Original subtitles

(Squirrel chattering)

Oh, my fuck! (Squirrel chattering)

Fuck you, you little fucking fur-faced fuckhead!

(Gunshots) (Squirrel chattering)

I'm at fucking war with the squirrels.

People think they're dumb. They're not.

The little fuckers even know how to masturbate.

I seen them do it, and they fucking do it a lot.

Check this out.

One of the ugly little fuckers chewed the wires in my goddamn bedroom wall

and this happened. And Lucy blamed it on me.

I mean, I was partying a little more than usual

and I did put a deep fryer in the bedroom

and cooked pepperoni and wings late at night when I got hungry.

But I didn't start the fucking fire!

The cocksucking squirrel did. And now she's gone!

All because you jacked your cock furry little whore sluts!

Anyway, I am going to rebuild it.

I just haven't had fucking time yet.

Don't get me wrong,

I don't advocate the use of a deep fryer in the bedroom

under any circumstances but...

I did a bit of post-fire investigating on my own

and it appears the little cocksucker

could have been responsible for the fire.

But, I mean, blasting up your yard...

that doesn't solve anything.

(Gunshot) Ricky! Shh!

What are you doing? Put the fucking gun away!

Lahey said he would set some traps!

There he is. There he is...

He's not! You're starting to go crazy, Ricky!

(Gunshot) (Squirrel chattering)

Ricky: Fucking asshole!

I fucking had him!

(Whispering) Ricky, there's Randy.

Put the fucking gun away. Put it away!

Ricky! Jesus Murphy!

You pointed it right at my bird!

Hey, Rick. Little buggers are at it again, are they, bud?

Holster your weapon, Ricky! Holster my tits, Randy!

Stand down, Randy. I've got this.

Ricky, I know how stressful

this kind of situation can be, bud.

Listen to what he's saying to me, I'm trying.

He's fucking driving me nuts. Listen to him! (Squirrel chirps)

Ricky! You think I'm dumb?

No, you're dumb! You're about to get dead!

Doing nothing is not proper procedure.

He's firing that in every direction.

Someone could die! Randy,

did I ask you to set traps here last week?

Yeah. And did you?

I've been too busy. Really?

Disobeying an order, is that proper procedure?

The way I see it, all this gunfire is because you didn't do your job.

(Chirping continues) Bubbles: Ricky!

Set some traps. Ricky!

You copy?

Okay, Mr.Lahey. Good.

(Squirrel chirping)

Ricky, my kitties are over there!

Ricky, your frigging days are numbered.

As soon as I get authority, you're going down.

Never going to happen, diarr-ena breath.

But speaking of going down, and you were,

why don't you go down on me?

Get it, Randy? It means I want you to blow me.

And you can fuck off while you're doing it!

Control him, Bubbles.

Control your fucking appetite, Randy.

Oh, oh! You think that's funny, eh?

He wants me to jerk him off.

No, you get over here and fucking jerk me off,

you little furry fuckhead! Ricky! Ricky!

(Theme music)

Bubbles: Atta girl. There we go.

Oh, thanks for doing that, Trin.

Sorry I fucked up the valve on the thing.

How's that going? Good.

Choppity-chop!

Two more right there.

Ricky, where the fuck is Jacob? We're going to be late.

Jacob's not the smartest knife in the drawer, Bubs.

Who fucking knows?

After Julian took off,

I knew I needed to start running the show

or Ricky was going to wind up back in jail.

So I started making this stuff right here.

The best fucking pizza sauce you'll ever jam your lips on.

All fucking organic. Ricky's growing the vegetables,

you know, using his expertise in that field,

and we've been cranking it out down at the flea market

as fast as we can make it.

And it's a fucking gold mine!

Cory!

For fuck's sake!

What is that right there, Cory?

That's sauce, dude.

No, it's fucking money, every drop of it.

Money. Get it in the bottle!

I've been able to get myself a nice little truck.

Me and Ricky both got company cellphones, brand new,

which I'm awesome at using, by the way.

Oh, this one.

And the best thing about it,

nothing fucking illegal going on, whatsoever.

