[INT. PANERA BREAD, NEW ORLEANS]
Drew Brees: How’s your ciabatta chicken sandwich, Peter?
Peter King: Oh, it’s delicious. So, Drew, you have to be upset with all of the concern after another hurricane in the gulf.
Drew Brees: Yeah, I really wish we could just move the team to LA and get it over with. I mean, what if the damage to Gustav would have been more severe? Are we going to be rebuilding that shithole every three years?
PK: Drew, that’s not very sensitive.
Drew Brees: What do you mean? It’s true.
PK: I suppose that’s true, but people live there.
Drew Brees: Well, people are stupid, Peter. We’re putting all this money into disaster relief when we should be fighting terrorism here at home.
PK: Oh, come on, Drew.
Brees: I’m serious. Some Arab terrorist could walk through that door and kill us all. The government should be doing something to protect us!
PK: Drew, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.
Drew Brees: It’s time to be aware of our role in the world, Peter. People want to do bad things to us, for reasons we don’t fully understand. Wrap your head around that for a…
PK: Drew, do you really want to live in a country where we’re expected to police the rest of the world? I mean, give me one reason why we should assume that role.
Drew Brees: Peter…is that your dad behind you?
PK: Actually, my father’s been…Oh, Christ, no!
BIFF KING: Wow, this is a relief. I made it just in time for the 12:30 showing of The Berenstein Bears Learn To Buttfuck. Usually I’m not a fan of such a departure from the source material, but I could see this heading in the right direction. You’ve really captured the pathos here.
PK: HOW IN GOD’S NAME DID YOU FIND ME? I didn’t drive a rental car. I didn’t bring my cell phone. I took a cab from the airport and WALKED FIFTEEN BLOCKS to this restaurant so I didn’t leave any trail whatsoever. For the love of God, PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU KNEW I WAS HERE?!?!
BIFF KING: Stevie, I’m in here all the time. This is the official ciabatta stop for El Segundo.
Drew Brees: Hey, if you don’t mind, this is a private conversation.
BIFF KING: Oh, I gathered that, visor boy. Don’t think I’m too eager to jump between the Stevie Bear and his meal. That’s how limbs are lost, my friend.
Drew Brees: I’m not your friend, pal.
BIFF KING: That’s an expression, cockface. You need to stop into CVS and get your valium refilled.
PK: FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY JUST GET OUT OF MY LIFE!
BIFF KING: Did you know one time Stevie invited a girl over to his house just to watch him eat?
PK: We were going to a study group and I hadn’t eaten lunch that day!
BIFF KING: You couldn’t have been that hungry, Stevie. Not if you could pass up such a hot little piece of pink vanilla pie. That’s when Mom started taking him to therapy.
Drew Brees: Hey, sometimes therapy can be very helpful for people. It’s really a healthy way to deal with the difficult things in life.
BIFF KING: …I’m sorry, was that you talking, Drew Brees? Or was that the Hershey squirt on the side of your face? All that money you’re making and your cheek still looks like the ass-end of Stevie’s tighty whiteys.
Drew Brees: [gets up to leave] That’s it, I don’t have to take this.
BIFF KING: You sure don’t, Gorbachev. You’re too big time to hang out with common folk like Stevie here. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re 55 and you can’t remember you’re kids’ names. Unless you’ve tattooed their names on their faces.
Drew Brees: Kiss me ass, you fucking creep.
BIFF KING: Is that what that thing on your face is? Is that a memory mark from your father? Was he a champion of the loci method?
Drew Brees: [grabs a knife from off the table] I’m gonna stab you right in the fucking eyes. You think you can just show up unannounced and treat people like dirt, you fat freak? Somebody has to take a stand against your wandering brand of bullshit. And that somebody is me!
BIFF KING: Come get some, Pony Boy. El Segundo knows no fear.
Drew Brees: Say goodbye to that yellow tooth, you fuckfaced piece of —
T.J. Houshmanzadeh: Hey.
BIFF KING: Hey, Touraj. How goes it.
Drew Brees: Oh my God! It’s a fucking terrorist! Al Qaeda’s come to kill me during my lunch interview! [throws chair through window and smashes it, jumps out the window and sprints away]
PK: How do you guys know each other?
BIFF KING: We, uh, we’re former associates.
T.J. Houshmanzadeh: Do you have anything to drink?
BIFF KING: Take a look around, chocolate cock. We’re in a fucking coffee shop. The world is your oyster.
T.J. Houshmanzadeh: I think I just want water today.
BIFF KING: Jesus, you Iranian-African-Americans are something else.
PK: I hate my life.