RCR Theater Presents: "Son of a son of a salesman"

SCENE:  Jimmy Buffett, Jerrell Powe, and Greg Hardy are in Miami at the stadium for the Florida Marlins, recently rechristened to advertise Buffett's wildly successful line of beer - Landshark Stadium.  They are surrounded by posters, boxes, and bottles emblazoned with the "Landshark" logo.  They appear to have been flown there surreptitiously for some sort of endorsement deal.  Hillarity ensues after the jump.

Jimmy Buffett:  I'm so glad you guys could make it down here for our shooting.  I bet you didn't know I was from Mississippi, did you, Jerrell?  Yeah, I love most things about Mississippi, except for the abject poverty, latent racism, and poor schools.

Jerrell Powe:  YEAH, I DON'T KNOW NUTHIN' 'BOUT THAT.

JB:  There's no need to shout, Jerrell.  I'm right here.

JP:  I AIN'T SHOUTIN'.  THIS THE WAY I TALK.

JB:  Okay, man, that's cool.  Whatever.  Anyway, I brought you guys down here because a couple of years ago I started up a brewing company , and I named my main line "Landsharks."  Since you guys have kinda taken that moniker on your defense for your footballs up there, I figured we could, you know, help each other out.  You see, my beer isn't really taking off in Oxford.  I think maybe the students up there think its too, I don't know, "coasty" or something.

Greg Hardy:  They're all a bunch of conformists.

JB:  Okay, well, I don't really know what a conformist is - I dropped out of school and all to play bongo drums and smoke pot.  Does "conformist" mean they don't like congo drums and pot.

GH:  Conformists are sheep that live desperately inside their comfort zone of imported cars and designer footwear.

JB:  Really?  That's fantastic, because Margaritaville has its own line of designer clothing.  I just need you guys to sort of, you know, unofficially market all this stuff for me, then maybe all the kids will conform to what you're doing.

Jerrell takes a drink from an ice cold "Landshark."

JP:  PFFFFFT!  WHAT DA HELL IS THIS?  IT TASTE LIKE WELFARE CORONA.

JB:  No, man!  It's an island-style lager for all the fin-heads of the world.

JP:  WELL I AIN'T BEEN TO NO ISLAND, BUT I DID DROP A OPEN MAD DOG IN MY GRANDMOMMA POND ONE TIME.

Greg Hardy takes a drink from Jerrell's drink.  He ponders.

GH:  I don't know what's worse - the taste of an attempt to mask consumerism with pre-fabricated, well-designed but transparent faux localism, or the way your bottle of Procrustean brew now reeks of the scent of old catfish and perspiration - the unmistakeable aroma of Jerrell.

JP:  YEAH, THAT'S WHAT YOU NEED MR. PIRATE-MAN.  YOU NEED TO MAKE SOME LANDCATFISH.  THAT SOUND TASTY.  I'M HUNGRY NOW.

GH:  Be still my ample acquaintance.  It is not hunger you feel - unless by hunger you mean an aching want for something to fulfill the hole in every man's spirit.  No, you have only been impacted by the emptiness of Mr. Buffett.  Isn't that ironic, Jimmy, your name - buffett?  And yet you offer no cornucopia in your beverage, only another advertisement dolled up as sustenence.  You disgust me.  You disgust me!  But, for those very same reasons - your dark emptiness, your profound lack of profundity - I am drawn, eagerly and tragically, to this vacuum that is your product.  I will be your brew-puppet.  I will whore myself out to your corporation, and the masses will drink your beer.  And, then, perhaps, as I fill myself up with emptiness and cause them to do so, as well, perhaps, they will finally know their own sorrow.

JP:  MR. PIRATE-MAN?  IS YOUR LIQUOR MADE WITH REAL SHARKS?  MAYBE I WOULDN'T BE SO HUNGRY NO MORE IF I DRANK SOME OF YOUR SHARK SMOOTHIE.

JB:  Fantastic!  It's a deal, then.  Of course, the only wrinkle is that we must be very discreet about this deal.  The NCAA does not allow endorsement deals by players.  So, there will be no actual television ads or anything.  You just wear these t-shirts and drink lots of this beer (hands them lots of t-shirts and beer) in very public places and I'll see to it that your money gets into these accounts (hands them each some bank statements) in Key West.

Suddenly, all three men see a vision of a man clothed in white, descending from the Florida sky.

THE MAN IN WHITE:   Be still, my children.  There is nothing of which you should be afraid.  I have heard all these things that you have conspired to do.  But I have taken your NCAA infractions upon myself, and you are forgiven of them.  Now go forth into the world and preach what you have heard here today that through TIM TEBOW you may find true life.

ALL:  THANKS TIM TEBOW!

Fin.