"With friends like these…"

You know exactly what friends I'm talking about. They're those jackasses you can't stand being around, but you've been around them so long that not hanging around with them makes you feel weird. Weird like sobriety after coming off a month-long bender weird.

But this time they've gone too far. Their parents have finally put the squash on their discretionary funds, and these morons can't bring themselves to find regular jobs to fuel their ridiculous adventures. I mean, that's just not the college way. So, after a quick pow-wow at the bar, they decide to rob a bank. Fantastic. Let's see what happens….

Mitch: For real. Brah, I totally know a guy that has a shitload of guns. He collects them or something. We could totally do this, brah. Who sells ski masks at this hour? We need ski masks. I think Wawa's or Sheetz might have ‘em. Dude, we should totally get sandwiches while we're there. But guns first. Brah, I know this guy. He's cool, he'll let us borrow them, I'm positive. He's just cool like that. One time, we out back and shot fucking Spam cans all afternoon and got high off his primo stash. Shit, brah, remind me to bring money so I can score a dimebag off him while we're there. Know what? Can you actually, like, spot me a few Lincolns? I'm kinda light.

Outside the Second National Federal Union Reserve Savings & Loan Bank of Ohio

Mason: Okay, just remember to do exactly what we saw on the training DVD last night and we'll be solid.

Chase: That was the movie Heat.

Mason: So? They fucking robbed that bank perfectly.

Chase: It was fake! We can die doing this sort of thing!

Reed: Says you.

Mason: Brah, we're not gonna die, because we're smarter than them.

Escape scene from the movie Heat
Life does not imitate art. Especially when more than four dudes are involved.
Chase: Even if that were the case, they were professionals with automatic rifles and a plan of escape. We're armed with an M-fucking-one Garand that probably hasn't been fired since D-Day, a shotgun, and a couple of six-shooters we stole from that redneck when he was passed out. Our brilliant mastermind and getaway driver is sitting in the Pollo Loco parking lot across the street, hopefully, I pray to God, not lighting a fat one while he waits for us.

In the Pollo Loco Parking Lot

Mitch: Well shit, it'll take ‘em at least ten minutes to get all the money in the bags. I guess I have time for a little spliff.

Back at the Bank's Front Entrance

Chase: Why the fuck am I even arguing with you two? It was a goddamn movie! Just remember the plan. We get in, we grab the cash out of the front registers and from the people, and we bail out before the pigs show up. No vault cash, no fancy crap. Zero points for killing people.

Mason: Really? Damn. But don't you get like, five hundred bucks for each person you drop? That's like a standard GTA rule.

Chase: That's not funny.

Mason: Chillax, bro, I was kidding.

Chase: Fuck you, give me your shotgun.

Mason: Aw man, don't take my shells! How am I supposed to shoot shit now?

Chase: You're not, fucker. Just wave this shit around. Smash ‘em in the nose, whatever. Masks on? Good. Alright pledge, open the door. Let's do this.

Twenty Minutes into the Robbery

Mason: Fuck yes, brah! Four stars! They got the SWAT van pulling up!

Jim: Okay people, listen up. We have a slight problem. We actually managed to corral more of you than we thought we would in that initial panic, and we just don't have the manpower to micromanage all your needs while we negotiate with the police outside. Sooooo, as a sign of goodwill, we're just gonna let some of you go outside, and we're gonna start by asking for a few volun…wow, that many hands, huh?

Reed: See? Everyone wants to go. Told you it wouldn't work. Just keep them tied up in the middle of the floor.

Jim: It doesn't hurt to try, dude.

Reed: Shut the fuck up, pledge. It was a fucking stupid idea, because all these people are pussies and they want out. See, that's what's wrong with the world today. No decent martyrs anymore.

Jim: Hey hey, let's not denigrate the hostages. We don't want any sad faces, right? We're gonna be here a while, might as well make the best of a bad situation. Hey, I know! Who wants to help me with a sing-along?

Reed: Christ, I'm leaving. Fucking Mickey Mouse and his fucking bouncin' ball over here.

Jim and the Hostages: —kum ba yah, my Lord—

Reed: Argh! Shut up!

Outside the Bank

Sergeant: Are they singing in there?

Negotiator: It's some sort of audio-sonic torture. Saw it a hundred times in ‘Nam. They're probably trying to grind down our morale with cheap sing-alongs ‘til we give in to their demands. Since they're using hostages to do all the singing, they could do this day and night without tiring. The bastards! So that's how they want to play, huh? Bring up the boombox, sergeant. We'll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine.

