01x05 - Senate

[bunniefuu]

[pleasant string music]

♪ ♪

[groaning]

Welcome home.

[laughing]

Oh.

Oh, my dumb little dumplings.

I'm missed your faces.

Oh, Father...

We've missed your gifts.

And who is this?

Commodore: Oh, Dodo, showing your provincial roots again?

You don't recognize celebrated chef Chauncey Allister?

Chauncey: You told me your daughters were beautiful, but you never mentioned the word "perfection."

I've never seen a creature so... robustly formed.

Commodore: I have a big surprise for you.

Last week, Senator Ambrose Burnside d*ed in a freak mustache fire.

Yay, thank you, Daddy!

That's not the surprise.

Commodore: A US Senate seat has become available.

And Frederick, you shall fill it.

How is Frederick qualified to be a senator?

He believes rocks are alive.

Frederick: That is ridiculous.

Some of the older rocks have passed away.

Commodore: How does it feel, Son?

You are to be appointed the next US Senator from the State of Rhode Island.

I am deeply honored and very excited for this opportunity.

I only have one question.

What is Senate?

[hip-hop music]

Is being a senator a job?

Mm, it's more like a drinking club that decides the laws.

Does that mean we can make the laws?

That's exactly what it means.

We're gonna be able to pass any law we want.

Oof!

Milady, could you not aim for my face next time?

Lillian: You can't talk to us like that, Blanche.

I'll have your head cut off.

Can you imagine Blanche without a head?

[laughter]

You know beheadings aren't legal anymore.

Lillian: Tell that to the head dump Father had built on the south end of the estate.

Hortense: All right, sisters, clear the space.

I have this room reserved for my meeting today.

Oh!

You can't have a meeting during cream time.

There's no such thing as cream time!

Yes, there is, it's in the Bible.

Hortense: You're throwing cream puffs at my sign?

Oh, no we suck the cream out.

We're just throwing the casings.

[Blanche yelps]

You are such pigs!

Hortense: You know, now that Frederick and I are politically active, it makes your decadent laziness all the more obscene.

We are not lazy.

Let's move cream time elsewhere.

Bye, Hortense.

Those jack-a-ninnies in Washington insist that Frederick be psychologically vetted before he become a senator, so they sent Dr. Sigmund Freud to examine my boy.

Name?

Frederick.

Age?

[breathes deeply]

These questions are getting really hard.

Do you understand what a question is?

Well...

Now who's asking the questions?

[chuckles]

Still me.

Commodore: You wanted to see me?

This better be important.

I've called you in here to remind you that, according to our marital contract, I am to fellate you seven times a year.

I told you, the saltpeter mines of the Congo destroyed my sex drive.

I'm so sorry.

Come here.

I want you so badly.

Just wanted to feel close to my husband.

Yes, I feel the same.

Peepers.

I already filled the syringe, madam.

[sighs]

[moans]

Peepers... [crying]

I fear that Commodore is having an affair.

Put the tray over there.

If you want your food, you're going to have to come and get it.

No!

Hands and knees.

You're going to crawl.

He called out the name "Celine" in his sleep.

Sounds French-Canadian.

No!

Ugh.

I move in here based on the promise from some pathetic old fool that it would be a nice place to keep me close.

Then the bastard disappears.

The thought of him engaging in sexual congress with a snow-n*gro...

Oh, no.

I'm sorry, darling.

Why don't you show me just how sorry you are?

Oh...

Yes, my mistress.

[exhales]

You look like you climbed out of a pile of dirty underwear.

Leave me alone, troll.

Don't you have a bridge to guard?

I quit that job. Too much billy goat sh*t.

So that's your scheme, huh?

Feeding your fish to the Commodore?

It's pretty obvious.

Ugh!

Ah, what are you--

You always did know how to make me horny.

You say a word, and you are dead man.

Death don't scare me.

I've saved up 50 cents.

That'll do.

For now.

I'm gonna blackmail the sh*t out of her.

[rhythmic creaking]

Well, suffragettes, my pitch for our new slogan.

It's straight to the point.

Feels a little "on the nose."

I've been working on something I'm quite happy with.

We're strong, we're sober, we're virgins.

Uh, we're not virgins, Hortense.

You're not?

No, we have sex all the time.

Deb: Look, all I want is for us to vote and to get reamed from time to time.

Next law-- mandatory bow ties on all dogs.

Of course.

Ooh, and can we put cream time in the Bible?

Mm-hmm.

And chowder bath.

It's my second favorite bath we take on Tuesdays.

Frederick: These are all wonderful ideas.

Beatrice: Hmm, what else?

What is going on in here?

