01x22 - Episode 22

[bunniefuu]

- Hey, you millionaires!

Get out of that garbage!

[clattering]

[cheers and applause]

[laid-back rock music]

♪

[sobbing, banging on door]

[sobbing, banging on door continues]

Coming.

-[sobbing]

Hi, hi. - Hi.

- Oh, no, did I wake you? I'm sorry.

- That's okay. What's wrong?

- Laurie threw me out.

[sobbing]

Oh, God, there's no warning, you know?

Nothing--we're just-- just sitting,

having dinner, talking about our day.

- That--that's horrible.

I'm--I don't know what to say.

- She just gets up, starts throwing my stuff

into the hallway.

Oh, God--oh,

I must've retraced my steps a thousand times, you know,

just trying to figure out if it was something I did.

But everything has seemed so perfect,

right from our first date.

[sobbing]

[sobbing] Order anything you'd like.

I think I'm gonna have the duck.

Waiter. - Oui, monsieur.

- Is there anything you'd recommend?

[sobbing]

Oh, Laurie!

[sobbing]

Hey, is it okay if I sleep here tonight?

- Uh, no, that's a problem. See, I don't have a bed for you.

- Well, hey, doesn't this couch fold out?

- No, I don't think so. It just--

- Oh, sure it does. Come on, look.

Yeah, it does.

Come on.

Come on!

[sobbing]

Thanks, man!

[sobbing]

[cheers and applause]

- Hey, everybody, don't panic.

I mean, I'm only crushing your head.

Oh, working stiffs.

"Uh, say, boys,

how's it going down at the plant?

And, uh, how are those helmets doing?"

Not so good now I'm crushing your head!

I crush your head.

Crush, crush, crush.

Hey, you know what you are?

You're a yuppie.

That's right. I just made that word up.

It's my word.

And I'm crushing your head, yuppie.

Squish, squish.

Where do you idiots come from to get your heads

so terribly crushed?

Well, thank you very much for a wonderful evening.

I had a lovely time.

Good night.

- So are you gonna sleep with me or what?

- No, I'm not gonna sleep with you.

I hadn't thought about sleeping with you, actually.

- It's because I have a cabbage for a head, isn't it?

- Um, no, I--I don't judge people on their race,

creed, or color.

- Unless they have a cabbage for a head,

which I do!

- Well, um, I'd hardly noticed.

Someone had to point it out to me.

- Which they were awful quick to, on account of it's so freaky

to 'em, like at the restaurant!

- Well, um, you know, I don't think anyone would've

noticed if you hadn't screamed,

"I bet we got such a shitty table

'cause I have a cabbage for a head!"

- So, uh, what's the word on that, uh, good-night nookie?

- I don't think so.

- I had a bad childhood.

- Oh, did you?

- Yeah, the other kids

wouldn't let me join in all their playful games.

- Oh, that's terrible.

- My dad the farmer got drunk, tried to harvest my head.

Could be true.

- I'm so sorry.

- So how 'bout it--

the mummy and the daddy dance?

- A flat "no."

- Hey.

I'd do you if you had turnip tits.

- Look, I don't love you.

I don't even like you, all right?

- Doesn't really matter.

- Look, if I slept with you,

it would only be out of pity, okay?

- Hey, I'm the king of the mercy f*ck!

- I'm sorry.

- At least let me come in and water my head.

Otherwise, I'll go bald!

Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo!

- All right, you can come in for five minutes.

But that's it. I'm tired.

- Yeah, in and out, real quick.

- Then no!

[wailing]

All right, one glass of water.

- Hey, listen, uh,

if Mr. Baker's dough doesn't rise, don't blame me.

Blame my cabbage head.

[cheers and applause]

- I was reading in the obituaries the other day,

June.

- Oh, no.

- Oh, yes,

and I see that Miss Ida Kincaid has passed away.

- Oh.

- Cancer. - Sad.

- Sad. - Cancer.

- Oh, sad cancer. - Oh, sad.

Oh, cancer. Oh, cancer is sad--

- Oh, cancer is--it's a very sad thing, you know, dear?

- Oh, cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer--

- Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, cancer, ooh. Oh, and my daughter Janie.

- Oh, is Janie dead?

- Oh, no, she's getting married, dear.

- Oh, how wonderful for you.

Oh, but you must be so-- - Mom.

- Oh, hi, son.

Have you met my son, Rusty? - No.

- He's just finished high school,

but he hasn't found a job yet.

He doesn't know what direction he's going in, but I'm sure,

once he does, he'll go in that direction directly.

Perhaps taking some-- - Mom, get off my back.

- Was I on your back, son?

- A little bit.

- I'm sorry.

Have you met my friend, Mrs. Wilson?

- No.

No, I haven't.

- Well, her daughter Janie is getting married.

Do you know Janie?

- No, I don't.

But if she's anything like her mother,

I'm sure she's quite ravishing.

- Ohh.

- Mom, I'm hungry.

- Are ya hungry? - Yeah.

