As some of you may already know, I’ve recently started going on assignment for Unreality. No big deal. What most of you probably don’t know, however, is that I’ve been continuing to go on assignment, and my latest excursion took me all the way out to Tinseltown. You see, I have a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend whose brother’s gardener works for The Hangover’s director Todd Phillips, and when I told Paul about my plans to interview “my close and personal friend Todd Phillips” for Unreality, it was all I could do to keep him from pawning off his Pokémon Beanie Baby collection to pay for my flight.
Unfortunately for Paul, the real reason I wanted to visit Cali was to “interview” all those medical marijuana dispensaries I keep hearing about. And after just a few days interviewing some glorious ganja called Peruvian Wolf’s Bane, I, uh . . . didn’t look so much like a respectable journalist as I did an injured lunatic.
Fortunately for Paul, Jorge the gardener was totally a standup guy, and he let me crash at his treehouse for a few days after I got robbed by a street performer. Old Jorge was no stranger to the Wolf’s Bane, and he was more than happy to dig through Todd Phillips’ garbage for me after I hazily hooked him up with a spliff.
When I saw what was in Jorge’s hand as he returned from his next shift, I nearly spilled my Jamba Juice all over his hammock. It was a script. Part of one, anyway. And not just any script—the script. I’d heard a while back that the third Hangover movie was going to mix things up with a new format, and after flipping through the draft Jorge salvaged, I instantly discovered why. Phillips was joining forces with Sylvester Stallone to create the ultimate summer blockbuster threequel of all time: a Hangover/Expendables crossover! It all makes perfect sense, too. Just the other week Sly himself said his next film would “have to give audiences something they don’t expect at all—maybe even going into a different genre.”
Obviously what follows is a buttload of spoilers, but this news is too good not to share. Ethics be damned. If the script excerpts below are any indication of next year’s cinematic asskickery, Stallone and Phillips better get their Oscar pants ready.
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INT. MEXICAN MENTAL FACILITY – DAY
ZACH GALIFIANAKIS wakes up face-down on the cold linoleum floor of a small room, wincing painfully as his eyes flutter open. The living space is spotless save for a bunk bed, two stainless steel dressers, and various ASIAN-LOOKING SYMBOLS scratched into the walls. A LARGE MAN is reclining casually in the bottom bunk, his face obscured in shadow. As ZACH goofily rolls through a large puddle of his own drool, he discovers he is wearing a straightjacket.
Oh, fiddlesticks! Where the devil am I??
(in emotionless, unnecessarily gravelly voice)
You’re in Crazy-ville, pal…Loko-town.
What?? I’m on the set of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo?
(in even more gravelly voice)
Worse. You’re in a Mexican mental institution.
Seriously? Well, I guess that was sort of a long time comin—
But I have some good news. I’m getting out of this shithole, and I’m taking you with me.
That’s awfully generous of you, mister. I guess. But—
(interrupting again, but ominously this time)
Actually, I won’t be taking all of you…
The LARGE MAN leans forward and those RIDICULOUS HORNS FROM INCEPTION play in the background as he reveals himself to be STEVEN SEAGAL. STEVEN rises to his full height, towering over a quivering ZACH.
…just your face.
STEVEN scissor-kicks ZACH in the face in slow motion, instantly decapitating him. He then pulls a FULL-SIZE SAMURAI SWORD out of his sock and turns to ZACH’S dead head. He grins sadistically as blood seeps across the floor.
INT. AMBIGUOUS ASIAN MONASTERY – DAY
NICOLAS CAGE sits cross-legged on the floor of a comfortably spacious temple, humming erratically to himself in deep concentration. Suddenly, the SHADOWS OF ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, BRUCE WILLIS, AND SYLVESTER STALLONE approach from the opposite side of the room.
(with eyes closed)
I already know why you’ve come.
ALL THREE HOLLYWOOD ICONS exchange a wry grin. SYLVESTER STALLONE steps forward.
(one eyebrow raised)
Yes. I can feel him.
As SYLVESTER STALLONE opens his mouth to speak, JET LI and TERRY CREWS parachute in through a conveniently located hole in the roof. TERRY is not wearing a shirt.
(standing on tiptoes)
Feel who, huh? Who can you feel?
One whose deadly power grows with every passing day: the mentally unstable Serbian terrorist they call STEVIL SEAGAL. Rumor has it he has…escaped.
(flexing pectoral muscles intermittently)
P-p-p-p-p-p-power! Old Spice!
Affirmative. All right, NIC, you know why we’re here. So what?
(opening eyes and smiling grimly)
I’m afraid your friend ZACH GALIFIANAKIS is already dead, BRUCE WILLIS.
What are you talking about?
Yahh, whut ah you tawking abowwwt??
(rising slowly, menacingly to his feet)
Bend over…and I’ll show you.
ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, BRUCE WILLIS, JET LI, SYLVESTER STALLONE, TERRY CREWS, and NICHOLAS CAGE draw their weapons and exchange comical, testosterone-filled threats for several minutes before agreeing that STEVIL SEAGAL must be stopped at all costs. Everyone HIGH FIVES as a HELICOPTER piloted by MICKEY ROURKE lands outside.
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SMASH CUT TO:
While the MEXICAN STRIPPERS form a circle around them, BRADLEY COOPER and JASON STATHAM proceed to each take six tequila shots in a row.
Woof! I like the way you party, mate.
And I’m totally diggin’ your accent, man. Plus, I think we’re the best-looking dudes of our respective social groups. Like, by far.
Moments later, MIKE TYSON and DOLPH LUNDGREN arrive outside the bar in a CHARIOT pulled by TYSON’S BENGAL TIGERS.
Ha, case in point, eh, mate? Looks like your contact came through after all. Collect yourself. I’m driving.
As the IMPOSSIBLY MUSCULAR FOURSOME ride off, JASON STATHAM turns and throws a HUGE BOWIE KNIFE at the bar, which promptly explodes behind them. Nobody turns to look.
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KEN JEONG laughs maniacally in the ARMY JEEP next to STEVIL SEAGAL, who is still wearing ZACH GALIFIANAKIS’ face as a mask.
This is the best minion-ship ever!
I’m glad we can be best friends. Here, take this semi-automatic rocket launcher and fire the experimental cancer missiles at that densely populated major U.S. city.
They make those in semi-automatic? Done and done! Oooh, I feel like Scarface…except Asian-er.
Suddenly, HARRISON FORD lands on the hood and punches a hole through the windshield, grabbing STEVEN SEAGAL and KEN JEONG by the throats as the JEEP swerves toward a 6,000-FOOT CLIFF.
Your reign of retarded terror is over, STEVIL. Give yourself up!
Never!! What you don’t know, HARRISON FORD, is that I’ve already won. You see…
STEVIL SEAGAL recites a long, villainous monologue, giving HARRISON FORD time to jam the accelerator and crawl into a LEAD-LINED REFRIGERATOR in the backseat. KEN screams frantically as the JEEP careens over the CLIFF, exploding in midair. The REFRIGERATOR lands directly next to the wreckage below.
(climbing out of refrigerator)
Yippee kai-yay, motherf*cker.
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