Wade: Well, this has been some week. Lots of things going on. Let me just recap my current situation to myself before anyone has a chance to inter…
(door flies open)
Jerry: YEEEEEEHAW!!!! GREAT GRAND-SPANKIN’ PUSSYSAURUS, HERE COMES THE DOUBLE-J!!!
Wade: Well, that happened faster than usual.
Jerry: No time for talkin’, Fatty! I need your fat ass UP! Outta that chair, Barefoot Contessa! Move it! Move your big fat piggy ass! Make room!
Wade: I’ve already moved offices eight time. You already put me down here in the visitor’s showers.
Jerry: And it’s a good thing I did, seein’ as how your fat ass could use a good hosin’ down every few minutes or so! The groomer’s almost doing an acceptable job with you! NOW MOVE, SLOTH-BOY!
Wade: What the heck is goin’ on here?
(door flies open)
Thom Felicia: Oh my god. This looks like the kind of bathroom where Russian mafia members have naked knife fights! I’m a little scared, and a little tingly.
Wade: Who’s he?
Jerry: Thom here is damn near the gayest interior designer in the whole U.S. of A. Which is sayin’ a lot, ‘cause Lord know interior designers love themselves some wallpapered cock! Thom, what do you think we can do with this area?
Thom Felicia: Well, I don’t want to do anything radical, Mr, Jones. I want it to really reflect your personality. I just want to make it better.
Jerry: So how can you make it reflect me more, FAG BOY?!
Thom Felicia: Well, we’ll have to make it bigger. And shinier. And add lots of mirrors. I’m also thinking of a sort of wall-to-wall gun rack aesthetic.
Jerry: HOT DAMN, THAT SOUNDS CLASSY! MAKE IT HAPPEN! AND DON’T SUCK ANY COCK ON COMPANY DIME!
Wade: Why are we redesigning everything? What the heck is going on?
(door flies open)
Pacman: Yo yo. U put dat fat bitch in da showa, Pacman gon make it rain fo real. Pacman down wid it.
Jerry: I LOVE YOUR ATTITUDE, ADAM! You see, Tubby, my boy ADAM here is a goddamn STAR! Which means we’re gonna have to make some adjustments to make sure he’s comfortable here in Big D.
Pacman: Pacman say lights too bright up in dis bitch. I gon darken dat shit right up.
(takes out gun, shoots out lights)
Jerry: Good thinking, Adam!
Wade: What are you doing?
Jerry: Stop being such a puss, my big chocolate éclair. Adam here suffers from a highly debilitating mental illness called Mons Venopsychosis. It’s a rare condition where the brain is actually tricked into believing that it is ALWAYS in a titty bar. Isn’t that somethin’, Fatcakes?!
Wade: That’s not a real illness.
Jerry: Then why did my boy ADAM show me this doctor’s note?
Wade: “Yo yo. Pacman doctor say he need tits and shit.” This is a forgery!
Jerry: Well, that is just sad, Tubelina. I go out of my GODDAMN way to support this poor, mentally crippled man, and you have the gall to doubt him! Now, Adam. Is it true that you suffer from this horrible affliction?
Pacman: Dat shit b real. Pacman say he gon cuckoo for dem Cocoa Puff tittays. He gon need long time fo dat rebiliteration. He gon need big dose a azz. Pacman gon drain dat azz.
Jerry: You see?! He’s sick! That’s why we have to make this place MENTALLY CRIPPLE ACCESSIBLE, FATASS! That means making the place look more like a strip club, so that our boy ADAM can feel more at home! Jenna?
Jenna: Yes, Mr. Jones?
Jerry: HOO WEE, YOU GOT SOME BODACIOUS TIXAS TA-TAS! Don’t you change a damn thing, sweetheart. You just keep doin’ what you’re doin’!
Pacman: Ooh! Pacman gobble up dem dots!
Wade: I thought you said you were going to make the place look more LIKE a strip club, not actually make it a strip club.
Jerry: Now how the fuck can I make this place look like a proper titty bar without some REAL TITS TO GO AROUND?! Thom! Get your faggity ass over here!
Thom Felicia: Sir?
Jerry: WE NEED MORE TITS LIKE THESE ‘ROUND THESE PARTS! And I want everyone wearing skimpy cocktail dresses with slits that go up to the armpits! What else can we do to make this place nice for you, Adam?
Pacman: Kill dem lights. Pussy ain’t go no face.
Jerry: Well put!
Pacman: Pacman gon need his own back room to do his bidness. He gon squeeze dem tits till dey pop.
Jerry: You getting all this, Felicia?! What else, Adam?
Pacman: Gon need some guns. Pacman like 2 fish in dat azz.
Jerry: I don’t know what that means, BUT I LOVE IT!
Pacman: Ain’t no music up in dis bitch. We gon git some Young Jeezy up in dis bidness. AND WE GON GIT SOME DRANK! O WE GON GIT DAT DRANK. Pacman say ain’t no drank drank we ain’t got no NyQuil. Pacman gon make dem bitches spit da bit. He gon make a fist party wit dem bitches. Muthaphuckkas ain’t no playas if they ain’t takin no sip a dis pussy juice. Pacman gon grab dem quarters and rain dat hail down. He gon spit on dat asshole and wait to put dat Slinky in dat shit. Pacman like it when there blood on the flo. He gon stick dat azz till it rip. PACMAN GON FUCK LIKE A JOHN DEERE DIS FRIDAY. BELIEVE DAT. HE GON TRACTA THAT AZZ.
Thom Felicia: Okay, I didn’t understand any of that.
Jerry: Well, make it your job to understand, gay boy! We need this place looking like a five-star Tixas poon parlor by next week! And do a rush job on the bar. Switzer’s doin’ the bartindin’!
Wade: Sir, this is a huge mistake. We can’t afford this kind of distraction. How are we going to keep players focused in this kind of environment?
(door flies open)
Garrett: Indeed. And how will we keep this fellow focused on football, instead of on the brie en croute hidden in his shorts?
Wade: Ugh. You always gotta show up.
Jerry: Shut up, Fart Garfunkel. Git your shit outta this shower, so we can make more room for the DJ! And the lasers! DJ’s AND LASERS MAKE TITS SING!
Pacman: Pacman gon mak dat azz sloppy.
Jerry: Let’s make this place into a world class PUSSY RODEO, BOYS! YEEEEEHAWWWWW!!! WOOOO HOOOOOOO I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!!