02x04 - The Native Flu

[bunniefuu]

You're out pickin' stones
with your pals the other day.

Sundays are for pickin' stones.

KATY: Tale as old as time.

Would you rather pick
stones or pick worms?

Well, pickin' worms is done at
night and it can gets rather brisk.

So I'd say pickin' stones
'cause it's in the sunshines.

There's been an incident and
I'd like to talk about it.

Get after it.

Well, Pitter-patter, let's get at 'er.

Spit it out, big sh**t.

I seen Stewart's horn.

What?

- You seen his impaler?
- His bobby dangler?

- Well...
- You seen his PhD?

- His WMD?
- Now, look, fellas...

- You seen his friendly w*apon?
- His sticky grenade?

His ground squirrel?

Yeah, I seen his ground squirrel.

You seen Stewart's middle stump?

You've seen his custard slinger?

Well, I'm comin' up the stairs
and he's comin' out of the bathroom

just naked as a jay bird
for some f*ckin' reason.

I round the corner and, yeah,

- so I seen his, uh...
- His hollow point.

DAN: His hard drive.

Well, his floppy disk
is what I seen, yeah.

Well, what's the evaluation?

- Yeah.
- I'd hear an assessment.

You wanna know what?

Looked like a tall boy can
of Red Bull hangin' there.

No.

Looked like a tube of
tennis balls hangin' there.

- A four-pack.
- Shut up.

Looked like a f*ckin'
policeman's flashlight

from the s hangin' there.

You're joking.

That is no joke.

DARYL: Good job, Stewart.

That's what I said.
I said, good for him.

Good for you, Stewart.

Like I'm happy for him.

Yeah, it's really good for him.

Well, it's a terrific opportunity.

Good for you, Stewart.

KATY: Pump the brakes.

Stewart isn't a really big dude.

Are you sure the size of his horn

wasn't accentuated by
his really tiny frame?

Looked like a one-liter
thermos hangin' there.

Because...

Because, you know, a really big dude

can have a massive horn, but
it would look really small

in proportion to his
gigantic frame, right?

Have you been reading my diary?

I'll tell you what, it looked like
a deflated football hangin' there.

KATY: f*ck!

You wanna know what?

There's such a thing
as too much horn talk

and a fella ought to
be f*ckin' aware of it.

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

Subtitle by peritta

Like, none of these
donkeys even dip, bro.

JONESY: None of these
chumps even chew, bro.

Like none of these
dunces ever had a dinger?

These losers never had a lipper, bro.

Like chill out, have a chaw.

- Peace out, have a pull.
- Have a hogger.

- Have a dang-er.
- Have a hammer.

Say hello to Sergeant Spitter, boys.

- Spitter!
- Spitter!

Big roadie this weekend, schmelts.

Let's see some heart.

- Where we goin', boys?
- You don't know?

- Check the schedule.
- This is senior A whale sh*t hockey!

Do you think I check the scheddy?

I don't give a sh*t about the scheddy.

Take a lap, lifer.

Hang 'em up, hero.

Shut it down, Tom Scheddy.

Hit the showers, Scheddy Vedder.

You're softer than Scheddy Ruxpin.

Schmelts got jokes, Yorkie.

They won't be laughing for long, Barts.

You're about to meet the natives, boys.

The senior A natives.

BARTS: You thought
the juniors were tough?

The senior natives
will f*ckin' k*ll you.

You got the native
flu, you little bitch?

Yorkie.

That's the native flu if
I've ever seen it, Barts.

Scholtzy.

You scared of the natives, p*ssy?

Fisky.

Fever. Body aches. Nausea.

All symptoms fraidy-cats fake to
get out of playing the natives.

Boomtown.

I hate fraidy-cats like I love my wife.

Intensely.

I love her so much.

We do not have the native flu.

No?

So what's got you looking like
a fraidy-cat, you little bitch?

Yorkie.

Cacophobia?

The fear of ugliness?

Don't think so.

I'm gorgeous. Scholtzy.

Coprophobia? The fear of poop?

Nah. You both pooped your pants

when we mentioned the natives, p*ssy.

Fisky.

Alektorophobia? The fear of chickens?

