At the European container, four Canadians, Bart, Cosmo, Joe and Penelope, admire their lethal handiwork. They are the victors and the only survivors of their recent battle with the Europeans.
Dead Canadian and European bodies lie scattered all around.
"We sure as hell whipped their Eurotrash asses," Bart says. "Fucking footballing faggots."
Cosmo mimics the dead Englishman. "It's football, mate. You play it with your foot—that's why we call it football—well try and use your foot now you lifeless fuck." He kicks the makeshift soccer ball towards the dead Englishman, then walks over to the Europeans' blue case, kneels down and opens it. He picks up a wad of cash, smells it, then kisses the money. "Ain't that just the prettiest of things?"
"Be sure you count every last one of those little suckers," Bart orders.
"Looks like it's all here to me."
"Cosmo?"
"What?"
"Just count the goddamned money."
"Well okay but I reckons you're just creating me a whole bunch of work for a whole lot of nothing," Cosmo complains.
"Hey, you remember what I said?"
"Yeah."
"I said—" Bart folds his arms.
"I said, yeah. Yeah, I remember!"
"What—I—said—Cosmo is that I do the big-picture stuff, which leaves you doing the small-picture stuff, and that means checking shit. And counting the money is checking shit."
"And I said it seems like a waste of time to me,"
"Nope, you didn't exactly use them exact words and that is why I do the big picture stuff, 'cause I got an eye for detail and directing things—it's called having leadership qualities."
"Hey, Bart?" Joe asks.
"What?"
"What you want me to check?" Joe asks.
"For fuck's sake, just use your initiative." Bart shakes his head.
"My what?"
"Your initiati——forget it—just go check out the container."
"Okay, Bart." Joe wanders into the container.
Penelope follows him into the container. "Hey, Numbnuts, help me with this," she says.
They pick up a box of ammunition and carry it over to Cosmo and Bart. Penelope opens the box and pulls out a magazine and reloads her M16.
Cosmo still counts the money. "About time Miss Prim and Proper over here stepped up." He points to Penelope. "As far as I can see, she's doing diddly squat jackshit."
Bart explains. "She is doing something, she's reloading. That's doing something. If she was standing there like a statue and not breathing—all still like—then she'd be doing nothing."
"Wouldn't be doing anything," Penelope corrects Bart.
"What?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing!"
"Hey, Bart?" Cosmo asks.
"What now?"
"If she's not breathing she'd be dead," Cosmo says.
"For Christ's sake, just count the money and then we can get the fuck out of here."
Cosmo finishes the count and closes the case's lid. "Done."
