07x05 - W's Talk, Baby

[bunniefuu]

‐ You wanna know what? I'm gettin'
a little bit sick of this set up.

‐ When a friend asks for help,
you helps 'em, good buddies.

‐ Yeah, but we've got people calling

from a half dozen townships there,
Squirrelly D.

‐ Yeah, like, we don't even know
half of these nut sacks.

‐ You know, if I know you, Wayne,

and I am 100% sure
I would like to get to know you better,

you'd rather be at home
doing some toe curlin'

with your little Anne Parillaud.

‐ Butt‐f*ckin' bucket‐load of things
I'd rather be doin', good buddy.

‐ Game time.
‐ Ooh!

Car!
[giggles]

'Cause that's wh‐‐
when they play hockey...

Fine, game on.

♪ rock music playing ♪

Okay, let's cr*ck an Ag.
Three, two, [mouths] one.

‐ Yeah, well, welcome to cr*ck an Ag.

And bet you can't, so...

‐ McMurray's on the line.

‐ f*ck sakes.

‐ He says it's an emergency.

‐ So much for that blacklist.
Wait, am I still on that?

DARYL:
Man, McMurray's a piece of sh*t.

‐ Should I let him through?

‐ We kinda have to now, good buddies.
‐ Okay.

‐ He says that he's here at the studio,
but the doors are locked.

‐ Oh! I can just go let him in myself. Oh.

I'm coming, blacklist buddy!

‐ Buck futter.

‐ Eh, when a friend asks you for help...

‐ Get off his d*ck, Dan.

[panting]

‐ Wayne.
‐ McMurray, how are you now?

‐ Good and you. Not so bad.
Good and you. And I knew that you were.

‐ Pitter‐patter.
‐ [panting]

‐ I have some life‐altering
news for youse.

‐ Well, we've got about a half dozen
townships watching,

so, hope it's not too personal.

‐ Shh. I, McMurray,

have a 5.15 inch penis.

‐ What?
‐ I, McMurray, have a 5, point‐‐

‐ We, we heard you.

‐ Why is this news that
you are telling us?

‐ Because, Big Hoss,
I've spent my entire life

thinking that I had a 4.15 inch penis.

‐ So, you're essentially
f*ckin' with a Snickers bar.

‐ Well, girth is the question mark.
What changed?

Did I say that?

‐ I was listening to Howard Stern
this morning and‐‐

‐ See, that's another thing I miss doing
when we're here all the time, f*ck.

‐ Hit 'em with the Hein!

‐ Hit 'em with the Hein. And I learnt

that I have been
measuring my penis incorrectly

since the time I first measured it
as an adolescent.

‐ How did you f*ck that up?

‐ I'm glad you asked, Katy.
‐ Ugh.

‐ I measure my penis every year,
once a year on Boxing Day.

‐ Well, how come it's on Boxing Day?

‐ Oh, because that's when
Mrs. McMurray's family leaves

after a week‐long stay for the holidays,

giving us a chance to...

Exchange gifts.

‐ Holy f*ck.

‐ Now, I pray to the good Lord Jesus above

every year at Christmas Eve
at midnight mass,

"Please, Lord, let me wake up,

"let this year be the year

that I give Mrs. McMurray
a little something extra."

‐ f*ckin' Catholics.

‐ And yet, every year on Boxing Day,

I pull the tape out and... 4.15 inches.

‐ So, you're essentially
f*ckin' with a three‐quarter Rolo.

‐ Girth is still the question mark.

Glen, you have no one
to blame but yourself now.

‐ I've been measuring my penis wrong!
My entire life!

‐ How did you manage to fluff that up?

‐ As Mrs. McMurray goes
and gets her Christmas lingerie on,

I lie myself in bed and I get myself
good and hard.

Not a little hard. Good and hard.

‐ So, fully torqued, then?

‐ Full bars.
‐ Full Snickers bars.

‐ Holy f*ck.

‐ I prop lil' Mac down like so,

and I lay the tape
along top of him like so,

so he's pointing outwards.

‐ So, uh, ninety degrees, out like that?

‐ Exactly, Dary.

And then I take the tape

and I press it firmly
against my pubic bone,

and then I lay her down
on top of lil' Mac.

