“Look,” the Captain says, because he feels the need to explain this assignment every time Schmidt and Jenko can’t stop the giggles, and that still happens every time he mentions it. “I wouldn’t even be interested in no sorority call-girl ring if the madam hadn’t laxatived one of them girls to death.”
“I’m sorry,” Jenko says through his helium-laugh when he almost falls off his chair, knocks the picture on the Captain’s desk over.
The Captain picks it up and points to it portentously. It’s a photo of his daughter screaming in terror at the Hamburglar.
“What McDonald’s do you go to?” Jenko asks. “You need to take me.”
“I care about this case for extremely personal reasons,” he says, finger affixed to his daughter’s teary face. “No dumb, skinny bitch gonna make my Amy take no shit-splode pills! She’s fifteen now, her mother tells me I need to start caring about this crap.”
“Fifteen?” Jenko asks. “Schmidt would like to offer to babysit.”
“No I wouldn’t,” Schmidt says. “Jenko, don’t—Captain, I’m not—“ He breaks off to quail, then rallies with, “Captain, I can tell you now that I one-hundred-percent do not want to fuck your teenage daughter.”
“Eh,” Jenko says. “Ninety.”
Schmidt isn’t sure why the Captain doesn’t believe his protests—though it might have something to do with Jenko laughing straight into his face every time he opens his mouth and then going stonefaced and ersatzly having his back—but it ends with the Captain pulling his gun and Schmidt actually beating Jenko in their sprint out of the office, even if only because Jenko is still laughing so hard he can't even stand straight.
“You look like oreopithecus and you run like him too,” Schmidt says.
“Hey, can we stop at the store?” Jenko asks.
“Why—oh, you want oreos now?”
“No, I wanted oreos already,” Jenko says. “I always want oreos, man.”
“Yeah,” Schmidt says, “we can stop, but—shit, Fugazy!”
Schmidt tenses, ready to duck and roll behind a pew, but Jenko says, “Hey, Emma,” and she walks right up to him without even punching him in the dick this time and then they both walk away from Schmidt and stand looking up at Korean Jesus so they can better exclude him, because they’re both assholes who might actually deserve each other.
He still likes Jenko better.
He sits on a pew at the back to wait, but it doesn’t take long, and Jenko cocks his head as he walks straight past Schmidt—asshole, and also impolite—out the door, but Schmidt does actually get up and jog after him, not that there’s anything wrong with that.
“So,” Schmidt says awkwardly, as Jenko keeps walking, and Schmidt’s legs aren’t shorter than Jenko’s or anything dumb like that, but if Jenko wasn’t such a comesucker, he would slow the fuck down, that’s all Schmidt is saying. “Why were you praying to Korean Jesus? You know he doesn’t love you.”
“Korean Jesus loves me,” Jenko says. “All deities love me.”
“The Captain said he hates your face and he should know.”
“He is more Korean than we are,” Jenko agrees.
“Uh,” Schmidt says.
“No,” Schmidt says. “Burns is, though. I think. We should ask her.”
“We should ask her about her ethnic background?”
“Hmm,” Schmidt says, thoughtfully. “We should probably ask her that before we ask her to get us in with Korean Jesus.”
“Is she still talking to me?” Jenko asks.
“Um,” Schmidt says. “Hey, why’d you tell the Captain I wanted to fuck a fifteen-year-old? And not even just any fifteen-year-old, his daughter! There has to be a reason he doesn’t have any recent pictures up too, right, she has to be really hot. Why—Stop laughing! That isn’t funny, ruining my life isn’t funny.”
“It is,” Jenko says. “It really is, man.”
“You’re so mean to me, why are you so mean? I’m telling your mom when I see her.”
And that sets Jenko off again, which is better than having to answer the question, but still, Schmidt is telling Jenko’s mom.