The scene opens up on a short, older gentleman walking down the street. The sun is shining and a slight breeze is blowing through the air, blowing the leaves on the ground around. He walks up to a man with a mustache shoveling soil from his front yard into burlap sacks. Without missing a beat, the man with the shovel speaks up – not slowing his pace.
Mustachioed Man: “And what are you doing around these parts? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Old man: “Rumor has it you’re back in the game. Is that so?”
Mustachioed Man: “Yeah, a one-night thing. Going back to my old job some sort of reunion thing. I take it that’s why you’re here?”
The old man nods, a smirk appearing across his wrinkled face.
Old Man: “Yeah. Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Though I have to say I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t call me right away.”
The man stops shoveling and looks up at the old man. His mustache is now tilted sideways. He notices and quickly adjusts it back into place.
Mustachioed Man: “Well Testiclès, it’s not exactly like we left each other on the best of terms.”
The old man shuffles his feet and looks at the ground. He sighs heavily.
Testiclès: “Yeah… I’ve been meaning to apologize about that… I just haven’t been able to find the words.”
The mustachioed man slams his shovel into the dirt and clenches his fists.
Mustachioed Man: “You drank the last of my milk! And you didn’t buy any more! Hell, you didn’t even let me know so I could pick some up on my way home!”
Testiclès: “It’s not like I forgot to change the toilet paper!”
Mustachioed Man: “You know what – you’re right. I’m sorry. I never should have raised my voice to you like that. It just… That’s my one pet peeve, you know?”
Testiclès sighs and nods his head. He looks up at the man and shrugs.
Testiclès: “Well, how can I make it up to you?”
Mustachioed Man: “I don’t know – maybe you could help me out here?”
Testiclès: “What exactly are you doing anyway?”
The mustachioed man stops, looks at him, and vaguely gestures around him.
Mustachioed Man: “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m sandbagging.”
Testiclès stares at him for a moment before starting to chuckle.
Testiclès: “Oh Bubba. Never change. Hey – I was meaning to ask you. What’s up with the fake mustache?”
Bubba looks to the left, then to the right, then back to the left before leaning in close to whisper into Testiclès’ ear.
Bubba Love: “It’s a disguise… I don’t want anyone to know it’s really me.”
A man’s voice from next door can be heard.
Next Door Neighbor: “For the last time, we’ve know it was you since you moved in here ten years ago! Your fake mustache with piss-poor adhesive isn’t fooling anyone, Sven. Or should I say Bubba Love?”
Bubba Love: “GODDAMMIT TIM! I TOLD YOU IT WAS A SECRET!”
Tim: “It’s not a secret if you introduce yourself as ‘Sven Eriksson, or as you may know me, TV’s Bubba Love,’ at every neighborhood gathering. Even though everyone already knows you and we haven’t had anyone new move in for three years.”
Bubba Love: “That… That’s not the point! It’s like a fat guy calling himself fat. He can do it, but as soon as you do it, you’re the dick in the room!”
Tim: “Are you calling me fat again? Dammit, I told you to stop it. It’s a thyroid condition!”
Bubba Love: “Last time I checked the thyroid doesn’t make you eat four cheeseburgers every night chased with a six-pack of beer!”
The camera zooms out as Testiclès just stands in Bubba’s front yard, shaking his head as the two neighbors (who really do get along – I promise) are arguing and throwing verbal insults at each other.