This is probably the happiest I've ever been in my life!

I mean, other than missing Julian... terribly.

It fucking sucks that Lucy took off.

I mean, after I almost died,

she gave me an alter-natum to stop partying and I didn't.

And then Mr.Furry Fuckbrains the squirrel

decides to burn my trailer down and that was it.

But it's too bad she didn't stick around a little longer.

Because for the first time in my life

I actually have my shit together.

Well actually, it might even be the third time.

(Lighter clicking) (Inhaling)

Sarah: OK, I can't believe that I'm saying this

but Ricky has come full circle since Lucy left.

Actually it's kind of since Julian left.

I think that was a real wake-up call for him.

And it's one thing to say that you're going to break up with somebody

but Lucy left the country.

She got a job working for Tom Arnold as a nanny

and she's making, like, a thousand bucks a week.

At first it was really hard but...

now I think some time apart was really good for Mom and Dad.

And the money that she sends home for Mo

has been super-helpful.

Ricky and Bubbles have brought a whole new energy to the park

with the new venture.

And since a lot of the residents

are growing vegetables for them,

many of them are paying their lot fees.

Hooray!

Look at those beauts!

Did you ever see potatoes that big, buddy?

Those are tomatoes, Ricky. Same thing,

potato, tomato, po-tah-to, to-mah-to.

Anyway, who cares? I mean, we have this new fucking bloom nutrient

with that shit I got at the hydroponics convention.

Look at this! Jesus.

I wish I would have fucking known about it when I was growing dope!

Jacob, where the fuck have you been?

We had to put up flyers for Ricky's ball hockey school.

You were supposed to do that two days ago, dicklips!

Dude, it was 1,500 flyers! Do you know how long that takes?

Obviously you're as dumb as a fucking bug that lives in a tree,

quite a fucking while! Great.

Now we're going to get a shitty fucking table!

No, we're not. We're going to get a good table.

Positive thinking, Ricky. Double belly work. Look at this.

Look at this. New label.

Oh, I like the little Italy man, that's cool.

Ricky, look close.

What?

It's me, Bubbles!

Why would I put a stranger on there?

Well, you should've made it bigger.

It's good, though.

Oh, fuck, I should've too!

I fell off the wagon

a couple of months back,

and I popped the question to Randy.

But I made myself a promise:

before we get married

I'm going to tell him the truth about Ricky and me.

But, if I tell Randy,

then I'm going to have to tell Ricky.

And I'm just not sure how both of them will take it.

Randy: (On radio) Mr. Lahey! I need back-up immediately.

We have a 314 in progress at Donnie's. Over.

Randy, can't you handle a 314 by yourself? Over.

Of course I can, sir!

But I don't want this to escalate into a 217. Over.

Oh, for shit's sake... Okay, I'll be right there.

Ever since Randy's decided

to try to get into the police academy

he's been taking this job way too seriously.

Thank you. Everybody slow it the fuck down.

If you don't calm down, no fucking sauce.

Ricky! Stop swearing at the customers! Jesus Christ!

They're driving me fucking nuts.

You, with that fucked sweater and the weird glasses,

how many you want?

None. Oh, my fucking God!

What is your deal then? Get the fuck going!

Ricky!

Actually I want to talk to you

about buying the recipe.

The recipe? Oh, the recipe...

that's not for sale, sir.

Just the sauce. But thank you.

I own a bunch of pizza restaurants and...

I love the sauce.

I was thinking...

Five grand?

Five grand? Like 5,000 dollars?

Oh, my fucking God. Done!

Pack it up, Bubs! We're fucking retired, buddy, let's go!

Just hang on, Ricky.

Just give us one second.

Ricky, we've got to think about this... hard.

This is a big decision.

It's five grand for words and numbers.

It's not words and numbers, though.

It's my special recipe.

Oh, my fuck, I wasn't ready for this.

We've got to think,

we've got to think on our feet, right now.

Holy fuck, what would Julian do?

What would Julian do in this situation? Julian?

Julian would do something dumb, like tell him

we're going to fucking keep making it and supplying him with it.

