Kitna: Alright, listen up, faggot. It's the 17th hole. We got 110 yards into some wind, elevated green, bunkers on the front and right. It’s a back pin on a flat green. Hundred bucks, closest to the pin?
Kurt: Sure, you’re on.
Kitna: So let's do a hundred bucks closes to the pin, and another hundred for a par or better on the hole.
Kurt: You know, I think I have a better idea.
Kitna: Oh, look out! Mary Queen of Cocks has a better idea! Let’s hear it.
Kurt: If I win this hole, I get to fuck your wife.
Kitna: [stunned silence]
Kurt: If I win I get to take your wife on a date. No, your wife has to fly out here to Arizona. I’ll pick her up at the airport terminal with a bouquet of roses and a rag soaked in ether. I’ll drag her lifeless body to a remote motel where even the roaches are too fucking scared to crawl around. Then I’ll duct-tape her to the bed and just let the ambiance of the moment take over.
Kitna: What’s ether?
Kurt: Remember what we did to the doorman at the Ritz-Carlton?
Kurt: That’s ether.
Kitna: Oh, sweet. Hey, wait a second. What do I get if I win?
Kurt: You get to fuck my wife.
Kitna: Yeah, that’s great. Will she play “Come To My Window” on her acoustic guitar before she takes off her boots?
Kurt: Well, what do you-- [looks over, panics] Shit, it’s Coach Wiz!
Kitna: Goddammit. Put your Jesus Face on.
Kurt: Jesus Face, got it.
Coach Whisenhunt: Hi, Kurt. Hello Jon. Nice day, isn’t it?
Kitna: Yes, the Lord has truly blessed us with delightful weather today.
Kurt: Truly blessed us, indeed.
Coach Whisenhunt: So Kurt, sorry to bother like this, but Mr. Bidwell said he’s missing some of his pens from the facility—
Kurt: No, but…I don’t know anything—
Coach Whisenhunt: --and he asked me to ask you to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. You’re still one of the leaders on this team, Kurt, no matter how shitty a player you are today.
Kurt: Yessir. That's what being a good Christian is all about.
Kitna: About being a leader. Not necessarily being a mediocre quarterback. That's really more coincidental than anything.
Coach Whisenhunt:I knew we could count on you, Kurt. Good to see you again, Jon. [Coach leaves]
Kitna: Go with Christ, sir!
Kurt: Go with Christ, Coach!
Kitna: [out of earshot] Oh, fuck, that was close. So he came up here to bother you about fucking pens?!?!
Kurt: Mr. Bidwell’s very attentive to his overhead.
Kitna: He’s very attentive to keeping the diameter of his anus as narrow as possible. Fucking tightass. How can you play for such a cheap piece of shit owner?
Kurt: [sad face]
Kitna: Don’t answer that, Tinkerbell.
Kitna: What the fuck were we talking about?
Kurt: What do you want if you--
Kitna: Oh, right. If I win, I want all the secret porn on your laptop. The good shit you keep in that GAMEPLAN VS 49ERS desktop folder, because there sure as fuck ain't no gameplan in there. So my wife for your quality porn. Sounds fair to me.
Kurt: [thinks about it] Deal. [they shake hands]
Kitna: Shit, that reminds me, I have to speak at that all-girls high school on Thursday.
[Kitna tees it up, swings, ball hits the flagstick and lands six feet from the hole]
Kitna: How do ya like me now, Homocop?
Kitna: That is nice. I can feel my eyes getting monitor burn already.
[Kurt tees the ball up, swings, hits a ground ball that rolls all the way up to the green and stops exactly opposite from Kitna’s ball]
Kurt: That’s gonna be close!
[They get in the cart and ride toward the green]
Kitna: So what are we gonna do with all those pens?
Kurt: Beats the shit outta me. What are we gonna do with that doorman?