Uh-uh. 'Cause you'd be
afraid of each other.

Boomtown.

Pentheraphobia?

Fear of your mother-in-law?

f*ck that.

I love my mother-in-law
like I love my wife.

I'm a good man.

It's not the native flu.

You're a cry baby.

You're barely off the
tit, you little bitch.

- Yorkie.
- Put the bottle away, Mom.

He still wants the tit. Scholtzy.

You're scared of the
natives, p*ssy? Fisky.

Gutless.

Spineless. No heart. Boomtown.

I'm a good man.

Check the schedule, schmelts.

Know the schedule, schmelts.

Watch some Scheddy Murphy.

p*ssy. Fisky.

Listen to some Scheddy
Van Halen. Boomtown.

Or Sched Sheeran.

My wife loves Sched Sheeran.

Schmelts have the native flu, boys.

(LAUGHTER)

Those aren't real things.
I'm not checking the scheddy.

- f*ck the scheddy! f*ck it!
- f*ck it...

(YELLS)

Yeah!

How do you like that, Schmelt?

Let me go! No! No!

(UPBEAT MUSIC PLAYING)

(CAR DOOR CLOSES)

Let's do it.

We, uh...

We need to talk, boys.

- Uh, but not to her, boys.
- Piss off.

You were getting squeezers from each
other's billet sisters the entire time.

Dude, did you tell
her about those handys?

Who told her about the glovers, bro?

You just did.

- sh*t.
- f*ck.

f*ck it.

We got a roadie to the
rez this weekend, boys.

Big roadie to play the
natives this weekend, boys.

You got the native flu?

We do not have the...

... native flu.

We do not have the native flu.

Don't be scared to admits it.

Those natives are tough as hell.

Yeah, those natives
are tougher than hell.

Look, we can handle the
natives in the rink, boys.

We know we got business
in their barn, boys.

But Tanis and her troops
are gonna be waiting for us

in the parking lot, so we...

- We need back up, boys.
- Hard no.

Aw, come on. Where's your jam, bud?

Not my pig. Not my farm.

Where's the sacrifice?

Oh, get off the cross, we need the wood.

We tuned 'em up on our
turf just a fortnights ago.

Yeah, we step back on theirs now,

that's a su1c1de mission.

Mmm...

I heard Tanis wants the ban
on Letterkenny lifted, too.

Then she shouldn't have b*rned
down the f*ckin' produce stand.

Come on. Where's your
g*dd*mn hustle, bud?

Let's see the hustle, boys.

When a man asks you
for help, you help him.

Pitter-patter.

Well, I guess I haven't
been in a scrap in a while.

We could go get bags of darts, too.

And their venison pepperettes
are not to be missed.

I pert near popped a street meat vendor

outside of a Jays' game one time
for sellin' me a venison dog.

Ain't no goat-da-g*dd*mn
way that's venison dogs.

- No.
- Well...

I'd go for a scrap.

We'll need reinforcements.

- Joint Boy?
- Yeah, you could call JB.

- What about...
- No.

- Oh, you mean the Ginger?
- Hard no.

- But?
- Now, everybody listen up

'cause I'm only gonna say this once,

we never talk about it
again. You understand?

We all lay off the Ginger and Boots now.

Because the Ginger and Boots

did not f*ck an ostrich.

Yeah, I heard they f*cked two ostriches.

Allegedly.

Folks'll say that it takes
two people to f*ck an ostrich.

Three even.

Folks are also saying
that it was a sick ostrich.

Allegedly.

WAYNE: Now, I went on the Internet

and researched ostriches.

Firstly, ostriches can
run up to miles an hour.

So catching one,

even a sick one, is a super tall order.

Yeah, but there was two of them.

Secondly, when a male ostrich,

it's called a cock,

fights over a female ostrich,

they're called a hen,

they're known to k*ll
each other by head butting.

Probably should wear hockey helmets.

Hockey helmets, buddy.

Well, they'd need a
race car helmet, likely.

Finally, ostriches use their
legs to defend from predators.

And can use them to
k*ll even their largest

and most deadly enemies,

which are f*ckin' lions.

That's the king of the jungle.

