Franklin: Aw man, why you coming here bothering me on my day off?
Trevor: Is that any way to talk to your BROTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER? YOUR GRUNT FROM ANOTHER CUNT? The only honkey you can trust.
Franklin: If you say so. What’s this about?
Trevor: What’s this about? I TELL YOU WHAT IT’S ABOUT. IT’S ABOUT TIME WE SHOOK SHIT UP! You said you wanted to get serious. Well I got a serious fucking proposal I wanted to run by you, provided you got the big swinging dick necessary for the task.
Franklin: Man, I don’t even know if I want to hear it. You get yourself into some crazy shit, Trevor.
Trevor: GODDAMMN RIGHT I DO AND THAT’S WHY I’M LIVING HIGH ON THE HOG. DOING WHAT I WANT, FUCKING WHO I WANT, KILLING WHO I WANT AND WANTING FOR NOTHING. With a little guidance, that can be you too. This isn’t an opportunity afforded to just anyone, my friend.
Franklin: Last time we did a job, I had to chase some naked dude through the desert just to recover an angry drug lord’s medallion that was lodged up his butthole. Just so we wouldn’t get killed. You call that opportunity?
Trevor: I just had to make sure you could be trusted! Now I know for sure, we’re ready for the BIG FUCKING SCORE. We do this right, we’ll be settled for life. C’mon! Have a little fucking initiative. I’ve always said that’s what your people are lacking.
Franklin: MY PEOPLE!? Yo, fuck you, Trevor, you racist-ass motherfucker.
Trevor: I mean poor people, you oversensitive pissy bitch. Are you in or not?
Franklin: [Sighs] All right, man. What is it?
Trevor: Not here, not here. We’re gonna meet up at the old warehouse and hash it out there. Give me a ride.
[Later, at the warehouse]
Lester: Gentlemen, thank you for taking time out of your oh-so busy schedules to meet up. I assure you, it will be well worth your time.
Trevor: Fuck yeah. We’re gonna be filthy rich! I’m gonna buy a solid gold meth lab and staff it with trained monkey assistants!
Lester: In time, in time. Let’s not celebrate just yet. There’s a lot of work to be done and we must be precise about it. Men, correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume you’ve heard of the Super Bowl. It costs a million just to get a standard suite at that game. Just think of the potential take.
Franklin: Aw, hell nah, you not planning on hitting the Super Bowl, are you? Might as well try to rob the damn White House.
Lester: Heh. Now there’s an intriguing idea. As for the Super Bowl, security isn’t as impenetrable as you’ve been led to believe. That little blackout that happened last year was my handiwork. The perfect cover to make off the finest in Beyonce undergarments.
Franklin: You a sick little man.
Lester: We all have our hobbies.
Michael: I can’t believe I was roped back into this. I was OUT. I was DONE. I was back to living the good life in my nice house, being despised by my lovely wife and my spiteful kids. More importantly, I wasn’t meeting with a group of deadbeats in a dank warehouse plotting to probably get myself.
Trevor: Yes, thank you, Michael, for being your usual ray of sunshine. Take it from me, a renowned miserable piece of shit, when I say you are the most miserable piece of shit in the world.
Michael: Cheers to you, too, old pal.
Lester: Ladies, ladies. If you’re done syncing up your periods, I’d like to get down to business. There are a few small matters we must attend to in the weeks to come. First, we’re gonna need to assemble a crew. You’re gonna need a gunman. You can choose from either a seasoned pro with impeccable credentials who’s been part of eight government assassinations or some random dude we picked up in the Home Depot parking lot with two priors for petty larceny. There’s a difference of one percent in their takes from the job.
Franklin: I say we go with the veteran.
Lester: A wise decision. Next, you’ll need a driver. There’s a former Hollywood stunt man or a kid we picked up off the street that used to deliver for Domino’s but got fired for getting high and “forgetting” to make deliveries. The thing is, I think we can get the kid cheap.
Trevor: I like the sound of that!
Lester: Very well. An interesting call. Now that we’ve picked our crew, let’s go over what we’re gonna need for the job. First, we need something to blend in at the game. There’s a lot of security, but they’re easily fooled if you’re wearing enough NFL SHIELD apparel.
Trevor: On the plus side, Michael already looks like the typical soulless corporate asshole who would be attending the Super Bowl anyway.
Lester: No, he’s got a point. We can use that to our advantage. So we’ve got an easy way to get Michael in. You other two don’t blend so easily. That’s why you’re going to have to steal snow plows to get access to MetLife Stadium. Once inside, Michael and Trevor are going luxury box to luxury box, cleaning the place out. With all those millionaires there, it’ll be a veritable goldmine!
Franklin: And what about me?
Lester: You, Franklin, have an even more important task. Just before halftime, you’ll sneak into the Broncos locker room and set up tear gas canisters. You’re black, so security won’t suspect a thing. As soon as the players come in for the break, you’ll set them off, rendering the players useless for the second half. Let’s just say I’ve put a rather healthy wager down on the Seahawks. I’d go the other way, but I’m afraid Pete Carroll is already suspicious of my involvement in the World Trade Center attacks and is more likely to be on guard against sabotage. After all that is complete, you guys are probably gonna have to shoot your way out. It won’t be easy but four gunmen should be more than enough.
Michael: You realize nothing about this plan makes sense, right?
Lester: Of course, which is exactly why IT CANNOT FAIL.
Trevor: Fuck yeah. We’re gonna rain terror then drive around Liberty City until the police lose us and our five stars vanish within minutes!
I want more like this!
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