02x09 - On Golden Pete

[bunniefuu]

Hi, my name is Pete,
and I'm a trained k*ller.

For the past seven years
I've worked for this man.

Code name-- "Dad."

My mission?

To help him rub out
one elusive target-- Bob...

a legendary striped bass

whose mighty bulk has roamed
the depths of Lake Torgeson

for years.

We're approaching
the designated area.

Check.

I was a fishing machine,

trained for one thing
and one thing only.

To execute my job
with ruthless efficiency.

Nothing was allowed
to get in the way.

Not school, not girls,
not even my family.

But the one thing

I never thought would get
in my way was me.

( rock intro plays )

? Hey, smilin' strange ?

? You're looking
happily deranged ?

? Can you settle to sh**t me ?

? Or have you picked
your target yet? ?

? Hey, Sandy ?
? Ay-yi-yi-yi ?

? Does your dog bite? ?
? Ay-yi-yi-yi ?

? Hey, Sandy ?

? Ay-yi-yi-yi! ?
? Hey, Sandy ?

? Does your dog bite? ?

? Ay-yi-yi-yi ?
? Hey, Sandy ?

? Ay-yi-yi-yi ?

? Hey, Sandy ?

? Does your dog bite? ?

? Ay-yi-yi-yi ?

? Hey, Sandy, hey. ?

I wasn't always
a fish assassin.

It all started
on my eighth birthday

when my dad took me to the lake
for the first time

and gave me this fishing Kn*fe.

It has ten attachments,

including a pizza cutter
and a handy blowgun.

It also has
a personal inscription--

"Iay ancay ountcay onay ouya."

That's pig Latin
for "I can count on you."

Those words have always meant
a lot to me.

As the oldest son,

I have to be
the responsible one.

So while Dad counts on me

to make sure
our lawn is perfectly flat,

the younger son gets
to launch himself...

( Little Pete yells )
into a geosynchronous orbit.

But every year
up at Lake Torgeson,

Dad counts on me
in a whole different way.

Maybe it was fish m*rder,

but for me and Dad
it was a mission.

Its scientific name
is Roccus saxatilis,

but anyone who's ever thrown
a line into a lake

hoping for glory
just calls him...

Bob.

He's named after
this guy, Bob...

( spits )

...the only fisherman
who's ever hooked him.

Legend has it that when he
lost the fish

after a two-day fight,

he promptly lost his mind.

Bob.

( slurping )

After years and years of trying

to catch Bob...
( insect buzzing )

I think maybe Dad was starting

to lose it, too.

Tender.

Just the way the
lunkers like it.

We'd had our setbacks
in the past,

but this year, my dad was
convinced

that Bob was going down.

And once he did, he was going
up-- on our wall.

? It's The Buddy Beaver Show ?

? It's The Buddy
Beaver Show. ?

That's where my friend,
Teddy the taxidermist

comes into the story.
( clearing throat )

? It's The Bud...?

Uh... uh...

Hey, Mr. Wrigley.

Uh, Pete.

Um, sorry to interrupt you,

but we're thinking about
getting a fish stuffed.

How does it work, exactly?

Well, it's a complicated and
very technical process,

Mr. Wrigley, so bear with me.

First, we cut him open,

yank out the guts,

dunk him in shellac
and nail him to wood.

Or we could use hot glue
if you prefer.

Gross.

Beautiful.

Mr. Wrigley, something tells me
you're an action man.

Am I right?

Then you might want

to consider an action pose
for your fish.

There's ready for action,
fighting mad,

and, uh, Milt's favorite,
immortality.

BIG PETE:
The cruel irony of it all

hit me like a gaffing hook.

We were going to k*ll Bob

so we could
make him look alive.

I think I've seen enough.

Hold on.

What price, Immortality?

Well, it depends.

How big is the fish?

Oh, uh, big.

Uh, Bob must be about
15 years old now.

15?

You better hurry up and go catch
him, Mr. Wrigley.

Freshwater fish usually don't
live past, uh, 12.

What?!

Sorry, it's...

n-nature's way.

Come on, Pete.

We've got to k*ll Bob
while he's still alive!

Good luck.

We'll be waiting for ya.

BIG PETE:
That night I tried to shake off
my feelings for Bob,

but it was impossible.
DAD:
Iay ancay ountcay onay ouya.

I guess my k*ller instinct
had wussed out.

Iay ancay ountcay onay ouya.

Iay ancay ountcay onay ouya.

Yank the guts out and dunk him
in shellac.

We cut it open,
yank the guts out

and dunk him in shellac.

We cut it open, yank the guts
out and dunk him in shellac.

( screaming )

BIG PETE:
I wanted to tell my dad how
I felt, but I was afraid.

I had never seen him
so desperate.

Catch Bob, must catch Bob.

Oh, no.

Pete, give me the June bug
spinner and put on some Velcro.

So, instead, I did what
I always did,

let him count on me.

That mean the human target
routine.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I haven't caught Bob
in 15 years.

Maybe that's the way it's
supposed to be, Dad.

We gave it our best sh*t.

What in the Sam Hill?

Don't let go,
Mr. Wrigley.

Your son's a real fighter.

My son?

Dad's head told him
that he'd somehow

hooked his own son,

but his fisherman's instinct
told him

to just keep reeling.

Son, what are you doing?

He's not your son, sir.

He's a striped bass.

Hmm, stripers love

yellow smelt.

Pete's helping me with my merit
badge on marine biology.

You don't say.

Your spawn knows everything
about fish, sir.

MONICA:
Everything.

Oh, you can't
be serious, Dad.

DAD:
Pete, we need help.

I mean, this may be
our last chance.

Son, how would you like
to help your old dad

with a lifelong dream?

You mean, you want me to make
the hit?

Well, that's one way
to put it.

I was thinking,
you could do your fish thing,

and, you know, and find Bob,
and I'll make the hit.

What do you say, son?

Pete?

I'm not Pete.

I'm the Fish Stalker.

Honey,
is everything okay?

I'm starting to wonder
about this whole mission.

I mean, catching Bob
is one thing,

but why do we have
to k*ll him?

Just so we can yank
his guts out

and hang him on a wall.

Have you talked
to your dad about that?

I can't.

You know how much
this means to him.

Hey, maybe you could
talk to him

or you could
come on the boat...

Pete, my metal plate,
remember?
( metallic clanking )

If I ever fell overboard,
I'd sink like an anchor.

Honey, listen.

Between you and me, I don't like
the idea of stuffing Bob either.

But even if Pete does
find that fish,

your dad's not going
to catch him.

He hasn't yet, right?

( horn honking )

Kreb Star has done it again.

Wait till you see what I've got.

BIG PETE:
It was the Bass Buster 2000.

Guaranteed to catch any bass
or your money back.

That's not the best part.

Look. At the
touch of a button,

a 7,000-gigawatt radio signal

activates an electronic pulse

attuned to
Bob's brain waves.

( blipping )
Listen.

It lures the fish in,

and whammo!

All Pete has to do is find Bob,

and this baby will do
the rest.

It's genius.

It doesn't seem fair.

Fair?

Pete, this is w*r.

Come on, I want to try
a test run in the bathtub.

And that's how
a noble, underwater beast

came one step closer
to being hot-glued

to a piece of wood
and hung on a wall.

You know, a male adult striper
likes to hide

in very shallow waters.

An amazing,

but little-
known fact.

Shallow water.

Why didn't I
think of that?

No wonder we
haven't found Bob.

With extinction staring Bob
in the face,

the only question
was could I save him?

So our bass-busting juggernaut

rolled on towards
Lake Torgeson.

And like a bad
late-night movie,

all the characters were
assembled.

There was the ruthless leader,

his devoted sidekick,

the assassin who'd gone soft,

and the gonzo rookie, who
played by his own rules.

Mmm, dry algae, the breakfast
of champions.

Breaker breaker, this is Ahab.

I'm looking for a smoky report.

Come back, over.

MAN:
10-4, Ahab.

This here is the Randy Bandit.

No county mounties for miles.

So you can put your pedal
to the metal.

Over and out, good buddy.

