The beach (where else?). Two dirty white guys are talking to each other next to a wall that says "BEACH FUN!" in big, festive letters.
Bad Guy #1: Hey, do you have the CRACK COCAINE?
Bad Guy #2: Yeah man, I got the CRACK COCAINE! Radical!
Bad Guy #1: Okay, let's find some kids to sell it to.
Bad Guy #2: Right, dude, and then we'll go shoot some handicapped nuns. Bitchin'!
Bad Guy #1: That is a RIGHTEOUS idea, man, and then we'll knock over some gravestones and deface the WWI Veteran's cemetery.
Bad Guy #2: That's a great idea, Bad Guy #2!!!
Bad Guy #1: Wait, I thought you were Bad Guy #2.
Bad Guy #2: (frowning) Hmmmmm...
(Suddenly ISDH bursts onto the scene, with a surfboard / machinegun / radar detector of some kind.)
ISDH: Freeze, punks! You're under citizen's arrest!
Bad Guys: (In unison) DARN! (Put their hands up)
Bad Guy #2: Hey, maybe you can help. Do you know which one of us is "Bad Guy #2"?
ISDH: (Thinking) Hmmmmm...
(Camera zooms in to a little boy who had been there watching the entire scene take place. He runs away, unseen by ISDH)
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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