Inside the Bank

Reed: Oh my God, are the cops blaring—

Jim: Celine Dion! My favorite!

Chase: What the fuck happened while I was taking a shit? What's that music? Why are the hostages singing?

Hour One of the Hostage Crisis

Reed: What the fuck is that?

Jim: Oh, dude, I forgot to tell you. I packed sandwiches.

Reed: You packed fucking sandwiches for a fucking heist?!

Jim: Yeah, bro, you know, in case it turned into a hostage situation—which it did—and we got stuck in here without any vending machines, which we did. We'd get hungry, right bro? So I made a couple sandwiches. Gotta plan ahead, right?

Reed: What the fuck is wrong with you? Didn't you pack the bullets we stole from the redneck?

Jim: Oh sure, but I mean, this is a pretty big gym bag, and I figured, why waste the space, bro?

Reed: That space is for the money, you jackass!

Jim: Looks like someone isn't getting his honey ham on wheat.

Reed: You fucking jinxed us with those sandwiches, needledick. Get rid of that shit.

Jim: You want me to give your sandwich to a hostage, then?

Reed: Sure, whatever. Wait, no! Just…just keep it until after we get out of here.

Mason: What'd you pack for me?

Jim: Well, let me see—

Reed: Christ, he's fucking Rachel Ray with the food.

Mason: I'd tap her ass. Twice. For real, bro. Yeah, and she'd be all on top with the chocolate syrup and pouring it all over…yeah. Hot.

Reed: You're sick, you know that?

Jim: —I made ham, turkey, and a few tuna in case any of you were still watching your weight. I didn't want to pack anything that'd get soggy quick, so I put the condiments in separate containers. Take your pick, bro. Oh, oh, and chips! Almost forgot about them. Baked or kettle-cooked?

Mason: Kettle-cooked, dude. And toss me tuna. Fucking A', man. See, bro, the pledge knows what the fucks up, treatin' us like kings, even during a bank robbery. Big points, bro, big points to the pledge. You bring any brewskis, too?

Jim: All I got are a few warm Miller Lites that someone must've left in here from the last time this bag was used.

Mason: Fuckin' A, bro. Warm beer is still beer. Hit me up. Shotgun time! Hey! Over there! Chillax with the hysterics, hostage lady, I didn't mean my real shotgun! Bitch, you never shotgunned before? Hey bro, she's kinda cute, ya' think? Even with the crying, yeah?

Reed: Damn, the maggot actually did something right for once. Hey pledge, gimme' that ham.

Jim: I knew you'd come around.

Reed: Wow, this is a fuckin' good sandwich, bro.

Mason: Told ya', bro. Robbing banks builds up an appetite.

Chase: What the fuck is going on in here?! I leave for five minutes to talk with that cocksucking, fat-faced negotiator about shutting off that Canadian bitch and here you three are, sucking each other's dicks over some sandwiches…sandwiches?…where the fuck did you get sandwiches?!

Hour Two of the Hostage Crisis

Hostage: Excuse me, I have to pee.

Reed: Go piss on the pledge. And tell him I said you could, or he might shoot you.

Hostage: Okaaaay….but what about the bathroom? It's right down the hall. You can watch me, I won't try anything, but I'm about to burst here and now.

Reed: Go piss on the pledge! Make him hold his hands out like a cup, and piss into the cup.

Hostage: Which one's the pledge?

Reed: That douchebag by the door eating those faggoty baked chips.

Hostage: Thanks, I guess.

Reed: And tell him to get a mop and clean that shit up afterward!

Outside the Bank

Policeman: Sir, it looks like a hostage is peeing on one of the perps.

Negotiator: Sick bastards. He's probably getting off on that kind of thing. Dammit, we're losing control of the situation. We need to end this thing A-S-A-P. Tell SWAT to hurry up with their preparations, I want to end this before Lost comes on TV.

Policeman: I'm more of a Heroes fan myself.

Negotiator: Well, nobody's perfect.

Hour Three of the Hostage Crisis

Chase: Hey pledge, get over here.

Jim: I'm still not done mopping. You don't want the lobby smelling like piss, right?

Chase: Fuck, whatever. Mason!

