tracy, it's vick. parked on the dirt road behind vick is his near-totalled 1967 cadillac deville convertible; it's scratched, dented, filthy - - and missing its passenger side door. slouched inside are two other guys, also looking like hell.
listen, honey. the bachelor party got a little out of control and, well. we lost doug.
yeah, that's not gonna happen.
stu, relax, we're still on the 10.
the one on the left is gonna be a hottie. the other one, not so much. stu protectively snatches the photos back, muttering:
of course they are, doug. jesus, alan's been dating becky for 14 years. when they first met, alan had braces and soccer hair, and becky had a functioning hymen.
asking alan if he's still with becky is like asking the sun if it still rises in the east. the guys try not to laugh; alan scowls.
oh, great. yeah, i'm working on bringing the next big dessert craze to los angeles. it's gonna be huge.
bavarian custard. we ran the numbers, and it's gonna be bigger than fro yo. doug and stu nod, impressed; only alan looks skeptical.
our plan is to open three stores in the valley and then franchise it. shares are selling fast, but i can probably squeeze you guys in.
tattoo-to-you was an idea ahead of it's time, alan! and don't come crying to me when there's a custard cabana on every street corner in america and you didn't buy in--!
checking in. lennon comma victor. the man types into his computer.
hold it right there, atashir. this is my best friend from childhood, douglas billings. in two days, he is to marry a woman of great beauty and strong teeth, do you understand? a woman of gigantic bosoms who will give him many, many sons.  atashir looks confused. alan looks embarrassed.
my two other childhood friends have travelled great distances, across many deserts, to be here. this isn't a night in a hotel for us, atashir: this is a family reunion. perhaps you too have family situated great distances away, in a foreign country with much sand? atashir looks like, sort of? vick reaches over the counter and touches his arm, simpatico.
then i have but one question for you, friend: if they came to town, would you put them in an economy suite?
well, then. i think one of us needs to get back on his little computer and find us a suitable room. atashir frowns. but types away at his computer.
dean-o will be fine. send up a case of cristal, two bottles of patron, four ahi sandwiches, and a crate of skinless mangos.  vick turns to the guys:
you guys want anything? the guys stammer, too stunned to speak.
and have jean-marie cook up a dozen of those duck skewers i like so well. he knows the ones.
american express. atashir looks up to accept the card. after a beat, vick turns to alan:
dude, give him your amex.
don't worry, we'll hit you later. alan stammers.
dude, come on, i paid for gas. stop being such a jew. alan stammers some more -- then angrily pulls out his card.
get dressed, ladies. we're wheels up in ten. stu and doug race off to find their bedrooms, leaving alan standing alone, just staring at the decadent suite.
this is vick.
he's in vegas?! you're kidding me!
i said all right, dude! how many more times you want me to say all right?!
boy party in the bathrooooom--! miner's cut, 2.6 carats, slight pink tint, street value: 26, 27k. vick studies it in the light. alan just rubs his temples.
well gosh-golly, alan mervish, good for you! where'd you get the ring?
check it out, stu's already wasted. vick starts refilling everyone's glasses.
jesus, what do you take us for?
we'll be good tonight, doug.
damn, dude, why are you retarded? both men are ragingly hungover. a long beat as both of them rub their faces, then:
um, stuey?
why do you have a mullet? stu does, in fact, have a mullet haircut. but he's too hungover to understand.
you know, business on top, party down the back? stu still looks confused. this is excruciating for vick.
your hair, dude. you have a mullet. stu touches his hair. then he stumbles into the bathroom. after a beat, we hear his voice:
get him up. i'm hungry. stu disappears back into the bathroom. we hear the shower turn on. beat. then we hear alan slowly awaken:
jesus, dude, put away your sack. alan looks down at his hairy nakedness, totally bewildered.
we might not smell very good. the guys shake their heads, yeah, no.
please stop talking. if i don't focus on eating i'm going to throw up all over myself. the guys nod, right. they keep eating. after a long while:
you gonna finish that cruller? stu shakes his head, no. vick takes it, packs it into his already stuffed mouth. then alan realizes:
probably left him in the room. vick pulls out his cell phone, starts dialing.
i'll call his cell. then a phone rings in stu's pocket. he answers:
it's me, meatdick.
no answer. vick goes back to eating. alan frowns.
i'm eabing.
he's fime! you're oberweacting!
relax, it's doug, he's probably crashed out on someone's couch right now. all we have to do is retrace our steps from last night, and we'll find him.
well, we started on the roof.
then. i think. we had steaks at the palm?
that sounds right.  stu throws up his arms, already giving up.
