(INT. Shockmeister's house -- Evening, Saturday before the Monday Night Football game against the Patriots.)
Scene: Jeremy Shockey is having an informal get together the day after Black Friday. No chicks allowed, though. Time for man business, etc.
SHOCKMEISTER: Drew-seph! Glad you could make it out, man!!
BREESUS: Yeah, no problem, Jeremy. What's the deal with the party? We kinda got a big game in a couple days.
SHOCKMEISTER: Relax, 9! This ain't a "party" party, per say. This is a "let me try and do something nice for my main man, Drew Brees," kinda party!
BREESUS: Oooookay. Well who else is here?
TOMMY: Me, sir! I got here first!
SHOCKMEISTER: Fucker was here twenty minutes before the party was "scheduled" to start. Kinda prevented me from "opening up the playbook" if you know what I mean...
BREESUS: You masturbate before a party?
SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, why wouldn't I? Shit, I do that almost anytime before a potentially big pressure situation. I picked up that nugget from "There's Something About Mary."
BREESUS: So you're gonna do that before the Monday Night Football game?
SHOCKMEISTER: Fuck yeah, Drew! Maybe not twenty minutes before kickoff, but I'll definitely be doing it in the building.
(Brees shakes his head.)
BREESUS: Okay, well, uh, who else is here?
(Shockey leads Brees into his living room area, where a few other players are gathered.)
BREESUS: Hey, guys!
(John Carney wakes up after dozing off earlier. Devery Henderson springs up from the couch and catches two footballs with both hands while blindfolded.)
DEVERY: What's up, Drew Dat?
THE CARNEY: Hey! Where am I? Who are you people!? How did I get here?!?
BREESUS: Is he okay?
TOMMY: Yeah, he's been like this since he got here. I hope he's not having one of his episodes again...
SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, the old fucker needs to be drinking his Metamucil and shit so he don't shank field goals or something. We're gonna need every point and every advantage this Monday to beat the Fag-triots!
BREESUS: Well, I'm feeling pretty good. I usually get these vibes before a good game.
SHOCKMEISTER: Good? No, Drew, we need GREAT from you on Monday! We can't afford to just be "good," we gotta kick the shit outta these chowder munching ass clowns! I never got to really enjoy that Super Bowl win with the Giants, so this is the next best thing!
TOMMY: Weren't you liquored up in a booth and not with your teammates?
SHOCKMEISTER: You're out of your element, Tommy!!! Look, Drew, I've got something here that is going to guarantee a victory for us on Monday.
(Shockmeister leads Breesus, Tommy and Devery into his bedroom. The Carney falls back asleep, mumbling something about Ray Guy.)
SHOCKMEISTER: It's up here somewhere...
(Shockmeister digs in his closet and pulls a game from the top shelf.)
SHOCKMEISTER: So? Whatta you think???
SHOCKMEISTER: Well? Say something!
DEVERY: Oh, you must be out-chore damn mind, fool!
SHOCKMEISTER: What? What'd I do?
TOMMY: Uh, do you have ANY idea how offensive something like is for Drew? To even HINT or try and JOKE that Drew could communicate with his dead mother is definitely NOT COOL, dude.
SHOCKMEISTER: Communicate!? Fuck, I want her to tell us what the God damn Patriots are gonna run on offense and defense!!!
(Breesus walks out of the Shockmeister's apartment without saying a word. The Shockmeister is dumbfounded.)
SHOCKMEISTER: What?!? I'm trying to give Drew a chance to say "hi" to his mom AND help the team out and suddenly I'M THE ASSHOLE???
TOMMY: Really not cool, Jeremy. You know about Drew's mother! Why are you being an insensitive prick?
SHOCKMEISTER: Don't get yer panties in a bunch, Puntmaster Flex! Shockmeister is gonna make this thing work!
DEVERY: Fuck that shit, man! I am getting outta here. Whenever there's weird freaky shit like this, it's ALWAYS the black guy who gets it first. And I don't need no "other worldly" help to catch shit blindfolded!
(Devery leaves the apartment.)
TOMMY: And how were you gonna ask his mom? The game hasn't happened yet!
SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, everything is known up in Heaven. Ain't you read the Bible?!?
TOMMY: Uh, I did go to SMU.
SHOCKMEISTER: Whatever. Besides, you saying she won't know? God and e'rybody knows what's gonna happen before it happens!
TOMMY: What are you, Calvinist?
SHOCKMEISTER: Nah, I was always a Hobbes fan myself.
ONE HOUR LATER...
(Shockmeister and Tommy are hunched over the Ouija board, moving that weird pointy piece.)
SHOCKMEISTER: Brah, I'm not touching it!!
TOMMY: Me neither!!
SHOCKMEISTER: This is fuckin' insane, brah!
TOMMY: You feel a chill running up your spine, Shockmeister?
SHOCKMEISTER: Fuck-ing right on.
(The lights begin flickering in Shockmeister's apartment. The room begins vibrating.)
TOMMY: What the fuck is going on, Jeremy?
SHOCKMEISTER: Fucking place hadn't shaken like this since I bagged Vida Guerra's ass about a year ago!!
(Suddenly, Jeremy's closet doors rip off and fly into the walls, a large beam of light comes shooting out, pouring over the room. Jeremy's room is now lily white. Shockey and Tommy are blinded by the light, but begin to see a figure walking out of the closet toward them.)
SHOCKMEISTER: Alright, now remember: I'll ask the questions, okay?
GOD: Can I help you gentlemen?
TOMMY: Oh, dang, it's Morgan Freeman! Wow, it's a thrill to meet you, Mr. Freeman!!
GOD: I'm not really Morgan Freeman. I Am Who Am.
SHOCKMEISTER: You're Popeye?
GOD: (rubs eyes.) No Jeremy. I am the one called Yaweh. The God of Abraham, Issac, David, Muhammad, I AM the Host of Hosts. The Alpha and The Omega. The Life and The Light.
SHOCKMEISTER: So you're really Morgan Freeman?
GOD: No. So many people love the idea of Morgan Freeman as Me that I figure, 'Hey, why not oblige some of them?'
TOMMY: Uh, Mr. Yaweh, sir?
GOD: Yes, Thomas?
TOMMY: Uh, why'd you respond to our Ouija board game?
GOD: Well, I needed to come down and tell you two guys to knock it off with the Ouija board. And, Jeremy, what in the sam hell were you thinking by bringing that thing out in front of Breesus?
SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking straight...wait a second? YOU call him Breesus?
GOD: Oh yeah, my son gets a big kick out of it. He's got Drew's Fathead on a wall in his room. Now listen, you boys can't be whipping out a Ouija board in front of Drew, okay? He's a special man and he needs to have his mind at ease before Monday's game.
SHOCKMEISTER: But I wanted to try and help him out...
GOD: But not like this, Jeremy. You have to be a friend to Drew and be ready to block and catch for him on that field. That's what you can do for him.
GOD: And Tommy, you can help Drew by blasting the devil out of those footballs every time you get to kickoff our punt, okay?
TOMMY: Yes, sir! Can do!
GOD: Oh, and could one of you, probably Tommy since Drew won't talk to you Jeremy for a while, please give Drew this card for me?
TOMMY: A credit card?
GOD: Not just any credit card. Give it to Drew, if he spends anything for charity's sake, he'll have a monster game.
SHOCKMEISTER: How come the numbers aren't there?
GOD: Drew will see them. Don't worry about that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go appear in bathroom fixture in Laramie, Wyoming. (The number Drew will see is: 3817 1823 3715 1583)
(God walks back into the closet. Jeremy's apartment goes back to normal.)
GOD: Oh, and don't tell anybody I came to see you. Otherwise I'll have to give Devery leprosy.
TOMMY: No problem.
SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, later, God.
ONE HOUR LATER
(God is on the phone.)
GOD: Yeah, this is the Bellagio? Hey, what's the odds on Drew Brees throwing for five touchdowns and no picks, more than 370 yards, completing more than 75 percent of his passes, and....Oh, getting a perfect QB rating? What's that? Wow. Sounds incalculable. Well, let's only wager a few hundred on it then, okay?