But then we've got to keep making the fucking sauce.

That's it, Ricky! That's it.

You've just fucking nabbed it!

Ummm, listen, the, uh, recipe is not for sale

'cause I am very, you know,

obsessed with the quality and consistency of my product

but... what if I was to supply you?

You know, wholesale prices. I supply your chain...

Maybe?

I think we can make this work.

(Whispering) My God...

Okay, yeah. That's, um...

Cool. Everything's cool. Call me.

We'll lock down quantities and pricing.

Okay! Thank you, I'll be in touch.

(Whispering) Holy fuck!

Ricky!

Ricky, do you know what just happened here?

You don't think we're not dumb for not taking the 5 grand?

No, Ricky. This is next level shit.

I could be next Chef Boyardee!

This is a good idea!

Was it my idea or was it Julian's?

No, it was Julian's idea but you came up with it!

Cool! (Giggling)

Oh, way to go, Randy...

How to make a mountain out off a shit-molehill.

(Dog barking)

Suspect is in custody, sir.

Let's get him in the back of the car

and we'll take him down to the station.

That's enough, Randy.

Mr. Lahey, we're taking him downtown.

Randy, for the love of God,

what the hell's the matter with you?

Public intoxication!

Randy, it's Donnie!

Haul him up on the porch,

throw his barbecue cover over him.

Look, this has been going on for 18 years.

Why would we start arresting him now?

Randy, look, I know it's great to have dreams, bud.

But... but this is getting way out of hand.

This... stupid uniform.

And this, that's even stupider.

It looks like a coin-operated carnival shit-car, Randy!

(Grunt)

There are way more factors at play here

than you're aware of, Sir.

And if I become a real police officer,

I'm not standing for any of this shit!

Randy, you have no idea how difficult it is

to become an officer of the law.

No idea at all!

First Ricky, now Donnie.

Why are you so soft?

Why am I so soft?

Randy, I'm not fucking soft!

Look, Julian's left the park.

Ricky's really easy to get along with. He's gone legit.

Why would we start slinging shit-balls at the shit-hive

when the shitty little bees aren't stinging us?

Well, I'm trying to get rid of the frigging shit-hive

so we never get stung.

Back away, Mr. Lahey. I'm backing up.

(Engine revving)

Holy fuck, we're going to party, Bubs!

I feel like driving a Roman candle right up my fucking ass!

No, Ricky, you're not doing that again.

It's too dangerous. Every time you do it,

who gets stuck putting the ointment on you? Me!

Fuck! This fucking puppy's still here!

Oh, they're lucky that's not a kitty.

I would start fucking wrecking this place!

Who's the fucking idiot that owns this car?

You're going to cook the little fucker inside!

Get the fuck out here! I'm going to break into it,

in five, four, three, two, one...

Fuck you, then.

Hang on, little buddy. I'll help you out.

Ricky, where did you get a slim jim?

Always got one on me, Bubs. You never know when you need it.

There we go.

Here, hold that.

Come here. Oh my God, are you okay?

Are you just taking him? There. You're cool now.

Holy fuck, that's a good name.

What? "Coolnow"?

You can't name a fucking animal Coolnow, Ricky.

I didn't. What just happened did.

What are you talking about?

Well, two seconds ago

he was overheating in this asshole's car!

But now, he's cool. He's Coolnow.

It's fucking perfect.

You are so fucked, Ricky.

Anyway, the SPCA'll give him a new name.

He'll be fine.

Fuck, I wonder if Mo would like him.

Ricky, you're not taking him back to the park.

I don't need a fucking long, skinny dog

fucking with my kitties.

It's not happening.

Bubbles: Thank you very much, Lonnie.

Thank you. Listen, everybody.

I just want to say I appreciate

all the congratulations and everything you're giving me

but I want everybody to know:

this wasn't all me. Ricky played a huge part in all this.

And everybody here, you know, everybody who grew the ingredients.

And one of the reasons we're here...

Well, Ricky, maybe you should...

(Quietly) say what you're going to say before the liquor runs out.

