Opening this weekend: "Shockey's Eleven"

They thought they could push him around without repercussion. They thought he was smart enough to realize he was outnumbered 6-to-1 and not get into a fight. They were wrong.


SHOCKEY: Alright! Fuck THESE assholes! We're going to war! They think I'm gonna let this shit slide? They don't even know! Hey, Rod, you down with getting some sexy vengeance?


COLEMAN: You know it, J-Shock! DeMeco Ryans can suck a fat one!

SHOCKEY: Damn, skippy, brosef. Now, we gotta get the odds back in our favor. I think we need some help.

COLEMAN: You want me to make a few phone calls? Maybe get the O-Line or D-Line together? Kick the shit outta this guy?

(Shockey considers the move, but ultimately shakes his head.)

SHOCKEY: No, we're gonna do it my way. I've had my eye on a few people for just this situation.

(Shockey picks up the phone.)

(JUMP CUT: Saints weight room.)

SHOCKEY: Drew, you want in?


BREES: Absolutely. I feel the need to destroy something. We shouldn't it be the Texans?

COLEMAN: We don't know which hotel they'll be staying at. Think you could get one of them to talk?

BREES: Oh yeah.

SHOCKEY: You certain?

BREES: I have my ways...I'm gonna fire Nerf footballs at the genitalia until they talk.

COLEMAN: That's a little harsh, ain't it?

BREES: Hey, they got it good right now. Wait 'til ole Drew Brees beats 'em with a Nerf Crotchbat.

SHOCKEY: Yikes.

(JUMP CUT: Fairgrounds Race Track.)

SHOCKEY: We need a guy who can front our revenge operation.

COLEMAN: You want in, old man?


BENSON: You want money, guys? I can provide you with my private jet, my private yacht, my own private idaho, you name it...

(JUMP CUT: An old folks home.)

COLEMAN: Heard you enjoy kicking the shit outta things.


THE CARNEY: What's that, sonny? I don't kick shit.

SHOCKEY: No, John, KICK THE SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE! Can you do that?

THE CARNEY: Me? Oh sure. I can also gum somebody to death if need be.

(JUMP CUT: A graveyard.)

SHOCKEY: So, Joe, you think you could scare the shit outta DeMeco Ryan and those Texan dickheads?


JOE: Sure, J-Shock! Not a problem. Who's the black fella?

COLEMAN: Does he know who the president is?

SHOCKEY: No. Might be too much of a shock.

COLEMAN: Fuck's sake. I gotta put up with an outta touch naked ghost for this?

SHOCKEY: Trust me, he'll come in handy. And if he throws his keys at you, just humor him, please?

COLEMAN: Fuck me...

(JUMP CUT: Inside a car. COLEMAN driving. SHOCKEY rides shotgun.)

COLEMAN: I think we need us a confidence man.

SHOCKEY: Huh?

COLEMAN: Con man. Somebody with the appearance of a pathetic loser, but has ice water in his veins. Somebody who can take all sorts of verbal and physical abuse and not crack. And he's gotta have a talent, something that can disarm our mark.

SHOCKEY: I know just the guy...

(JUMP CUT: Inside a dumpster.)

SHOCKEY: You want the gig?


JOEY THE PIANO MAN: Do I?!? I'll do whatever you need! Hey, you gonna eat that pizza crust?

(CUT TO: Back in the car. SHOCKEY drives this time.)

SHOCKEY: Okay, we should have the rest of the guys lined up.

COLEMAN: Who?

SHOCKEY: We need...


SHOCKEY: A distraction...


SHOCKEY: And a hooligan.

COLEMAN: Really? You want the guy who dresses like Master Chief from Halo? AND Ryan Perrilloux?

SHOCKEY: Perrilloux's a loose cannon. And pretty dim. We need somebody stupid enough to fuck up a perfect situation on our team.

COLEMAN: That doesn't make a lick of sense, J-Shock.

SHOCKEY: That's why it'll work. It's too stupid to fail!

COLEMAN: And Master Chief?

SHOCKEY: Dude, Master Chief is one of my 'Five Favorite People' on Facebook. He taught me the one important rule in life: I. NEED. A. WEAPON. Gotta stay ready and focused, Coleman.

COLEMAN: Are you drunk?

SHOCKEY: Not yet. Oh, and we'll have Kim Kardashian's ass running interference for us.

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...

COLEMAN: Couldn't score a picture of it, J-Shock?

SHOCKEY: Dude, there ain't enough pixels on this fucking screen for it, brosef.

(CUT TO: Nightclub in the French Quarter. Both Shockey and Coleman are sitting at the bar, nursing daiquiris.)


SHOCKEY: Now that's what I call a team!

(Coleman, leaning against the bar, says nothing.)

SHOCKEY: You think we need one more?

(Coleman remains quiet.)

SHOCKEY: Yeah, we need one more.

(CUT TO: Shockey, Coleman and Brees are standing in a massive loft in the Warehouse District. Dozens of cats are crawling on the furniture and sitting on the shelves.)

SHOCKEY: So, you wanna help us?

BREES: You want a chance to sit at the cool kids' table? This is it.


MORSTEAD: ...

COLEMAN: Man, lets kick outta here, guys. This dude ain't gonna help us.

MORSTEAD: You don't know what real loss is, Roddie! Those Texan asshats messed with the wrong punter!

(The trio exchanges confused looks.)

BREES: Uh, what are you talking about, Tommy?

MORSTEAD: LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO JERMAINE!!!



(The three guys avert their eyes in ghastly horror.)

MORSTEAD: (Sobbing.) Look at him!! LOOK-AT-HIM!! My bloodlust has been stoked, gentlemen!

SHOCKEY: Hey, the fucking punter's onboard! Time to rock and roll, my bros!

MORSTEAD: Wait a second, I'm not ready.

SHOCKEY: Huh?

(Morstead pulls out a giant broadsword and holds it in front of him.)

COLEMAN: The fuck is he doing?

BREES & SHOCKEY: Shit. We know where this is going...

(Morstead dives in the air with the sword. Lightning flashes and a loud boom shatters the glass in the loft.)


MORSTEAD: THUNDERCATS, HO!!!!

(Brees buries his head in his hands. Shockey falls to the floor and laughs hysterically. Coleman is not amused.)

COLEMAN: Dude, what the fuck is wrong with white people?

SHOCKEY'S ELEVEN. A Spike Lee joint.