Letterkenny – S09E06 – Breastaurant [Transcript]

A breastaurant opens in Letterkenny.
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Letterkenny - S09E06 - Breastaurant

You were having a Puppers with your pals the other day…

Too much Instagrams’ll make your eyes go square, Dary.

I’m workin’ here.

Oh, Dary’s like a blister. He only shows up when the work’s all done.

It’s not Instagram. I’m flippin’ through Twitter.

Well, less doin’ tweets, more pullin’ teats, bud.

Speaking of teats, you guys heard about this Twitter account called Gay Hooters?

Gay Hooters?

Gay Hooters.

But… Gay Hooters?

Well, that’s what I said. I said, Gay Hooters.

Is that right?

Guess I’m just sorta wonderin’ what Gay Hooters would be all about?

Well, if I was to make an educated guesstimation, I’d have to say it’s like the controversial yet famous American restaurant franchise Hooters, except for gay guys.

So, it’s like a Hooters, but marketed to gay men aged 18-35?

Boy howdies!

I guess I just got a few more questions though.

Well, you’re handy as a shirt pocket, bud.

Well, all I’m wondering is, like… what do a group of gay men have to enjoy about Hooters?

We’s talkin’ the restaurants or the body parts?

Here we go now.

Well, no. I’m just thinkin’ it sounds a little bit queer…

Easy, tiger!

…that you would have to sell the gay community on Hooters?

Sell? Sold.

Huh?

Gay dudes love tits.

Is that right?

Most of us, yeah.

Well, to be fairs…

(Mockingly) To be fair…

To be fair…

To be fair…

♪ To be fair, yeah ♪

(In deep British accent) To be fair… it’s hard to imagine anyone not likin’ ’em, no matter which ways you points your sexuals compass.

So, you guys love tits as much as you love dinks?

F*ck, no! We’re straight guy gay.

Strictly guy gay, for clarificaysh.

Gettin’ good and gay in guy gash.

Smashin’ silly ass.

Gettin’ kinky with the dinky.

Gettin’ stinky with the dinky.

In sync. With dink.

Is that right?

But you also love tits.

What’s not to love?

Yeah, lots of gay dudes secretly love tits. Big, bouncy, fun-lovin’, party time tits.

Big ol’ buoyant, jubly, sloppy egg yolk knocks.

Bounce those snake-eyed humpty dumplings over here, honey, let’s have a good one.

Talkin’ Bobbsey Twin baby thumpers rubber baby buggy bumpers.

Is that right?

I think I have an idea.

Well, you might as well gets ’em all outs on the table.

What if… okay, what if the food was also gay?

Oh, I got Professor Tricia on speed dial ready for this hot takes.

No, no, hear him out.

Okay, so, the chickens that you get the chicken wings from, what if they were also gay chickens?

A boy chicken’s called a cock.

So, what you’re suggesting is that Gay Hooters is a place for mens to go eat gay cocks.

BOTH: In.

Free-range chickens is hard enough to breeds.

Yeah, so it would be a Hooters restaurant marketed to gay men aged 18-35 where they could go and enjoy some fried food, but also some eye-level eye candy.

I’d rather have a dog’s eye view.

Dog’s eye view of a dink.

Dink’s eye view.

Dink in the eye.

In sync with dink.


Oh, is that right?

(Theme song playing)


Did yous hear Sir Bill’s closed?

Oh, bother. Well, there’s nothin’ worse than a mom and pop shop goin’ under in a small town.

KATY: Why’d they bust?

Sir Bill’s was the best breakfast…

Attaboy.

…in Letterkenny, until MoDean’s started serving brunch. Now nobody goes to Sir Bill’s.

I heard some talk that they was late payin’ their merchants.

Well, late payment’s the first sign you’re goin’ tits up.

See, I always thought that MoDean’s and Sir Bill’s should combine. Breakfast spot by day, bang-up spot by night.

Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

If “ifs” and “buts” were candies and nuts.

Not much room for competition in a small town. You need customer loyalty.

(Scoffing) Loyalty, eh?

I said it wrong, didn’t I?

Loyalty is two things: number A, a crucial practice in any relationship and number B, a f*ckin’ dying art.

Well, Gail’s gonna need our loyalty because I heard there is one of those big city chain restaurants moving in.

Oh! Harvey’s?

