Ugh. My God. I look like a snow cone. – How do I sit down in this thing?
– You don’t. Oh, my goodness. My little Debbie’s getting married. – Here she comes.
– How much time do we need? Forty-five minutes. – Got it.
– Yeah? Okay. Better hydrate. Debbie? Debs? Go away, Philip! Oh, please come out. The guests are arriving. No, no! – No, I can’t do it!
– Oh. I can’t. No. I know. I know it’s scary. No bride should have to go through
this without their mother. It’s so scary. You see her? What does she look like? Big hair. Big tits. Scary. No. Maybe she’s not here. If she is, I’m gonna hold you in front of me
as a human shield. Woman is a quick with a blade. Hey, Kev. Guard that door. That Polka lady tries to come out the kitchen,
don’t let her. “Don’t let her.” How? I don’t know. Tackle her. Punch her. I don’t give a shit. You gonna sit, sweetheart? I can’t. I gotta punch an old lady. Those the Gay Jesus groupies? Oh, yeah. Ian said they might be coming. – Hey, man. What’s up?
– Hey, Geneva. All right, Rainbow Squad, take the back. The rest of you, with me out front. Let’s go. See ya. Jesus. Debbie know you’re coming? She got down on her hands and knees and begged me. Where’s she?