly loved her. And she loved me.
Nate: That’s sweet, Mikey. How did you know?
Mike: I threw up on the back of her head while I was holding her hair while she was throwing up.
Keith: I knew a girl who was into puke play. Turned me bulimic for a couple months. I still have nightmares that I’m outside and it’s raining vomit.
Mike: Yup. Most girls would have walked away after that; but not Minnie. She just washed her hair and kept drinking.
Nate: Atta girl.
Keith: Oh, are you serious? (storms across dance floor)
Nate: (following with Mike) We might wanna keep an eye on this.
Mike: Yeah, he’s nearing double-blackout levels.
Mike: It’s when you keep drinking so hard, you power through your first blackout and dip into a second. Really dangerous territory.
(Keith is up in the face of a bewildered student, yelling and spitting…)
Keith: Where’s my money, Jimmy? Where’s my money?
Jimmy: Hey, man. I paid you the rest yesterday. You said we were all squared away.
Keith: I said no such thing! Now gimme my money for the drugs I sold you!
Jimmy: Did you steal my bike?
(A crowd forms around Keith, and Beatrice pushes through…)
Beatrice: What’s all the commotion? This is a prom, not a Baptist church.
Jimmy: These old guys are ruining our prom.
Nate: Whoa, hey. Old? I’m not even thirty.
Jimmy: Thirty is old.
Mike: Ugh, youths.
Beatrice: I told you boys to behave. If you can’t do that, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
Nate: Yes, ma’am. C’mon, Keith.
(Mike, Nate and Keith leave the gymnasium to the jeering of the student body. Mike and Nate take their time while Keith goes peeling off down the hallway and around the corner…)
Nate: Maybe we are getting too old for all this; drugs and booze and prom-crashing. Maybe it’s time we start growing up.
Mike: I think that’s just the crack talking.
(A bright light shines down the hallway to the left. Mike and Nate turn to find Keith watching a large blaze pouring out of the wall…)
Nate: (sprinting down the hall) Keith, what the hell are you doing?
Keith: This is Jimmy Pogaletti’s locker. I’m sending him a message.
Nate: By setting his locker on fire?
Keith: (rolling his eyes) No. By mailing him a sternly-worded note. C’mon, Nate!
(Mike takes an extinguisher off the wall and squirts out a puff of dust…)
Mike: Oh my God, this town is so poor!
Nate: (sighs) Bail.
(The three assholes stand outside the smoldering husk that was once Veazie High School along with the students still in their dresses and tuxes. A volunteer fireman walks up and stands next to Keith, mopping his brow…)
Fireman: This is the first non-meth-lab-related fire this town’s seen in years.
Keith: What do you think was the cause?
Fireman: Definitely arson. But don’t worry, kids: they’ll find the guy. Arsonists tend to leave a lotta evidence behind.
Fireman: You kids be careful heading home. Helluva prom night, huh?
Mike: See? He still thinks we’re young.
Nate: He’s got soot in his eyes.
Keith: You know now that I think of it, Jimmy did come by and pay me back yesterday. Then I stole his bike. Musta just slipped my mind. (pats Nate on the back, chortles) Gettin’ old, huh?