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Three Assholes – Episode 301

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 03/29/2012

Nate, Mike & Keith are childhood Maine friends. They’re also assholes.

Episode 301 – The Winds Rise

(At the newly-opened Chinese restaurant, Buddhakan, in Veazie, Maine…)

Keith:  Wow, guys! This is so ethnic!

Mike:  Shush, Keith. The waiter will hear you.

Keith:  Chill, Mikey. They don’t speak English.

Kuroka:  Actually sir, I speak very good English.

Keith:  Kuroka-san, you trickster! Just for that, I’m tipping you a shiny new American dollar bill.

Kuroka:  It’s just Kuroka, sir. And that is a quarter.

Keith:  (whispering to Nate)  He’s good.

Nate:  Thanks for taking me here for my birthday, you guys. I’ve been wanting to try this place. I think this year we have to all start thinking about broadening our horizons. We can’t just keep drinking and stealing and doing drugs. It’s time to grow up.

Keith:  (looks up after snorting line of coke)  Yeah! Kuroka-san, you want some of this or what?

Kuroka:  Again, it is just Kuroka. And no thank you, sir. I am working.

Keith:  Gosh. Orientals are so polite. That’s probably why we walked all over them in ‘Nam.

Nate:  You don’t read a lot of history books, do you?

Keith:  I watch History Channel.

Nate:  You watch Ancient Aliens.

Keith:  They back it up with facts, Jack!

Kuroka:  Please don’t scream in our restaurant, sir.

Keith:  Me so sorry, Kuroka-san.

Kuroka:  (sighs)

Mike:  (stands up)  Great, they’re here. Guys, I want you to meet one of my old Army buddies–Jimmy Hendricks.

(A young man in his twenties wearing a green Army jacket shakes hands with Keith and Nate and introduces a young man with a shaved head in a retro Celtics jersey…)

Jimmy:  How’s it going, fellas? I’m Jimmy and this is my business partner, G-Biscuit.

G-Biscuit:  ‘Sup.

Nate:  ‘Sup, G-Biscuit.

Keith:  Are you a rapper?

Nate:  Shush, Keith.

Mike:  (scowling)  Be cool, man.

G-Biscuit:  Nah, I’m Jimmy’s muscle.

Nate:  Muscle? What do you guys do?

Jimmy:  We’re…salesmen.

Nate:  (squints eyes)  You don’t sell drugs, do you? ‘Cause we ran the last drug dealers out of town a while back.

Jimmy:  No. We don’t dabble in narcotics.

Keith:  (winks)  Right. So, you’re still friends with Mike even after he went quit the Army and went AWOL like a pussy?

Mike:  (frowns)

Jimmy:  Actually, I went AWOL too. The politics just became too much. It wasn’t about defending the country anymore. So I decided to go into business for myself and enlisted the help of G-Biscuit here.

G-Biscuit:  (nods)  ‘Sup.

Keith:  You said that already.

Jimmy:  Is it cool if we crash at your place for a while ’til we get settled, Michael?

Mike:  Sure thing, man.

Keith:  (chortles)  “Michael”? Ooh la la! What happens in the bunker stays in the bunker, eh fellas?

Mike:  (glares)

Jimmy:  (glares)

G-Biscuit:  (glares)

Keith:  Gulp.

Nate:  Did you just literally say ‘gulp’?

Keith:  …no.

~~~

(That afternoon at Kowalski Manor, movers are busily packing up the furniture as Keith argues with his mother on the back patio…)

Keith:  C’mon, mom!

Mom:  Absolutely not.

Keith:  Dad’s selling the mansion. And we’ve never had a real party here before. The guys didn’t even know about this place until a couple years ago. One last rager before it’s gone forever.

Mom:  Too Tall Tom Shimansky is buying this house and he’s paying top dollar for it. I won’t have him moving in only to find a brassiere hanging from a ceiling fan and some buffoon stumbling about with a lampshade on his head.

Keith:  We’re selling this palace to a weatherman?! Of all the rotten–

(Jimmy and G-Biscuit wander in, with Mike and Nate in tow…)

Jimmy:  Wow, this is swank!

G-Biscuit:  Word.

Keith:  I told you guys to wait in the DeLorean.

Mike:  Sorry, buddy. Still, first time we’ve been in here.

Nate:  This rug is as soft as a baby cloud.

Mom:  That’s zebra fur.

Keith:  Guys, this is my mom.

Mike:  Hi.

Nate:  Hey, Mrs. Kowalski.

G-Biscuit:  ‘Sup.

Mom:  (taking G-Biscuit’s hand)  And who is this magnificent specimen?

Keith:  That’s G-Biscuit. He’s a rapper.

G-Biscuit:  Told you I’m a businessman, fool.

Keith:  Like 50 Cent. Mom won’t let us have one last party, guys.

Mom:  (staring at G-Biscuit hungrily)  Nonsense. Have your party. And invite your father.  (leans into G-Biscuit’s ear)  We’re separated.

G-Biscuit:  Word.

Keith:  Ugh, gross. C’mon, guys. Let’s spread the word around town. Hey, we should invite Kuroka-san and have him do ninja moves!

