INT: BLOODY MARY’S BAR – DAY
Mad Dog is sitting at the end of the bar having a drink when Sam comes over to wash the dishes.
Mad Dog: So… about that Super Bowl Party…
Sam: Oh sorry, Pup, but you’re not allowed to come anymore.
Mad Dog: Why not?
Sam: Because of your “associations.”
Mad Dog: Associations? What associations?
Sam: You know… your associations.
Mad Dog gives Sam a weird look and thinks it over for a moment. Finally, he has a realization.
Mad Dog: It was Billy the Biker Guy, wasn’t it?
Mad Dog: I used to roll with the Bandidos, you know. That was back when I went to Barber College in Sioux City.
Sam: Um… no. Your other associations.
Mad Dog: [thinks it over again] Oh, you mean Doug. Doug the Drug Dealer. I used to sell mattresses for him back in the day. He still owes me money.
Mad Dog: It was that damn Indian, wasn’t it? Joe Three Deer! He’s always getting me into trouble. He’s the reason I’ll never go back to the Rez. It’s been thirty years and he’s still trying to kill me!
Sam: No, no, no. I meant your OTHER associations.
Mad Dog: Ohhhh… now I see. It was that set of blonde twins I married in Vegas.
Mad Dog: Yeah, they were my cousins.
Mad Dog: It was a fast wedding.
Sam: Uhhh… no.
Mad Dog: Well then, I have no idea who you’re talking about.
Sam: I’m talking about Betsey. Betsey Horton. The Writer Extraordinaire. You’re guilty by association. Therefore, you’re disinvited to the party. I don’t want you passing information to her about what goes on here, which is a really dumb thing to say because literally nothing is going on here at all. I know that because I’m bored. So bored. So, so, so, so, so bored. That’s why I’m using you to start this shit with her again. Because I’m bored.
Mad Dog: Really?
Sam: Yeah, really.
Mad Dog: [staring at him in disbelief] We don’t talk about you like that.
Sam: It doesn’t matter. You’re guilty by association. Also, I am bored. Did I mention the fact that I’m bored? Because I am really bored.
Mad Dog gives Sam the once over and shakes his head. Then he finishes his drink and gets up to leave.
Mad Dog: You know, this bar used to be a really great place. Now it’s just a bunch of fucking yuppies.
Mad Dog leaves the bar and wanders over to Betsey’s house, where he finds her writing about a bunch of people who have nothing to do with South Dakota at all.
Mad Dog: You’re not gonna believe what just happened to me at Bloody Mary’s.
Betsey: Let me guess. Someone was a douchebag to you because you have the nerve to be seen out in public with me.
Mad Dog: Yeah.
Betsey rolls her eyes, yawns, and goes back to her writing.
Betsey: Well, if they don’t want me writing about them like they’re a bunch of petty assholes, then they should really stop acting like a bunch of petty assholes. Maybe try apologizing instead?
Mad Dog: Ehhh… fuck ’em. Let’s go to a dive bar in some random small town nearby. I’ll introduce you to some real people.
Betsey: I’m already there, fam.
They hop in the car and drive over the bridge to Nebraska.