Ooh, I know, I want you to make a law against Hortense.

Done.

Laws don't work like that, and you should know that if you're going to be a senator.

Do you even know the three branches of government?

Frederick: Sure I do.

The Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Clausaria.

See? He knows.

Lillian: Well, someone better tell the press to dust off their adjectives for "beautiful," because Beatrice and I are going to be the face of this political dynasty.

Hortense: I'm sure it will lake your asses to know that the press will be attending my rally this afternoon.

Lillian: Oh, are they doing a story on using the color brown to accentuate face moles?

[laughter]

They're covering me because I have a cause, something I care deeply about.

You should really try it sometime.

I don't care about anything.

As don't I.

[Lillian and Beatrice scream]

I just realized my cause.

Beatrice: What is it?

Ruining Hortense's cause.

♪ Regatta, baby ♪

Well, Dr. Freud, do you have the results of Frederick's exam?

I do, and based on my observations, Frederick suffers from latent and acute h*m*.

[coughing]

[wheezing furiously]

That is disgusting!

A h*m* in our family?!

Using our toilets?

The idea roils my stomach!

[spits]

Ugh!

[tray clattering]

Well, that is a perfectly normal reaction.

After all, h*m* is an abomination.

Am I going to die?

h*m* is quite curable.

[sighs]

There are lots of approaches.

There is soaking in the blood of a dying Clydesdale.

There is eating a live wolverine, slathering one's genitals in a paste of milk and ground elephant tusk, leeches on the anus, an electrical current to the anus.

Also training in the masculine arts.

Commodore: He'll be sworn in as senator on Friday.

You give us until then to file the report.

We'll b*at this.

To be q*eer or not to be q*eer, that is the q*eer-stion.

[lightning crashes]

Whether to live my life as a h*m*-Szechwan or the fight the good fight and cure myself of this terrible and somewhat tempting disease.

[thunder crashes]

[bell tolls]

Excuse me, Chef?

I was wondering if you could make some more hors d'oeuvres.

My sisters sucked the fillings out of all of the canapes.

Mm, serving you would be a most delicious pleasure.

Oh, uh, well, we should hurry.

I don't want to miss the meeting.

I'm a man who likes to take his time.

I like to eat a dish when it's... ready to be eaten.

Oh...

Can you wait?

Ye--[wheezing] [whispers] Yes.

[gulps] Yes.

♪ billionaire, billionaire ♪
♪ bitch, kiss the ring ♪

[knocking]

What, what is it? What do you want?

Father said you could instruct me in the art of manhood.

Ah, that I can.

I help h*m* stop making the choice to be h*m*.

It's a hobby.

Now, the most important thing about being a man is learning to entice-- nay, entrap the ladies.

And I've got the perfect system to do this.

Hand me that pig's blood.

[applause]

Eunice: Thank you, thank you.

And we will not rest until every woman everywhere has the right to vote!

[applause]

k*ll yourself!

Eunice: What is happening?

Move over, Bowery boys.

What is happening is, you're trying to ruin a permanent vacation for half the species.

Yeah, and no one ruins vacations except for me when I've had too much or too little sugar!

If women are allowed to vote, it could lead to a world where women become doctors or lawyers or, God forbid, tennis players.

Yeah, that's bad!

You don't know what you're talking about.

Women should make their own decisions.

You can't just let men buy you things.

Well, obviously, you have no idea what it's like to be pretty.

Hit it, Beatrice.

[playing Yankee Doodle]

I have a dream, a dream where women will never be allowed to vote, own property, or handle money.

I have a dream that women will stay as they currently are.

We are in the golden age of women not having to do anything.

Let's keep it that way.

Yeah, women shouldn't have voices!

Raise your hand if you don't want to vote.

both: No votes for women!

No votes for women!

No, votes for women!

both: No votes for women!

all: No, votes for women!

Oh, we're all saying the same thing.

No votes for women.

No, I have a period between "no" and "votes for women."

Ew, that's disgusting.

And "H."

If all else fails, hit them.

H-A-M-I-S-H.

Hamish. Patent pending.

And you say this works every time?

Hamish: I haven't struck out yet.

I've been working a slow burn on Blanche for the last six years.

Soon she will be like elk liver in my hands.

Hamish: So, ready to try one out?

Frederick, stand up.

Garfield, pretend to be a woman.

No, use me.

I'm twice the woman she is.

Fine.

[giggles]

That a boy.

Way to bring the heat.

Now, let's try a little aggression.

You have a small wee-wee.

Oh, all right.

Not a very applicable insult for women, but you get the idea.

Now, mesmerize.

