Totally Radical Sportz!

Totally Tubular – Chapter 1

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 06/10/2013

Potato Farm

Chapter 1 – The Potato Saga

(Clarence Metacomb, mayor of the small town of Spudsville, Idaho is in a trap house on the south side of town taking a hit off a crack pipe as he holds an impromptu meeting with some British investors…)

Mayor:  An oil pipeline, eh?

(Cecilia Livingstone, head of the US branch of The Royal Petrol Consortium, nods…)

Livingstone:  This pipeline will make Spudsville a very rich town, Mr. Mayor. And we will of course throw some pounds the way of the boy whose farmland we’ll be purchasing.

Mayor:  (emits cloud of crack smoke)  Well, I’m sold. Now what kind of pounds are we talking about here? Pounds of crack?


(In the Spudsville Post Office…)

Mac:  Whaddya mean I can’t go back to Ireland?

Passport Office Clerk:  Mr. MacAnnannie, you’ve got criminal charges pending. Until this matter is settled you are not allowed to leave the States.

Mac:  Well, that’s a load of Blarney!

Clerk:  You had sex with a sixteen-year-old girl.

Mac:  Consensually. And she said she was seventeen!

Clerk:  That would still be illegal. And you have multiple DUI’s.

Mac:  You have so many laws in this country. It’s all very difficult to keep track of.

Clerk:  But Mr. MacAnnannie, it says here you’re a lawyer back in Ireland.

Mac:  Was a lawyer. And the American legal system is very different.

Clerk:  Well I’m afraid you’ll be stuck here for a while longer.

Mac:  Bloody bollocks. Where’s the nearest pub?

Clerk:  It’s nine in the morning.


(On the Johnston potato farm, some Chinese investors are being given a tour…)

Lenny:  You know, my father usually dealt with Mr. Shim personally in the past.

Kwang:  Well, your father is no longer with us. Mr. Shim felt it more appropriate to send his proxy.

Lenny:  Well Mr. Kwang, as you can see the potato industry is still humming along swimmingly.

Kwang:  It seems rather quiet.

Lenny:  Well, we wouldn’t want to wake the potatoes. Heheh.

Kwang:  (frowns)  The fields seem very…brown.

Lenny:  Potatoes are brown.

Kwang:  I’m sorry, Mr. Johnston. Mr. Shim he feels he cannot help fund your farm at this time.

Lenny:  If I could just speak to Mr. Shim personally. A group of British investors want to put an oil pipeline through this land. If we don’t have funding this season–

Kwang:  That is all, Mr. Johnston.

Lenny:  (sighs, checks watch)  What time does O’Seannigan’s open?


(At an “Irish pub” next to the Spudsville Post Office…)

Clem:  Welcome to O’Seannigan’s, the finest Irish pub in all of Idaho.

(Mac glances around at the gaudy cardboard shamrocks and leprechauns on the wall…)

Mac:  This is just racist.

Clem:  What’ll it be, red?

Mac:  A pint of lager.

Clem:  Pint of Budweiser coming up.

Mac:  No. Lager.

Clem:  Yeah. Budweiser.

Mac:  I’m from Ireland, buddy boy. Budweiser isn’t a lager. We feed Budweiser to our cats in a saucer.

Clem:  All we have is Bud.

Mac:  Then how do you call this an Irish pub?

Clem:  …did you see the leprechauns?

(Mac sighs and takes a seat at the bar as a glum Leonard Johnston enters and sits at the end of the bar…)

Lenny:  Pint of Bud, Clem.

Mac:  (raises his glass)  The finest Irish lager in all of Idaho.

Lenny:  (knits brow at Mac)

Clem:  Why so down, Lenny?

Lenny:  This group of Englishmen want to put an oil pipeline through my father’s land. Our Chinese funders are backing out. I think I’m gonna have to sell the farm.

Clem:  Why, that potato farm’s been in your family for five generations, Len.

Lenny:  I don’t really have a choice, Clem. With this drought, I can’t grow one potato. I’m broke.

Mac:  I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m going to be in town for a spell. Maybe I could be of some assistance.

Lenny:  (glances down the bar at the Irishman)  You know how to grow potatoes?

Mac:  What. Just because I’m Irish, I naturally know how to grow potatoes?

(Clem and Lenny stare blankly at Mac. Clem slowly begins to nod…)

Mac:  Why, you racist–No. I’m a lawyer. Or at least I used to be back in Dublin. I may be able to get those English off your back until you’re able to raise enough funds to save your farm.

Lenny:  You’re a complete stranger. Why would you do this for me?

Mac:  (shrugs)  Never much cared for the English.  (raises glass)  Another pint of your American pig swill, barkeep.


(The next morning, Lenny is showing Cecilia Livingstone and Mayor Metacomb around the farm…)

Lenny:  As you can see, we’ve hit a bit of a rough patch since my father passed.

Livingstone: Which is why we’re here, Mr. Johnston.  The Royal Petrol Consortium is willing to pay you one million pounds for your land.

Mayor:  One million pounds? That’s a lot of crack.

Lenny:  I was wondering if you’d be willing to sit down with my lawyer and maybe work out another solution.

Livingstone:  (smirks)  Mr. Johnston, I thought you were broke. How on earth can you afford a lawyer?


Livingstone:  What the devil was that?

(Lenny peers out into the potato field where Mac is busily digging a giant hole…)

Lenny:  Uh, that’s my lawyer.

(The three venture out into the dry arid field and find Mac waist-deep in a hole…)

Livingstone:  What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing on our land?

(Mac climbs up out of the hole with a large object under his arm, dropping it at Ms. Livingstone’s feet…)

Mac:  Not so fast, ya British bastard.

Mayor:  That’s an odd-looking potato.

Mac:  (grins)  That is a wooly mammoth bone; which would make this farm a federally-protected site.

(Lenny and Mac beam at each other as Cecilia’s face drops…)

Mayor:  (licks his lips)  So…anybody up for a smoke?


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