Stephen, what would the Great Eagle Spirit do, man? HE'D DRINK THAT FUCKIN' BEER, THAT'S RIGHT.
Stephen Garcia sits in his dorm, alone except for the tiny, floating Matthew McConaughey on his shoulder.
SG: Im fucking bored man.
Tiny, Floating Matthew McConaughey: Brah, stop the bitchin and get to itchin. If its too quiet in the church, whos gonna make some noise if you dont ring some bells, man?
SG: Im gonna set off the fire extinguisher. Ive been wanting to do that for weeks.
TFMM: RIGHT ON. Take your shirt off and make it happen. Youre like a primitive warrior ready to fight in mud with a loincloth naked, and the fire extinguisher....its like some ancient sabretooth youve got to own. Just like I punched those dragons in Reign of Fire.
SG: Fuckin right. Sometimes I can hear it taunting me.
TFMM: It IS taunting you. Cant you hear it now? I can because Im Toll Housed.
SG: Ring ring, you little red bitch.
TFMM: Youre a dolphin in a sea of purple freedom, baby YEAH.
Stephen Garcia sets off the fire extinguisher, and goes to get beer.
Three hours later, Steven and TFMM tote a cooler full of beer down the stairs to a doorway of the dorm.
TFMM: Those dragons were real. You know that, right?
SG: Im just gonna drink this beer right here. Fuck it. I dont care.
TFMM: Fuckin-A, man. No way you should care. What are you doing?
SG: Lettin my dolphin swim man. No nets catching me, man.
TFMM: (makes flipper noise: ENH ENH ENH ENH ENH ENH ENH)
SG: Should? Will, man. Were eating Chinese, tonight, too. Im calling the Cindy Lee express.
TFMM: First course: Crab Ran-poon.
SG: Second: General Tsos Dickin.
TFMM: Nice, brah. Third course: Chicken Chow Mein.
SG: Dude: no effort at all there.
TFMM: No, seriously, Im London Fogged here. Noodles gotta happen soon.
SG: Good point. Well call it in and get it by our fourth course: Dong-olian Beef, applied in hot slices.
TFMM: With extra sauce, you freaky-deaky peacock of love.
SG: (strutting like a peacock:) cccoooooo-CAAAAAWWWWWW!!!!!
TFMM: Show your tail, daddy! Show your fuckin tail!
University of South Carolina policemen: Son, is that beer?
TFMM: Show your feathers, man. You cant be anything but what the goddess made you baby.
SG: Totally my beer. You want one?
TFMM: cooooo-CAAAAAWWWWWW!!!
Police: Youre coming with us, son.
SG: You do what you have to do, man. You cant cuff my soul.
TFMM: Jail! Were gonna meet some people tonight, man! The movable feast just added a dish: some outlaw pasta here, man.
SG: Sweet. Lets do this, brah.
Police: Who are you talking to, son?
SG: Maybe you should ask yourself, Who arent I listening to, man?
Police: This way please, son. Youre drinking underage.
TFMM: I hear the train a-comin, man! Its rollin round the bend!
SG: So.
TFMM: Stoked.
They pound fists, and TFMM fires up a joint, takes off all his clothes, and begins to play a bongo drum only he can see. Garcia grooves, and earns two points for South Carolina in the Fulmer Cup thanks to his arrest for underage drinking. He's not mad at ya, brah.