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Three Assholes – Episode 306

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 04/19/2012

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

Episode 306 – Stand Together

Keith:  No, we don’t have any water. Now get the hell on!

(Keith slaps an old woman on the caboose as she hustles away from Mike’s trailer…)

Mike:  Was that Mrs. Peters?

Keith:  (scowling down the gravel driveway of Chickadee Trailer Park)  Yeah.

Mike:  What did she want?

Keith:  Water. Just like the rest of these jackals.

Mike:  You know, Keith; you could be a little nicer to our neighbors. Especially the elderly ones.

Keith:  Don’t you watch the news, Mike? It’s Drought Watch 2012! Every man for himself!

(Keith clicks on the television where Channel 7’s meteorologist Too Tall Tom Shimansky is reporting…)

Shimansky:  Drought Watch 2012, Day Five! Too Tall Tom Shimansky here reporting live from the Veazie Town Reservoir which has been tapped dry with no reserves on the way. Will more perish at the hands of dehydration and sun stroke? Probably. Will citizens resort to drinking from the public pool? I already have! Will we finally swallow our pride and ask for water from a neighboring town like Eddington? Absolutely not.

Keith:  (scowling at the TV)  Damn right. Screw Eddington.

Mike:  Have you seen Nate? We’ve gotta get crackin’ if we wanna get to Ft. Northrop and steal that tank.

Keith:  Nate’s out with Jimmy and G-Biscuit getting supplies.

Mike:  What kind of supplies?

Keith:  (shrugs)  I dunno. Snacks and stuff.

(Nate enters the trailer with two duffel bags full of supplies, followed by Jimmy, G-Biscuit and two Arab men…)

Keith:  (ducks behind Mike)  Jimmy! Behind you!

Jimmy:  Mike, I’d like to introduce you to our buyers. This is Abd Rubbah and Al-Hadi Badiswa.

Rubbah:  Hello.

Badiswa:  Good day, gentlemen.

Keith:  (chortles)  Hey Abd, buy a vowel!

Rubbah:  I do not understand that reference, sir.

Keith:  Aw man, these guys aren’t gonna get any of my jokes. I’m steeped in pop culture! Did call me ‘sir’, though.

Mike:  Where are you fellas from?

Badiswa:  Yemen, sir.

Keith:  Wow, where’s that?

Badiswa:  In the Middle East.

Keith:  Wow, where’s that?

Badiswa:  Um…

Mike:  Ignore him. So you guys have the money?

Rubbah:  We are merely scouts. You will be paid in full when the tanks are delivered to Glenburn Airfield.

Mike:  I’m sorry, “tanks”? Plural?

Jimmy:  (takes Mike aside)  Yeah. Little hiccup there, Michael. The Yemenis have upped the order a bit from one tank.

Mike:  How many do they need?

Jimmy:  Eight.


(Mike Miner is hyperventilating on the front stoop of his trailer with Nate, Keith, Jimmy and G-Biscuit comforting him; while the Yemenis are inside watching TV and eating Pop-Tarts…)

Mike:  Eight tanks! You said one, Jimmy!

Jimmy:  The Yemeni rebels are going to pay us handsomely. And they’re going to handle shipment back to Yemen.

Keith:  Seriously, guys. Where’s Yemen?

Jimmy:  We’ll never have to work again.

Nate:  We don’t work now.

Jimmy:  If each of us drives one and we have Keith’s dad help…  (counts on fingers)  …that’s eight people. We can get ’em to Glenburn, no problem!

Mike:  (flopsweating)  Yeah, just eight Army tanks rolling down the street. No problem.

Keith:  I actually might have an idea for that. You get us into Ft. Northrop and I can take care of getting us to Glenburn.

Mike:  But I don’t even know how to do that. Last time, I cut through the fence; but that was only to steal one. Eight?!

Jimmy:  Michael, I’ve still got my Army uniform. You still have yours?

Mike:  Yeah.

Jimmy:  (grins)  Then I can get us in.

Rubbah:  (stepping outside)  These Pop-Tarts have parched our thirst. Do you have any water?

Keith:  Nice try, ya mon. You’re working with Mrs. Peters, aren’t you?


(A Veazie police officer is driving Sheriff Schwartzcroft as they follow the assholes in their stolen forest ranger pickup…)

Officer:  How is this all going to go down, sir?

Schwartzcroft:  It’s gonna be big and ugly, son. I’ve contacted the ATF and they’re going to meet us there. Once these idiots steal the tanks, the ATF gets the gunrunners; leaving the assholes for us.

Officer:  What about the Arabs?

Schwartzcroft:  They can go back to the desert for all I care. I want Miner, Kowalski and Shoops. Everyone else can go to hell.

Officer:  Sir, shouldn’t we be more worried about the drought back in town? There were three more deaths today.

Schwartzcroft:  Rain’s a-comin’. My knee’s been actin’ up.

Officer:  But the deaths, sir.

Schwartzcroft:  Rain’s a-comin’, son!


(With Nate, Keith, Chuck and G-Biscuit stowed under a tarp in the back, Mike and Jimmy — in full Army fatigues — drive the forest ranger truck up to the front gate with the Yemenis tied up in the middle seat…)

Guard:  Afternoon, gentlemen. What’s the reason for your visit?

Jimmy:  I’m Sgt. Hendricks, this is Sgt. Miner. We’ve captured some enemy hostiles who we believe were forming a terrorist cell here in rural Maine. Isn’t that right, fellas?

Rubbah:  Yes, we are terrorists.

Badiswa:  We hate America.

Guard:  (frowning)  Oh, boo!

Jimmy:  Boo is right. We’re just passing through, but were wondering if we could hold these prisoners here for the night.

Guard:  Sure thing, officers. Just come on in. There’s a holding cell on the north side of the fort, near the mess hall.

(Jimmy and Mike salute the soldier as they pass through the gate…)

Mike:  Wow. That was almost too easy.

Badiswa:  Yes, Americans are very stupid.

Mike:  (smacks Al-Hadi)  Hey, enough of that.

Badiswa:  Sorry.

(Jimmy pulls the truck up to a garage near the southern fence, gets out, lifts up the door and the ex-Army officers are greeted by a garage full of US Army tanks…)

Jimmy:  Hoo, baby.

Mike:  Come to poppa.

Rubbah:  Are they easy to drive?

Mike:  Yeah, sure. You ever drive a car?

Rubbah:  No.

Mike:  Oh.

(Suddenly the pickup is surrounded by Army jeeps and soldiers with weapons drawn…)

Major Glenn Early:  Well, well, well. What do we have here?

Mike:  Uh oh.

(Keith’s head pops up from under the tarp…)

Keith:  Guys, it’s hot in here. Did we pack any Pop-Tarts?  (glances around at Army troop)  Aw, crap.

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