EXT. French Quarter -- NIGHT
(Jeremy Shockey and Thomas Morstead are walking down Dauphine street, drinks in hand. Shockey's double fisting 'hurricanes' while Morstead sips on a Mike's Hard Lemonade.)
SHOCKMEISTER: Dude, you know fucking gheys drink that, right?
MORSTEAD: Come on, it's good stuff, Jerm!
SHOCKMEISTER: I told you not to call me that in public!!!
MORSTEAD: Sorry. Well, look, if this bothers you that much I can just get a Smirnoff Ice whenever we get where we're going.
(Shockey stops and glares at Morstead.)
SHOCKMEISTER: You go to USC...brah?
SHOCKMEISTER: Unless the word "vodka" immediately follows it, I don't want to hear you say the word "Smirnoff" again, okay?
MORSTEAD: (sheepishly hangs his head) Yes, sir...
SHOCKMEISTER: How's the arm?
MORSTEAD: You mean shoulder.
SHOCKMEISTER: Arm. Shoulder. Whatever. You feeling better?
SHOCKMEISTER: Good. You're gonna need that shoulder to function.
SHOCKMEISTER: Cause we gonna be swimming in pussy TO-NIGHT!!!!
MORSTEAD: Sheesh...So is this place we're going to that awesome?
SHOCKMEISTER: Puntmaster, I already told you...the chicks in this place are fucking smoking! They got FDP's there!
MORSTEAD: (Pause.) Fast Double Penetration?
SHOCKMEISTER: Lay off the Naughty America account, man! Shit, you ever think THAT'S how you injured your shoulder?! FDP means Flaming Dr. Pepper. They pour liquor and Dr. Pepper in a glass and light it on fire. You drink it. It's fucking sweeeeet!
MORSTEAD: And you promised arcade games, right?
SHOCKMEISTER: (Face palms.) Yeah, Puntmaster, they got arcade machines. All your classics. Pac-Man, Galaga, RBI Baseball.
MORSTEAD: Burger Time?
SHOCKMEISTER: (Double face palms.) Who the fuck plays Burger Time?
MORSTEAD: Hey, you want me to tell the guys you love playing Dance, Dance, Revolution?
SHOCKMEISTER: I was trying to get in a chick's panties! She wanted to play!!
MORSTEAD: They got Burger Time or not?
(Morstead and Shockey continue walking along Dauphine until they come to a club at on St. Peters. There is a long line and a bouncer at the door. The two wait patiently in line and finish their drinks of choice. Shockey gets three phone numbers. Morstead opens up a roll of quarters. The two finally get to the front of the line.)
BOUNCER: Seven bucks apiece, gents.
SHOCKMEISTER: What the fuck? It used to be five.
BOUNCER: They changed it.
SHOCKMEISTER: Obviously. Why?
BOUNCER: Cause they wanted to? You wanna come in or not?
MORSTEAD: Let's just pay the man and get inside, I can hear Burger Time calling my name.
BOUNCER: That's right.
(Shockey and Morstead each cough up the seven bucks to get in. The club is crawling with hot chicks and douche bags.)
SHOCKMEISTER: This place is douche-baggey-er than I remembered.
MORSTEAD: You haven't been here in a while?
SHOCKMEISTER: Not since early 2009. Used to be able to get in for five bucks.
MORSTEAD: Don't sweat it. Let's get a tab going and start playing some games!
SHOCKMEISTER: You can play your fruity Burger Time, I'm gonna try and get this DJ to quit playing everything just slightly faster than normal. It's fucking annoying and lame.
(Morstead walks up to the bar while Shockmeister goes to the DJ booth.)
MORSTEAD: Can I open a tab?
MORSTEAD: CAN I OPEN A TAB?!?
BARTENDER: YEAH, SURE. $25 MINIMUM!!
BARTENDER: CAUSE I SAID SO! THAT'S THE RULES!!
(Morstead hands over his credit card with the kitties on it.)
MORSTEAD: I'D LIKE TO GET TWO FLAMING DR. PEPPERS!
BARTENDER: $20 BUCKS!
MORSTEAD: HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN THAT MUCH?!?
(Bartender pours the FDPs. Morstead turns around and sees Shockmeister with a pissed off look on his face.)
SHOCKMEISTER: Fucking DJ won't fix this shit. He said, "the chicks dig it, so I ain't changing it." Fuck sticks!
MORSTEAD: Did you know the Flaming Dr. Peppers are $10 a piece?
SHOCKMEISTER: No. They used to be like five or six bucks when I was last here.
MORSTEAD: Guy said it's always been like this.
SHOCKMEISTER: This is some serious fucking bullshit!
MORSTEAD: Hey, I'm gonna go find the Burger Time machine. You gonna be okay?
SHOCKMEISTER: Yeah, yeah.
(Morstead wanders off through the crowd while Shockey stews. The Shockmeister shakes his head in disgust as another Kanye West song is ruined. About two minutes later, Shockey hears a bloodcurdling scream from near the bathrooms. Shockey runs over and finds Morstead sobbing.)
SHOCKMEISTER: What? What?? WHAT???
MORSTEAD: (pointing) Look at the Burger Time machine!!!
SHOCKMEISTER: Oh, shit. They're all out.
MORSTEAD: Guy said they've been broke for months and the manager won't pay to get 'em fixed! Oh God...(sobs more) Where will I get my Excitebike fix now?!?
SHOCKMEISTER: I'm sorry, Puntmaster.
MORSTEAD: (wiping tears) Ugh, it's okay...let's just get outta here.
(The two walk back to their FDP's at the bar.)
MORSTEAD: I'd like to close out, please...
BARTENDER: 25 BUCKS, DUDE! I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT!!
(Morstead clutches at his glass until it shatters in his hand. He grabs Shockey's glass and flings it across the bar, spraying fire onto a wall and burning several arcade machines.)
MORSTEAD: I'VE HAD ALLS I CAN STANDS AND I CAN'T STANDS NO MORE!!!
(Morstead becomes a whirling dervish of kicking and screaming as he busts up the nightclub. Minutes later, Shockey and Morstead are walking up Dauphine as the part of the nightclub burns.)
SHOCKMEISTER: Tell me that did not just happen...
MORSTEAD: I left my credit card in there, didn't I?