i vaguely recall. doing body shots . at some point? is that. maybe?
i think we went to the flamingo after that? and then, i just remember a lot of blue light. and the overpowering smell of baby oil.
give or take.
yes. yes. doug was with us. i tackled him. for some reason. the guys nod, okay, okay.
the valet ticket says we returned here at 4:57am.
why do we have a matchbook from the golden pony all male revue? the guys exchange a look, alarmed.
absolutely not.
of course you're with alan, you're both gutless cowards. but we're not calling tracy. you never call the bride from the bachelor party. ever. if my balls were on fire and tracy was sitting next door with a tall glass of water, i still wouldn't call her. it's a rule.
she has a watch, she'll figure it out.
and i think i'm beginning to see why you're always a douche--
i can't believe we're doing this.
who's roger?
what do i think it means? well, stuart, your ass is all torn up and you're wearing thong underwear declaring your love for another dude -- i don't think we need the csi team for this one! you got reamed last night, man! stu covers his mouth, horrified!
look, i'm sure roger is a very nice, considerate young man--
come on, stu, you're nowhere near cool enough.
but sort of. it does? stu grows increasingly frantic.
um, what?
yeah, no you didn't.
i think i'd remember, dude.
unbelievable.
please, you're so not his type!
look, stu, one homosexual experience doesn't mean you're permanently gay, okay? a lot of guys test the waters. . the father and son wheel right back around and exit.
no! we're not gay!
quickly, and from a great distance. alan's hand accidentally hits a brass railing and clinks.
what now? alan holds up the source of his clinking: on his ring finger is a huge, tacky, silver wedding ring with a unicorn on it.
oh my god.  oh my god.
"now & forever wedding chapel." they guys exchange a look.
well, at least it's a lead. beat. then alan turns and throws up all over the slot machine. nearby octogenarian slot players look over, disgusted -- but continue playing their nickels.
so, we go to the wedding chapel, we find out what we did with doug, we recover him, and we're back in la before sundown. easy as stu's ass. no one laughs. tense silence as they wait for the car.
guys, relax. everything's gonna be cool.  just then the valet drives up in
i'm not emotionally prepared to talk about it just yet, stuart, but thank you. vick dons his sunglasses and heads for his destroyed car.
well, now you did. just not to her. alan glowers at the city going by.  then he sits up--
yeah, that was a different shirt. alan doesn't look so sure. they drive in silence. then:
left turn. stu, sitting shotgun, braces against the empty doorframe so as not to fall out of the car as they turn left.
does the pope wear a funny hat?! let's do this thing! steve cackles and guides them over to a table; alan scowls.
uh, it was such a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?
sadly, i believe you.  the guys look at the photos of alan's wedding from the night before. they're typical wedding shots, only the guys are all wearing medieval costumes, swords, bows, tights, even armor. they look incredibly happy -- and incredibly drunk. the next photo is of alan and his busty blonde bride. she's having a blast in a white medieval gown and tiara.
hello, chastity.  alan just closes his eyes, oh god.
stu, please, show some class. that's alan's wife you're talking about.
you can't put a pricetag on love, alan! ow! you just can't!
it's good to be seen, carla. it's good to be seen.
for you and chastity to watch on your anniversary.  alan just clenches his jaw, i fucking hate you.
and it looks like real velvet, alan, so no machine wash, okay?
dude, you have a shield!
me too! hey, can stu and i get a shield?
that's his girlfriend of 14 years. i'm sure this'll only take a minute.
hey alan, how come i wasn't your
hey alan, you want all your wallet-
yeah, did she ask about us?! off of alan's hate-filled glare, we
turns out doug was in all the wedding photos, which means -- if the time stamp was right -- we had him in our possession until 11 pm.
hey, steve, you don't happen to know where we were heading when we left here last night, do you?
your negativity is like a little black cloud over our car, alan. you've got to let go of this.
you're broke? i thought you were
alan. honey. have you considered, even for a second, that maybe the things we do when we're drunk are what we secretly want to do?
or, after 14 years, maybe you don't have the balls to leave becky, and this is your way of getting her to leave you.
all the more reason to freak out. alan opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. vick nods, chew on that, and continues slowly reversing the car.
i love you, alan mervish, i do, but you've always had a major pole up your ass. maybe last night was your inner cool person trying to get out-
what the--?! they look up to see two massive samoan men in loud hawaiian shirts, kalolo fanalua and kikiolani, 30's, standing on either side of the car. and they look pissed.
stu, please. i think there's been some sort of mistake, mister?
those so aren't their real names.
alan? relax. these men aren't going to hurt us. they're from hawaii.