Still just a cat.

So you'll see there is no way

the Ginger and Boots could
have f*cked an ostrich.

Maybe they tranqed the ostrich.

- Like they roofie'd the ostrich?
- WAYNE: You wanna know what?

You should feel bad
about even suggesting

that the Ginger and
Boots f*cked an ostrich.

Bad gas travels real
fast in a small town.

My research concludes

that the only way the Ginger and Boots

could have f*cked an ostrich

is if it was a dead ostrich.

Ginger and Boots (HORN
HONKS) a dead ostrich?

I thought it was just sick!

Oh, my! Ginny?

The Ginger and Boots
effed a dead ostrich.

Oh, bother.

Of course I know what
the male ones are called!

Check my browser history.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Don't show her weakness, Stewart.

I'm not. I'm sun burnt.

- Hey, you!
- Hey, you.

This is awkward but your shirt
seems to have shrunk in the wash.

Not awkward. Things shrink in the wash.

How do you explain your d*ck?

Quick wit. Valuable asset.

Must really serve a lady
of the night like you well.

- He means you're a hooker.
- Thanks, Roald. You speak?

(HISSES)

Heard a song this morning
that reminded me of you.

Really? So cool. What was it?

- Die, Die, My Darling.
- Metallica. Love 'em.

Actually, they have a song
that reminds me of you, too.

- Oh?
- Yeah.

- Sad But True.
- Hmm.

Why don't you run along
and get your essentials?

You know, long, smooth,
cylindrical-shaped objects.

Actually, I'm just looking for some

three-inch screws to hang a frame.

Hey,

you know what three
inches looks like, right?

- She skewered you!
- Don't listen to him, Devon.

They wanted you to go to debate school.

(MOUTHING)

(INDISTINCT TALKING)

Hey, what's up?

- We... We're just goin'...
- Kidding! I don't give a f*ck.

Look like you got a bad
case of the native flu.

Should've brought your
f*ckin' bodyguards.

We do not have the native flu!

- Okay?
- It's not the native flu!

Right.

And one tit's better than two.

Tanis, what we want to do is go inside,

rip a couple of snap
bombs and then go home.

Just wanna rip some snaps
and bury some claps, Tanis.

Hack some limbs and rack some PIMS.

Lay beats and fill seats.

Yeah? Yous want to get pucks deep?

- Get pucks deep.
- Yeah, get pucks in the net.

Shut the f*ck up.

If yous think you're gonna
make it into that rink,

you're f*ckin' stupid.

Do some damage, boys!

Wa'tsok.

Listen, we're four lines deep

of BFI's in there ready
to speed bag you space men.

- What's a BFI?
- Big f*ckin' Indians.

Not sure that's PC but you said it.

If you chodes walk out of there

with all your chicklets,
then I'm a f*ckin' ferret.

Piss off.

Cool.

That's not cool.

You ready for a chin check?

Yup.

You can avoid it if you want to.

Nope.

Hmm...

(CLEARS THROAT)

(EXHALES DEEPLY)

I want the ban on Letterkenny lifted.

There's some good money

that can be made selling smokes there.

Yous made your point. We f*cked off.

Point's not made yet.

It's not calculus.

Finite math is worse.

Trigonometry f*cked me.

I forgot long division in grade six.

Okay.

Lift the ban on Letterkenny.

We'll make a buck and
yous can cruise the rez.

- Bags of darts?
- Yeah, go to the casino.

Venison pepperettes?

Yes. Go watch a f*ckin' hockey game.

WAYNE: Mmm...

Nope.

FBI's coming.

- Who's that?
- f*ckin' Big Indians!

Now, one of yous farted
right before she got here

and she definitely thought it was me.

- Dan?
- I'd admits it.

JB?

Would've went out my window.

Maybe she farted.

(GIGGLES) It was me.

Hey, since when did
algebra become a quick wank?

I once popped my grade nine math teacher

over the Pythagorean theorem.

- Did you get expelled?
- Just suspended.

Yep, called probability and statistics.

Like probably never gonna need them

statistics in your whole life.

That's kind of like fractions.

Like multiplying and dividing them.

Like who the f*ck's doin' that?