Here, Cory. Cory, let's go. Get the fuck out of the way.

Let's go!

Jesus, you're always in the fucking way, Cory.

Hey, everyone, what the fuck's going on?

(Mixed muttering) Most of you probably know,

the reason why we're eating and drinking for fucking free today

is 'cause we're about to sign a huge contract for the pizza sauce.

(Cheering, applause)

That means we need to grow a fuck-ton more vegetables.

So... I wonder if there's anybody here

that wants to help us grow some fucking vegetables?

Yeah! Aw, fuck that, man.

You already burned your own goddamn trailer to the ground! Look...

Yeah! Fuck that, man! It's too risky.

And it's illegal! It's not illegal!

You're only going to be growing vegetables, that's it.

Fucking idiot. And it's not dangerous, Marguerite. I promise.

I'll do all the wiring on the tables myself, you know.

I could do the wiring.

No, Ricky, I'll do the wiring.

It's not a problem. Look...

I mean, we can get the stuff growing anywhere

but that wasn't the point, we wanted to keep it in the park here,

you know, because.. 'cause we're all like family.

That's right, Bubs. I just need 15, 20 people

to help me realize a lifelong dream here.

So what do you say, please?

Did I mention you're going to make a shit-ton of cash?

I 'm in. I'm in, too.

Right on! All right! (Laughter)

Oh, boys!

(Muffled hip hop music)

(Music)

Oh shit! Hey, guys.

I need to buy a cellphone.

One that's got a stolen sim card and shoots in HD.

Fuck, man, I don't know what you're talking about.

All we do is fix phones and screens and shit up in this mah.

Since my man J-Roc and his boy went on the road,

me and the Roc Pile been holdin' shit down.

Killin' it too.

Check this out.

Here at Roc Pile Cellular

we sell cellphones,

wide open sim cards from China.

We do repairs on phones. We do repairs on screens.

We re-program. We jailbreak.

We do it all up in this mah-fucka,

under this roof, you know what I'm sayin'?

Tight too. Just check my mens at work.

Orders is coming in left, right and centre.

And check it out. We even got the D Box!

A mobile hotbox you can rent

and get you as high as you want.

But you got to hit me up quick though, 'cause the shit rents quick.

Man: Holy fuck, I'm high!

Come on, give me a phone

or I'm calling in the cops.

Listen, man, you better back the fuck up.

You ain't got shit on us.

I get it. The shirt.

Shirts can be intimidating, can't they?

Yeah? Well, check this out, guys.

Look, it's just me, Randy.

All right? Tyrone: Oh shit! It's...

♪ Gut-formers, Randy's in disguise ♪

(Laughter) Frig off, Tyrone.

What'd you blow a hose or something?

It's all oily!

Get it? Because he's a machine.

No. You blew that.

No, no, no. Optimus Prime Rib! (Laughter)

That's all that is. That's all rib in that mothafucker!

Frig off! All rib in that motherfucker...

Frig off! Do you want to go? (Mixed shouting)

Do you want me to put you down?

I came here for a friggin' phone, all right?

No, man, you can't have no phone.

(Mixed shouting)

You got tons of phones! Give me a friggin' phone! Frig!

(Grunting)

I got a phone, okay? Right here.

All right? That's all I wanted.

You guys have got to take me serious from now on, okay?

I'm not friggin' around. T, put this on my tab.

Listen, ain't nobody taking you serious

when you dress like Robo-fucking-gutcop.

Get the fuck out of here, man. (Laughter)

Fuck. Thanks for driving, Ricky.

I'm definitely over. I think I had, like,

three too many beers. Yeah, me too, buddy.

(Phone rings)

Skip. Who the fuck's this Skip idiot who keeps calling me?

I don't even know a fucking Skip!

Fuck off! I'm going to throw this phone out the window

and fucking smash it. Ricky!

Do not smash another fucking phone, please.

You need to be reachable at all times.

(Car squeaking) Man, that fucking squeak will drive me nuts.

Just give it a shot of WD-30, that would fix it right up.

WD-30? What's that, Ricky?

How the fuck do you not know what WD-30 is, man?