‐ And?
‐ And 4.15 inches.

‐ That's some balls,
advertising that there, bud.

‐ Balls! Exactly.

‐ What the actual f*ck are you
talking about, McMurray?

‐ I learnt on Stern today
that you are not "exposed" to measure

from your pubic bone to the tip
of your penis on the top side.

You are, in fact, "exposed"
to measure from your balls

to the tip of your penis
on the underside.

‐ Are you sure?
‐ Well, you don't argue with Stern.

‐ This, the correct mode of measurement,

gives me one additional inch

and, by clinical definition,

a 100% average‐sized penis

at 5.15 inches!

‐ I don't think I've ever seen anyone
be so excited to be average.

‐ I don't think that method
of measurement is accurate.

WAYNE:
Well, if Stern said it...

‐ He didn't say Stern says it.

He says he heards it on Sterns.

‐ Hit 'em with the Hein!

‐ I can Google it.

‐ Let's open the phone lines for this.

‐ Open the lines.

‐ JD Williams from Wallace Township.
You're on.

WILLIAMS: McMurray's a piece of sh*t.
‐ Huh?

WILLIAMS:
What kind of kife measuring is that?

How do you keep a straight‐up
dime‐piece like Mrs. McMurray

with that pedestrian effort?

You're essentially
f*ckin' her with a Twinkie.

‐ [chuckles] Good one.

‐ Girth would still be the question...
Oh, Glen!

‐ f*ck you!

‐ Uh, John Heinmiller from Elma township,
you're on.

HEINMILLER:
Ha, why am I not surprised

you can't even figure out
how to measure your own d*ck,

you piece of sh*t.

I am utterly baffled you got
a ring on Mrs. McMurray.

You should be tried for
crimes against humanity.

‐ This is a f*ckin' ambush.

‐ Brent Zurbrigg from Howick township.
You're on.

ZURBRIGG:
Holy f*ck, McMurray.

Look at you sh**t' high stakes snooker
with a number two pencil there, buddy.

Why don't you go ahead and tell your wife
I rock eight inches in reality,

and nine if I measure
in your bunk‐ass way.

Holy f*ck. It's my f*ckin' heart.

It just breaks for that
f*ckin' masterpiece.

‐ My wife is a very satisfied woman.

‐ Gary Hoskins from Lucan Biddulph,
you're on.

HOSKINS: Your wife is
blow‐my‐brains‐out hot, McMurray.

I would literally cut off
my own arm to f*ck her.

I would 127 Hours both
my arms to f*ck your wife.

‐ How about I cut 'em both off
and stick 'em up your ass, you f*ckin'‐‐

‐ Sal Smith from Huron‐Kinloss. You're on.

SMITH: Hey, I was sittin' here,
kinda sad for your wife

'cause maybe she
doesn't know any better,

but I'm roofing with my friend, Richard,

who f*cked her in high school

and he's a f*ckin' Dutchman, so...

RICHARD:
Hey, ask her if she remembers

Richard Van Den Berg, McMurray.

I took her to semi‐formal in '03,

and then took her down
in my dad's Oldsmobile.

‐ Patricia Marie Shuli
from Georgian Bluffs. You're on.

SHULI: I f*cked McMurray at
a buck and doe in Drayton,

and four inches is
a criminal embellishment.

‐ Patti?

SHULI:
McMurray, if you were ten off the tee,

I still wouldn't golf with you.
f*ckin' end it.

‐ I think I might have a wee bit more time
for cr*ck an Ag.

‐ Ronnie Schroeder from Woolwich.
You're on.

SCHROEDER:
McMurray, get the f*ck out of the way

with that peasant cock,
you f*ckin' novice.

I would hand over one of my kids
to suck on those tits.

I'll go long d*ck style

with your wife all night long!
[yelps]

‐ Ooh. Ooh.

‐ It's an average‐sized penis.

♪ theme music playing ♪

‐ How much?
‐ Enough.

‐ Your grandma d*ed.

‐ My Doda d*ed.
‐ Your Doda passed

and left you with enough
money to buy the Eagles?

‐ Should I write it on
a f*ckin' dry‐erase board, or‐‐

‐ Why do you want to buy the team?