No.

Tacso Bells?

Nope.

St. Hubert?

Nope. It’s one of those places that’s always on about their casual fine dining. (Smarmy chuckling)

ALL: Ew.

It’s one of those places that focuses on upscale comfort food. (Chuckling)

ALL: Ew.

One of those places that’s always on about their gastro fare.

ALL: Ew!

Although, there are, um, there are, um, perks to those sorts of places?

(Giggling) Some might say… (Giggling) …the perkiest!

It’s wheres you go if you like some perkies!

Yous are degens.

Breastaurants.

BOYS: Yoo!

One of those places where you’re not payin’ for the G&T, you’re paying for the T&A.

Short skirts, full bras, can’t lose.

That’s their motto!

Grow up.

With all due respect, Miss Katy, Professor Tricia says it’s perfectly ethical for womens to be as sexual as they want, including wearing clothes what makes them feel powerful.

It’s not the women who work there that I have a problem with. They can get theirs, and I am here for it. It’s the leering men that really chap my ass. The male gaze.

Male gays? You mean like Dax and Ron?

F*ck, you are on f*ckin’ fire, eh?

I’ve got more time for clogged toilets.

Where you goin’?

To be a loyal customer.

Yous wanna go be loyal customers?

I’ds be a loyal customer.

I’m surprised we’re not being loyal customers right now.

To MoDean’s!


(Dance music playing)

Stewart! Have you heard this new Neapolitan funk compilation?

(Gagging noises)

(Coughing)

You phonographic Philistine! Neapolitan funk was yesteryear’s genre. You know very well that I am fully immersed in the Nigerian Neurofolk movement.

But I thought that you said Neapolitan funk was the sound of the revolution because it blended in perfectly with your Baile funk collection?

You’re thinking Baggy Trance and Biafra Psychobilly, Roald!

Is Baggy Trance the one that’s heavily influenced by mid-century word jazz… (Stammering) …and the Hungarian underground top 40?

(Incredulous wheezing laughter) I’m gonna pretend you didn’t even say that.

You can’t be mad at me for not being up on your weapons as of late. I mean, you haven’t DJ’d a gig in what feels like years.

(Grunting) (Sputtering) I am fully aware of my dry spell, Roald. However, I plan to be the pole holding up the circus tent at Letterkenny’s latest venue… the breastaurant. I love tits. Just imagine all the ground-breaking styles I can literally bring to the tables of the masticating masses beyond the standard, bland restaurantica.

You are ten times the fyah selectah of any restaurant DJ. I mean, half of them think it’s still 2005 and play mashups.

(All gagging)

Mashups are a cardinal sin in the DJ realm. I have no time for MP3s titled Fleetwood Macklemore.

Or the Rolling Stone Roses.

Meredith Brooks N Dunn.

Barry White Zombie.

James Taylor Swift.

KC and the Sunshine Band of Horses.

Olivia Newton John Mayer.

Rage Against the Miami Sound Machine.

Rage Against Florence and the Machine. Fugazi Osbourne.

Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Phantom Planet.

I Mother Earth, Wind & Fire.

30 Seconds to Bruno Mars!

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Busta Leann Rimes.

Faith Hill No More.

George Michael Bublé.

Seven Mary 311.

The Pointer Sisters of Mercy.

Slick Rick Ross.

Simply Red Hot Chili Peppers.

To the breastaurant!

I love tits!


It’s a decent sando, buddy.

Convo ends at decent, bro.

Yeah, well, beats doing Squat Speedmans.

Anything’s better than Squat Weilands.

Squatty Bowmans.

Harry Squatter.

Squat Stevens.

You hear about that breastaurant opening, buddy?

Gonna be some top-line snipes working there, buddy.

Top six for sure, buddy.

You know what I’m secretly even more excited for though, buddy?

What’s that, bro?

(Whispers) Big city sandos!

Top cheddar?

Top Swiss!

You know what they call arugula in England, buddy?

BOTH: Rocket!

Not you, but you are a rocket.

NASA certified. What about that big city bread?

Oh, gotta celebrate the biscuit, buddy.

Gotta worship the focaccia!

A shrine to all twelve seeds and grains.

Sauce me a pass, bro.

Pass me a sauce, buddy.

Little sriracha aioli?

Little truffle reduction?