okay, okay! cool it with the bat! jesus, why is everyone trying to kill my car? vick undoes his seatbelt and reaches for his door handle. kikiolani lowers his bat -- and vick throws the door open, right into his nuts! the huge samoan staggers back, owww, and vick slams his door shut and
i honestly don't know how you two are still alive.
no! no cops!
nothing! i just think we should focus on finding doug and not get distracted by every little thing!
oh please, those guys are from guam. get a grip.
fine. let's just go back to the hotel -- doug is probably back from wherever he spent the night, we'll get him, we'll straighten out whatever we did to those angry samoans, then we'll get the hell back to la, okay? left turn. vick angrily takes a harder-than-necessary left turn. alan hangs on tight, almost flying out of the car.
doug? doug? alan quickly checks the room phone.
smart move, man. stu opens the closet door -- and freezes.
whoa.
no. i think she's alan's wife. stu covers his mouth, oh shit! vick produces the wallet- sized photos from alan's wedding, compares them, and nods.
alan? wanna step in here, buddy? a second later alan enters, what's up?
alan, chastity. chastity, alan. alan looks down, sees chastity snoring on the closet floor, her body all contorted, and freezes. oh my god.
because she's your spouse, dude! scowling, alan slowly crouches down. then, a little scared, he nudges her. nothing. he nudges her harder.
pinch her tit. it always works. alan shakes her a bit harder and -- brrapppp -- the girl lets out a massive burp and awakens, coughing. alan jumps back up, terrified. the woman, chastity, looks around, disoriented.
yeah, i really like her, man.
so, um, did you take alan's name?
what a responsible, upstanding young jew. they don't make `em like that anymore, am i right? chastity smiles, sweet, as she straps on her 6 inch heels.
yeah, not so much.
you don't happen to remember what time we met you last night, do you?
it's the all-american love story, isn't it? what happened next?
and was doug with us then?
interesting.  do you have any idea where we went after the wedding?
i know.
look, we can get your grandmother's ring back. we just gotta go about it in the right way.
you are the best bridesmaids ever.
two-for-ones, man.
what do you think we're doing?
we're getting into the mindset of last night, to see if it sparks any memories. now: is this exactly how you were dancing for me last night, starr? she nods. vick nods, pensive, scientific.
yeah, still no memories. keep going -- and put your back into it.
no. stu, sit and enjoy your dance. stu looks between them, torn.
i'm trying to save your life here, alan mervish.
i'm not kidding, man! life is one long series of emergencies, and if you don't learn to stop and have a little fun along the way, you're gonna grow into a joyless old prick like your dad. i'm sorry to bring moshe mervish into it, but it had to be said. now yes, we have 18 hours to find doug -- which means we can afford to spend ten minutes celebrating the special talents of these gifted young body-artists. so sit down, have a jager shot, and smell the goddamn roses for once in your miserable life. chastity, honey? when you're ready? chastity pushes alan onto the red leather banquette and starts dancing for him. he tries to squirm away:
because if he hadn't, i would've. they continue watching on in silence.
not for me. more watching in silence.
not that can do that.
because she's been touched by god. they continue staring, amazed. just then, the door is kicked open and kikiolani and kalolo fanalua burst into the champagne room, peering through the darkness, looking for our guys. vick and stu see them immediately.
shit. they both hop up. alan remains sitting, however, hypnotized by chastity. vick grabs him.
alan, come on, man, we gotta go!
come on, man! we got company! finally, the guamians spot the guys and lumber for them!
chastity, honey, is there a back way out of here?! thinking fast, chastity grabs her clothes and darts over to a darkened, unlabeled fire door.
i'm really starting to like this girl. the guys all follow suit, sprinting down the runway and leaping over the patrons! then the guamians blow through the curtain, panting, very upset. they lumber down the stage -- and the patrons at the end of the runway clear the hell out of the way.
come on, alan: tell me that wasn't just a little fun.
no idea.
ditto. officer bladen slams the table with his fist.
stu: stop talking. alan: sit up straight. officer merriweather, i've told you twelve times now: we have no memory of last night. now either charge us with a crime, or let us go. merriweather scowls and nods at bladen, who steps over to a television and turns it on. merriweather, meanwhile, pulls out a photograph of a slick asian man in a red suit, slides it onto the table.
we have no idea who this man is.
yeah, that's right. on the television, grainy surveillance camera footage of a birthday party starts playing. in the video, jimmy lang sits in an upscale restaurant, in front of a birthday cake, as a table full of hip asian guys serenade him with "happy birthday to you." when the guys sitting next to jimmy lean forward to help him blow out the candles on his cake, however, we see that it's vick, alan, stu, doug, and some black guy, all very drunk!