Especially a guy who works on carts.

What do you use? 5-in-1 oil?

No, I think I've got some...

WD-40 here, Ricky.

But I've never heard of WD-30.

I've got some 10W30 oil behind the seat there.

But... (Laughs)

I mean, that's not the stuff I'm talking about.

That works pretty good but WD-30's way better.

It's in a different coloured can.

Anyway...

Look, we've got to talk

about this whole fucking hockey school thing.

You know, with this pizza sauce business,

I don't think there's going to be time to do both, bud.

I don't think there's going to be time to run a hockey school.

(Sighs) I know.

You're right, I guess. It just sucks.

I mean, I put up all those flyers,

and I was kind of looking forward to it.

Because we've been doing so well lately,

I thought, like, maybe it was time to give back, to the kids.

So I decided to come up with the idea to start a ball hockey camp.

I can rent the rink for $300 a week

and charge the parents $100 a week per kid.

As long as I get four kids per week, it's no fucking brainier.

All right, let's see

if you can make a simple fucking phone call today, you asshole!

Ricky, phones can't be assholes.

Hey, Darren. It's Ricky. I got some bad news, man.

I'm going to have to cancel. Not enough interest.

So I'll need that deposit back.

No fucking way, it worked?

Oh, fuck you, Darren!

That's fucking bullshit! Fuck's sakes! What?

He says if I don't put on the hockey camp, I don't get my deposit back.

I guess the fucking phone's been ringing off the hook

with people asking about Gretzky and Coffey.

Gretzky and Coffey? What are you talking about?

A brilliant market-ling.

I put on the flyer that they might drop by at the hockey camp.

Who might drop by? Wayne Gretzky and Paul Coffey?

Ricky, Jesus. You'd never get those guys to your hockey school,

not to mention that's illegal.

No, it's not. It is!

I said, "possible appearance".

It's false advertising.

Well, they're going to be in town

for some fucking fancy rich guy idiot dinner,

so I'll get a hold of them, see if they want to drop by.

If they don't, they look like dicks, not me.

Oh, my fuck.

I don't know why you go on these stupid ride-alongs.

It's never going to...

get you any closer to being on the force.

You're wrong, Mr. Lahey.

You have no idea.

This is going to help me more

than you can ever imagine.

Ted's a fucking idiot. (Car horn honking)

And he's a shitty police officer.

Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do,

to get what he wants.

Okay, I'm about to get in the car with Officer Ted Johnson,

who invited me to go on a ride-along.

Hey, Ted. What you up to?

Oh, you know what I'm up to, Randy.

Get in the car.

I was thinking maybe you could take me shooting this week.

I know how to shoot, but not very well.

We might be able to do that.

First though,

I'd like to do a little "shooting" of my own.

Know what I mean?

Bubbles: Ricky, slow the fuck down.

Jesus Murphy! This truck's not built for that.

That was awesome, Bubs. I'm sorry, man, it's a fork habit.

Reggie loves that shit when I slide in.

Well, I don't. You're gonna break the fucking thing.

Jesus Murphy!

Oh, look at that beaut.

Ricky: Be a lot nicer if it had some fucking tires on it.

No, Ricky, the... cart.

Ricky: Reg!

Right on, man. Look at all the tables.

Ricky, look, that's a 1600 series from the mid-'70s.

You do not see those babies anymore.

It's a fucking piece of shit. Who cares?

It's a fucking beauty!

Is what that is. All hand-welded.

Oh, for fuck's sakes! (Dog barking)

All right, well, worst case scenario,

we're waiting for an hour. Maybe.

Or if something happened, he could have left that fucking days ago

and got dead or something. You never know.

Ricky, how does your brain come up with that?

Well, I'm just saying, like, the fucking sign can't predict the future.

Neither can a people. Something could have fucking happened to him.

That's all I'm saying. We could be waiting here for days.

My God... All right. Well, I guess that makes sense.

Well, you know what? Just back the truck up.

Me and Reggie go way back. We'll take the tables.

If he didn't get dead, we'll fucking pay for them tomorrow.