Li’l pesto mayo?

Li’l curry ketchup?

A li’l spicy brown habanero dill mustard? F*ck!

Mmm! Little piri-piri wasabi horseradish? F*ck!


WAYNE: Gail, how are ya now?

Good ‘n you?

Oh, not so bad.

‘Kay. Don’t love how quiet it is in here.

Well, maybe you haven’t heard. Letterkenny has welcomed a breastaurant to town.

Yeah? That, uh… breastaurant? It’s about as welcome as an outhouse breeze.

You’ve got loyal customers for life in us. You know that, right?

Yeah, but those citiots poached my best server.

ALL: Awww!

Bonnie McMurray!

I’m still working here! But I’m working a double today… in two places.

Judas.

We’ve all gotta make our paper, and I’m not surprised they poached me. I have more savoir faire than anyone in town.

(Mockingly) Savoir faire.

Savoir fwair.

Savoir faire!

(Mumbling) Suvuh faiyah.

Does ya really wanna works at a place like that that’s gonna exploits ya, though, Bonnies?

Can’t exploit me if I volunteer, bud. Tips.

Do you really want guys leering at you all night long while you’re trying to do work?

How’s that any different than being around you two, or how Gail exploits Wayne around here?

What Wayne and I have is a sacred bond between bartender and customer! And sometimes my weighted body pillow.

Yawn.

I heard those places takes part in bad business practices. Likes to avoid payin’ severances, they’ll just keeps givin’ ya bad shifts until ya quits rather than fires ya.

I’d never fire anyone for anything I wouldn’t do.

ROSIE: Some blonde uptown just tried to recruit me.

KATY: To work at the breastaurant?

For what reason?

I’ll give ya two.

Fair.

Gotta go.

Hmm, I don’t leer.

Buddy, you’re King Leer.

You’re Leer as Folk.

You’re Leer and Present Danger.

Nothin’ to leers but leers itself.

Leers for Fears.

I don’t leer!

Leer down, big rig!


Behold! Your new lounge leader of late night happy hour.

It’s happy hour.

Mia… (Clearing throat)… Sofia?

Low-rent Gerard Way?

You manage the breastaurant?

That term is offensive, you queerbait.

(Squealing) Just gonna just let that one hang in the air for a minute.

You, uh… (Awkward chuckling) …you look pretty hot.

Thank you. You been, uh, working out?

Actually, I…

Just kidding, I don’t give a f*ck.

(Growling)

You have just fallen backwards into catching the luckiest of breaks. I have arrived to grace your establishment with my Ibiza-level talents on the ones and twos.

The hiring process is over and that’s not how you pronounce Ibiza.

You should ‘I-bee-tha’ so lucky to have Stewart drop waxed science upon the patrons of your Straight Hooters.

Fine. Résumé.

(Both scoffing dramatically, repeatedly)

Never have I once been asked for my credentials! The nerve of requiring a paper defence of my title as…

Best DJ in Letterkenny! (Mimicking echoing)

Letterkenny is minor league, bud. You’re up against city talent here. Do you have a SoundCloud at least?

(Scoffing) We only post our mixes on the dark web.

Hmm. Beat it, Chemical Sisters. Let’s go, girls.

Your problematic language is going to show up in my Yelp review.


Buddy, I know we’ve already expressed our mutual excitement for the big city sandos. However, I fear we’d be remiss if we forgot to circle back on the…

Slams?

The big city slams.

You know what I’m like, secretly most excited for?

What’s that, buddy?

The toilets.

Oh, first class shitters, bro.

Floor to ceiling doors on the stalls.

Sports page above the pisser.

Exotic foot flush buttons.

You know what I love doing at those pissers?

(Giggling) I bet I know.

That little game where you try…

BOTH: …and melt all the ice in the urinal with your pee!

‘Ferda.

‘Ferda!

Still though. There’s gonna be some talent there tonight.

Great place to net a few.

You ever wheeled in a chain restaurant, buddy?

Buddy, I’ve never not wheeled in a restaurant.

I wheeled a hostess before my seating pager even went off.

I wheeled a double-shifting server post zoo sticks with extra dip.

I wheeled a manager while she was rolling her loonies for her cash out.

I diddled in a Golden Griddle.

I wheeled a Kelsey at a Kelsey’s.

