(Scene: KC drives in his complete chick magnet Ford Focus on the highway during rush hour Denver traffic.)
BRAIN: Oh my God this is fucking awful! I'm fucking freaking out man. Look at all these cars and how fast they're going! Give me a fucking Valium.
JUNK: Why is this drive so boring? Can't we just get a job closer to home?
KC: No, because there aren't any jobs in Boulder. Mostly because we don't want to run into—
MOUTH: "Nice fucking turn signal you fucking shiteating fucktard!" Hands, give the signal!
HANDS: How do you like that middle finger? You big dummy. That'll teach you to cut people off.
JUNK: Icy Hot always feels so good, then sooooooooooooo bad. Why is that?
BRAIN: Maybe because it's not designed for wieners.BRAIN: Seriously guys, we're going to get in an accident. Lets just take the bus, that way we'll never have to drive again. I'm so scared.
JUNK: We're never going to meet a chick on the bus.
BRAIN: And you expect to meet a chick while you're driving a fucking Ford Focus.
JUNK: You never know. Maybe there's some porn site like Bang Bus, but it's called Monster Trucker Fuckers. And these chicks with giant cans drive around in Bigfoot or Grave Digger looking for hot fucking dudes like us to fuck on TV.
BRAIN: That is by far the dumbest thing you've ever thought.
NOSE: Plus, the bus smells like cheap vodka, sweaty failure, and pee.
JUNK: Eyes, start scanning for monster trucks driven by hot sluts.
EYES: Giving it my full attention.
KC: Holy shit, can you please fucking watch the road. With Brain freaking out like this and only having four cylinders of engine power, I need you all to fucking listen and behave.
EYES: Hey look, there's that big yellow Jenga thing. Are we ever going to figure what that is?
HANDS: I'll text everybody I know in Colorado. Just a second.
KC: Seriously! Texting while driving in bumper to bumper 80 miles an hour Denver traffic??!? What are you thinking?
BRAIN: For Christ's sake. I'm going to melt down if you don't do something to help me.
HANDS: Fine, I'll just turn on the radio.
EARS: AAAAAAHHHH!!!! Fucking Phil Collins! Turn it off! Turn it off! I'm losing my will to live.
(Hands changes the station)
JUNK: Awesome, NPR. Well, I can feel myself wither.
BRAIN: Look, honestly, I need this. If you want to try jerking off with Icy Hot again, I'll let you.
JUNK: Icy Hot always feels so good, then sooooooooooooo bad. Why is that?
BRAIN: Maybe because it's not designed for wieners.
JUNK: Why haven't they made a porn called "The Pleasure Principal"? It'd be about this school full of nympho whores run by this really strict principal named, um, me. We should probably copyright this and make a million dollars so we could quit driving to Denver.
BRAIN: Wouldn't "The Pleasure Principal" be about a psychologist? You know, because of the theory by Sigmund Freud?
JUNK: Holy shit you're so fucking annoying. The movie is about a principal in a school. Duh. Look at the title.
BRAIN: Well, actually the original title is "Pleasure Principle."
(Traffic looks like it's stopping again)
KC: Feet, hit the fucking brakes! Now!
FEET: Oh fuck, which pedal was it again?
BRAIN: The middle one you fool!
FEET: That's right. I always forget that.
(Feet stomp the brakes—the car miraculously doesn't hit the car in front of it)
KC: What the fuck was that all about? Seriously now, gang. Pay attention!
BRAIN: I don't know if I can take much more of that. I need to relax.
JUNK: I know how we can relax.
BRAIN: How?
JUNK: RJO.
BRAIN: And what the hell is that?
JUNK: Road Jerk Off.
BRAIN: And how the hell could rubbing one out help me right now?
JUNK: Well, you know after we beat one down, everybody feels better.
EYES: But playing with ourself without porn? That's like caveman shit.
JUNK: We used to do this all the time. It will be like middle school again, but we're driving not looking at the same drawing of Rogue on the Jim Lee X-Men poster. And then maybe that monster truck chick will see us. Or Brain can imagine us getting road head.
BRAIN: Road head is scary. It's so hard paying attention to the head and the road.
JUNK: But get this, we're getting road head while the chick drives. So we just sit in the passenger seat.
BRAIN: You know, that is pretty awesome sounding.
KC: I'm not fucking around here. We HAVE to pay attention to the road. Look, that guy's got a flat tire and that lady is just looking at a piece of roadkill. We need to watch the highway because nobody else does.
JUNK: Look how strung you are dude. If we just RJO, we'll be chill. Plus, you don't want all the folks at your new gig to think you're a tightass. Think of how a quick RJO will loosen us up. This commute sucks and makes us cranky. Maybe we'll be less pissy around the hot chick at work after doing a few one-handed pull-ups.
KC: He does have a point. We're all on edge because of this fucking drive. Hands, do your work.
(Scene: Five minutes later—still in the car.)
JUNK: Now that was fucking awesome. Too bad the windshield washers are connected to the car, I could really use a squeegee.
BRAIN: You know, I feel better too.
EYES: Yup, it looks like we're in a ditch.
KC: This was exactly what I was talking about.
BRAIN: Just chillax man.
KC: I just crashed my car!
BRAIN: It was a piece of shit anyway.
EYES: Um, it looks like a cop is coming to talk to us.
BRAIN: Oh fuck.
KC: Please Mouth, don't say anything stupid.
MOUTH (to cop): "Good day officer. You're probably wondering why my pants are off, I'm wiping my stomach with an American flag tie, and I'm listening to Hannah Montana's Greatest Hits…."