Thursday, February 07, 2013
Juan the Host: Hola amigos!
(John leads a man in an assless gimp suit into the restaurant by a leash attached to a rhinestone collar)
John: I've already heard enough from you, Luis Guzman. We're not doing this again. We're taking that table in the middle of this anal afterbirth of a restaurant.
Juan: Senor, I don't think that we can serve you and your...friend.
John: You will do as your told. Do you know who I am? You bow down to me now or I'll come back with Ray Lewis and you do NOT want that, haaaay-zeus.
Juan: Fine, we don't need another scene.
John: Oh, you're going to get a scene, Nacho Libre. Just sit back and enjoy the donkey show.
(John leads the gimp to the center table and lights up a footlong cigar)
Jim: Bro, you got what you wanted. Do I have to wear this suit? I look like the finest Catwoman ever created. This is not befitting of a man with my reputation. I've got a cut-off denim shirt in my Camaro.
John: You agreed to the bet, pale n****r. You lose the Super Bowl to your huge-dicked broseph, you pay your debt. Oh, look at those burro jockeys over there. They want to ask me to put out this champion cigar. I'll put it out on their cunts. YOU KEEP YOUR ASSES WHERE THEY ARE, JUAN TORRES, YOUR LAWS DO NOT APPLY TO KINGS!
Jim: Please, John, I'm humbled enough. You don't have to do this.
John: Humble? You? What happened to the "genius" who benched his twat QB in favor of some convicted felon? I hope that that half-breed taught you a thing or six about prison because those lessons will come in handy here in a few minutes. Oh Sammy! Sammy Sosa! We're ready to order over here.
Pablo: Que? You two never actually make it to the dinner portion of your trip here.
Jim: I may be dressed like a sex slave, but I'm not going to hear any lip from no slippery back so write down whatever garbage my BRAH orders and I don't want any of your Hispanic dandruff in it either. And you better not be writing this down in tomato juice either.
John: Ignore my slave, Pele, his opinion does not matter today. I don't want anything because I don't enjoy violent diarrhea. Jim would like to buy everyone here a Smirnoff Ice that he will most definitely not be paying for and neither will I so just throw them on that black family's tab. That could be amusing. Jimbo here would like a cobb salad with dressing on the side and a water with lemon because HE IS A FAGGOT!
Jim: Brother, please, I beg you...
John: No, I'm not done, camel gash. EXCUSE ME! EVERYONE LOOK AT ME! CHAMPION HAS AN ANNOUNCEMENT! You have all just been iced by my loser pillow-biting brother. He's not so big and bad in that black leather queer suit, is he? All of you must chug--even the children--or you will chug my butt. There are no exceptions. Prove to me that you are a future champion, little nipple nibblers! This toast is for my great Ravens team and my own brilliant mind. WE DID IT! Did you all see that fake field goal? NO ONE SAW THAT COMING! I OWN THIS FAMILY!!!
(everyone finishes off their Ice)
John: Now everyone get in a line and remind my pussy little brother about how much he sucks and how inferior he is to ME! I am a Football God! Mom and Dad should have just named you Marv Levy BRAH for all the Super Bowl losses that you are racking up, baby dick!
Jim: THAT'S FUCKING IT! YOU CHEATED! THAT WAS A HOLD! THAT WAS A HOLD! EVERYONE SAW IT! I PAID BRANDON JACOBS' WORTHLESS ASS HANDSOMELY TO THROW TWO HOMELESS GUYS INTO THE SUPERDOME TRANSFORMER AT HALFTIME TO CHANGE MOMENTUM BUT YOUR CHEATING STILL WAS TOO GREAT TO OVERCOME! YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN ME! WHY AM I WEARING A RED MARKER AROUND MY NECK! I'LL KILL EVERYONE IN HERE RIGHT NOW! WHERE'S DAVID AKERS? HE'S FIRST! THAT WAS A HOLD! THAT WAS A MOTHERFUCKING HOLD!
(Jim has ten non-fatal strokes simultaneously while ripping the head off an innocent man at the next table and is drinking his blood as Jack Harbaugh enters)
Jack: Boys! What the heck is going on here? James, you will not be killing anyone tonight. Well, you won't be killing anyone else tonight. And what the bloody hell are you wearing?
Jim: But he cheated, dad! Do something! It's not fair! If you don't get Goodell to hand me my rightful Super Bowl then I am going to start flinging shit around this awful place. This suit is actually pretty comfortable though. He wouldn't let me wear the ball gag because Johnny is an ASSHOLE.
(John walks over to a table and takes the tip)
John: Damn right, just adding to the winner's share of the Super Bowl payouts.
Crean: Did anyone call for an awesomely parted hair cut???
Jack: Hello, Tom!
Jim: I hate your fucking guts.
Crean: I'm just happy that you fine fellows finally asked me to one of your boy's nights out! I always got the feeling that you didn't like me. What are you wearing, Jim?
Jim: I'm wearing your daughter's broken hymen. Your invitation must have been a mistake. Your breath smells like dead pussy.
Jack: What does your mother have to do with this?
John: GOOD ONE, POP! No, Tom, you're here for a reason. And not just to remind us all what our sister's vagina smells like. When the cops show up--and they will--you're taking the blame for everything. I invited you all here not just to laugh at Brother Jim's terrible coaching or his ridiculous leather sex suit, but for more sinister reasons. You see, the BRAHs had a little wager on the Super Bowl and you are about to witness the punishment for the bitch loser.
Jim: John, no. They don't need to see this, bro-heem.
John: Oh yes they certainly goddamn do.
Pablo: Cobb salad for the lady...
Crean: HE'S GOT A KNIFE!
John: He's about to get a cob.
(John stands up and takes off his purple camouflage pants to unveil a foot long throbber)
John: Bend over, broseph, it's time for you to get your Super Bowl trophy. The BRAHs don't fuck around. Loser takes the winner the ass!
Jack: JOHN, NO! This is not normal behavior! This is not the way that you were raised! Your brother was--but not YOU!
John: Fuck off, piss boy, you're going to have the same bet for the NCAA tournament with Dad. If you cut down the rim panties in April, you will wear his ass out at Applebee's. If not, well--just watch what a full-blooded BRAH can do to a quivering virgin ass.
Jim: John, please, this doesn't need to happen.
John: Bend over and show me that turd cutter. You can use that cobb salad as a head rest and a place to store your tears. There WILL be tears. I can assure you that this will not feel good.
Jack: John, for the last time, what are you doing!!!
(entire restaurant falls deathly silent as no one can look away from the Super Bowl winning coach mounting his sex slave brother while his dad and brother-in-law watch in complete horror)
John: I'm going to Shit-neyland.
At that moment, like all nights out with the BRAHs, the SWAT team comes bursting through all of the windows and everyone was arrested. The next day, Chi Chi's was closed for good. And the path of destruction for the BRAHs continues. Until next time...