I wheeled a Casey at a Casey’s.

I f*cked Bubba Gump at Bubba Gump’s.

Flagship store.

Bottomed my first top at IHOP.

Gobbled cock at Manchu Wok.

Straight up the poolius at Orange Julius.

You know I’ve f*cked guys at Popeye’s.

Ripped a double choke-o at El Pollo Loco.

Raging bone at Cold Stone.

Took it in the back at Shake Shack.

Ever sucked willies at a Chili’s?

Buddy, I’ve had Five Guys with a side of fries. You see these thighs? Don’t tell no lies.

Have you guys ever heard of Gay Hooters?


Gettin’ a wee bit nervous about tonight’s crowd.

But there isn’t one.

F*ckin’ right you’re on fire, eh.

I can’t even understand the appeal of opening a chain restaurant in Letterkenny.

Maybe you should adjust, cousint’. Doing anything special besides Wing Wednesdays?

Thirsty Thursday!

Get so drunk on Saturdays that I free pour.

That counts.

Nah, these are the types of places that have nights like Frosé Friday.

Oh, I love frosé beverages.

I tell you what, they rock a Mozza Stick Monday, you rock a…

Deep Fried Mushroom Monday.

F*ckin’ eh!

You already do Thirsty Thursdays. That’s three nights right there.

I do what I do! My customers are loyal or they’re not.

Hey, Gail, you know what I’m glad that you never do?

What?

On top of not asking customers, “What are your big plans for the night?” while you’re waiting for them to pay the bill.

Worst.

(Quietly) Sometimes I’m excited to share.

(Chuckling) You never say… (Chuckling) You never say… “How are the first few bites tasting?”

Holy f*ck.

Ugh!

Like, holy f*ck.

Yuck.

(Quietly) Except for, maybe it’s not tasting so good.

You know what, there’s somethin’ real pervy about that word “taste”.

McMurray pervy as I recall.

Who could forgets?

It’s just a word.

You think? You don’t think it sounds a little bit pervy at all to say, “And how are the first few bites tasting?”

“Hey. Hey.

Everything tasting to your liking?”

“I see you’ve had a taste. How was it?”

“Couple bites there. How’s it taste?”

“Taste… good?”

“Oh, yeah. You like how it tastes?”

Cheque please.

Sure thing. What are your big plans for the night?

Ugh!


Sasha and Dickweed.

Name me one other purveyor of the black wax who has such a glorious display of twelve inches.

BOTH: The Phantom’s Revenge.

I think twelve inches is giving yourself a bit too much credit.

Hmm, no. No, it’s actua…

I wasn’t talking to you, Fartboy Slim.

You are bitchier than I remember!

And you’re uglier.

Just lay your eyes upon this glorious crate!

(Grunting)

They are all rare white label bootlegs. We have the two-step garage remix of Melissa Etheridge.

Bobby McFerrin Live at Budokan.

Skrillex, early acoustic demo.

There’s a recording of Daft Punk literally playing at James Murphy’s house.

Chicago covering Boston.

Boston covering Toronto.

Toronto covering Chicago!

Stop! F*ck, you guys sound like a game of meth-head Cards Against Humanity.

Impressed?

I wasn’t even listening, but I noticed you have a case of vinyls.

Ugh!

The plural of “vinyl” is vinyl.

(Scoffs) It’s not Lego.

Whatever. We don’t have turntables here. This isn’t 1982.

You… you don’t have turntables?

(Scoffing)

Uh, then what do your DJs use?

I don’t know. The one I hired brings in this circle contraption, the other just plays YouTube clips off her phone.

Blasphemy.

Heresy!

I also checked out your online presence, you have none.

Mm-hmm, but, um did you check the…

BOTH:… dark web?

Listen, there are two types of DJs you hire in this business. Those who suck but bring people down, and those who don’t suck and don’t bring people down, but keep people here. If you have big tits, and experience DJing in the city, even better. Love that big city titty.

What about itty-bitty city titty?

BOTH: Pretty shitty.

Give me one good reason you won’t hire me!

I’ve given several, but let’s recap. Big picture, you don’t have followers, you don’t have tits, and you probably don’t even do mashups.

Ogh!

Ugh!

I knew it, Ste… I knew… Stewart, I knew it!

Probably looking for a little INXS-Club 7?

