Out Cold

Hey, everybody.

Welcome to Bull Mountain...

a slice of heaven...

nestled in the cleavage

of Alaska's high country.

It all started when a young

buck named Herbert Muntz...

saw the promise

of a new life...

and staked his claim to it

the old-fashioned way--

he stole it from the Eskimos.

'Round these parts,

he became known as "Papa.''

Each year,

Papa would say thank you....

by droppin' his britches....

and blazing down

that mountain bare-assed....

in one of his famous

"moon-shine" runs.

Papa loved to ski...

and Papa loved to drink...

but most of all,

Papa loved to ski and drink...

at the same time.

Last year,

he died with his boots on...

Bull Mountain,

don't go changin'!

And not much else.

Nowadays, Papa's boy

runs the mountain.

But us locals still carry on

the free-wheelin' spirit...

of Papa's life.

You could say that this

mountain's a lot like a woman.

Just when you think you

know every inch of her...

and you're about

to dip your skis...

into some soft, deep powder--

You got two broke legs,

cracked ribs...

then you pay

your twenty bucks...

just to let her punch your

lift ticket all over again.

News flash.

Muntz is selling the mountain.

The entire mountain?

Why would he want

to get rid of this place?

I like this place

exactly the way it is.

Maybe the buyer can supply...

the mountain

with what it really needs--

hot friggin' chicks.

Guys, you know, more girls?

Let's give Lance a chance,

all right?

I gotta refuel the tanks.

Jenny, what's going on?

Jenny!

What's up, guys?

What, are you drinking

without me?

Hey, Lance.

Hey, girlfriend.

What you drinkin'?

Whatever the lady would like,

just put it on my tab.

I will have a beer, then.

And five shots of Goldschlager,

please.

Rick, you are an idiot

not to go for Jenny...

and don't give me

this broken heart rigamarole.

Are you sniffing me?

There you go.

Thank you.

Man. If I was her...

I'd be gettin' with every dude

on this mountain.

Hey, boys.

You're killin' me!

Cheers, everybody!

People.

And Pig Pen,

my poor excuse for a brother.

Our boy Rick here...

has been bitching

and moaning all week long...

I have not.

And I think it's time

that we do something...

to cheer him up.

Don't you agree?

Perhaps tonight is the night

that we crown this year's...

King of the Mountain.

Did somebody just say...

King of the Mountain?

I know you want

to defend your title.

If I must.

Good evening.

You all know the rules

of King of the Mountain.

Rule number one--

you do not talk about

King of the Mountain.

Rule number two--

there are no rules.

What about rule number one?

That's more of a guideline

than a rule.

Do not interrupt!

And now, the three-peat champion

of King of the Mountain...

Rick Rambis. Richard?

OK. Here's how it works.

Everyone must have a beer.

It's a race to the bottom.

The first one

to the statue of Papa Muntz...

with the most beer

in your glass--Pig Pen--

shall be proclaimed this year's

King of the Mountain.

And, as an added bonus...

you also win the contents

of Eric's stolen wallet...

which are, Luke?

Two bucks...

a condom...

expiration date 1 997...

and a picture

of his grandma--no!

That's Nancy Reagan.

But most importantly...

pushing, shoving,

and cheating are encouraged.

Try not to wipe out

like you did last year...

and the year before,

and both years before that.

Thanks, Luke,

I really appreciate that.

No problem.

Pig Pen, if you would.

Strap 'em in.

On your marks, get set--

Everybody ready?

Go!

-Suckers!

-Cheater!

Not tonight, Pig Pen!

Go grand, Anthony!

Don't wipe out.

Here I come, baby!

Damn!

Coming through.

Get away from my head!

Stop!

Hey, no fair!

Nice!

Sh*t!

Ride 'em, cowboy!

Go!

Let's move it!

Don't let him pass!

We got him, Jenny!

Go!

Come on! We're gonna beat him!

Where did he come from?

His mug's empty.

The beer!

Beer? I got beer! I got it!

Come on!

If you haven't kissed up

to the king, let me know.

Goin' to drink, everybody!

Actually, I have to turn in.

I have to give Mr. Mays

a snowboard lesson.

I got fag practice in

the morning, so I understand.

Walk me home, Your Highness.

Guys, stop!

If you're planning

on coming up...

with some lame-ass excuse

to get into my house...

just so we can "hook up"...

I might let you.

Not that you're being...

particularly charming

or anything.

I guess it's the moonlight

and a bottle of Goldschlager...

that just brings out

the romance in a girl.

Can I ask you something?

You broke up with your boyfriend

this summer, right?

Are we about to have

another conversation...

about how you're still

on the rebound?

I guess not.

Look, Rick, I feel for you,

'cause I've been through it...

but it's time to move on.

The general rule of thumb

is one week of mourning...

for every six months

you were together...

so you were together,

what, two weeks?

Three weeks.

OK. Three weeks.

So, then that means--

I get it. You're right.

It's stupid.

Yes, it is.

So, you still want to hook up?

You gotta try a lot harder

than that, Rick.

So, you still want to hook up?

How's that?

Good night.

Good night.

-See you tomorrow.

-Later.

Hey, listen.

You better enjoy your reign as

King now, because next year...

I'm Queen of the Mountain, baby.

We'll see about that.

Passed out again.

Fire!

Well, boys,

what's it gonna be tonight?

We gonna shave his eyebrows?

Passe. Done that, took pictures.

I'm gonna need a bucket,

a paint brush...

and ten pounds of salt.

Lance, get his pants.

Where are you taking him?

Come on!

Try to hold up his fat ass.

Look at him.

Shoo!

Get!

Good boy--I mean, girl.

Good girl.

My ass is numb!

Look alive, Eric.

John Majors!

Ted Muntz. It's so good

to finally meet you in person.

Welcome to Bull Mountain.

The Eskimos around here

have a saying--

Slow down there, Nanook.

You're gonna give yourself

an aneurysm.

Will you smell that, boys?

Smells like money.

This place has got

some serious potential.

I can see it now, huh?

Can't you see it?

Condominiums, eateries,

shopping, wine bars, cigar bars.

What the hell--bar bars!

Yeah, we can totally sell

this whole rustic bit.

This is a diamond in the rough.

That's good.

Write that down

for the brochure.

No, wait. Better yet--

"Black diamond in the rough."

You know? Sort of a ski thing.

I'm Eric Montclair.

Well, who asked you?

Just kidding, Short Stack.

So it's some mountain, huh?

Yeah,

but the name "Bull Mountain"--

it's a little too...

shitty.

You want to rename the mountain?

Yeah. Something good.

I'm gonna have

to polish this turd...

if I want to sell

my investors on it.

I mean, your hotel

looks like a Motel 6...

ate a yard sale

and barfed it out.

Muntz, there's some

really pissed off Eskimos...

outside right now, man. They

say they want their land back.

Very funny, Rambis.

Mr. Majors,

this is Rick Rambis--

one of our low

to mid-level employees.

You must be the big hotshot

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