The sad thing is Reggie’s the third most famous person in this picture.
Reggie Bush looks at the schedule on his refrigerator. There is a magnet of the Dolphins’ schedule. In big red letters, the words 3-7 WE SUCK is scribbled. He sighs.
Bush: Ugh. Time for bed.
Reggie Bush walks into his bedroom, where many bitches in gold-plated bikinis are lying on the bed.
Bush: Bitches, I need to be alone right now. Go to the closet or something.
The bitches wordlessly obey, and Reggie sighs again. He puts on his pajamas, including one of those little hats with the poof. He slips into bed and splays his arms out, trying to get comfortable.
Bush: I’m thinking I made the wrong decision.
Bitch in Closet: You talkin to us?
Bush: NO BITCH I’M BEING PENSIVE.
I should never have left New Orleans. I mean, I have my Miami bitches, sure. But we suck, even with our three game winning streak. And I look at the Saints, and they’re doing well. People are saying things like “Reggie Who?” when clearly my last name is Bush.
And then I see Kim, and she’s single again. And all these bitches…they’re not Kim.
Bitch in Closet: You mean we’re not image-obsessed media whores?
Bush: I SWEAR I’LL INSTALL SOUNDPROOF DOORS ON THAT CLOSET!
I kind of want to call her and try to give it another chance. But I know she’ll look at our record and turn it down. She doesn’t want to date a loser. That’s undoubtedly why her marriage didn’t work. Still, I think about it a lot.
I don’t think I can keep doing this. Life feels worthless. And every time I see myself in that Pizza Hut commercial, I want to kill myself a little bit more. You know what? Maybe that’s the answer. Money doesn’t make me happy. Bitches don’t make me happy. We’re not going to get Andrew Luck now. What’s the point?
The air suddenly gets cold. The wind howls as Reggie clutches his covers in fear.
Bush: Who’s there?
A transparent figure appears at the foot of Reggie’s bed. He’s eating grapes. It’s not sexy.
Bush: AH! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Ghost: I’m the Ghost of Poorly Plagiarized Plot Lines. Reggie, you are one of the luckiest people in the world, and you have lost sight of that.
Bush: Maybe, but I hate losing. I miss the good old days. I want to have another Super Bowl ring.
Ghost: I’ve seen the future, you don’t get one.
Ghost: But that doesn’t matter. You need to focus on the positives, and to do that I have summoned three ghosts to meet you tonight.
Bush: Didn’t Scrooge get them three nights in a row?
Ghost: We’re more efficient. Are you ready to meet the first ghost?
Bush: I guess so.
The howling comes again, and in the place of the first ghost is a transparent Kim Kardashian. She is also eating grapes. It’s a little sexy.
Kim: Hey Reggie.
Kim: I’m not Kim. I’m the Ghost of Girlfriends Past.
Bush: Sure got an ass like Kim.
Kim: I’m just in this form because it’s the best representation of your love life.
Bush: I missed that ass.
He takes a swipe at her and goes through.
Kim: Stop it. Listen to me. You’re regretting leaving because you felt more like a superstar in New Orleans, I understand that. You’re looking at Kim’s wildly successful reality show and wondering why it’s so popular, and why it couldn’t be you getting 19 million dollars for that fake wedding.
Bush: I’m actually wondering if it’s possible to fuck a ghost.
Kim: Just come with me.
Bush: I’d rather come…
Kim: REGGIE SHUT UP.
Kim and Reggie are now in a practice facility in Metairie, La – the Saints facility. Reggie sees himself walking into the facility with Kim on his arm.
Reggie: Hey, there we are! I look happy.
Dream Reggie: I just had sex! And it felt so good!
Dream Kim: Say that a little lower dear.
Dream Reggie: My wife let me put my penis inside of her!
Dream Kim: Stop it. I’m going to go file some paperwork with some lawyers.
Dream Reggie: Okay, I guess I’ll go do this stupid practice.
Dream Kim: Whatever.
Reggie watches himself get ready for practice. As he takes a handoff from Drew Brees, he gets blasted by Jo-Lonn Dunbar.
Dream Jo-Lonn: Was that too hard, Mr. Kardashian?
Dream Reggie: A little, yeah.
Dream Jo-Lonn: Well too bad. This is a practice field for football players, not reality stars.
Reggie: He’s being mean to me!
Kim: They don’t respect you, Reggie. Because you got back with someone who is known for having flighty relationships, and you signed up for this big wedding with her. Now your image as a football player has taken a hit.
Reggie: Well, at least I’m getting sex.
Kim: Not for long. Did you see where Kim was going? She was going to get a divorce. She got a pay-day, got what she wanted, and she doesn’t need you anymore. Did you really think your situation would be different from Kris Humphries?
Reggie: My dick is bigger.
Kim: Even if that is true, she doesn’t care about that. She cares about the money and fame. And when that’s done, your reputation won’t recover. Not only will you be the guy who married the reality princess, you’ll be the guy who got publicly dumped by her, and that won’t help you.
Reggie: I guess not.