Mason: Naw, baby, I only do this bank robbing shit part-time. I like to live on the edge sometimes, you feel me? Get my hands dirty, ya' know? Yeah, I can tell you're getting turned on. You like bank robbers, don't you? Got a thing for danger, huh? You know I'm sorry about earlier, right? You are cute and all. Maybe after all this is over, I can give you a call or somethin'? Maybe we can watch a movie?

Chase: MASON!

Mason: Damn, the fuck? I'm busy, bro!

Chase: She is not going to suck your dick! She's sober and makes more money than you! Get over here!

Mason: Goddamn, homie, the fucks up with the cockblock? Major party foul, bro. Major party foul.

Chase: Party foul? Does this look like a fucking party?

Mason: Uh, the pledge brought beer and fucking chips and dip, Reed is having a beat-boxing competition with that old security guard, you're being a douchebag—like always—and I'm macking all the bitches—like always. Looks like a Friday night party to me.

Chase: I swear to Christ I hope the snipers get you. Look, did you fix the walkie-talkie yet?

Mason: You wanted me to do that? Fuck, make the pledge do it.

Chase: You're a senior electrical engineering major! You fix it! In fact, you should've done it four hours ago when I told you the first time! I still don't know how you managed to break the damn thing.

Mason: I put it down on the table here so I could pistol-whip that chump in the corner—

Chase: The guy in the wheelchair?!

Mason: He was making faces at me!

Chase: He can't help it! He's a retard! Just like you, apparently!

Mason: Anyway… Reed accidentally shot it when he was spraying the room with his rifle.

Chase: Whatever, just get it done. Fast.

Mason: Fuck, alright. Chillax bro, I got this ‘ish.

Outside the Bank

Negotiator: Are they in position?

Sergeant: Shortly, sir. Our point shooter on the roof of the Pollo Loco reports all green. Kelsing and his team are finishing up their preparations out back. We should be ready to breach within the hour. They just working out the finer details.

Negotiator: Excellent.

Sergeant: Sir, are you sure about this? We could just smoke ‘em out. From the looks of it, they're not heavily armed, and poorly trained. For Pete's sake, one of them was peed on by a hostage. Frank, this might be a case of bark over bite—they haven't really hurt anyone, do you think they'd start whacking hostages at this point just to save their skin?

Negotiator: I take no chances, Mike; you know that. We're doing this the right way.

Hour Four of the Hostage Situation, In the Pollo Loco Parking Lot

(Chase): Stoner, this is Ranger One. Come in, Stoner.

Mitch: Huh? Wha—?

(Chase): Stoner, this is Ranger One. Pick up the damn walkie-talkie.

Mitch: Is this God?

(Chase): Stoner, it's Ranger fucking One! Answer me!

Mitch: Your real name is Ranger One, God? Whoa…that explains a lot.

(Chase): Did you fuckin' fall asleep—no, wait, you lit up, didn't you? You pole-polishing jackass—

Mitch: Ranger One, you sound a lot like my friend Chase. Wait, is Chase God? Whoa…does that make me Jesus? Yeah…I command this Dasani to become chardonnay!—hmm…I'm probably just rusty…yeah…or maybe Coca-Cola is the spawn of Satan…and my powers don't extend to his domain! Does that mean I have been consorting with the devil every time I bought his wares? My whole life…a slave and co-conspirator to the Morning Star's evil plans of world domination…it can't be. It…it can't. I pledge myself to Pepsi, oh Lord! Now and forever! Forgive me, I did not know! I will follow the Divine Blue, no matter how greatly it pales to the taste of my tainted love! Is that why Coke is so delicious, Ranger One? To sate my sinful desires? To bring me to evil? A modern-day apple…myself the metaphorical Eve? What if—

(Chase): Mitch, you fuckstick! It's your fucking bros! Pick up the damn radio! It's in the glovebox!

Mitch: Hey, whoa, hey, what's goin' on, Power Ranger?

(Chase): It's Ranger One, jackass!

Mitch: Fuck you, ya purple-headed yogurt slinger. You're not God.

(Chase): What? Are you fucking high?

Mitch: Are you fucking high?

(Chase): Dammit, Stoner, listen up. We're up to our necks in bacon over here. They're on the rooftops, and probably ‘round back. We need an exit plan. They're jamming our cell phones in the bank. Call—

Mitch: You got bacon up in that jank? Shit, bro, why didn't you call sooner? I could go for a moe-fuggin' BLT right ‘bout now. Hang on, I'll be right over.