Talk to me when you’ve got some Post Malonely Island.

A little Blink 182 Chainz?

Come back when you’ve got some KRS-One Direction.

Maybe a little Stone Temple 21 Pilots?

21 Savage Garden.

(Mockingly) George Michael Bolton?

Less talk, more Cat Power Stevens.

Uh, Lil Wayne Newton?

Halsey and Oates, bitch.

Cardi Beastie Boys?

Cardi B-52’s!

Alice In Chainsmokers?

Fall Out Boy George.

The Jackson 5 Seconds of Summer?!

Cardi Beatles.

BOTH: Aggghh!


Hoo, boy.

You ever hoovered schneef in a restaurant?

I’ve hoovered schneef at a Subway Samiches’ cuttin’ it up with a fully stocked rewards card.

I’ve hoovered schneef and gone back for a fountain pop refill.

I’ve hoovered schneef off the middle buns of my Bigs Macs.

I’ve hoovered schneef off of a billfold before payin’ my tab.

I’ve hoovered schneefs off of the baby change station in a handicap stall at an East Side Mario’s in Etobicokes.

I’ve hoovered gluten-free schneef.

I’ve hoovered ocean wise schneef.

I’ve hoovered schneef at a Cactus Club in Saskatoon and heard a fella in the next stall say, “Git it in ya.”

F*ckin’ degens.

Gailer, do lots of people hoover schneef in here?

I pour lamp oil on the tops of the toilet tanks before every shift. If anyone dumps schneef on it, it dissolves instantly.

Do you really?

She does.

I’m the only one who’s gonna get your f*cked up in here. “You” bein’ the key word ’cause there ain’t anyone else to serve. Guess my customers are as loyal as Sir Bill’s.

REILLY: Hey, Gailer?

Is the kitchen still open?

The door is, the kitchen is!

Easton and Weston… I thought for sure you’d be marching up skirt at the new place.

We were but we looked at their menu and their sandos are $26.

Then share.

It said no sharing on the menu.

Godless motherf*ckers!

Madame Gail?

Don’t call me a madam. I don’t run a brothel. Yet.

Ah. Sex.

Sex.

We’ve brought you and your patrons the finest of worldly songsmith selections.

What patrons?

May we put them on in a chosen sequence anyway?

Sure.

ALL: Oh! Bonnie McMurray!

What it do, chicky-poo?

They cut me. Bit of a disaster over there, actually. They weren’t prepared for the crowd.

See, they’re making fools of themselves over there, Gailer.

So, everybody’s leaving?

You heard it here first.

(Chatter outside)

(Latin piano music playing)

Guess I’m workin’ a triple.

♪ Arriba! ♪

♪ Mm, mm! Woooo! ♪

♪ Tell me ♪

♪ Tell me whatcha like ♪

♪ Tell me whatcha ordered ♪

♪ Met a freak ’bout to bring her back to Georgia ♪

♪ Get her past the border ♪

♪ Might go down to Florida or to California ♪

♪ Smellin’ my aroma ♪

♪ Ni*gas actin’ like they really certified ♪

♪ What? Show me your diploma ♪

♪ He’s a goner ♪

♪ Came from the city where they tote their hammers ♪

♪ Aim for the money, shit so bananas ♪

♪ Pin a pic with the flow better hold the canvas ♪

♪ Hit your girl from the back make her hold the candles ♪

♪ It’s lit ♪

♪ All the candles ♪

♪ Whole neck shine like solar panels ♪

♪ Must see TV I control the channel ♪

♪ I’m ’bout to make a film better hold the camera ♪

♪ Like, whoa! Whoa! Whoa! ♪

♪ Pulled up with the whole gang ♪

♪ Everybody yell “go!” ♪

♪ Sprinkle my cheddar on the chips ♪

♪ My wallet nah’ yours ♪

Sprinklin’, sprinklin’!

♪ If your girl round me, sorry ♪

♪ That mean that you lost her (that lost her) ♪

♪ Aight money dance to the bank, my money do the salsa ♪

♪ Woo! It dance and it dance ♪

♪ Whoa, whoa ♪

♪ It dance and it dance and it dance ♪

Arriba!

♪ It dance and it dance ♪

♪ It dance and it dance and don’t stop ♪

♪ Whoa, whoa! It dance… ♪

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