My friend David does tool
and dye and he uses fractions.

Should have just got his fridge ticket.

David has his fridge ticket.

Then he should just drive truck.

Well, it's never too
late to drive truck.

Oh!

Eyelash. Make a wish.

Wish you weren't so
f*ckin' awkward, bud.

TANIS: Five minutes!

Yup.

- You ready, bro?
- Born ready, buddy.

You stretch it out, bro?

Good and limber, bro.

I say we get a couple of shifts
in before we answer the bell.

Get a couple of shifts
in before tea time.

Get that first sh*t in
and just keep goin', buddy.

Don't hesitate, buddy.

Take a shift, schmelts.

Ooh!

Pulled salad in the scrum.

Got a mitt full, boys.

You get any good sh*ts in?

Think I was on my feet
for a bit there, bro.

Hey, are you hurt or are you injured?

Ah! Don't...

% pure organic,

grass-fed, Triple A Alberta beef.

Better believe it's 'Berta beef.

What you got there? Top sirloins?

Yeah, the New Yorks are grain-fed.

Three times the omega- 's in grass-fed.

Bought and paid for.

Well, you're gonna want 'em
aged if they're top sirloins.

Pump the brakes.

Two things. One.

We'll let those sit for to minutes

till they're room temperature.

Two. Where's the salt and pepper, bud?

Don't you f*ckin' start.

S and P, the choice for me.

I paid a C-hair just shy of
for each of these C-suckers

and I will not be told how to cook 'em.

You paid a piece for 'Berta beef?

- Only 'Berta beef.
- Well, no guff.

But I wouldn't pay
apiece for Japanese wagyu.

- Always 'Berta beef.
- Hard yes.

But I wouldn't pay
apiece for Australian wagyu.

Gonna want a rib eye if it's a wagyu.

One-inch thick top sirloin.

Grill at .

Four minutes a side. Down the hatch.

- You are f*ckin' up, bud.
- That's textbook.

Not without the S and P.

Those fine ranchers in
Alberta'd be a C-hair away

from not sendin' it here if they knew

you were sprinklin' salt
all over the C-suckers.

You're a C-hair away from gettin'
C-suckin' socked, good buddy.

Montreal steak spice really should
be a part of this conversation.

One-inch thick top sirloin steak.

Salt and pepper heavily.

Grill at . Four minutes total.

Flip each minute to get
the good grill marks.

Let sit for two minutes. Down the hatch.

- Flip twice.
- Grill marks, bud.

- Sacrilege.
- I will strike you.

- Blasphemy.
- Do you wanna get striked?

Finish the whole thing off with a
real nice herbs and garlics butter.

Don't f*ck up my steak dinner, Dary!

Any decent chef will tell you,

you don't even want to let
those things touch the grill.

Make it dryer than a fart.

What ya wanna do, pan sear it,

both sides, finish her off in the ovens.

Well, see, now that sounds
like over-handling to me.

You'd be over-handling
them, Squirrelly Dan.

Well, he'd be Squirrelly Dan'dling.

Oh, yeah, me and Gordon
Ramsay are both morons.

You wanna know what? Meet half way.

All right, no S and P, flip twice.

- Good. Rare to medium rare.
- Medium rare.

TANIS: Yo!

Ding, ding, pink dicks.

This one's mine.

Throw them steaks on,
Dary, this won't take long.

Oh!

(GROANS)

Remember me, boys?

Where's that 'Berta beef?

Grill marks, bud.

That's the two-fight
rule for the win, boys.

Two fights, that's your night, buddy.

Hmm. Hey, did you get any good sh*ts in?

No good ones, bro.

He fish-hooked me, so
I chomped his finger.

He gave me a pretty good seatbelt,

so I pinched the sh*t out of
the back of his arm, buddy.

I f*ckin' hate when that happens.

He did too, buddy.

Hey.

We would have dusted them
if they hadn't jumped us.

Proper Dustin', Ferda.

(GRUNTING)

REILLY: Oh, sh*t! f*ck, buddy.

We would have dusted them
if they didn't jump us.

Proper Dustin', Ferda.

Hey, shirt-tucker!

That doesn't really narrow it down.