[soft string music]

I feel like I'm drowning in your eyes.

Exactly.

Isolate!

Now say her name.

Vigtar.

My name is... Victor.

Really? That doesn't sound like a name at all.

That's my name, is Victor.

Victor?

Yes.

It's always been my name.

No, Vigtar is your name.

No, Vic--

Vigtar--

Hamish: Just hit her!

Oh!

I said hit her!

Yes, hit her!

Just do it!

Make me feel something.

God, I can't.

I'm sorry.

Hitting a woman seems almost unnatural to me.

Oh, maybe I am a h*m*.

Hamish: Everyone in that house seems gay to me.

[chuckles]

Ooh.

[moaning]

What is--

[moaning]

[giggling]

Oh... oh...

Mm.

[giggles]

Mm.

Oh. [laughs]

[moaning]

[moaning]

[both moaning]

Oh, I've got one more blood sausage for you to taste.

♪ I'm the king, baby ♪
♪ I'm the boss ♪

Yes, Celine!

Okay.

I'm done.

No, I'm so close!

I know.

That's why I'm done.

[whimpering]

You t*rture me so.

Oh, I love you.

You've never said that before.

Well, we've never discussed this when I was so close to orgasming.

If you love me, prove it.

I'll do anything for you.

I want a bedroom.

Upstairs.

I'll see what I can do, but you must be patient.

[blows air]

[gasps]

[groans]

Look at that!

Oh!

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Oh!

The volume is... unbelievable.

[groaning]

[sighs]

Commodore: Oh!

A second! This is rare.

No votes for women!

No, votes for women!

No votes for women!

No, votes for women!

No votes for women!

You cream-sucking b*tches need to get off the stage.

[shouting]

[women screaming]

[glass shatters]

[dramatic music]

♪

[glass shatters]

[screaming]

No!

Let me do it!

[groaning]

Aah!

Stop! Stop it!

Stop fighting!

You have all contracted hysteria.

[squish] Aah!

Oh!

Oh, I don't really care if women get to vote.

I'm rich; laws don't affect me.

Plus, I just felt like ruining Hortense's day.

Beatrice: I care.

Women shouldn't get to vote for another million years.

How did I get hysteria?

Am I gonna go to heaven like Uncle Buster?

No.

But it is believed that female sex moisture turns venomous if not released through regular climax.

What? Oh, no.

I haven't climaxed since horseback riding lessons when I was a girl.

No one worry.

Pater Freud is here.

Now, Blanche, please, stimulate Beatrice with a feather, lightly at first.

Um...

Oh, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck!

Yeah, yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh, sh*t!

[Beatrice moaning]

Ah!

Hmm.

[Beatrice sighs]

Did you already orgasm?

Is that where I get the quiver-shakes, and I'm transported to a ghost purgatory on a beam of light and then I ask for forgiveness?

I've never seen this before.

Blanche, continue.

Let's see if Beatrice has multi-orgasms.

Ah!

Yeah.

[moaning, screaming]

Mm.

Well, I'd say you're cured.

I will treat this patient myself.

[device buzzing]

[grunts]

Now, pelvic contractions will release pent-up uterine energies which have been affecting your moods.

If you want to improve my mood, you're gonna need to use another finger.

Now, Dodo, in some elderly specimens such as yourself, a more strident course of stimulation is required.

Servant, begin.

[bike whirring]

Faster, Garfield, faster!

Faster, faster!

[women moaning]

Remember when I was going to make all those laws you wanted?

I can't.

Oh, no.

Did you get fired from the senate for having excitement pee?

No, I--

I have h*m* disease.

Oh, no.

Dr. Floyd is on his way, and I'm going to tell him that the treatment's failed.

Is there anything I can do to help?

I don't think so.

I have to start having sexual relations with men.

It's doctor's orders.

This is all my fault.

Why is it your fault?

I don't know.

I just like to make everything about myself.

That's why I love you.

So confusing.

Yeah.

I'm a confirmed h*m*, and yet everything in my body is telling me to pull off your robe and slide myself into your pubic mound.

And yet you can't.

And yet it feels so right.

Why must I be a h*m*?

Why?!

Ugh!

Dr. Freud: What is going on in here?

Nothing!

Frederick, look at you.

You are cured.

The Masculinity training must have done the trick.

I officially declare you a non-h*m*.

Oh, Frederick, I'm so proud of you.

You're not concerned at all with the fact that I'm having sex with my sister?

Seems perfectly natural to me.

Carry on.

There comes a time in every man's life when he must choose between doing what his mother wants him to do and what his sister wants him to do.

And I've realized that my country needs me in Washington, BC.

Yes, let's go.