Middle Men Page #3

- Yeah, fucko.

All right, look, so I've

got this thing set up

so that we can tell what pics we're

selling based on the sound, all right?

So the buzzer is the trailer trash.

The chime is for the women over 40.

The whistle is for all

the big titty stuff.

And the bells...

are for the ass-f***ing housewives,

- which is what you want.

- Why a whistle?

What do you mean?

Why the whistle for the big titty stuff?

I don't know,

I just thought that, you know,

when you see a woman walking down

the street with big tits, you whistle.

No, that's stupid. The bells

should be for the big titty stuff

- because tits are like bells.

- Tits are like bells? Since when?

- Yeah. Just change it.

- No, I'm not gonna change it.

Just f***in' change it.

The tits should be for the bells.

The bells should be for the tits.

And the ass-f***in' housewives

should be whistles?

- Yeah, what is wrong with that?

- That's stupid!

It's not stupid. When you stick

your dick in a chick's ass...

- She what? She whistles?

- Motherf***er!

Idiots. Two grown men

rolling around on the floor,

fighting over bells

and whistles like children.

Motherf***er!

Me? I didn't have that kind of luxury.

I was too busy in LA

setting up the nightclub.

My best friend james

came out to give me a hand.

It was pretty clear to us

that getting the place up and running

was gonna be an uphill battle.

But, like any other business,

we figured hard work and determination

would lead to success.

- Cheers.

- Good morning.

Am I hearing money?

Seems like ass-f***ing

housewives is a big hit.

- We're past the $7,000 mark.

- Are you shitting me?

No, but I'm getting complaints

we need new content.

Why don't we just

buy some more magazines?

No, no, no. I think we need

to come up with some fresh stuff.

- Some stuff of our own.

- Oh, yeah?

How do you plan on doing that?

Remember the game plan.

Remember the game plan.

Buck and Wayne were

about to walk into a place

they didn't know

was owned by Nikita Sokoloff,

the head of the Russian mob

on the West Coast.

These two idiots were about to get

a lot more than they bargained for.

Hey, great to see you, man.

We wanted to know

if your boss was around.

We'd like to talk to him.

We've got a business proposition

we'd like to discuss.

- What is it?

- Well, we'd like to talk to your boss

or whoever owns this establishment.

This place is great.

- Not interested.

- Actually, I think your boss

would be really interested

in what we have to say.

Hey, hey, we've got to...

You OK?

- What's going on here, man?

- Come on, there's other clubs in town.

Relax. Let's get outta here.

What the f***

are you looking at, b*tch?

I've f***ed guys like you in prison!

Come on, motherf***er!

Make my f***ing day, b*tch!

What the f*** are you doing?

OK, all right, all right!

Come on! I'm not f***ing going...

Who the f*** are you,

to come into my place

and talk this kind of sh*t?

I'm telling you, we have

really good intentions, sir.

Look, what you need

to do is chill out and...

Shut up! Shut up.

I chill out...

- Put a bullet in your f***ing brain.

- Oh, sh*t!

Why are you here?

We just wanted to take pictures

of your girls naked

and put 'em on the Internet

and split the profits with you.

Why you not say this?

Hey, hey, where are you going?

Come, come, come.

Come.

I told you we have

the best intentions.

- I'm gonna kick your f***ing ass!

- Relax.

Within the hour,

Buck and Wayne actually believed

they were best friends

with the Russian mob.

They made a deal to give them

and to be partners for life.

Only I don't think they

quite understood the nuances

of being partners

with the Russian mob.

The next day, they run around

the strip club with a camera,

gathering video for their site.

Watch out, coming through.

We're gonna walk now,

but don't look at the camera.

Now!

Within a half a day,

Buck and Wayne were convinced

they were George Lucas

and Steven Spielberg.

Their website took off like a rocket.

They had to buy a new server

to handle all the business.

The mail, it was piling up and

they hadn't even begun to open it.

These two morons had no idea

what they'd created,

and even less of a clue

as to how to operate a business.

Within days, they were

working around the clock.

Don't dump the mail

on the coffee table! Get out!

The server's not gonna be here

for another four days. F***ing God!

I can't do this by myself.

You gotta quit your job, man.

You're fired, you son of a b*tch!

You're fired!

- Well, the server problem's solved.

- You steal this?

No, I opened the mail.

There were checks in there, dude.

What?

They weren't bills, man.

We're going to Vegas!

So Buck and Wayne headed east

to the great city of Las Vegas,

to the land of hopes and dreams.

In less than a month, their business

was making about $25,000 a day.

More money than either one

of them could have imagined.

It should have been perfect.

But somehow, they'd figure

a way to screw it all up.

Now, for me, what started out as

helping a friend for a couple of weeks

had turned into a full-time business.

In no time at all,

we turned the place around.

james and I hit the streets,

promoted the club,

held events and before you knew it

there were lines going down the block,

and every night we

were packed to the rafters.

The thing is,

when you do good for someone,

they want you to fix

all their other problems.

There's always just

one more problem to fix.

I'm not sure yet. Believe me, I wish I

could be there, I just can't right now.

I know you're working hard. I just...

I feel like you're

missing so much, you know?

I know. Believe me, I know.

Hey, maybe I could sneak out

to LA for the weekend?

No, don't do that.

I'm actually in Vegas.

- Vegas? What for?

- Jerry Haggerty invited me out here.

Oh, God, Jack.

That creepy lawyer from the club?

He is nothing but trouble.

He's got some business venture

he wants to talk to me about.

If it wasn't for him,

I wouldn't have the club,

and that's turned out better than OK.

I mean, it saved my ass, honey.

He's as crooked as a dog's hind leg,

that one. You just be careful.

OK. I'll...

I'll just have a few laughs maybe.

What starts with laughter

ends in tears, big guy.

- I love you, OK? Bye.

- I love you, baby.

This f***ing pro tells me, "Jerry,

you have to learn to hook the ball

because every great player

fights a hook."

Well, I'll tell you what,

I damn sure learned,

'cause everything I hit's

in the f***ing woods.

Yeah, five strokes on my handicap.

Well, besides your golf game,

it seems like you're doing pretty well.

Oh, my God, I'm doing great, Jack.

I mean, for a guy who doesn't litigate

and refuses to wear a tie.

But I have some great, great ideas.

So, what kind of deal

do you have for me?

Well, I gotta tell you this story.

I mean, you won't believe it.

I get a call from a friend of mine

that there are these two guys holed up

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes