Three Assholes – Episode 301
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.
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.
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?
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?
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?
Nate: Did you just literally say ‘gulp’?
(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!
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.
Nate: Hey, Mrs. Kowalski.
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.
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.
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.
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.