~~~

(That evening, nearly everybody in town is at Kowalski Manor as a loud thumping bass knocks out over the valley…)

Nate:  (smiling at the raging scene)  Gotta say, this is one of our better parties.

Keith:  (throwing an arm around Nate)  Happy birthday part two, buddy.

Chuck:  (drunkenly swaying next to his son)  What’s your mother doing with that black fella?

Keith:  That’s G-Biscuit. He’s a rapper. Don’t worry, dad. I don’t even think he’s that into her. She’s old, for gosh sakes.

G-Biscuit:  (shoves tongue down Keith’s mom’s throat)

Keith:  (shuts eyes)  Oh, barf.

Chuck:  That sonuvabitch.

(Chuck starts moving toward the May-December couple, but Keith and Nate hold him back…)

Keith:  Careful, dad. It’ll look like a hate crime.

Chuck:  Well, I do hate him.

Mike:  Just let those Vics I gave you take you away, Mr. Kowalski.

(Jimmy grabs G-Biscuit and drags him into the backyard…)

Mike:  See? Good ‘ol Jimmy took care of it.

Chuck:  I like the cut of that boy’s jib.

Keith:  Gross, dad. Stop staring at his jib.

(A group of young white men with shaved heads join Jimmy and G-Biscuit in the backyard…)

Keith:  Hey, it’s my buddies from the anti-recycling group.

Nate:  You do remember that those guys are actually racist skinheads, right?

Mike:  (frowns)  What is Jimmy doing with a gang of skinheads?

Keith:  (waving)  Hey, Edward!

(One of the skinheads waves back…)

Edward:  Hey, Keith!

(The three assholes watch as Jimmy and G-Biscuit open up eight crates that the skinheads stare into with excitement. Mike sneaks over to get a closer look and quickly rushes back…)

Mike:  Yup, those are bazookas.

Nate:  Bazookas!

Keith:  Like the gum?

Mike:  Like the shoulder cannon. Seems my buddy Jimmy might have left the Army to enter the world of black market weapons dealing.

Keith:  Cool.

Mike:  Not cool, Keith! Not cool! These guys are crashing in my trailer with a truck full of bazookas parked outside!

Keith:  Well, not anymore. Seems like they sold ’em to the anti-recyclists.

Nate:  They’re not against recycling, Keith! They’re against anyone who’s not white.

Keith:  Well…at least we won’t get bazooka’d.

(The front door bursts open and a squad of Veazie police officers rush in as party-goers scramble for the exit. An older man in a wide-brimmed hat strides in with a cigar in his grinning mouth…)

Keith:  Hey, who are you bucko?

Schwartzcroft:  My name’s Norman Schwartzcroft and I’m the new Sheriff in town.

Keith:  (crossing arms)  Oh yeah? What do you do?

Schwartzcroft:  I just told you, son. I’m the new Sheriff in town.

Keith:  Oh, you meant literally.

Schwartzcroft:  I’ve gotten reports of lude and lascivious behavior at this address.

Keith:  Probably that jerk Shimansky.

Schwartzcroft:  I need you to shut this party down, son.

Keith:  (pouts)  Fine. Actually while you’re here, there’s something pretty terrible going down in the backyard.

(Sheriff Schwartzcroft swaggers to the back patio with Keith in tow and peers out…)

Schwartzcroft:  Why there’s nothing terrible about that, son. That’s just two people expressing the wonderful beauty of love.

Keith:  What? They’re selling friggin’ bazookas.

(Keith peers out to find his mother bouncing on G-Biscuit’s lap…)

Keith:  (actually vomits)

Mike:  You know, all this bazooka talk kinda has gotten me in the mood for gum. Anybody else? Gum?

Keith:  (keeled over, raising a finger)  I could use some.

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