‐ I have cousins coming up
in minor hockey,

and they're starting to
get in trouble now.

They always used to watch your team,

but now, they just
don't really give a sh*t.

‐ And?
‐ And I want to use the money to create

a more exciting
environment at the games,

and keep them interested in hockey.
‐ Why?

‐ 'Cause kids in sports
stay off the f*cking streets.

You f*ckin' bug me, dude.
‐ No.

‐ No what?

‐ You cannot buy the Eagles.

‐ [scoffs]
I'll go over your head.

‐ Will ya?
‐ Money talks, baby.

‐ We're in first place.
‐ Are you?

‐ So you can't go over my head.
‐ Why?

‐ 'Cause W's talk, "baby."

‐ If I put together a team,
will you play us?

‐ If you put together a team,
will we play you?

‐ Should I write that
on the dry‐erase board, too,

you f*ckin' basic?

‐ We're mid‐season.

You want me to ice a first place team

in a meaningless exhibition game,

and risk my guys getting hurt
for the games that matter?

‐ Do you want me to use the blue marker
or the black marker?

The [inhales] red.

‐ Why would I do that?

‐ Because if I win,
you let me take over here.

‐ And if I win?
‐ I'll suck your d*ck.

‐ Balls?

Deal.

‐ Auntie talks, baby.

‐ We'll see about that, Auntie.

♪

‐ What's up, Auntie?

‐ We're going to Letterkenny.

What's up?

‐ Solo spin class.

Healthy body, healthy mind. I love it.

Maximize every single...

second.

‐ I need a coach.

[yells, then laughs]

[clattering]

You got one.
‐ f*ckin' A.

‐ For what?

‐ We're resurrecting
the Letterkenny Irish.

[music stops]

What?

‐ That team is dog sh*t.

We're resurrecting the Letterkenny Irish.

I need my star players.

Are you in?
BOTH: Yes!

‐ All right.

The Letterkenny Irish are back.

‐ Not yet. We're gonna need some finesse.

‐ We'll find you holes.
‐ We'll get you deep.

‐ We know a thing or two about bulging.

Twine.

‐ Daxi. Ronzy.
‐ Tanzy.

‐ Never again.
‐ Got you.

‐ All right, boys, you're in.

Now we just need some sandpaper.

[grunting]

Tyson, Joint Boy, you got a sec?

BOTH:
No.

COACH:
Will these guys do?

‐ These guys... I will do.

‐ Okay.

‐ So, the Letterkenny Irish are back.

‐ Not yet.

We got most of the pieces in place.

But we only got one sh*t at this.

One chance. One win. You know?

Vomit on your mom's spaghetti,
or whatever that talking singer says.

None of these guys
have won a championship.

We gotta find some people
that know how to win.

‐ Where do we find them?
‐ At the gym.

‐ But we were just there!

‐ They weren't there when we were there!

‐ We were here the whole time.

‐ Really?

‐ And we're inski.
‐ Soda Popinski.

‐ Can't wait to get back
out there, Betty‐Anne.

‐ Been far too long, Mary‐Anne.
‐ You won't be playing.

‐ Huh?
‐ Huh?

‐ Huh?
‐ You'll be coaching.

‐ Huh?
‐ Huh?

‐ Hold up. How come they can't they play?

Just f*ckin' around.

‐ Same. Absolutely in
for telling men how to do sh*t.

‐ Absolutely in for telling men
how to win sh*t.

‐ Phew.

I thought we were gonna have
one of those conversations,

you know, where women
can do anything men can do.

[laughs] So stupid.

‐ That isn't a conversation.

‐ Women can do anything men can do.

‐ Women can do it better.

‐ Eh... no.

‐ No?
‐ No!

‐ No?
‐ No.

‐ No?
‐ No!

‐ No?
‐ No.

‐ No?
‐ No!

‐ No?
‐ No.

‐ So, you're saying
men are superior to women?

‐ Yeah!
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah.
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah!
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah.
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah!
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah.
‐ Yeah?

‐ Yeah.
‐ Explain.

‐ Come on...

‐ No, you come on.

‐ Come on.
‐ You come on.

