Back in his room, Jack Nicholson immediately let go and urged, "Quick, quick, go take a shower. We need to start right away. I'm going to teach that little brat Martin a lesson he won't forget—how dare he look down on his elders!"
After showering, the two lay in bed.
Meryl Streep suddenly said, "You don't mind if I imagine you as Martin, do you?"(HAHAHAHA)
"What?! Of course I mind! Damn it, no wonder you've been sneaking glances at that kid. So this was your plan all along!"
"You can imagine me as a young Audrey Hepburn. I know you've fantasized about her before. That photo book of hers you own is covered in your—"
"Stop, stop! Fine, I agree!"
Meryl laughed.
Five minutes later—
Meryl wasn't laughing anymore.
"F*ck! Didn't you take your pills?"
Jack Nicholson chuckled awkwardly. "Not my best day. I was too focused on shaking the bed—I mean, too focused on beating Martin."
Just then, noises came from the next room.
"Oh, here we go! Martin, you little punk, watch how a real man does it!"
Jack started vigorously shaking the bed, slamming the headboard against the wall with rhythmic thuds.
Meanwhile, Meryl had an idea. She pressed her ear against the wall.
Moments later, flushed and breathless, she let her hand wander...
"Damn you, Martin, you little bastard... Who do you think you are? Tonight, old man Jack's gonna make you feel inadequate!"
Jack kept muttering as he rocked the bed, completely oblivious to Meryl's... activities. Ah, the cursed competitiveness of men.
But as time passed, something felt off.
Why hadn't they stopped? How long had it been?
He glanced at the clock on the wall and his jaw dropped.
This kid's a machine?!
No way he'd admit defeat.
Switching arms, he kept shaking the bed.
From the other side, Drew's voice rose in ragged cries. Even with her eyes closed, Meryl could feel the relentless, pounding rhythm through the wall.
In her mind, she replaced Jack with Martin, and her movements sped up...
Just the fantasy alone was enough to make her want to scream.
Of course, Meryl didn't notice Jack's struggle either.
Fck, I'm exhausted!
Wheezing, Jack switched arms again—his fourth or fifth time. His limbs were practically waving goodbye...
Motherfucker, is this kid a damn stallion?!*
Time blurred. The noises next door never let up, though Drew's voice grew hoarse, exhaustion creeping into her frenzy.
Turns out, even the most fertile "field" tires if the "plow" never stops.
Jack's arms had gone numb.
Now, he was using his knees against the footboard to keep the bed shaking.
"Meryl... I—I can't do this anymore. Sweetheart, help me out here..."
Finally remembering his partner, Jack turned—only to freeze.
Meryl was slumped on the floor, drenched, her body still trembling faintly.
What the hell happened?
His brain short-circuited.
Then it hit him.
Was this... betrayal?
His aging mind struggled to process it.
Forget it. I'm old. Gotta accept it. Why compete with some kid?
Meryl was clearly out of commission.
If he kept going, his knees would give out next.
Defeated, he gave up.
Arms useless, he wriggled onto the bed like a worm, collapsing onto the pillows. Staring blankly at the ceiling, the relentless thud-thud-thud from next door pounded in his ears...
Jack Nicholson had a nightmare.
He dreamed he was a soldier in battle.
They were losing. Everyone was retreating—him included.
A deserter sprinted past him, then turned back, revealing a face eerily like Martin's. "Too slow, old man!" he taunted before running off.
Soon, another deserter passed him. Same handsome face, same mockery: "What's wrong, old-timer? Can't keep up?"
Then a third: "Endurance matters, you know!"
A fourth: "Strength, old man! You've got none left!"
Jack did feel weak. His arms and legs were leaden, throbbing with pain.
I can't feel my limbs...
The dream shifted.
Now, he was a tiny tadpole, desperately wriggling forward.
He didn't know why, but all the other tadpoles were swimming ahead, so he followed.
Suddenly, the ones ahead turned back. Their round heads morphed into Martin's face, chanting in unison:
"Nicholson, you good for nothing!"
"Nicholson, faster, faster!"
"Nicholson, fall behind and you lose!"
"SHUT UP!" Jack roared.
But the voices continued, a relentless chorus of "Faster faster faster—"
Then, a massive orb loomed ahead.
Jack stared in horror.
"...An egg? So I'm a... a sperm?! WHAT THE F*CK?!"
Just then, an exceptionally buff tadpole surged ahead, piercing the orb.
The others wailed:
"It's Martin!"
"Martin won!"
"We're doomed!"
"Losers die die die—"
The chant of "die die die" echoed in Jack's skull, suffocating him.
"Shit, shit, it's just a dream! WAKE UP!"
With a gasp, Jack jolted awake—only to find Meryl's arm draped over his throat, the real culprit behind his breathlessness.
Shoving it aside, he sat up, drenched in sweat.
Martin is a goddamn nightmare.
It was as if Martin had replaced Charles Manson as the ultimate demon in his mind.
A sudden urge hit him. He needed the bathroom.
But his arms and knees screamed in protest.
He couldn't even get out of bed.
"Meryl! MERYL!"
Roused from a very pleasant dream, Meryl opened her eyes to Jack's wrinkled face.
Give me back my handsome fantasy! Give me back Martin!
Before she could snap, her "old partner" spoke in an awkward whisper:
"Uh... Meryl, could you... help me up?"