Will he be all right with that?

Yes, man! It's the Reg! (Phone ringing)

(Sigh) Fucking... oh, my fuck! Skip again!

Fuck you, Skip! Stop calling my fucking phone, you asshole!

Ricky, why don't you just answer it

and ask him who he is like a fucking normal person would do?

'Cause it's some little fucking asshole that's fucking with me!

He never leaves a message, just likes to call me up and fucking annoy me!

Yeah, I'm sure that's what Skip's doin'.

Randy, you did an exceptional job today.

You're really working hard for this.

I never wanted anything more in my whole life, Ted.

Listen, I got a new cellphone. Oh, yeah?

I was wondering if you could put your email address

and your contact information.

Yeah, I could do that for you.

Drop me a line when you want to do some more... training.

I'll definitely be contacting you.

(Dog barking) (Grunt)

All right, Ricky.

No more fucking power slides.

She's as top heavy as Dolly Parton up a flag pole now.

No worries, buddy. Let's get the fuck back to the trailer park

and get these little babies set up.

Just take it easy.

I'll try. Fuck...

(Second vehicle approaching)

...in the fuck? Racoon fucking fucks!

(Gunshots)

Fuck!

(Engine ignition)

(Gunshots)

Jesus Christ! Jesus fuck! What was that?

(Gunshots) Who's shooting at us? Steven Avery?

Reggie: I will fuck you the fuck up.

Is that Reggie? Reggie, it's me, you fucking idiot!

Stop fucking firing! (Gunshots continue)

(Scream)

Ricky, what's his number?

773-JUNK.

(Gunshot) Fuck off!

Bubbles: There, it's ringing.

Reggie: (On phone) Yeah?

Ricky: Hey, pistol-cock! It's Ricky! What?

Are you firing your fucking hand-cannon at a little white truck?

What the fuck are you talking about?

Yeah, well, that's me and Bubbles,

you fucking slutty, horny fucking moose bitch!

Pull the fuck over!

Bubbles: Christ, Ricky! Ricky: Fuck.

Why do you hang out with that fucking crazy bastard?

He's fucked! Do you think?

What the fuck, man? What the fuck,

you fucking bunny blower!

Jeez, that was bat-fuck fucked up back there.

I'm glad we didn't fucking shoot each other, cock-shaver! No shit.

I kind of didn't recogni... When did you get this piece of shit?

It's Bubbles' piece of shit.

It's not a piece of shit.

It's a fucking wonderful little truck. It's very practical.

Sorry, man. We needed these fucking tables and lights today

and figured we'd just pay you tomorrow.

Pay me whenever you want, Shylock.

Just don't fuck me over like your pal Julian did

with that fucking container I got him.

Julian? Julian's out west

working in the oil fields. Yeah.

No, no, no. Julian?

Julian's living in a container down by the wharf.

He's trawling for fucking lobsters right now.

What?

You've got to be yanking my cock with a pair of vise grips.

Hey, Ted. Did you get my email?

No, you listen to me! That was just a small clip.

Unless you want the whole video to go public,

I suggest you do everything to get me on the police force.

I'm dead serious.

Yeah, tomorrow morning works great.

All right, see you then.

(Beep)

Julian?

(Sigh)

Do you guys want a drink?

How many years have we been friends, Julian?

How many fucking years? And you just cut us out of your life.

Yeah, man. What the fuck? Real nice.

So this is where you're living now?

It's quite the fucking spot.

(Door creaking) Look out, Bubs.

Holy fuck! Come on in, boys.

You give me one good goddamn reason, Julian,

why you've been living so fucking close to us

and you didn't come and see us, not once!

Because you're better off without me, man. Oh, yeah.

I've been keeping tabs on you guys.

Congratulations on the pizza sauce company, man.

I'm very proud of you guys. I'm happy for you.

I didn't know you knew about that. Thank you.

It's fucking great, actually.

We're about to sign a fucking contract with a big pizza chain.

See? That's fantastic, guys!

Yeah, it is fantastic.

The problem is, you know, to meet demands,

we've got to take things to the next level

and I'm not sure we're capable of doing that.