You.

Meet me half way.

I'll level with you. We
have a BFI on stand-by

- that will f*ck you up.
- K.

- He'll lynch you.
- Good.

- He'll end you.
- That's redundant.

You can end this if you lift the ban.

You b*rned down our
produce stand, Tanis.

(CHUCKLES)

Listen. I don't want to call him.

- You can call him.
- Yeah, but I don't want to.

Ah, give him a call.

I'd rather work this out with you.

- Too much talk.
- Wait, wait, wait!

(SIGHS)

We're having a really
hard time on the rez, okay?

And selling cigarettes in
Letterkenny really helps us out.

And all of the money goes
back into the community.

This dude doesn't exist, does he?

I want you to meet someone.

Dustin!

We don't have a lot of money.

And I'd sure like to play baseball.

Please lift the ban, Wayne.

You can get a glove for
free at the Sally Anne.

Just have Mom or Dad
drive you down there.

(CLICKS TONGUE) Don't, uh...

Don't care much for kids, so...

Bubba Wally!

The cupboards are bare
in the elders' lodge.

And we're so tired and sore.

Please lift the ban, Wayne.

I've got plenty of fresh
produce on the farm.

Yous are welcome to it.

Lego!

Oh, f*ck...

A three-legged dog.

And look, Wayne,

another three-legged dog.

It's cute, huh?

Yous can come back once
per week. Saturday mornings.

Set up shop in the
farmers' market parking lot.

We'll spread the word.

Nia-wen.

Does this dude exist or not?

Mmm.

Pitter-patter!

(MUSIC PLAYING)

Hey, Katy. Carrying lunch there?

Yeah. You want a bite?

Who's this? He looks just like you.

You actually look great today,

you know, in comparison
to this bag of sh*t.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

- So?
- So?

Still an unapologetically
promiscuous tart?

Yep. Still a heartbreakingly
inadequate chronic masturbator?

- No!
- Hi, Roald.

Whatever!

Stewart,

you and I were a bad idea.

(SCOFFS) Evident.

But I still think you're cool.

Adios.

Hey, Devon.

Ugh!

Want a bite?

So what say that dude exists?

He doesn't.

Yeah, but what say that he did?

What if he walks up and hoofs

you right in the nuts like Joint Boy?

JB's right, it's him or you.

But a kick in the undercarriage?

Did Tanis ever recover
when I hoofed her?

- I think she kind of did...
- Just kiddin'. I don't give a f*ck.

You still sweet on her, though, Dary?

- No.
- Why?

Bonnie McMurray, that's why.

You're sweet on Bonnie McMurray?

- Oh, you bet I am.
- Ha. Same.

Well, it's no f*ckin' mystery, Murdoch.

Better to be the dude doin'

the hoofin' than the
dude gettin' hoofed.

Or the girl gettin' hoofed.

Exhibit A. Tanis.

But a kicks in the cojones?

Well, it's too late once you've
been hoofed in the nuts, isn't it?

You stand there holdin' your ball sack

wondering why you didn't hoof first.

Or you stand there holdin' your box

wondering why you never hoofed first.

So what you're sayings is

if that dudes existed...

We've already established

the dude doesn't f*ckin'
exist, have we not?

You'd kick him right in the pills?

I'm f*ckin' irritated.

Would you kick him right in the pillbox?

I'm gonna go see what's on television.

We're just speakin'
hypo-ethically here, bud.

Ain't no reason to get upset, Wayne!

TANIS: Save me an Indian taco.

How're you now?

Does the dude exist or not?

No. Yous worked through our finest.

No one else measures up. Yet.

- Stay for a barbecue?
- No, thank you.

TANIS: Stay.

- What are yous cookin'?
- Wagyu.

- Wagyu?
- Wagyu New York.

I was told you should go for
the rib-eye if it's a wagyu.

- Duh.
- How you cookin 'em?

One-inch thick wagyu, New Yorks.

Heavily salt and peppered.

Grill at . Four minutes total.

Flip once a minute

for those good grill marks.

Let sit for two minutes
and then down the hatch.

Flip once a minute, eh?

Grill marks, bud.

Grill marks, bud.