From the video description:
Nick and Sally’s commentary:
“Sally, what day is it today?”
“Tuesday, Mr. White.”
“Bloody Hell… did I forget to show up to that nasty showrunner woman‘s filming thing?”
“No, Mr. White, she got the footage she needed.”
“Hmm… I don’t remember any of it. I was at the boobie bar and Pádraig ordered a bottle of whisky and the next thing it’s this morning and I’m naked in my office, with 5 angry voicemails from my accountant and some woman’s lipstick all over my nether regions… must have been a good weekend!”
Me, myself, and I as usual… which is to said I raided my back catalog from my old maQLu project and used “First Cracks Showing” from Shrug Part 1, available as a free download along with any of the other maQLu material here:
Transcript (ie, spoiler alert)
(Nick and Pádraig are in Lucky Luigi‘s Lingerie Lounge, talking by the DJ booth while a stripper, Lin, dances on-stage.)
NICK: Did you have fun on your birthday, mate?
PÁDRAIG: Me birthday’s in November, ya dope. Don’t you remember? I took ya for $40,000 in the post-party poker game, then you got your Ferrari impounded for speeding drunk in a school zone the next morning and got Tasered when you asked that lady cop to handcuff herself to your wee prick.
NICK: It is not a wee prick! Stop listening to that old slut Betty and her lies!
PÁDRAIG: I never listen to ol’ Betty. ‘Twas your missus who was telling me your business.
NICK: Bloody Hell, how many times do I have to tell that woman to stay away from this boobie bar…
PÁDRAIG: Well, she was here looking for you… or at least your wallet.
NICK (growling): Anyway, Pádraig, how did you celebrate your special day?
PÁDRAIG: You talking about St. Paddy’s Day? I don’t celebrate that papist nonsense.
NICK: I thought all you Irish celebrated it!
PÁDRAIG: Not me!
NICK: Am I to understand you were the only Irishman on the planet to not be drunk on the 17th of March last week?
PÁDRAIG: Ah, sure look, I was drunk, but not because of St. Paddy, because it was Betty’s night off when there’s no one to squelch our on-the-job drinking.
NICK: So, just another Thursday night then?
PÁDRAIG: Yeah, y’know. Same old, same old.
NICK: I’m still sore about that 40 grand. And all the rest I lost trying to win it back.
PÁDRAIG: Fancy trying again tonight, Nick?
NICK: You’re not going to cheat, are you?
PÁDRAIG: Never do. Double or nothing?
NICK: Oh, why not? Mrs. White would just waste it on overpriced shoes.
PÁDRAIG: That’s the spirit! Speaking of which, let’s get you your own bottle of Bushmill’s.
NICK: No, I don’t trust that Irish whisky. You win too much when I drink Irish booze.
PÁDRAIG; Ah, y’know. We’re a lucky people.
NICK: You’re a tricky people.
PÁDRAIG: Same thing, mate.
NICK: No, it’s not!
PÁDRAIG: Now, no hard feelings about the money, Nick. There’s plenty more where that came from.
NICK: Yes, but the problem is the “where that came from” is my Cayman accounts.
PÁDRAIG: Ah, sure, look… you’ll do better this time. You just have to relax. Did Atlanta give you any of her edibles?
NICK: No, and every time I ask she tells me she has a boyfriend.
PÁDRAIG: Weed edibles, Nick. Not pussy. Never mind, I’ll get you some.
NICK: Are you trying to get me inebriated prior to the poker game, Pádraig?
PÁDRAIG: No, of course not.
NICK: I am so sick of losing to you Irish bastards. You at poker, Sir Bob Geldof with his stupid little Brexit boat racing, bloody Bono at the goddamn Grammys…
PÁDRAIG: Ah, go ‘way outta that. Your number will come up sooner or later; I’ve a good feeling about tonight.
(Cut to scenes of the poker hands as the gold coins pile up in front of Pádraig. Then, Pádraig on his knees collecting coins off the floor the next morning while Nick slumps against the stage.)
PÁDRAIG (singing): I’m in the money, I’m in the money…
NICK: Goddamn it, fuck!
(Nick’s wife Joanne enters.)
JOANNE: Goddamn it, you fuck! Were you gambling all night again?
NICK: Mind your business, woman.
JOANNE: You could have bought me a Ferrari with that money!
NICK: You already have a Ferrari!
JOANNE: I don’t have a pink Ferrari!
NICK: Well, then get yours painted, it’s cheaper!
(Nick stomps off and slams the door behind him.)
PÁDRAIG: Hello Mrs. White, lovely morning, innit?
JOANNE: Shut up and gimme my goddamn money.
(Pádraig hands her the gold coins, which he has collected in a small basket.)
PÁDRAIG: Here you go, madam. Four hundred thousand, less my 20% commission is 320 grand in gold coins.
JOANNE: He doesn’t suspect anything, does he?
PÁDRAIG: Nothing to do with you.
JOANNE: Cool. Next time, see if he’ll fall for a “triple or nothing.”
PÁDRAIG: Will do!
JOANNE: Fuck him and his fucking pre-nup. I’m getting my half one way or another. Anyway, I’m going to Switzerland for the weekend – you need anything while I’m there?
PÁDRAIG: Ah, I wouldn’t mind a wee box of Gottlieben Hüppen.
JOANNE: I’ll get ya a whole crate and charge it to Shit For Brains.
PÁDRAIG: Ah, deadly!