‐ Come on!
‐ You come on.

‐ Guys, come on.

ALL:
You come on!

‐ They're 120 pounds, soaking wet,

full stomachs,
pockets full of loonies and toonies.

‐ So?
‐ So, senior hockey players, men,

are up to 220 pounds. More.

‐ So?
‐ That's 100 pounds more!

‐ So?
‐ So they could get k*lled out there.

You will get k*lled out there.

You will die.
Think that's something to think about,

I think, huh?

Do you have good relationships
with your mom?

‐ Yeah.
‐ No.

‐ Well, better pick up a phone
and call her,

'cause you're dead.

'Cause you wanted to play a game

with men who are bigger
and faster than you.

‐ And faster?
‐ Yeah.

‐ Yeah?
‐ Yeah.

‐ Yeah?
‐ Yeah. Yeah!

Look, I watch the Olympic games.

All the events. All of 'em.

Every single one. All right?

And when the Olympic games are on,
all the events, every one,

every single one,

the men's speeds, results and times

eclipse the women's speeds,
results and times

every time.
‐ Play us.

‐ In what?
‐ Hockey.

‐ [scoffs]
Your team folded.

‐ The girls are still around.

‐ The girls would love this.

‐ If you win, we'll coach with you.

‐ You're playing them.
Get the boys gelling.

I want to test drive an idea
I have for the Rez game.

‐ Okay.

‐ No contact.

‐ [laughs] I know.

‐ Don't want our guys
getting hurt out there.

‐ Yeah, the guys.

‐ All right, let's do this.

‐ You're going down.

‐ Oh, my God. I'm so scared.

‐ Good.

[laughs, then wheezes]

‐ Your spines are gonna snap...

[wheezes]
You're gonna have a feeding tube...

[laughs, then wheezes]

[groans mockingly]

[laughs]

BOTH:
Hello. Well...

You go. No, you go.

Okay, I'll go.

‐ I'm back.
‐ That's what you are.

‐ But I have to go back to...

‐ Vancouver, right?

‐ Yeah, for...

‐ Pit bull rescue still?

‐ Yeah.
‐ You're a good f*ckin' gal, Rosie.

‐ I need a favor.

‐ Oh.

[whimpers]

‐ Come here, bud.
Oh, who's a good boy?

‐ Who is this?

‐ That's Zeke.

‐ Is he a Pit?
‐ Pits are banned in the province. I know.

‐ What should be banned
is idiots breeding them,

and then selling them to other idiots.

‐ You're a good f*ckin' guy, Wayne.

‐ How'd you get him in?

‐ There isn't a vet in the province
who backs breed‐specific legislation.

They'll put anything on
his papers you ask 'em to.

‐ So, if anyone asks, he's a...

‐ Teacup Yorkie.
‐ Oh, is that what he is?

‐ [chuckles] Kidding. American bulldog.

‐ That's what he is.

‐ I need you to hold onto him
for a couple days.

‐ Okay.

‐ His sister has been
lethargic since he left,

so I'm going back for her.

‐ And then what?

‐ Then I'm back.

I'll call you in a couple days.

‐ Okay.
‐ Thank you.

‐ All right. Hold up.

Especially youse two.

Just stay like that for me. Mmm.
Okay.

You guys are gonna need to get mic'd
before your sweaters go on.

‐ Mic'd?

[groans]

[scraping on whiteboard]

‐ Why?
‐ Just...

You, don't talk, okay?
It's just better for me.

‐ Huh?
‐ Same for you.

‐ Tanis?
‐ Huh.

‐ Um, may we speak?

‐ Sure.

BOTH:
Why do we need mics?

‐ All right, so you know
those videos on YouTube

of all the NHL players
when they're all mic'd out?

‐ You mean Mic'd Up?

‐ Yeah, whatever.

So, my cousins f*cking love those videos

and they watch them over
and over and over again.

So, I want to provide for them
a pro‐level in‐game experience.

So, for this afternoon's dress rehearsal,
youse are all gonna be mic'd out.

‐ Mic'd up.
‐ f*ck you.

‐ [feedback on radio]
‐ All right, Skids.

‐ Natives.

TANIS:
Phasers set to stun up there, or what?