Kim: In Miami, you’re just a football player. No one calls you Mr. Kim anymore, or questions your toughness – not because of her, anyway. It’s better to not have that kind of distraction in your career. Do you see what I mean?
Reggie: Yeah. I just want to touch that ass one more time, I guess.
Kim: Fine. Here you go.
She sticks out her now solidified ass and Reggie smiles.
Reggie: Aw yeah, here we go…wha?
They are suddenly whisked back to Reggie’s bedroom. Kim is again at the foot of the bed, and again completely translucent.
Kim: It’s time for your second ghost, Reggie.
Howling noise, ghost gone. Now Sean Payton is sitting at the end of the bed, eating grapes. It’s incredibly sexy.
Coach Payton: Hey Reg.
Reggie: Hey Coach.
Coach Payton: I’m the Ghost of Coaches past. I could show up as Pete Carroll, but that would be stupid and irrelevant, because he’s stupid and irrelevant.
Reggie: Makes sense.
Coach Payton: I know you would like to be a part of a winning team right now. And yeah, the Saints are doing pretty well. But as much as it goes against football mentality, you have to think about yourself rather than the team.
Reggie: Don’t follow.
Coach Payton: Then follow me!
Reggie: That was cheesy, coach.
Coach Payton: I’m a coach, not a writer. Just come on.
Reggie and Coach are taken to a sight that Reggie immediately recognizes – gameday. The Saints are winning, as the scoreboard suggests: Saints 47, Packers 14 (Hey, it’s a dream). The sideline is pumped up, except for the lone number 25 at the end of the bench.
Reggie: I don’t look happy.
Coach Payton: You’re not. You’ve had two touches this game. One was a run. You covered thirty-three yards of distance from right to left, but only got two yards total on the run. One was a punt you muffed but recovered. Coach Payton put you on the sideline, and Mark Ingram has run for 152 yards. Looks like you’re the highest paid bench player in the NFL.
Reggie: But we’re winning. That’s what matters, right?
Coach Payton: Be honest with yourself, Reggie – that’s not what matters to you.
As Saints Reggie sits on the bench, Thomas Morstead sits next to him.
Reggie: Oh no.
Coach Payton: That’s right, Reggie. You’re talking to the punter.
Dream Morstead: Don’t worry about it, man. You’ll get ‘em next game.
Dream Reggie: Hm.
Dream Morstead: It’s still a great game. We’re winning! And I haven’t even had to punt once, and I’m still happy!
Dream Reggie doesn’t say anything.
Morstead: So, tell me, what’s fucking Kim like?
Reggie: I don’t want to see any more of this, Coach.
Coach Payton: Fine, let’s go.
They’re brought back to Reggie’s Bedroom. Payton eats another grape.
Coach Payton: See, Reggie? You wouldn’t be happy in New Orleans not getting your share. Even right now, you’ve been helping the Dolphins and putting up respectable stats. You’re on your way to having the most rushing yards of your career. And I know that makes you happier than being the third option behind Pierre Thomas and Mark Ingram.
Reggie: Yeah. I like that.
Coach Payton: I think you’re ready for the third ghost.
Reggie: Bring it on.
One more howl. One more wind. Now a ghost of Nate Raby is eating grapes at the foot of the bed. It’s the sexiest thing ever.
Reggie: Who are you?
Nate: I’m the Ghost of Fantasy Owners Past. I’m not going to take you to a dream, because you remember how bad you were in fantasy football.
Reggie: I never cared about that.
Nate: WELL WE DO, REGGIE. I had the misfortune of drafting you a few years ago. You averaged me four points. I drafted you in the 12th round, and even that was a reach. You stayed on my bench all year long. And since fantasy football is a really popular sport among football fans, you were considered a bust based on your lack of points alone.
Reggie: I’m not a bust.
Nate: I don’t think you are either. But for people who want evidence that you’re overpaid and not worth a high pick, all they have to do is look at your fantasy production of the past few years. The Saints were winning, but outside of a few games here and there, you weren’t one of the big contributors. You were useless, and at one point your owner percentage was less than ten.
Reggie: Thanks for making me feel better.
Nate: IT GETS BETTER REGGAE BUSH! This year, you’ve improved to 100% owned! And over the past few weeks, you’ve blown up. You’ve had more than ten points over the past four weeks, and you’ve even gotten a 100 yard rushing game under your belt! So, in closing…
Reggie: Shouldn’t the first ghost tell me that?
Nate: I’m the best looking ghost, so I get the conclusion.
Reggie: One of the ghosts looked like Kim Kardashian.
Nate: IN CLOSING, things are better for you now than ever before. Your team is showing that they can be competitive. A few more years could make you a playoff team. You’re being featured as a main back and putting up stats. And dude, ass or not, you dodged a big old fucking bullet with Kim.
Reggie: Yeah, you’re right! I’ve regained the Christmas spirit!
Nate: What the fuck are you talking about? This was something to make you not want to kill yourself. Jesus, athletes are stupid sometimes.
Nate disappears, leaving Reggie by himself.
Reggie: Thanks, ghosts! I’m ready to approach life again! Hey bitches, get out of the closet and give me some lovin!