The Biggest Douche in Vegas

SCUD MITCHELL (the biggest douche in Vegas): Salutations, aloha, whatsup, my name’s Scud Mitchell, I spin records on the Sahara pool deck Wednesday thru Sunday. I generate unfathomable bank for the suits upstairs, that’s why I’m V.I.P. status, check the incidentals: I got my own suite (room 247) and a personal limo driver who takes me anywhere I want, including the holistic herb clinic (it’s medicinal, I hyper-extended my spine playing naked drunk twister, no big deal).
Anyways, last week this Ivy League hedge-funder type begged me to spin a party, apparently got in too deep with some new club off-strip and needs me to salvage the place. I said sure, give me 40% of net bar sales and don’t get mad if I fuck your waitress and we’ve got a deal.
So I load the wheels of steel in the limo and wouldn’t you know it, Ivy leaguer’s business partner is this chick I used to date. She used to be hot but now she’s old and of course she’s acting pissed, saying I shouldn’t have taken the job, that I should’ve used better judgment. Yeah, I remember one night she told me she was going to name the bar Peaks and Valleys, but if you think I can remember every little post-coital blab-a-thon, then you don’t know how many brain cells I’ve snuffed since I discovered ecstasy. JK I’m not THAT into drugs but c’mon don’t sweat the small stuff.
She’s an ungrateful bitch anyway because I totally rocked the house and the bar made like eight grand. Ivy league was so impressed, he asked me to sign a contract. I totally said I would, just to spite my steaming-pissed ex, who ruffled her feathers about the collateral damage. So I popped some champagne and sprayed it on some strippers? And maybe those strippers danced on two-thousand dollar designer cocktail tables? And maybe those tables broke? Fuck it, that’s called tearing the roof off the motherfucker. Anyways I’m kinda glad I got the gig back to be honest, ‘cuz homegirl’s sister is SMOKIN’.

CHRISSY (“Homegirl’s Sister”): Yeah he tried to ask me on a date, but c’mon, do I look like the kind of chick who would date someone named Scud Mitchell? Not to knock my Sister, of course. She dated him before he changed his name. But if I can manipulate this Scud into making the bar some money without destroying the place, then I won’t feel so bad about imposing myself onto my big Sister’s life and ditching my last year of college.

KENDRA (Big Sister, Scud’s Ex) I want my Sister to return to Sarah Lawrence and earn the degree our mother paid for. I want to prove to my business partner that I can run a successful bar without help from biggest douche in Vegas. I want a better clientele, and if I can’t have it, I’m not sure I want to stay in this business. I’ve served enough scumbags, guidos, and bimbos cocktailing on the strip, why do you think I left? Nine years I saved to open this place, it’s my dream, it’s my baby, and wouldn’t you know it, a ghost from my past comes back to turn my dream into a nightmare. Like I’m cursed or something! No, I don’t believe in curses, superstition is for the weak. I’ve got to find a better alternative and get rid of Scud once and for all, even if it means going behind my partner's back.

TOM (“Ivy Leaguer,” Kendra’s business partner): I don’t know why she’s so hung up on her “dream bar.” Money is money, who cares how you make it, as long as nobody gets hurt. I’ve put together hedge funds, I’ve sold toxic assets, I’ve done commercial real estate, and one thing I know is you never get emotionally attached. It’s just four walls and a concrete floor, we sell booze, we play records. Who cares who comes through the door? As long as they’re buying drinks! But I’ll be honest- and this stays between us- I need this place to work. My portfolio took a bath when the banks went belly up. And I like these girls, they're more fun than wall street types.