[Denver area hospital. “Johnny Drama” is waiting for a ride after his weekly cardiologist appointment.]
John “Drama” Fox: [Talking to receptionist] Yeah, I mean Peyton more or less runs the show, but I’m pretty much his main wingman. So if you have a sister or friend or something you could both come over and…
Receptionist: I don’t know. Aren’t you married? And sixty?
Fox: 58. But I’ve got the calves of a sveldt 37-year-old.
Receptionist: And the heart of a 92-year-old chain smoker.
Fox: Woah, harsh much?
[Door flies open]
Pete “Vince” Carroll: JOHNNY!
Fox: Let’s bounce, bro.
[Nods to receptionist]
Fox: The well is pretty much dried up here, if you catch my drift.
Carroll: Aw, c’mon Johnny! You have to play nice, brother!
[Bangs receptionist on top of a defibrillator]
Fox: Jeez, bro!
[37 seconds later]
Carroll: Man, I wonder what’s taking Turtle so long. The dispensary is just around the block.
Carroll: Aight, he’s here. To the streets!
[Pockets a stack of prescription pads]
Fox: I don’t know how you do it, baby bro. Ever think about leaving some for the rest of us, chief?
Carroll: Easy, Johnny. Turtle’s picking up a fatty of primo bud, we’ll go back to my hotel room, rip a few, and I’ll hit up a couple ladies I met on Tinder.
Fox: All you’ve done since you got here was show that receptionist your priapism. How have you had time to sign up for Tinder?
Carroll: MULTITASKING JOHNNY! Haaaaaaayyyyyyoooo!
Carroll: Look, Turtle’s here.
[Mercury Sable slowly pulls up]
Fox: Jesus, Turtle drives slower than the Raiders offense.
[Car door flies open]
Jason “Turtle” Garrett: Salutations, my brethren!
Fox: ENGLISH, bro.
Carroll: Lighten up, Johnny. Jeez, it’s no wonder you ended up here.
Garrett: I concur. Gentlemen, your chariot awaits.
Fox: Just drive, bitch.
Garrett: “Bitch” is actually vernacular used to describe a female dog, the companionship of which is a feeling every man knows cannot be bested. Therefore I take your insult as a compliment, and bid you a similarly heartfelt welcome.
Fox: Did he just say he screws dogs, bro?
Carroll: Ignore him, Turt. Yo, did you score that green? I could go for a road sesh’ guys. Whaddya say? Like old times? Nothing like a little bud with my best buds!
Garrett: Affirmative. I procured a plastic attaché full of herbs from that bodega down the street.
Carroll: Choice, choice. Shall we, fellas?
Fox: Gimme that shit.
Fox: BRO! This is a sack of dried basil you retard!
Garrett: Yes, basil. The finest herb, in this humble man’s opinion. Mother used to put it in her onion soup. Nothing warms the soul and belly better than soup and Vivaldi while watching the sun set from the porch overlooking the bay. We’re sparking up a bowl or two of mother’s recipe tonight, correct?
Fox: Jesus, bro.
[Gives Garrett a wet willie]
Fox: I can’t even deal with you right now.
Carroll: No worries, Turtle. E’s plane should be landing any minute. I’ll call him and see if he’ll pick up a sack and a few cold ones on his way over.
[Cell phone flies open]
Bill “E” Belichick: …grumble…grumble…
Carroll: Yo, E! Bill, you there brother?
Belichick: …grumble…grumble… Whaddayawant? …grumble…grumble…
Carroll: Listen, Turtle got confused and bought seasoning instead of weed again. Think you can make a run as soon as you land?
Belichick: …grumble…grumble… Yeahnoworries. Smuggledanouncethroughsecurityinmybutthole. …grumble…grumble…
Carroll: E, you crazy bastard! You know weed is legal in Colorado, right?
Belichick: …grumble…grumble… YeahwhateverIdoitforsport. Plusitfeelsgoodonmyhemorrhoids. …grumble…grumble…
Fox: What’s he saying, bro?
Carroll: It’s all good, Johnny.
Carroll: Hey, listen, we’re back at the hotel E. See you in a few.
Belichick: …grumble…grumble… TellTurtleIjustfuckedhisaunt. …grumble…grumble…
Carroll: Hey Turtle, E wanted us to tell you your aunt’s colonoscopy went went off without a hitch this morning.
[Fist bumps Drama]
[Car pulls up to hotel]
Fox: Oh shit, who invited that asshole!
Garrett: [Sobbing, peels off]
[Hotel door flies open]
Greg “Ari” Schiano: IT’S ABOUT GODDDAMN TIME YOU PUSSIES SHOWED UP. ALREADY GOT KICKED OUT OF THE FUCKING HOTEL BAR. IF THEY DIDN’T WANT ME LIGHTING FARTS INSIDE THEN WHY WERE THERE MATCHES SITTING ON THE BAR?
Carroll: Hey, Ari.
Schiano: FUCKING GREAT TO SEE YOU ASSHOLES. HOOO BOY, I’M READY TO DIP MY BALLS INTO A PILE OF COCAINE AND TALK MOMMY ISSUES WITH A COUPLE YOUNG LADIES TONIGHT YOU FEEL ME BOYS?
Carroll: Listen, Ari. The fellas and I were planning on having a chill night. Johnny over here needs to unwind a bit. Smoke a bowl or two, watch a little game film. Nothing too crazy. He’s been at the doctor all afternoon.
Schiano: DOCTOR? YOU DILDO. I’VE GOT SEVENTEEN DIFFERENT STRAINS OF MRSA LIVING ON ME, NOT COUNTING WHATEVER HAS BURROWED INTO MY PUBIC THATCH, AND YOU DON’T SEE ME RUNNING TO A DOCTOR. A SCHIANO MAN IS HIS OWN DOCTOR, AND THE ONLY PRESCRIPTION IS ALWAYS LESS PUSSYFOOTING.
Fox: I had heart surgery.
Schiano: A BROKEN HEART? ULTIMATE SIGN OF WEAKNESS. FUCK IT. YOU TWO LADIES GO WATCH “A WALK TO REMEMBER” I’M GONNA SEE IF I CAN OUT RUN A POLICE HORSE ON FOOT BEFORE THESE BATH SALTS WEAR OFF.
Carroll: Lates, Ari.
Fox: Yeah, lates bro.
Carroll: Well Johnny, looks like it’s just you and I again.
Fox: Just like old times, bro?
Carroll: Just like old times.
Fox: Let’s hug it out, bitch!
[A limo pulls up, and Mark Wahlberg shoots both of them for copyright infringement]