Out Cold

Hey, everybody.

Welcome to Bull Mountain...

a slice of heaven...

nestled in the cleavage

of Alaska's high country.

It all started when a young

buck named Herbert Muntz...

saw the promise

of a new life...

and staked his claim to it

the old-fashioned way--

he stole it from the Eskimos.

'Round these parts,

he became known as "Papa.''

Each year,

Papa would say thank you....

by droppin' his britches....

and blazing down

that mountain bare-assed....

in one of his famous

"moon-shine" runs.

Papa loved to ski...

and Papa loved to drink...

but most of all,

Papa loved to ski and drink...

at the same time.

Last year,

he died with his boots on...

Bull Mountain,

don't go changin'!

And not much else.

Nowadays, Papa's boy

runs the mountain.

But us locals still carry on

the free-wheelin' spirit...

of Papa's life.

You could say that this

mountain's a lot like a woman.

Just when you think you

know every inch of her...

and you're about

to dip your skis...

into some soft, deep powder--

You got two broke legs,

cracked ribs...

then you pay

your twenty bucks...

just to let her punch your

lift ticket all over again.

News flash.

Muntz is selling the mountain.

The entire mountain?

Why would he want

to get rid of this place?

I like this place

exactly the way it is.

Maybe the buyer can supply...

the mountain

with what it really needs--

hot friggin' chicks.

Guys, you know, more girls?

Let's give Lance a chance,

all right?

I gotta refuel the tanks.

Jenny, what's going on?

Jenny!

What's up, guys?

What, are you drinking

without me?

Hey, Lance.

Hey, girlfriend.

What you drinkin'?

Whatever the lady would like,

just put it on my tab.

I will have a beer, then.

And five shots of Goldschlager,

please.

Rick, you are an idiot

not to go for Jenny...

and don't give me

this broken heart rigamarole.

Are you sniffing me?

There you go.

Thank you.

Man. If I was her...

I'd be gettin' with every dude

on this mountain.

Hey, boys.

You're killin' me!

Cheers, everybody!

People.

And Pig Pen,

my poor excuse for a brother.

Our boy Rick here...

has been bitching

and moaning all week long...

I have not.

And I think it's time

that we do something...

to cheer him up.

Don't you agree?

Perhaps tonight is the night

that we crown this year's...

King of the Mountain.

Did somebody just say...

King of the Mountain?

I know you want

to defend your title.

If I must.

Good evening.

You all know the rules

of King of the Mountain.

Rule number one--

you do not talk about

King of the Mountain.

Rule number two--

there are no rules.

What about rule number one?

That's more of a guideline

than a rule.

Do not interrupt!

And now, the three-peat champion

of King of the Mountain...

Rick Rambis. Richard?

OK. Here's how it works.

Everyone must have a beer.

It's a race to the bottom.

The first one

to the statue of Papa Muntz...

with the most beer

in your glass--Pig Pen--

shall be proclaimed this year's

King of the Mountain.

And, as an added bonus...

you also win the contents

of Eric's stolen wallet...

which are, Luke?

Two bucks...

a condom...

expiration date 1 997...

and a picture

of his grandma--no!

That's Nancy Reagan.

But most importantly...

pushing, shoving,

and cheating are encouraged.

Try not to wipe out

like you did last year...

and the year before,

and both years before that.

Thanks, Luke,

I really appreciate that.

No problem.

Pig Pen, if you would.

Strap 'em in.

On your marks, get set--

Everybody ready?

Go!

-Suckers!

-Cheater!

Not tonight, Pig Pen!

Go grand, Anthony!

Rate this script:(0.00 / 0 votes)