( static crackles )

Bambi k*ller.

License and registration.

Uh...

Tell me something.

What chance do nature's
furry little friends

have against two tons
of hurtling steel?

You got an answer
for that... Ahab?

MOM:
Mr. Ranger, sir,

this is going to sound silly,

but I have a metal plate
in my head.
( clanging )

It interferes with radar.

That's a new one.

Perhaps you'd like
to prove it.

( electronic whirring )

( electronic beeping )

( hissing )

Well, I guess we'll be
on our way.

TROOPER:
I'm going to be
looking out for you...

Ahab.

And so will
all the plants

and rocks and birds
and bugs a-and things.

Remember that.

You got a license
for that tattoo?

Read it and weep...

fungus lick.

BIG PETE:
When we got to the campsite,

it was the same as it ever was.

Dad unpacked

his hot lather machine.

I love the smell
of menthol in the morning.

It smells like victory.

Mom practiced for her
lumberjack equivalency diploma.

( guttural yell )

And I... pounded metal
into the ground.

If anyone needs me,
just skip a stone three times.

Fish Stalker,
are you wearing your bubble?

Yes.

Hey, hey, Pete...
uh, let's get

a head start on tomorrow
and set up the gear.

The time had come for me
to talk to my dad like a man.

Ah! Life is good.

You got that right.

( boisterous forced laugh )

You know, big guy,
I just had a funny thought.

Well, lay it on me.

Nah, you don't want to hear it.

Come on, I'm the big guy.

Okay. Now, what's Bob?

The biggest fish ever, right?

Well, any schmo

can catch a fish.

It's a clich?.

So, what you do is,
you turn it around,

you get me?

The old flip-flop.

What do you do
with the biggest fish ever?

You don't catch it.

You'd be famous.

Well...
let me get this straight.

If I don't catch Bob,
I'll be famous?

Like Meadowlark Lemon.

Famous.

Well, you know, son,
I-I just had a thought, too.

Lay it on me, big guy.

Bob is a fish.

Uh-huh.

And you and I are fisherman.

Uh-huh.

And this is a fishing trip.

You with me?

Yeah.

Catching fish is what you do
on a fishing trip.

( guttural yell )

Well, except for your mom.

Pete, look, you're

my number one.

I need to count on you.

( gasps )

Fish Stalker, talk to me.

Did you find Big Bob?

I know his home address.

That a boy.

There's nothing
that can stop us now.

BIG PETE:
Actually, there was something
that could stop my dad.

His second in command-- me.

But if I did, it would be
the rankest,

most vile act of treason ever.

Worse than Benedict Arnold.

I hope you appreciate this, Bob.

( unintelligible radio chatter )

Breaker, breaker.

The next morning,

while Mom and Pete
made breakfast,

I made believe that it was

just another normal day
in the woods.

( sawing bread )

Hello, Wrigley.

Well, hello, Ranger.

Uh, gee, you scared me.

All ready to wrap
your meaty paws

all around the neck
of this area's
fragile ecosystem?

Well, I'm just going
fishing, Ranger.

Call it what you
will, Wrigley.

Mind if I see
your license?

You do have a
fishing license,
don't you?

Uh, sure.

It's in
the glove compartment.

BIG PETE:
No, it wasn't.

How did I know?

Because the night before,
I had rubbed it out

just like
a good hit man should.

Well, I-I don't
understand it.

( stammers ):
It should be in there.

We've got to leave the park?

Oh, boy, talk
about rotten luck.

Guess we got
to get packed.

Next time, familiarize
yourself with the regulations.

They're here to protect
all the blessed beasts

and the birds,
and those little
wiggly things

from mouth breathers
like you.

Well, next time
will be too late.

Bob will be gone
by then.

Bob?

Well, yeah, I think.

Why didn't you say so?

I've been trying to
catch that son of a
bass for 15 years.

Well...
When it
comes to Bob,

there's only one rule--
there are no rules.

But what about the future
of our fragile ecosystem?

Heck with that dooky.

We're talking
Big Bad Bob here.

( sniffing )

Say...

is that hot lather I smell?