i love you, jimmy lang! merriweather freezes frame on vick kissing the top of jimmy lang's shaved head. in the interrogation room, vick, stu and alan sit, frozen. silence.
i know jimmy lang. everyone stops, looks at vick.
jimmy and i tried to raise capital for girl-nasium, a 24 hour fitness center and day spa for tween-age girls, but it never got off the ground. it was an entirely legitimate enterprise -- i had no idea he was a criminal. we must've bumped into him last night, and he must've invited us to join his birthday celebration. no crime in that, is there, officers? merriweather gets in vick's face, intense.
stu might. stu shakes his head, unbelievable.
now: are you gonna charge us with something, or are we free to go? the cops look at each other, scowling. beat.
we got out, didn't we?
if we'd cooperated with them, we'd be in jail right now, alan. they reach the curb, and stu starts trying to hail a cab. desperation is setting in.
stu, don't. doug is fine.
stu: doug is fine.
stu! enough!
what did you just say?
is that right?
why do think you're so much better than us, dude?!
you're out of your depth, alan--
what's so great about any of those things?!
none of us ever liked you, alan! we only hung out with you because doug made us! alan recoils, whoa, stung. this is clearly news to him.
why would anyone like you, dude? have you ever thought about that? you're uptight, you're judgemental, you're cheap, and yet somehow you think you're sweeter than everyone else! well look around, man: no one wants to be you! i'd rather be stu than you!
you punch like. your sister.  stu runs over and jumps in, trying to break them apart.
that's funny, because alan's daddy taught him tax law. chastity smiles, a little confused. alan is quick to retort:
it's a disease, dude--!
what if it's tracy?!
because she knows you're the most easily tricked.
no we don't! tell her nothing, stu! stu turns back to the phone, rattled.
i'm working on it! buy us some time!
what are you, retarded?! honesty is never the best policy! especially not with brides!
okay: tell her alan got really drunk last night and fell down, and the doctor said not to move him for a few hours, but that we'll be back in time for the wedding.
it's a fictitious canard, alan, get over yourself! stu: tell her!
fell over drunk.
for a few hours! we'll be home before the wedding!
tracy?! vick! how are ya, hon?
nothing! stu is a moron. listen, alan hurt his back last night, so we're gonna be laid up here for a bit, but i promise we'll have doug home in time for the wedding, okay?
yes, luckily he had a steel rod surgically implanted up his ass at birth, so the doctors anticipate a complete and swift recovery. alan flips him the bird.
what? no! no, you can't actually, doug. doug is out.
where is he? he's aaaat. the pharmacy. yeah, picking up alan's medications. listen, trace, i'm losing you, but we'll see you tomorrow, okay? bye, sweetie--! vick hangs up and nods confidently.
she bought it.
maybe we should go back to the hotel and--
at the top! we hit every club we went to til someone remembers what we did with doug!
naaah, couldn't be.
you think we would've remembered this.
we're going to love you either way, stu.  stu nods, focussed, nervous, like before a big game.
excuse me, friend, can you tell me where roger is?
he's cute. i guess? stu shrugs, yeah, i guess? as they draw close, roger sees them, and smiles.
listen, man, we don't really remember what happened last night, can you fill us in?
wait-- what?!
you insisted?! why'd you insist?!
not cool, roger. not cool.
the guy from the jimmy lang surveillance video. the guys nod, right.
we must see that video.
and what time was all this?
did we lose him along the way?
hello?
atashir, many greetings to you.
what?! are you sure it's him?!
oh thank you, atashir! you are a man of great honor! a thousand blessings upon your ancestors! vick slams his phone shut, overjoyed.
doug is in the room! a maid just found him! he's passed out, but he's okay!
atashir swears it is! the guys all laugh, a massive weight lifted.
i don't even care! hug me, you big shiny homosexual!
how we doing on time?
we'll be in la by dawn. i told you bitches this would all work out.  they drive off into the night, grins all around.
they always have kids.
yeah, she's a total canwego.
you know, she's the girl at the party who's always like "can we go? can we go?" chastity laughs. alan does too, shaking his head.
wait: you're going to tell her?
dude, she still hasn't forgiven me for scratching her queensryche cd in sixth grade -- she's neeeeever gonna forgive you for marrying a stripper in vegas.
she's gonna cut your dick off, dude.
keep `er close, paco. we'll be right back.
doug! wake up, man!
where is doug?
they were gonna hurt me, man.
i can get it! i can! i just--
you have doug?