- Oh, well, then, I'd better get you something to eat, then.

- Oh, well, let me help you in the kitchen there, June.

- No, no, no, no, you stay here.

- Yes, you stay put.

Now, Rusty, you make sure Mrs. Wilson doesn't get bored.

- Okay.

So, uh, where have you been hiding all these years?

- Oh, Rusty, I haven't exactly been hiding.

I've been writing for the church newsletter for years.

- Wow. - Oh-ho.

- I think words are just so, so sensual.

- Oh! Are you a bit of a scribbler, dear?

- Yeah, I've got some poems on restlessness in my jean jacket.

I'll read you about five. - No! Oh, I'm sorry.

I just never read a friend's work.

- So I'm a friend, then, am I?

- Oh, I'm fond of the whole family, dear.

- It's not much of a family, is it?

Just me and my mom.

And I'm the black sheep.

Does that scare you?

- No.

- I want you.

- June!

- I've got a fistful of finger sandwiches.

- [laughs feebly]

- Oh, so tell me,

what ya gonna do now that Janie is dead?

- Mom, I'm thirsty.

- Are you thirsty?

Oh, I bring sandwiches--

I don't bring anything to drink!

Where was my head?

Oh! I'll get you something.

What would you like, son?

- Um, I'll have a root beer, mom.

- And for you, dear?

- And for the lady, a brandy Alexander.

- Brandy Alexander!

- Oh, my, what a lovely view of the construction

your mother has across the street.

- My, the light really brings out

the blue in your hair.

- It's just a rinse.

- It's hot in here, isn't it?

- I can't recall a hotter January.

- Here, let me help you with your sweater clip.

Oops, the wind.

- [moans]

- I'm on fire.

Let me run through your sprinkler.

- Stop it, Rusty! Stop it!

You don't want an old relic like me.

You need a younger gal.

- I've dated younger women--

women , .

They're children.

It's you I want. - Ohh.

- I couldn't find any brandy anywhere,

for the life of me.

But I did manage to find a tray of martinis in the crisper.

- Mom, there's an off chance I might want to watch TV later.

- Oh, then I'd better go leaf through the TV guide

with a highlighter, then.

- Oh, Rusty, how can it work?

You have no job, no future.

- Sure, we might have to live in the garage for a while,

but that's okay.

I got my own little fridge.

- Oh, they'd laugh us out of town.

- You're right.

We'll have to run away together.

- My ankles would never make the trip.

- I would carry you to the ends of the Earth.

- Ohh.

- Well, look who happened to drop by.

I found her pacing on the porch.

You know Mrs. Beamish, don't you, Rusty?

- Hello, Barbara.

- Barbara.

- Helen.

- Rusty!

- Uh...

I see you got the walker.

- Yes, thank you very much.

- I'm sorry about your hip.

- It was worth it.

Well, Rusty, I guess you won't be

running through my sprinkler anymore.

Oh, the sprinkler.

Oh, the water.

Oh, the fire.

Oh, my hip!

- Mom, you're looking sleepy.

- Am I?

- Yeah, your eyes are getting heavy.

- Are they real--

[snores]

- Let me explain.

Some men search their whole life to find love,

and I was lucky enough to find two women in one semester.

Am I in heaven or am I in hell?

- Wake up, June, dear.

I've go to go. - Are you going?

- Yes, I must, dear.

- Oh, well, thanks for coming to tea.

Now, you will come again tomorrow, won't you?

- Won't you?

- I'm not a plaything.

I'm a senior.

You've got to learn the difference.

- Then teach me, teacher.

- Maybe.

- What a lovely tea.

[cheers and applause]

- Hey!

Old lady!

I'm crushing your head!

Crush, crush.

- I beg your pardon.

- I'm just crushing the heads that need to get crushed,

like yours, madam. Krrk! Krrk! Krrk!

- My head is perfectly fine, thank you.

- No, it's not. It's shaped like an acorn.

Can I flatten it for you?

Squish, squish, squish.

- No.

- Come on, take out your dentures.

It'll be fun! I'll crush your head.

Krrk! Krrk! Krrk! Krrk!

- Get out of the way, old lady! Your head's in serious trouble!

I'm crushing your head!

- No, I'm crushing your head!

- No, I'm crushing your head!

- How can you, when yours is already flat?

Krrk! - Victory!

- Not a chance! - Victory!

I crushed your head!

- No, you didn't! My head is fine!

- I'm number one! I'm number one!

- No! You're number flat!

- I'm number one!

I'm number one!

- Ooh, it's getting crowded around here.

Crush you.

[cheers and applause]

- They say that the notion of love at first sight

is an impossible idea.

Now, I may have been born yesterday,

but I still went shopping.

It happens.

Well, it happened to me.

Oh, it was years ago, when I was living in Baghdad.

Mmm.

On the day in question,

it was a sexy, sunny Iraqi day.

Mmm.

And I was lounging about the pool

at the Danish consulate wearing next to nothing.

