Phil and Rosco are in line at a club. They get to the front of the line, where the bouncer slowly looks at each one, and then shakes his head.
BOUNCER: Not on your lives.
The bouncer points a finger back towards the parking lot, and Phil and Rosco leave with their heads down.
PHIL: Stupid guy.
ROSCO: Yeah? He must have something against unattractive, pale men awkwardly dancing next to hot young girls.
PHIL: Yeah, it sounds a lot creepier than it actually is.
They walk in silence. Then Rosco stops walking.
ROSCO: We could always try to rush in.
ROSCO: There’s a lot of people, a lot going on, I say we just try to jump through when the guy has his back turned.
PHIL: I don’t know . . .
ROSCO: Come on. If we get caught, just act like we thought we would at least try and that we’re sorry. They’ll probably only tell us to go away again. What’s the worst that could happen?
They start to walk back towards the club.
9 HOURS LATER
Phil and Rosco stand in the middle of a desert. Rosco is completely naked, and Phil has been tarred and feathered. Chained to Rosco’s ankle is a broken sink that was pulled out of a wall. A truck drives away, leaving Phil and Rosco standing in the dust. They watch it until it has gone past the horizon.
ROSCO: Out of all the things that could have happened, I was not expecting this outcome in the slightest.
Phil coughs and feathers come out of his mouth.
ROSCO: You said it. Well, let’s go home.
They start to walk in the direction the truck went.
Phil is reading a newspaper, sitting on his couch. His wife stands behind him, dressed up to go dancing. Phil, however, is in his pjs.
PHIL: And that’s why I don’t dance anymore.