(Chase): NO! What the fuck are you thinking? Fu—

Inside the Bank

Chase: —cking stoner son of a whore! Argh!

Jim: I didn't pack any BLTs. I didn't think Mitch would be coming inside with us.

Chase: Fuck off! Oh no…that idiot's pulling out of the parking lot. Where the fuck is he going?

Reed: Didn't he say he was coming here?

Chase: There he goes, around the block past all the blockades. Well, he's leaving…he's fucking leaving us to die here! Argh! Never trust a stoner to do a crackhead's job!

Back Door of the Bank

SWAT Leader: Alright, Rick, set the charge for remote.

SWAT Member: Done.

SWAT Leader: Let's move back. Okay, blow it.

SWAT Member: Wait, do you hear that?

SWAT Leader: Yeah, sounds like—

Outside the Front of the Bank

Negotiator: Well?

Sergeant: Well what?

Negotiator: I don't hear a ka-boom. Where's my ka-boom, sarge?

Sergeant: Uh, I don't…shit, I heard that. Sounded like a collision.

Negotiator: From behind the bank? Dammit, what happened?

Sergeant: Knight One, this is Rook One, come in, over.

(SWAT Member): Rook One, this is Knight Three. Knight One is down!

Sergeant: Say again, Knight Three.

(SWAT Member): A car just ran the blockade! *cough* Leaking fuel…get clear of that, Henderson! Someone get Kelsing! Oh shi—COVER!

Sergeant: Oh shit…that's gunfire. All stations, this is Rook One, engage! Get in there and get those hostages! I say again, all stations engage and—

Negotiator: Fuck! Now it's all gone to hell! Goddammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

Sergeant: Sir?

Negotiator: What?

Sergeant: You didn't have to throw your fedora on the ground and step on it. That was a nice hat. If I'd known you were just going to ruin it like that, I'd have taken it off your hands.

Negotiator: Go to hell.

Epilogue

"—bery and hostage crisis at the Second National Federal Union Reserve Savings & Loan Bank of Ohio is finally over. The five suspects escaped late last night after a heated exchange of gunfire and a daring getaway. Police Commissioner Harold Whitoff says that while he is upset over the suspects' mysterious escape, he is happy to report only minor injuries from both the hostages and the police force. Additionally, bank officials are pleased to report that all the money taken from the bank and the hostages was left at the scene, alongside a cache of firearms and spent bullet shells also left by the suspects in their fevered flight from the bank.

Commissioner Whitoff has promised a full investigation into just how the suspects eluded police apprehension, and has offered a bounty of $1000 for any information leading to arrest of—"

"—ederal and local law enforcement officials arrested 46-year-old Robert Tawning on charges of marijuana possession, trafficking, and distribution at his home in Rose County early this morning. Tawning, a convenience store manager, has been cited by DEA officials as a focal antagonist in the region's ongoing problem with rising drug addiction and crime. When asked why, after two years of investigation, did law enforcement officials finally make the arrest, DEA spokesperson Michelle Xiang said that firearms seized from last week's bank robbery in nearby Dwayne County were registered to Tawning, allowing a district judge to sign off on a warrant search that produced over 100 kilos of marijuana found scattered across the three-acre property. Mr. Tawning's lawyer has—"

Mitch: See, brah, we're frickin' heroes. We single-handedly took down a bad guy!

Chase: That bad guy is your dealer, numbnuts.

Mitch: Naw, brah, they said it was Robert Tawning; brah, my connection's name is Bobby Tawning. Brah, they're totally different people. Can't you see that?

Chase: If you weren't so good at driving while you were high, I'd probably have beaten your face in a long time ago.

Mitch: I love you too, brah.

Chase: I still can't believe the pledge forgot the damn cash.

Mitch: I know, right? He didn't even call shotgun, but he still got the front seat. Fucked up, brah. Well, at least he learned his lesson. Ain't that right, pledge?

Jim: I still don't see what the maid costume brings to the table.

Chase: Hey! It doesn't require talking to scrub my toilet! Not if you're using your tongue like you're supposed to! Get back in there and get back to work! Maybe next time we rob a bank, you'll spend more time worrying about the cash and less time fretting over some fucking sandwiches!

Mitch: Hey brah, that reminds me. I never did get my sandwich. Hey pledge, make me a BLT, extra mayo. Chop chop!

See new PIC posts via Twitter, Facebook, or email.

Sign up for comedy writing or stand-up classes at The Second City - 10% off with code PIC.