yes! yes. jimmy nods and heads for the door. the samoans follow him.
do you really think i wanted my life to turn out like this, stu?! do you really think i don't know that i'm a massive loser?!
jesus, you guys got out of high school and you just knew what to do, you went to college and got good jobs and found cool wives and made beautiful children -- what do i have to show for the last decade of my life?! nothing! vick swats a lamp off a nearby end-table -- it smashes against the wall! the guys freeze. tense silence. vick grows emotional.
jesus, i'm almost 30, and the only thing i really have. the only thing i really have is you guys.
no, man, it's true! i put on a good show, but my life is so goddamn hollow and vapid and lonely, it scares me, man. i-i don't know how much longer i can keep this scam going. and now i've gone and ruined the one good thing i had.  tears threaten in his eyes. he wipes at them, angry.
just. please don't give up on me, okay? i-i don't know what i'd do without you guys. i really don't.  alan and stu exchange a look. they've never seen brash, cocky vick this vulnerable before. stu can't help but give in.
love you too, bro. love you too. they hug tight. for a while.
what?!
no! no. that's. that's plenty. vick desperately tries to clear the image from his mind. alan just frowns at his watch, stressed.
12 minutes.
dude, how many red bulls have you had?
there's only one thing left to do. they all exchange a knowing look.
shut up, stu.
we gotta go, man. alan nods, yeah, and gets in the car.
we're gonna give jimmy a dummy bag of money, grab doug, and make a run for it.
jimmy lang doesn't do payment calendars, alan! trust me: this is our only shot of getting doug back! left turn! vick skids onto highway 12 -- a barely labelled dirt road. things are quickly going from bad to worse.
this all the cash we got? the guys frown at their empty wallets, yeah. we are
alan i need you positive please.
stuart?
there's an emergency bottle of tequila in my glove box. get it out please. stu opens the glovebox, pulls out a bottle of patron. he opens it, takes a swig, then passes it to vick, who takes a pull and passes it to alan, who also drinks. they all watch the white yukon draw ever closer.
let's see doug! jimmy lang nods to kalolo, who opens the back door of the yukon and pulls out a guy with his hands tied behind his back and a plastic ralph's bag over his head; he struggles a bit. the guys look a bit alarmed.
pull off the ralph's bag! jimmy yanks the bag off of the guy's head to reveal
who the hell is that?!
yeah, you got the wrong doug, man!
yeah, man, our doug is white!
i don't know what to tell you, bro, this isn't the doug we requested!
christ that hurts!
who cares! go go! alan floors the car while stu and vick sprint and dive in! the caddy peels the hell out of there, kicking up rocks and dust! the guamians fire after them!
i can't believe you just drove my car into jimmy lang! alan drives, his eyes as big as saucers.
yeah. it's probably time.
i still can't believe stu banged my sister. vick hands the bottle to alan, gets out, and makes for the pay phone.
in the desert, on the pay phone, looking through his busted aviators into the rising sun.
tracy, it's vick.
listen, honey. the bachelor party got a little out of control and, well. we lost doug.
yeah, that's not gonna happen.
look, i'm really sorry, trace. this is all my fault--
what the--?! alan gets on the phone with tracy, his heart racing.
what are you doing?
so how did--?
i don't believe it.
it's so obvious!
how'd you figure it out?!
honestly, dude, you're a genius.
he's on the roof! stu looks confused, the roof?
and all day he's been throwing his crap off the roof, trying to signal someone to get him down!
where are you, man?! but doug is nowhere to be seen. the guys start to despair.  then. stepping out from behind an air-conditioning vent, naked except for tighty-whities, his entire body bright pink from sunburn.
okay, no, that's cool!
why'd you do it, sweet atashir?! why did you betray us?!
fair enough! see you next time, you beautiful judas! they blow out of the hotel.
look, doug, i think i speak for everyone in the car when i say i'm really sorry about locking you on the roof of the hotel.
i owe you, neeco! the driver gives vick a thumbs up, and heads off. alan rips open the package -- inside are four tuxedos. the guys start taking off their tattered clothes.
sorry, mapquest took us a crazy route. we ready to do this thing? the bridesmaids sit up, stunned.
she looks beautiful, man.
that's cool. i get it.
we did it, fellahs. we pulled it off.
give him time.
hey beck--!
this just got complicated.
okay, okay, i'll go with you. just. don't ruin the wedding. then jimmy lang enters the bathroom on red crutches.
um, what?
i will pay you back, you know.
well, alan married a stripper, stu went gay, and i learned a very important life lesson from an obese hoodlum.
to doug and tracy.