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