Ohh, in fact, at one point,

all I was wearing was a diplomat's hand.

Ooh!

Oh, mmm.

Ohh, it was a crazy, crazy time for me.

I was the top male model for an Egyptian line of jeans.

And my face and figure

were plastered on billboards all over the Middle East.

And still, the fighting continued.

Serge, the man,

came striding into the pool area like the Colossus of Rhodes,

and sh*t me a look of raw passion

that heroes have been sh**ting at heroes

for thousands and thousands of years.

I froze...

and buried my face

in a copy of Omar Khayyám's "Kubla Khan."

But it was upside down, so I feigned dyslexia.

He saw right through my onion-skin charade

and dove into the pool fully clothed.

And in one, clean, swift movement,

he was there beside me--

a pepper mill looking for his salt cellar.

Oh, yes, Serge was black--

which is odd, don't you think, him being Danish and all?

But I figure, if the French can worship Jerry Lewis

and the Turks can invent the croissant,

anything's possible in this crazy, crazy world.

I turned to Serge and,

with the spontaneity of champagne in a slipper,

I said, "I need a lover."

And that was it.

We were together for six months--

which, in heterosexual terms,

is three reincarnations with the same mate.

But Serge is dead to me now.

They're all dead to me now.

He walked out of my life

and smack into the front of a bus.

All my lovers have been k*lled by buses.

I really must get a place in the country.

Oh, well, live and learn.

You know, it's hard for a ---- to take risks nowadays,

but you've got to try.

For example, you know that feeling you get when

you don't know whether it's gonna be a sh*t or a fart,

but you let her rip anyways?

I hesitated to use that analogy to a heterosexual audience

because, whenever you mention anything remotely a**l,

they always rush out to vacuum their car.

It all reminds me of something that Molière once said

to Guy de Maupassant in a cafe in Vienna.

"That's nice.

You should write it down."

[cheers and applause]

[plaintive music]

♪

- The last time I saw him,

we didn't even talk.

We just watched "The Flintstones."

- It's always that way.

The last time you see someone,

you just wish that you'd said more.

- Well, yeah, but it's not like you know it's

gonna be the last time, right? - Yeah.

- I mean, if you knew it was gonna be the last time,

then, well, you'd say something.

- Anything. - Yeah.

- Stuff I remember about Reg is the little stuff--you know,

like the way he'd always make sure you had a lift home?

- Yeah.

Even if you had your own car with you,

he'd still insist on giving you a lift.

Of course, the next day, you'd have to go back for your car,

but he'd give you a lift then, too, if he could.

- Oh, sure, if he could. - Yeah.

- To Reg. - To Reg.

- To Reg. - To Reg.

- To Reg.

- God, he could skate.

I never saw a man more graceful on two blades

and a sheet of ice. - Yeah.

- Remember his hair?

all: Yeah.

- It was always perfect.

- Yet you never saw him with a comb.

- I can't believe he's dead.

- To Reg.

all: To Reg.

- Gee, you know, guys, it seems like only yesterday

we were just a bunch of kids hanging out

and getting Slurpees.

Next thing you know, we all got jobs.

- Or girlfriends.

Next thing you know, they're moving in with you.

- Next thing you know, you're out buying piano wire--

good, strong piano wire--

and sneaking up on old Reg while he reads.

- Jobs become careers.

- Girlfriends become wives.

- And Reg becomes a lifeless corpse in your arms.

- Kind of makes you think about the fragility of human life.

- Yeah, not really--

remember how he fought back?

- Yeah, yeah.

- What a death grip--

almost broke my wrist.

- Easy to b*at up, hard to k*ll.

all: To Reg!

- I wonder where he is now. - What?

- In a shallow grave.

- Yeah, up by the tracks. Don't you remember?

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I know where his corpse is.

I meant spiritually.

I wonder where his soul is.

all: Ohh.

- Oh, yeah.

You know, guys,

I like to think that if there is a heaven,

our buddy Reg is up there,

helping folks out and maybe even jamming with Jimi.

- I didn't know Reg could play guitar.

- Oh, yeah. - Oh, yeah, he was great.

- Huh. - Just goes to show ya--

you can k*ll a guy, fold him up, stuff him in your trunk,

and still, you don't really know him.

- Although you get to know a guy pretty quick when you

watch him beg for mercy, eh?

- Yeah, yeah.

- To good friends!

- To good times.

- And to ritualistic murders.

all: To Reg!

[cheers and applause]

- Aw, that's it.

I quit.

I've retired.

I will crush no more heads.

- [muttering indistinctly]

- What a head.

What a head!

Oh, he's gone!

What an opportunity missed!

Jeez!

Aw, that was trophy material.

No, I will crush your head, my little cabbage friend.

But first, I'll practice.

I'm crushing your head.

I'm crushing--you'll do.

I'm crushing your head, Mr. Businessman.

Krrk! See that? Your head's flat.

Is your mother still dressing you?

She should've just crushed your head.

Krrk!

Good night.

[cheers and applause]

♪♪