Act 1: Torque Titan
ANNOUNCER
Welcome to da bayou! Ayiee! Down on the Atchafalaya…
Early morning at the boat ramp. Willy’s dad, Junebug, backs his truck in, radio blasting an Acadian Lagniappe Card commercial. He looks around, empty boat trailer.
JUNEBUG
(to himself) I guess Willy really ain’t showin’ up this time. Figures.
Suddenly a hot-rodding boat with a screaming super-diesel engine and a massive prop tears through the slough, blasting swamp pop n’ roll as loud as it can go. Willy is at the wheel with his son Junior. They roar up and splash Willy’s dad completely.
WILLY
(laughing) Mornin’, Paw!
JUNIOR
(laughing hard) You look like a drowned nutria!
Willy spins a treble hook on his finger like a cowboy with a lasso, grinning wide.
WILLY
You see this boat? This boat gonna catch all da gators and leave you with none.
JUNEBUG
(soaked, wiping his face) Awe yeah?
JUNEBUG
We’ll see about that.
The boat's torque launches her hard, prop chewing through the water like crazy, soaking Willy’s dad a second time. Father and son howl with laughter as they disappear down the bayou and into the morning fog.
JUNEBUG
(shaking fist, yelling) We’re gonna see who got da bes' and da mos' gators, bah, you hear me?!
Act 2: Tree Shaykuh
Remmie and his hunting partner Ashy are in a small boat setting a line. The bait reeks. Ashy keeps hiking up her pants over her wide birthing hips—no belt on.
REMMIE
Yeah da bait stinks, baby.
ASHY
(pulling pants up again) You ain’t lyin’ bout dat.
REMMIE
What's a mattah, can’t keep ya panse up, Che Che?
Ashy looks at him and laughs. Later they return to check the line. It’s down.
REMMIE
Yeah dats a tree shaykuh! We got us a tree shaykuh, bebeh! Get on up there and pull me dat line. You got it?
She clearly does not got it. The line jerks her around like a ragdoll. She yells.
ASHY
Yeah—can I get da gun?
REMMIE
You can have da gun, beybuh.
Ashy grabs the rifle and goes completely wild, bucking shots off into the water. The gator is still thrashing hard. Both freeze and stare at each other in pure astonishment. Then the gator almost yanks Remmie clean out of the boat.
REMMIE
(jerking) Hurry up and reload!
Ashy struggles with the reload. Bullets bounce and drop into the bilge. Remmie is squatting, hanging halfway over the gunwale, arms straining, boat tipping over dangerously.
REMMIE
Hurry up, Che! This one’s gonna rip my arm off and flip da whole dam' boat over! Shoot this motha-sucka!
Ashy slams the bolt home and fires one perfectly epic shot. Water explodes in slow motion. Tight dramatic close-ups: Ashy stern-faced, Remmie’s eyeliner running down his cheeks from the spray, exhaling pure relief. Overly intense. Overly gritty.
REMMIE
Man, that was a big motha-sucka…
Remmie instantly lets go of the line. The gator submerges.
Both scramble, grab the line, and heave the big gator into the boat. They collapse next to it, exhausted.
Ashy side-eyes him and smiles.
Act 3: Trigger & Average
Average Joe sits alone in the boat at the dock, checking his watch for the fifth time. Jimmy finally appears, still half-asleep, bed-hair, coffee in one hand, wiping his eye with the other.
AVERAGE JOE
You’re late again, boy.
JIMMY
Ain’t my fault! Alarm didn’t go off… and then the truck needed gas… and then I couldn’t find my lucky hat… and dam' if I couldn't find my keys. I was shit out of luck.
AVERAGE JOE
(shakes head, squints) Every day it’s somethin’. Grab the poles before I think of an excuse to throw your sorry ass straight in the water and start making them sexy gator-mating calls. Then you really gonna be shit out of luck.
Jimmy stink-face's Joe, frowny lipped, he sips his coffee.
JIMMY
(mutters) Old bastard.
AVERAGE JOE
(in truck) I heard that.
They finally get on the water.
JIMMY
I forgot the cooler.
JIMMY
The bait with the cooler. We gotta turn around.
Joe turns around. They get to a spot to bait their line. Jimmy drops the only good hook overboard. Joe stares at the sky.
AVERAGE JOE
Lord… help me right now. I'm fixin' ta come unglued on this boy and tear him a new one.
The day carries on, the mishaps continue. Jimmy throws the hook but forgets to hold the other end leaving them just looking at each other. Joe smacks the hat off Jimmy's head.
JIMMY
Come on, Paw! This is why I don't like huntin' with you!
AVERAGE JOE
What you need is thicker skin. And some discipline wouldn't hurt either. Ya *bleeping* degenerate.
Later on… somehow, miraculously, they hook a solid twelve-footer. After yelling, dropping the gun, and one near-fall overboard, they get the gator in the boat.
JIMMY
(grinning) See? Teamwork.
AVERAGE JOE
(eyes closed, back aches, smiling) You’re gonna put me in an early grave… Let’s go home before you lose the rest of the tags too.
They sputter off, still arguing about whose fault everything was all day long.
Act 4: Feast of Brute
ANNOUNCER
Nighttime at Brute’s place. Everyone is gathered around a super long table in da front yard. Brute presents his masterpiece: a whole barbecued gator tail, stuffed with baked crawfish étouffée and pepper jack, wrapped in bacon, slow-smoked, then deep-fried to a golden crisp in pure lard, and finished off with a spicy cajun butter glaze. Pitch perfect for a good ole Southern meal.
BRUTE
Y’all ready for dis? I barbecued dat, baked dat, smoked dat, then deep-fried the whole thing to perfection. (chef's kiss) Secret family recipe… mostly secret ‘cause I forgot half of it and then had to make the rest up all myself.
REMMIE
Coo-yie, behbuh… Look-a-dat!
TROI
Lawd-a-mercy. Dat look like it could still fight back, yeh.
BRUTE
It tried. But, I won.
GLIZ
I’m scared and hungry at the same time.
Gliz side eyes Brute.
BRUTE
Well, dig in. It ain't gonna give you an invitation.
Everyone chows down. The food is disappearing at an alarming rate.
LENN
Dinner ain’t complete without a little squirrel brains.
The whole table erupts in laughter. Brute points his fork.
BRUTE
Now you talkin’, brother!
ANNOUNCER
Join us next time… on da bayou!