‐ Uh, Stewart hasn't
picked a song yet, but he‐‐

‐ Roald.

‐ Phasers set to stun, Tanzy!

TANIS:
"Tanzy." If this becomes a thing,

I swear to Christ, I will‐‐
‐ Walk‐up music.

A critical factor in
creating a team's identity.

The Vancouver Canucks have
Where The Streets Have No Name.

‐ U2.

‐ Anaheim Ducks have Bro Hymn.
‐ Pennywise.

‐ Buffalo Sabres have
Let Me Clear My Throat.

‐ DJ Kool.

‐ And the Letterkenny Irish have...

‐ Hmm... A floor burner?
‐ Hmm...

A heart‐string tugger?

‐ Might I suggest...
‐ [hissing]

A Boogie?

[sighs]

‐ Youse ready?
‐ We're missing a few guys, boys.

‐ Who?

‐ Barts, Yorkie, Scholtzy,
Fisky, Boomtown.

‐ We're not missing anyone.
All right, f*ck those guys.

I don't want to talk
about them right now.

I got a player who plays bigger
than all of them combined, so...

‐ No.
‐ Not...

‐ Oh, yes.
BOTH: No!

‐ [Shoresy farts]
SHORESY: Will you two just

man up and make out?

I started an office pool for it
and the day I picked is tomorrow.

Get tuggin', tit f*ckers.

‐ [Shoresy farts]
‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.

SHORESY:
f*ck you, Jonesy.

Your mom pulled the goalie on me
and now she's preggo.

Surprise, son.
Go rake the f*ckin' yard. [farts]

‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.
SHORESY: f*ck you, Reilly.

I slipped one past your mom, too.

Her preggo farts
smell like hot dog water.

‐ [Shoresy farts]
‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.

SHORESY: f*ck you, Jonesy.

Your mom's in her first trimester,
and already bitching about baby brain.

Had to tell her she's been
dumber than Reilly's mom

since the genesis.

‐ [Shoresy farts]
‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.

SHORESY:
f*ck you, Reilly.

I talked your mom into
a three‐way with our midwife

and she gassed us both out of the room.

I'm f*ckin' humiliated.
[farts]

‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.

SHORESY:
f*ck you, Jonesy.

Your mom wants to name the baby after
the place it was conceived.

Can't wait to meet
Martha's Vineyard Shore.

‐ [Shoresy farts]
‐ f*ck you, Shoresy.

SHORESY:
f*ck you, Reilly.

Your mom wants the same thing.

How do I shorten down
"Handicapped Bathroom

at Cheesecake Factory in Boca Raton."

‐ [Shoresy farts]
BOTH: f*ck!

‐ All right, starting up front.

Reilly, you ready?
‐ I'm ready.

‐ Good, 'cause you're goin'.

Jonesy, you ready?
‐ I'm ready.

‐ Good, 'cause you're goin'.

‐ Shoresy, you ready?
‐[Shoresy farts]

‐ Good, 'cause you're goin'.

‐ All right, the Letterkenny Irish
are back.

‐ Not yet. This still could get
f*ckin' embarrassing.

‐ [static on radio]
‐ [sighs]

‐ Skids, you ready?
ROALD: Ready.

‐ We are not ready!
‐ Uh...

TANIS:
They're coming out! Press play!

‐ I don't have a song yet.

‐ What's in this CD player?

Susan Aglukark.

‐ sh*t. Figure skaters
must have had the ice before.

‐ That is sexist!

‐ I can't work like this!

TANIS:
Press play!

‐ If I'm you, I'm listening to the lady.

♪ "O Siem" by Susan Aglukark playing ♪

♪ O Siem ♪

♪ We are all family ♪

♪ O Siem ♪

♪ We're all the same ♪

JIM: Welcome, one and all,
to Letterkenny Memorial Arena

for this afternoon's matinee game

between the Letterkenny Irish

and the Letterkenny Shamrockettes.

Don't forget to buy your 50/50 tickets.

I'd say this afternoon's grand total

could reach $100.

[auctioneer calling]

Sold.

‐ Camera dudes set up?

‐ Affirmative.
‐ "Affirmative."

