[EXT. A rundown trailer in a trailer park in Nova Scotia, bright and early on a sunny Sunday morning. We hear deep snoring coming from inside the trailer. Cut to INT, where the rundown trailer is strewn about with assorted liquor bottles, cheeseburger wrappers, and what may or not be Mardi Gras beads & masks. Trailer Park Supervisor MR. LAHEY and assistant/lover RANDY are passed out, drunk and pantsless as per usual. Suddenly, MR. LAHEY begins to stir out of his alcoholic stupor.]
MR. LAHEY: [sniffing] Urgh.
[MR. LAHEY picks his head up out of the piss-stained beanbag he has slept the night on and puts on his aviator sunglasses to block out the light.]
MR. LAHEY: I knew it.
RANDY: [stirring from sleep confusedly] Wha – what? What happened?
MR. LAHEY: [licks finger, holds it up in the air as though trying to gauge the weather] You feel that, Randyman?
RANDY: Feel what, Mr. Lahey?
MR. LAHEY: [fumbling around for a tumbler glass that he can fill] It’s a special time of year, bud. Everything’s quiet today. Those shitweasels aren’t gonna cause aaaaaaany trouble at all. [grabs scotch, chugs for 10 seconds]
RANDY: What are you talking about?
MR. LAHEY: [burps] I’m talkin’ about the Super Bowl, bud. It’s my favourite day of the year. I can tell already that it’s gonna be a special one. It’s calm here today, Randyman, but you can bet your butt that there’s a shitbreeze out in California. You know why it’s my favourite day of the year, bud?
RANDY: Why’s that, Mr. Lahey?
MR. LAHEY: Because, Ran, today’s the day where everyone, including Bubbles, that sexy, sexy, Julian, and most of all, Ricky, are gonna be glued to their TV sets watching a bunch of idiots running around trying to hit each other until their eyes are permanently crossed! And those shitbandits are gonna be so distracted by all the violence and noise and shitpageantry that they’re not gonna have time to mess things up here in Sunnyvale!
RANDY: But Mr. Lahey, they’ve messed things up tons of time when the Super Bowl’s been on! Remember in ’93 when Ricky was making fun of Leon Lett and imitated that fumble with a big ball of hash, but slipped on some ice and knocked himself out with it? Or last year when he tried to do the Malcolm Butler pick and ended up putting his head through Bubbles’ shed door? I dunno, I’m still pretty nervous about all this.
MR. LAHEY: Not to worry, Randy. I have my ace in the hole this year. NO WAY are they gonna fuck this up for us this year.
[stands up, looks down at underwear, shrugs, scratches, pulls up pants while also reaching for the last of a bottle of bourbon]
I’m talking about Cam Newton, Bobandy.
RANDY: I dunno, Mr. Lahey. I’m not sure how this has anything to do with Sunnyvale.
MR. LAHEY: [kills the bottle and chucks it over his shoulder] Well, Ran, it’s actually pretty simple. Cam goes out there, and he does all his stupid little dancing and flapping his arms about and is smiling and laughing the whole time about it! And everyone’s happy and cheering and all the kids get their little toys and games but you know what, bud? [gulping down Everclear] The fact of the matter is, he’s standing on the shitline. The shitline of good taste. No one’s ever gonna respect a man who can’t take his job seriously. I mean, look at me. I’m the best god-damn trailer park supervisor that Sunnyvale’s ever SEEN.
RANDY: I don’t get it.
MR. LAHEY: My point is, the winds of shit are blowin’ in Santa Clara, Randyman. All this dancing and joking and getting on, these Panthers are sitting right on a fault line for this game, bud. You know what happens when two shitplates collide? Shitquake. Our three knuckleheads should be really worried about what’s going on in this game. But they won’t be. Because they have no idea about the truth of it all.
RANDY: Jim, what the FRIG are you even talking about?!
MR. LAHEY: Because, Ran, when we stopped at the liquor store last night, I just happened to pop next door to the lotto counter. See this??
RANDY: That’s Julian’s checkbook, Mr. Lahey!
MR. LAHEY: You bet your beautiful butt, Bobandy. Julian looks after all of Ricky and Bubbles’ money too — it’s all in one account. Well, was, until I just happened to place a little teeny bet on the game for them last night. It was so simple – I snuck into his trailer, got the checkbook, and practised his signature a few times! There’s no way that those dancing fools from Carolina are ever gonna win this game! Not when they’ve gotta go up against those unstoppable Broncos from Denver! That Peyton fellow, I tell you, more accurate with a throw than any of those shitweasels were with their guns when Cyrus rode into town that time!
And with Julian’s money cleaned out on betting on the Panthers, those idiots will be out of here for GOOD!
RANDY: Mr. Lahey… The Panthers are favoured by 3.5. They’re not losing their money. In fact, when Julian finds out, he’s probably gonna be stoked about all this. And he’s gonna find out. You don’t think he’s gonna notice all the money missing from his account and call the bank to see where it was spent?
MR. LAHEY: [cracking open Bombay Sapphire and pouring it into a sports water bottle] Maybe so, AfghaniRan, but we don’t have time to worry about that right now. The liquor’s done the thinking already. Now let’s have another little drinkypoo and get the body paint out to get set for tonight. Whaddya say, bud?
RANDY: [facepalms] God damn it, James. [grabs the gin and chugs]
MR. LAHEY: Shitclock’s tickin’, boys. Tick tock. Tick tock.