[INT. PANERA BREAD, NEW ORLEANS]

Drew Brees: How’s your ciabatta chicken sandwich, Peter?

Peter King: Oh, it’s delicious. So, Drew, you have to be upset with all of the concern after another hurricane in the gulf.

Drew Brees: Yeah, I really wish we could just move the team to LA and get it over with. I mean, what if the damage to Gustav would have been more severe? Are we going to be rebuilding that shithole every three years?

PK: Drew, that’s not very sensitive.

Drew Brees: What do you mean? It’s true.

PK: I suppose that’s true, but people live there.

Drew Brees: Well, people are stupid, Peter. We’re putting all this money into disaster relief when we should be fighting terrorism here at home.

PK: Oh, come on, Drew.

Brees: I’m serious. Some Arab terrorist could walk through that door and kill us all. The government should be doing something to protect us!

PK: Drew, I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you.

Drew Brees: It’s time to be aware of our role in the world, Peter. People want to do bad things to us, for reasons we don’t fully understand. Wrap your head around that for a…

PK: Drew, do you really want to live in a country where we’re expected to police the rest of the world? I mean, give me one reason why we should assume that role.

Drew Brees: Peter…is that your dad behind you?

PK: Actually, my father’s been…Oh, Christ, no! (more…)

FAT GUY IN TRACK SUIT [in booth eating pizza]: You Jimmy?

JIMMY: Yeah.

FAT GUY: Yeah, that’s some hat, kid. Ah, what the hey. Siddown, why doncha?

JIMMY: Thanks. [sits down]

FAT GUY: Here, have a slice. Four cheeses on this pie. Best in the state. Fuggetaboutit. Hey, Jimmy. Jimmy, don’t look so nervous, eh? Come on, Jimmy, have a slice.

JIMMY: I’m alright. Thanks.

FAT GUY: So, uh, you need some taking care of someone in your organization? That’s what our mutual friend said to me. So who we lookin’ at here?

JIMMY: So you guys? You, uh, k–

FAT GUY: Shhhshhh, Jimmy. Do me a favor and shuddafuggup, okay? We don’t use that word. We take care of people. You know, like an escort service. ONLY THEY’RE THE ONES THAT GET BLASTED!!! [slaps table] HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!

JIMMY: Haha, yeah, that wasn’t really funny…

FAT GUY: I can see you’re really nervous, Jimmy. And let me tell you somethin, okay? Some people…they just deserve it. We don’t ask questions, we just make your life easier…for a price. Now come on, eat some pie.

JIMMY: No, really. I’m good.

FAT GUY: It’s delicious. Four cheeses.

JIMMY: No.

FAT GUY: [cocks gun under the table] Eat it.

[Jimmy takes a slice and eats it]

Alright, alright, no more funny stuff. Down to business. So what’s the occasion? The UPS man fuckin’ your wife? Somebody makin’ trouble near yo’ residence? Who’s the man o’ the hour?

JIMMY: [pulls out photo] This guy…

FAT GUY: I see. Well, a person of this high profile is going to cost a little extra.

JIMMY: I don’t care. This might be the only way I, uh, I mean Aaron gets to play.

FAT GUY: Alright, the final price tag is gonna be–

[door flies open]

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Hey.

FAT GUY: What the fuck do you want?

JIMMY: Get out of here!

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Aaron Rodgers. You play for the Red Wings, right?

AARON RODGERS: No, I’m Jimmy. I’m–

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Do you have anything to drink?

FAT GUY: I’m gettin’ outta here. [gets up and leaves]

AARON: Thanks a lot, you Persian fuck. I just went through all of this for nothing.

T. J. HOUSHMANZADEH: Okay, bye.

Look, I know it’s not everyday that you get a lecture from a seven-week old embryo, but I need to get this off my chest. That’s especially because my chest is like one-sixteenth of an inch right now. So just hear me out. And please bear with me as I ramble through this. I don’t have any slides or anything.

I realize I’m not even a fetus yet, but I already hate the Kansas City Chiefs. I realized it right off the bat; there’s no chance I’ll ever think two shits of this organization. Their team is boring, their uniforms are boring, and their city might as well be named Bordopolis. Did you like that? I came up with that yesterday.

I heard someone ask how the Chiefs did in the draft, and not only did I have no clue, I didn’t care. I just don’t understand how…hey, gimme just a sec. There’s something going on over here.

[womb flies open]

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Hey.

Fetus: Wow, you’re T.J. Houshmanzadeh, aren’t you?

I mean, I think you’re T.J. Houshmanzadeh. You know, I’m not even a fetus yet, but I know a lot about football. A lot about the NFL, really. I’m not really into the college game.

So, what’s up? Did you just get lost on your way to the Pro Bowl? Did they have the Pro Bowl yet? I don’t know these things. I’m not even a fetus yet.

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: …you’re little.

Embryo: Well, yeah, I’m little. I’m a fetus. Well, I’m not a fetus yet. I’m still waiting on some paperwork. But yeah, plus one for you, my friend. You know, I’ve heard that football players aren’t very smart, but you, you seem to have some actual brainpower in that ugly rat-tail holder you call a head.

My word, you’re dark-skinned and ugly. I could literally hear the property value of my womb plummeting the second you popped in here.

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Oh.

Embryo: Yeah. And thanks for that. I’m really self-conscious about my height, for future reference. Even though I’m not quite a fetus.

[awkward silence]

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Do you have anything to drink?

Embryo: What?

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: It’s polite to offer your guests something–

Embryo: No, dude, I heard you. Uh, don’t look at this as a racial thing, but all the fluid in here is mine. It’s vital to my development as a human being, something you could use a little tutelage with, apparently. So, I’m afraid I got nothing.

Did you hear me?

Hello?

T. J. Houshmanzadeh: Okay, bye.

[T. J. leaves the womb]

Embryo: What the fuck was that?