Great day to be
alive, eh, Wrigley?

Yes, you bet.

Unless, of course,
you're Bob.

( both chortling )

BIG PETE:
Bob was out of luck,
I was out of ideas,

and Dad was getting suspicious.

Your brother
is driving today.

What did I do?

Maybe nothing.

But I'm not taking
any chances.

( gentle splash )

I can taste his fear.

He can taste his fear!

Now, come on,
get in the boat.

Let's move out.

Good luck, you fishermen.

I'll monitor the radio.
( clanking, static blips )

If I hear about
any thunderstorms,

I'll send up a flare.

BIG PETE:
Then, as quickly as a fish

hitting a June bug spinner

on a Texas rig, I had an idea.
( echoing clanks )

Hey, Mom...

Why don't you

come along with us?

I'm sure it would mean
a lot to Dad

if you were here
when we finally

bag old Bob.

( scoffs )
You guys.

My metal plate, remember?

I'm a human anchor.

And now, you're
a human buoy.

( laughing )

The Bob hunt had begun.

It was only a matter of time

before the Fish Stalker
zeroed in on the coordinates

of his legendary target.

Bob.

This is it, family.

This is really it.

As a great man once said,

time to deploy the Bassbuster.

( whirring and beeping )

What's wrong with this thing?

The cartoon man
on the box said

this thing's supposed
to start beeping

when a fish
gets within ten feet.

Pete, are you sure
he's down there?

Why isn't this thing beeping?

( sobbing )

Don't cry, honey.

I mean, we'll catch him.

You'll see.

( slow, twangy music playing )
It's not that.

It's this country music station.

So much heartbreak.

The plate!

That's right!
It's-it's interfering

with the Bassbuster's
radio signals.

Oh, is that why it didn't work?

Hey, wait a minute.

You planned this whole
thing, didn't you?

Mutiny!

Dad...

To think I counted on you.

Give me the Kn*fe.

I trusted you, and
what did you do?

Stabbed me in the back.

Well, you know what happens
to back-stabbers, don't you?

BIG PETE:
In case you didn't know,

this is what happens
to back-stabbers.

Not only had I let my dad down,
but I had failed a fish.

Dad would forgive me someday,
but poor Bob

wouldn't get the chance.

( beeping )

Now we're in business.

Thanks for helping out, honey.

We can't miss.

( chuckling )

You know, in
a matter of moments,

we're all gonna be famous
like Meadowlark Lemon.

( echoing ):
That's wonderful.

Say good-bye
to your fish friends, Bob,

because your next home
is going to be

on my ever-loving rec room wall.

What?!

BIG PETE:
Pete had promised to find Bob.

But now that he had,
he found something else--

a feeling that Bob
deserved a better fate

than ending up hot-glued
to a piece of plywood.

Give me that line, Dad.

What, "give me the line"?

What, have you
gone soft on me?!

Give me that Kn*fe.
No!

MOM:
Give it to me, honey.

I'll take care of it.

Thanks, Joyce.

At least there's one person
on this boat

I can count on.

( echoing thud )

BIG PETE:
Maybe Dad couldn't
count on me anymore,

but there was one fish out
there who could.

( beeping )
DAD:
He must be closing in!

The brain signal is luring him
right to Daddy!

( fast, loud beeping )

Come on, Bob, make me famous.

Tora! Tora! Tora!

( grunting and groaning )

Where's Bob?!

I saw him on the way over.

He told me to say hi.

Oh...!

How'd you get that Kn*fe back?

Airmail.

Oh, my whole family
has turned against me.

( sighs ):
We're not

against you, Don.

We're just for Bob.

BIG PETE:
Dad was still pretty angry,

but he felt better
once he found out

that landing
a 125-pound teenager

was a record at Lake Torgeson.

Bob?

( shutter snaps )

Pete.

It might have been
the five quarts of blood

rushing to my head,
but I began to think

that Dad
still could count on me--

not to do what I was told,

but something better.

To do what I thought was right.

And maybe it would take Dad
a while to feel the same way,

but I knew he'd come
back for me... eventually.

Bob?

Sure.

Bob.