What is this,
the Starship f*ckin' Enterprise?

‐ I wish.
‐ Me, too. I wish.

‐ [sighs] Good. Mike's on?

‐ Affirm‐matory?

‐ Fine.

‐ Engage.
‐ Flip on the monitor.

‐ Engaging monitor.

SHORESY:
Nice f*ckin' bird cage.

At the end of the day,
what are you really protecting?

BOTH:
f*ck you, Shoresy.

‐ Perfect.

‐ Gotta work with what we've got, bro.

‐ Let's get this f*ckin' over with, bro.

‐ Great day for competitive
men's hockey, eh.

What's women's hockey like?

Same things,
less competitive or what?

[blows whistle]

[crowd cheering]

‐ [buzzer sounds]
‐ [referee blows whistle]

[crowd cheering]

BOTH:
f*ck you, Shoresy.

‐ First puck of the campaign, boys.
f*ckin' get involved!

♪ "Under Moonlight" by
Death From Above plays ♪

[cheering]

SHORESY: Hey, you look like
that broad from The Hunger Games.

I'm gonna call you Cuteness Everdeen.

You like edamame?

[whistle blows]

‐ Short shifts, Cuteness.

♪ Under moonlight ♪

♪ A violent tide comes in ♪

♪ The streets are wild... ♪

SHORESY:
You skate like a f*ckin' girl, birdcage.

‐ 'Cause I am one.

SHORESY:
No, you're not.

Are you really?

Holy f*ck.

♪ It came like a wave ♪

♪ They came crashing over me ♪

♪ If I could breathe
I could swim away ♪

♪ Swim away... ♪

‐ Hey, what's your favorite
kind of pizza, Cuteness?

Mine's pizza ass.

Short shifts...

♪ It came like a wave ♪

♪ They came crashing over me ♪

♪ If I could breathe I could swim away ♪

♪ It came like a wave ♪

♪ No one can be me but me ♪

♪ If I could stand I could run away ♪

♪ Run away ♪

[buzzer sounds]

‐ Good shift, Cuteness. Oh!

We should change our Facebook status
to "It's complicated."

MARIE‐FRED:
Look what the cat dragged in.

WAYNE: Oh, it's better than
what the cat coughed up.

‐ Oh.

[makes kissing sounds]
Who's that Bronco Buster?

‐ Oh, that's Zeke.
‐ Zeke's having a roll in the hay.

‐ Oh, that's barley.
‐ Can we keep him?

‐ A gal I used to date brought him over
asking for some help with him.

Temporarily.

‐ She pushin' up?

‐ No.
‐ Would I like her?

‐ Yeah.

‐ When a friend asks for help,
you help them, right?

[barking]

Is he sleeping with us?

‐ Puppies should be crate trained.

They go in the crate
every time you leave the house,

or go to sleep, no exceptions.

‐ Well, he may be the only one

getting some sleep tonight.
Pitter‐patter.

‐ Oh, who's a good boy?

‐ You guys get fully changed
in between periods?

Oh, why do women have to be so different?
‐ We concede.

‐ Oh. Don't be bitter biscuits.

‐ We're not.

‐ I've seen bitter biscuits,
and what I'm seeing

is a lot of bitter biscuitry.

‐ Sometimes you get speed‐bagged.
‐ Happens in hockey.

‐ Okay. Look.

Women can do anything men can do...

‐ Shut the f*ck up.
‐ We're in.

‐ In what?
‐ To coach, idiot.

‐ Ice time's expensive.
Let's use it for practice.

Set up the PK. Get the PP going.

‐ Get jerseys sorted for your line combos.

‐ What are you smiling about?

‐ The Letterkenny Irish are back.

[laughs]

[Right On, Frankenstein!
by Death From Above playing]

♪ You don't believe in ghosts ♪

♪ Lightning strikes the body ♪

♪ And threatens life the most ♪

♪ I do my own grades lately ♪

♪ I don't need any help ♪

♪ Just let me sit here quiet ♪

♪ In here by myself ♪

♪ I don't wanna die
but I wanna be buried ♪

♪ Meet me at the gates
of the cemetery ♪

♪ I've been a zombie lately ♪

♪ I got nothin' to say... ♪