So... why don't you just move back to the park

join the company, and you can oversee the expansion project.

Because, Bubs, me being on my own

is the best thing for us, man.

I've got everything I need.

How much money are we talking about anyway?

I don't know exactly, but...

I think it's in the ballpark of a thousand bucks each, a month.

(Chuckling) (Phone ringing)

I really appreciate you guys thinking about me, but I can't.

What the fuck... (Ringing)

Oh, my fuck, this fucking Skip shit...

Fucking Skip! Fuck! Rick! Rick! Rick!

Rick! Do not throw that fucking phone!

Why do you keep saying "Skip"?

It's Skype! You're getting a Skype call.

Answer it. What does that mean?

It's Snoop Dogg! Fuck! Hey!

Say, man. Why the fuck you brushing a motherfucka off?

I'm sorry, man. I'm fucking still trying to figure out

how to work these goddamn brain-phones.

I'm hitting you up for a real reason, man.

That 5-hour de-energy drink,

that shit is catching on in Cali, man.

It's liquid gold.

And motherfuckers'll pay anything for it.

Now here's the real question:

can you hook your cousin up?

(Sigh) Fuck, man, I wish. I've got none left.

And I'm not growing dope anymore, so I can't.

How much are you talking about here, Snoop?

Well, I was thinking about setting up a deal with Mary Jane's,

you know, for, like, you know, what? 30,000 bottles, maybe.

30,000! (Chuckle)

How much a bottle? Now hold the fuck on.

How soon would I get the delivery?

(Sigh) Fuck, it'd take...

43 days to grow the dope,

and then a week to fucking dry it and make it.

So... it'd be 50...

45 days, man. Damn!

That's some quick turnaround shit right there.

Seven bucks per motherfucka.

No, how about 10 US,

plus you're in charge of the transpo. Deal?

(Exhaling)

Shit. Done deal.

That's the way this motherfucka rolls.

I'mma holler at y'all in a few weeks so we can set this shit up.

I'm gone. (Beep)

Holy fuck! A deal? A deal?

Boys, forget what I said.

I'm going to run your company

but it's not going to be a fucking pizza sauce company.

Are you out of your fucking mind?

That's not happening, Julian, not a chance! (Liquid trickling)

Bubs, you're already set up to grow right now, man!

Like, how long is it going to take? What, 43 days?

After 43 days you can get back into making pizza sauce.

Rick, how many plants are we talking?

Off the top of my head, between... 2 and 500.

But we probably do have enough tables.

Ricky, you're not taking our fucking business

and turning it into a goddamn weed factory! (Toilet flushing)

Bubs, it's 400,000 Canadian almost!

Think about it.

Think about it!

I don't give a fuck, Julian!

I don't give a fuck about the money! Bubs, come on, man!

I've fucking missed you guys! I want to be hanging out with you guys.

Oh, yeah, you missed us so much now that there's fucking... a bunch of money!

"Oh, I've missed you guys!"

I don't give a fuck about the money, Julian.

It's fucking illegal.

Bubs, think about the cat food you can buy.

Think about all those vet bills that you can easily pay for

for the rest of your fucking life.

It's a fucking shit-ton of money, Bubs.

And no one would suspect a fucking thing, either.

Come on, man. We'd be a team again.

(Whimpering) Bubs, come on!

Who's got your $133,000 belly, huh?

Tickle-ickle-ickle... Come on! Julian, fuck o...

You're not tricking me with the fucking belly work!

I'll do some fucking wiener work for that kind of money.

I don't want wiener work.

This is a fucking bad idea! I'm just going to say that.

(Sigh)

But I'll do it.

I'll fucking do it just to get the team back together.

But on one condition:

45 days, and we go back to making pizza sauce, all of us.

Deal. Deal.

Oh, fuck... (Laughing) Right on, boys!

(Whimpering) Cheers! Yeah!

(Music)

(Seabirds squawking)

Fish: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck off! Fuck!...

Fuck off! Jesus Christ!

(Whisper) Fuck.

(Light clicks off) Fuck off.