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.
...
...
...
...
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.
