"Oh my God! I must have drunk too much! Those two guys!" Eric mumbled, rubbing his throbbing head with slight dizziness.
Looking around, he realized this wasn't his home. After gathering his bearings, he figured out he was in a hotel room. He looked at himself: pants in place, shirt wrinkled but almost fully buttoned, with only a couple of top buttons undone.
Clearly, no one had touched him, and he hadn't touched anyone either! "Damn, what a lousy party!"
Of course, he said it jokingly because he did overindulge last night.
After Ryan Reynolds was cast in the supporting male role in "Transformers," he got so excited they started popping bottles one after another.
And he hadn't seen Warren in a long time, so they drank non-stop. Eric vaguely remembered that after everyone got drunk, they hit the dance floor and danced with some girls, then blacked out. Eric couldn't remember anything beyond that; everything had blended together.
Scientific research shows that it's almost impossible to have sex when extremely intoxicated, it's just physically unfeasible. He grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the bedside table, opened it, and drank half of it in one gulp. The cold water pleasantly refreshed his throat and stomach.
"Ahem, ahem."
Suddenly, a cough echoed in the room, making Eric startle. He quietly slid off the bed and peeked into the living room. There he saw Ryan Reynolds lying on the couch, half-sitting on his knees.
Eric approached him and patted his back, but he didn't react. So Eric turned Ryan over onto his back and slapped him across the face.
"Wake up! We have work to do, don't hold up the filming process!"
From the pain, Ryan cracked open his sleepy eyes and looked at Eric in confusion.
Suddenly, his face twisted in pain, and he feverishly unzipped his pants, quickly shoving his hand inside.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Eric jumped back a few steps. He wasn't going to participate in this madness; if anyone was going to attack, it would be him!
Ryan fumbled around in his pants for a while, then pulled out a small, fluffy yellow chick, which seemed to be suffocating.
"Chirp, chirp, chirp."
"What the hell! Explain how this happened?"
Ryan was utterly confused and mumbled, "I don't know why there's a chick in my pants? Who can explain this? Warren, where are you?"
"Chirp, chirp..." – suddenly the chick, thought to be dead, flapped its wings and chirped, causing both of them to jump back in surprise.
"Warren, where the hell are you?" Eric yelled.
No one answered. They started searching the room and eventually found Warren lying on the bathroom floor. A pile of unsavory vomit floated in the toilet.
Next to him lay a Labrador, and they looked like a married couple.
Eric kicked Warren in the butt: "Get up, enough sleeping!"
Warren stirred and slowly opened his eyes, then accidentally kissed the Labrador.
"Ew, what the hell? What happened?"
"I'd like to know why there was a chick in my pants?" Ryan Reynolds roared.
Eric lifted Warren: "Forget the chick! We need to get to work!"
Warren shook his head: "Work? What work? It's Saturday today."
"What?" Eric froze for a moment, let go of Warren, and he crashed to the floor.
"It's a day off?"
Ryan nodded uncertainly: "I think so."
"Then no more talking, sleep it is!"
When the sun was high in the sky, Eric finally fully regained his senses. He walked into the living room where Ryan was still sleeping on the couch, and the little yellow chick was pecking at a can of food.
Warren was still lying on the floor, next to the Labrador, who also hadn't woken up. Eric noticed an empty whiskey bottle behind the toilet.
Trying to recall last night, he realized he remembered almost nothing. But looking at the mess, he couldn't help but laugh. The scene before him reminded him of a movie, and an interesting idea came to mind.
"The Hangover," he muttered, realizing that this was the moment when this classic R-rated comedy was born.
When Ryan woke up, he saw Eric, bent over the table, quickly jotting something down.
Approaching closer, he saw it was a draft script. His intuition immediately kicked in.
"Eric, are you writing a new script?"
"Yes, using our adventure from last night as the basis. I've got an interesting idea."
"What genre?"
"If all goes well, it'll be an R-rated comedy. And there'll be a role suitable for you."
"Another role for me?" Ryan brightened up and started looking for his role on the paper.
"Stu Price, Doug Billings, Phil Wenneck, Alan Garner... These are the characters in the movie? Who am I supposed to play?"
Eric tapped the script with his pen: "This character here, Phil Wenneck, is designed to be charismatic and charming."
Then he turned to Ryan: "Tell me, Ryan, what are you willing to do for this role?"
Ryan patted his chest: "As long as it doesn't involve anything with a guy, I'm willing to do anything, even eat crap!"
"Great. How about kissing a tiger?"
"What?"
"Well, would you be willing to kiss a tiger?"
Ryan froze for a moment, then asked: "It's not a real tiger, right?"
"If you want, it could be real."
"No, no, a fake one will do. When do you plan to start filming?"
"Probably next year, once we finish the preliminary work on that big project. In the meantime, clear your schedule, I'll contact you."
Ryan laughed and pointed at himself: "Clear my schedule? I always have free time. After the flop of 'Van Wilder,' no one's offering me roles. Honestly, in all these years in this business, you're the only one who believes in me more than I do."
Eric looked up and said meaningfully: "Don't be so pessimistic. When 'Sharknado' comes out, you'll be a star."
"Ha-ha, if 'Sharknado' becomes a hit, I'm willing to kiss a real tiger."
"Alright, remember you said that. By the way, what should we do with this chick?"
"I don't know. If we can't find the owner, I'll have to take it."
"Thought of a name yet?"
"It's a bit early for that."
"How about Black Marshal?"
"But it's yellow."
"Then Lightning?"
"Perfect, that's just my style."
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