INTRO
AMIR: Hey, this episode of Jake and Amir is a slam dunk! [chuckles]
JAKE: Very good.
AMIR: Swish!
[Jake is filling out his March Madness bracket. Amir rolls up in a rolling chair, holding a sheet of his own.]
AMIR: Start spreading the 'Cuse! I'm leaving Duke--
[Jake slaps him in the face.]
AMIR: Me like Arizona, but me have a soft spot in my heart for mid-major darling Wichita State!
JAKE: You know, you actually have a soft spot in your heart because of fetal alcohol syndrome.
AMIR: Enough.
JAKE: I'm serious, man. I read the doctor's report. Your mom would drink whiskey on purpose when she was pregnant with you. She wanted to terminate her own pregnancy.
[Amir makes mocking hand gestures at Jake.]
AMIR: Creighton barreled their way past Bed, Bath, and B. Young!
JAKE: ...Who?
AMIR: Brigham Young!
JAKE: They didn't play Brigham Young.
AMIR: Anus!
AMIR: Let's see, you got Iona, you got Iowa... what's next? Kentoka? Or... Yukor...?
JAKE: What?
AMIR: Winda? Or some shit? I don't... [pause] You hit me in the face, dude!
AMIR: Sorry, I'm weird about violence. I just have zero tolerance about that shit. That really fucking pisses me off.
JAKE: You kicked my tongue off!
AMIR: Okay. Okay! No, keep bringing it up.
AMIR: For the final four, I'm liking UNC and that baby blue! [chuckles] Can I see you pee, and a baby poo?
JAKE: Someone should arrest you.
AMIR: Someone has. [long pause] Someone absolutely has.
AMIR: [holding his cheek] To strike me like you did showed a lack of tact, and you came off like a classless ass, and that's the facts, Jack.
JAKE: For as dumb as you are, you're pretty good at rhyming.
AMIR: Alright, I appreciate your attempt to mediate and alleviate what you've done to me to date, but it's a little... too little too late.
[Amir is tucking his head between his legs, and straining to move further forward.]
AMIR: [grunting] Come on, you little pussy! Get... ah! Aw, shit!
AMIR: Fill out a bracket, huh? I say fack it! Nah!
JAKE: "Fack it, nah"?
AMIR: Yeah, fack it.
JAKE: Yeah? You wanna say "fack it"?
AMIR: Fack it! Nah!
JAKE: Then get out! ...Why don't you get out? Leave! You say "fack it"?
AMIR: Relax.
JAKE: Right?
AMIR: Relax.
JAKE: You want to--
[Amir is forcing his head between his legs again.]
AMIR: Fuck.
AMIR: Let's get high. Right now. I swear, my picks will make more sense if we're baked!
JAKE: Well, they couldn't make less sense currently. You have in your final four Gonzaga, a picture of a porcupine, the number eleven, and jam.
[Jake dabs his finger on Amir's bracket, coming away with a smear of jam. He tastes it.]
AMIR: Alright, enough-- Hey! No eating! ...No cheating!
[Amir has his head between his legs again. Jake is taking a picture of him.]
AMIR: [grunting] Stop!
AMIR: St. Louis, St. Joseph... what is this, a fucking, like, a... [laughs] ...I thought this... what is it, like, a-- a fucking... [making wild hand motions]
JAKE: Wow, dude. Try to work on these jokes a little bit.
[Amir has his head between his legs.]
JAKE: ...Time.
AMIR: Damn it!
JAKE: Yeah, dude, so you can't suck your own dick at all, let alone to completion, in less than three minutes.
AMIR: Double or nothing, okay? Anybody else's dick. Any dick.
JAKE: Alright, stop it. Stop it. I win the bet.
AMIR: [collecting his and Jake's brackets] Alright, so these are them.
JAKE: That's it.
AMIR: Our final brackets. Let me just file them under "E" for evidence! [rips the brackets up]
JAKE: Oh-- come on!
AMIR: Because you're under arrest! [grabs Jake]
JAKE: Hey--
AMIR: Yeah, that type of shit might fly in NYC, but this is illegal gambling, alright? We don't look too kindly on rinks!
END