We quit our jobs to write the Kenny Powers in Australia movie from the Super Bowl commercial, but now APPARENTLY it’s “the dumbest s*** of all time”.

Me and my writing partner, Alamo, are pretty hacked off.

This literally would have been gnar, but I guess instead it’s “basically porn”? Hollywood is so ass.

Me and Alamo are ticked. We gave Hollywood its best script since 10,000 B.C. and they told us they thought it was “something from a Make-A-Wish kid.”

Here’s exactly how it went down:

It was the big game — the Super Bowl — and we had just seen Brady hardcore french kiss his son, so obviously we decided we were gonna learn Photoshop and start doing memes full-time.

I was dick deep into Lynda.com and Alamo was trying to find his laptop charger for an hour and then all of a sudden it was halftime. Literally out of nowhere I hear the voice of Kenny Powers and I can tell Alamo does too, because there’s three voices me and Alamo recognize anywhere: Macklemore, my ex Brytnee, and Kenny Powers. We look onscreen and see pretty much the rawest fake movie commercial of all time — Kenny Powers as Crocodile Dundee.

At this point, myself and Alamo are borderline sloshy because we played club rugby and football doesn’t wreck hard enough for us no more, so we needed to do drinking games to make it more epic. Thus, we’re straight up butt drunk and Kenny Powers is on TV and it feels like senior year again, so I went in my room and definitely DID NOT cry for a few minutes, but when I came back me and him were both pretty much like, “If anyone is gonna make a Kenny Powers goes to Australia movie, it should be us.”

For the next half of football, we brainstormed character arcs, worked on our elevator pitch, and downloaded Final Draft. Then, we took pics of each other’s naked butts, did a couple from the front where we were doing tuckies, and emailed them to our bosses to officially quit our jobs and become starving artists.

Two and a half weeks later, we had written a movie, and it had everything, or as my mates down under say, heaps. Like:

  • A title. It was called Beers, Mate.
  • A catchphrase. It was, “They doinked me in the f***ing dangles, dingo!”
  • Franchise potential. At the end, when Kenny gets visited in the hospital by the hot lady who you know is Australian because she wears khaki shorts that aren’t meant to be sexy, he’s like, “Where’s my aboriginal smoke flute, you outback bimbo?” And she’s like, “Last I saw it, the big bad bandit had it on his skiff.” Then Kenny makes a belittling comment re: her intelligence and everybody realizes that he loves her and he’s never leaving Australia.

But here’s what’s legit dumb: me and Alamo sent it to all the major studios — Warner Bros., Universal, Barstool — and got nothing but BS comments, like “It is unclear if the writers understand that Australia and Scotland are different places,” and “It’s basically porn,” and “After reading the mute female character whose breasts speak with a Cantonese accent, I called my husband and told him I didn’t want kids.”

All of that stung — Alamo in particular believes that children are fire — but what hurt most was the guy who said, “I beg you not to quit your day job. But if you have, take solace in the fact that the workforce is stronger without you in it.”

We’re fully heated to the point that Alamo tore down his Rob Gronkowksi Fathead.

See ya, show biz. Wouldn’t wanna be ya.