Goon

All right, boys, here we go.

Huntsy, how long does it take

you to get your hair like that?

- About four hours.

- It's nice.

Smitty thinks you look like

Stevie Wonder on steroids.

- F*** you!

- Ooh! Look at that face, p*ssy!

- I'll f***ing kill you!

- Come on!

I think I nailed him.

# Last Sunday morning

The sunshine felt like rain #

# The week before it all

seemed the same #

# With the help of God and

true friends, I come to realize #

- Come on...

- Oh...

- Doug! Get to work.

- Ross Rhea...

It says here

that you have brown eyes.

Come on! You actually have

blue eyes in real life.

I'm not paying!

- I'm really sorry, man.

- F*** off.

- What's the problem, Gerry?

- I didn't win anything.

It's a jukebox, Gerry.

# Go on downtown, baby #

# Find somebody to love #

# Meanwhile

I ain't wastin' time no more #

# Cos time goes by like pouring

rain and much faster things #

# Running after subway trains... #

- You look nice in that.

- Thank you.

Mr. and Mrs. Goldsmith,

you guys look too young.

You have to bring IDs next time.

Huh? What the hell

are you talking about?

- Barbara, this is Dr. and Mrs. Glatt.

- Hi.

- How do you do?

- Nice to meet you.

- And their doctor son, Ira.

- A pleasure.

Great to meet you.

- This is my youngest son, Doug.

- Hello.

- Ow!

- I'm sorry.

Ira, have you got a main squeeze?

I bet you're batting them off.

- My squeeze is late, actually.

- Your dad thought you were single.

What do I know?

So what Ivy League school

are you hiding at, Doug?

Doug did not follow

in the family vocation.

- He's a...

- I bounce.

Like, er, basketball?

Richard!

- Hi!

- They're very close friends.

That's quite the couple, Glatt.

Is he Jewish?

Oh! Come on, stop!

Stop blowing my hat, wind.

For the record,

they're both adopted.

# By and by

way after many years have gone

# All the war freaks die off

Leavin' us alone... #

Yes, there he is!

You handsome bastard. Come in.

Thanks.

- Tell me you saw what Rhea did?

- It was a brutal chop.

I've f***in' never seen Rhea

lose his sh*t like that before.

He got suspended for 20 games.

Boston sent him to St. John's.

He's 40 years old.

He's f***ing done, son.

welcome to Hot Ice.

Tonight,

we have Ross Rhea's apology.

To Darryl and his family, I'm deeply

sorry for what happened out there,

- for what I did.

- Look at him. He's pathetic.

I have no excuse. I don't...

Jesus, I can't stomach

this sh*t any more.

It f***ing kills me

to see him like this.

I'll feature it

on next week's Hot Ice,

unless that motherf***er Sully

from Worcester calls in again.

Last week, he called in pretending

he was from some sweepstakes

and told me that I'd won the grand prize

of 50 c*cks in my mouth.

I have the option of sucking 50 at

once or one a month for 50 months.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean

to bring you down, pal.

Oh, no, no. I...

I don't have a thing, you know,

like... like you have your show

and my dad and my brother,

they have their doctor thing.

I haven't got a thing.

Everybody's got something but me.

Would it help

that I want you inside me?

That I want you to make lemonade

in my chocolate factory? Hey?

F*** this f***ing sad sh*t.

Let's go watch the Assassins.

I'll fill your big ass full of corndogs.

Come on!

F*** you, Oshawa!

Ladies and gentlemen,

this is only the first period.

I predict that this game

becomes an ass raping

that only the likes

of f***ing Ned Beatty

or potentially the cast of OZ

can comprehend!

- Dougie, any thoughts?

- This is fun. These are tasty treats.

Whoa! What the f*** is that sh*t?

- F*** you!

- Get in!

- Go f*** yourself!

- Bye-bye, b*tch.

F*** you!

Welcome to Orangetown,

motherf***er.

What the f***? You want a piece

of me, you little f***ing f*ggot?

- Hey, my brother's gay.

- That's it.

- What the f***...?

- You filming me, f***ing f*ggot?

Hey, my brother's GAY!

Motherf***er!

Ow!

Oh!

Oh, attaboy, Doug.

Kick his f***ing head in.

- Sh*t!

- Holy f***ing sh*t.

Look at that face period!

Do you wanna take

that word back, please?

F*** you, f*ggot.

Yes! Yes!

Yes! Oh, my God!

Doug! Doug!

Doug! Doug!

Doug! Doug! Doug! Doug!

Doug! Doug! Doug! Doug!

Doug! Doug!

Doug! Doug! Doug! Doug!

Prrrr! Rap-pap pop-pop prop!

That's my f***ing

boy boner genocide.

I am pretty sure my f***ing

eyeballs just ejaculated.

Pat, that's it.

We have a very special f***ing

guest - Doug The Thug Glatt.

I'm a big fan. It's a good show.

Speaking of fans, the phones.

Caller, you're blowing Hot Ice.

Hi, there. I was wondering

if you like hot dogs?

- That's a...

- I like hot dogs, but I prefer corndogs

because you don't need a bun for it

Because the bun is all around it

and you can eat it from a stick.

You like hotdogs cos you

like c*cks in your mouth.

- You motherf***er...

- It's Sully from Worcester!

F*** you, Gus and Brian,

you're supposed to screen this sh*t.

F*** this. I'm done.

I've had enough of you

and your police-state censorship.

Okay?

You are the final caller ever

on Hot Ice.

This is Rollie Hortense,

coach of the Orangetown Assassins.

- Yeah? Go f*** yourself.

- Pattie, do me a favour.

Let me talk to your buddy, Doug.

You impressed the hell out of me

last night and a lot of other people, too.

Thank you. You impress me

a hell of a lot, too.

I'll be direct. I want you to come

to the rink tomorrow for a try-out.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes