11x21 - Next of Pin

[bunniefuu]

And now "On the Lighter Side,"

a teenage boy was found guilty of murdering his own father --

"On the Lighter Side"? Who the hell's writing this?!

MAN: I just get the coffee.

I don't have one of those, either!

Ashton Carlyle, the so-called prep-school k*ller,

can be seen reacting to the verdict

in these dramatic images from our new courtroom artist,

cartoonist Cathy Guisewite.

Bet that poor boy's father didn't spend any time with him.

I hope they fry him.

STAN: My God, I haven't spent any time with Steve lately.

Well, I'm sure he's fine.

What the hell kind of smile was that?!

My God, he's a ticking time b*mb!

If I don't spend some time with the boy, there's no telling

what twisted, gruesome fate I'll meet at his savage hands!

(eerie music plays)

That's it! We're hanging out.

If you're gonna k*ll anyone in this family,

it's gonna be only Francine. What?

Don't talk back to your father.

(soft rock music plays) ¶ La la la la ¶

¶ La la la ¶

¶ La la la la la la ¶

¶ La la la la ¶

¶ La la la ¶

(sighs) Just try to put the ball through the hoop.

No sweat.

My peers don't call me Swishy for nothing.

(groans weakly)

Wha!

This is hopeless.

How can we bond if there's nothing

Steve's good at that we can bond over?

I'm going inside. Just put the ball away, please.

(gasping)

(ding!)

That's it!

I can teach Steve the basics of electrical engineering!

Oh, that's stupid.

Bowling!

(patriotic music plays)

¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶

¶ I got a feelin' that it's gonna be a wonderful day ¶

¶ The sun in the sky has a smile on his face ¶

¶ And he's shinin' a salute to the American race ¶

¶ Oh, boy, it's swell to say ¶

¶ Good -- ¶ ¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶

Aah!

¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶

¶¶

I found my ball. I call her Whisper Willow.

Okay...

Now, a good roll is all about the release.

The release, of course.

You can't hold on to the ball.

A bowler's ultimate goal is to roll a strike,

because you get a hilarious little movie

starring bowling-pin men!

-Whoa! -Cool beans!

("Hail to the Chief" plays)

(laughter)

Damn, son, you're a natural!

Here, I found us some nachos.

Mmm!

I love the way the filth from the finger holes

mixes with the synthetic cheese.

Mmm, mmm, mmm!

And blasting all those pins

must have made you thirsty, too.

What? Are you -- really?

Nothing wrong with a father

sharing a cold one with his boy.

(chuckles)

These darn glasses seem to be all fogged up.

'Cause I'm not seeing a thing.

(ding!)

Hanging out with you

has been the most awesome time ever, Dad.

You know, I actually feel the same way.

Like -- like, I'm not faking it

and -- and your mom's not making me say it.

Would -- would it be weird if I did this?

Are -- Are we --

Are we doing this?

I think -- I think we are.

We're hugging!

(chuckling) Well...

I better get my gosh-darn prescription checked...

'cause I'm not seeing anything here.

(ding!)

And not only am I molding Steve

into the best bowler this side of Chimdale,

he came up with, um, just about the funniest joke names

for the scoreboard I've ever heard in my life.

Isn't that right, Mr. Butt?!

Sure is, Dr. Balls!

(both laughing)

Oh, mmm!

Do you have to hug after every stupid thing you say?

And there's a big father-son tournament tomorrow night.

We're pretty much a lock to win.

You guys should all come.

-Ha. -Roger, think you can make it?

Yeah, of course, you kidding me?

I wouldn't miss it. -That's great.

And to the victory party after the tournament?

Tournament? First I'm hearing of it.

Oh, my God, Roger, you have no attention span.

(gasps) How dare you!

Leave it!

Bald-ass alien piece of sh*t.

You're the one with no attention span, Hayley!

KLAUS: I'll settle this!

Now, here goes the fish.

I propose a contest...

that will settle which of you has the worst attention span.

And the contest is...

T...

B...

D.

(cheering)

MAN: Let's hear it for Steve and Stan Smith, folks --

winners of this year's father-son tournament.

Schmueley, second place is still pretty great, champ.

Hey, that's not that kid's dad!

He's just a caring and supportive friend of the family!

They're onto us!

You did it, son!

We did it, Dad.

Hardly. You carried your father like cheap luggage.

How cheap we talking?

-Nautica. -I'll k*ll you!

Mr. Smith, your boy has a gift.

But you've taken him as far as you can.

With my coaching expertise,

I can turn him into the next Sid Bunch.

Sid Bunch?

The most famous bowler of all time.

He made the cover of "Sports Illustrated."

-Wow! -Wow!

But I don't know.

Bowling is really more just a fun thing

me and my dad do together.

Yeah, I'm -- I'm not so sure, either.

I understand. There's nothing more beautiful

than a father's love for his son.

So I guess... this is goodbye.

Except bowling greatness!

And we can get him there -- together.

Team Steve. What do you say?

I guess I wouldn't want to hold you back.

And I'd end up being a-a really great bowler.

And we'd still be together.

Right.

So... -So let's do it!

Wait, how do I know you're a good bowling coach?

Would a bad bowling coach have...this?!

Would you accept a blank check?

I got it!

The perfect test of your attention-paying abilities.

Hey, ding-a-ling, pay attention, if you can.

The winner will be whoever makes it

furthest through this --

the 86-hour PBS series, "Ken Burns' Bicycles,"

a documentary so unwieldy and meandering,

Burns himself has disavowed it.

I found it in a Goodwill --

in between an old Teddy Ruxpin and a baby coffin.

Heads up, you are not gonna find a better Goodwill.

All the power of your roll comes from your ankle.

Now, I want you to shut everything else out

and focus intensely on your ankle.

(mysterious music plays)

Should I roll the ball now?

You already have.

Very good. Now, roll again.

-Mind that release, son! -Whoop!

(grunts)

-(spider screeches) -Nooooo!

(sighs)

Mr. Smith, I'm afraid that from now on,

these will be closed practices.

You -- you must be joking!

I assure you, Mr. Smith,

had I been making an attempt at humor,

I would have said, "Boom shaka-laka."

But I just ordered a soft pretzel.

Can I please wait for that, at least?

Sure...outside.

Boom shaka-laka.

All right, son, now, remember what I taught you.

You got it, Dad!

Want some help rolling the ball?

Sure do!

Aah!

It's just not the same as bowling with Steve.

Oh, honey.

Just 'cause you're not coaching Steve

doesn't mean you can't be with him.

You can support him.

Support him?

Yes, I can cheer him on, like a fan.

His number-one fan!

Oh, yeah!

If you'll excuse me,

I've got a bowling match to get to.

Wait -- match, contest?

Never mind.

You just worry about that sink.

You walk off, you lose.

You doze off, you lose.

The minute I push play, it's Burns, baby, Burns!

Scared?

Sure you don't want to pull out?

News flash, bong brain, I never pull out!

Boom shaka-laka! Ha ha.

Now let's watch this garbage.

(violin playing)

NARRATOR: "Woe be to the lost art of perambulation...

where those cherished cobblestone thoroughfares

where once we did walk,

now do we pump, pedal, and thus, truly, we fly."

Walt Whitman.

Oh, shi-i-i-i-i-i-t.

Yeah-ha-ah! Attaboy, Steve!

Look how excited my dad is.

I mean, I miss playing with him,

but he obviously wants me to be the best.

Look how excited Steve is.

I mean, I miss playing with him,

but he obviously wants to be the best.

You gotta support your kids, right?

Even though every time you cheer,

it's like they're drifting a little farther away from you.

So true.

You a bowling parent, too?

Oh, no! I'm a pervert.

Yep, just here for the eye candy.

So which boy is yours?

Uh, the hot one, duh!

¶¶

Yay-hey-hey!

Whoo!

Yeah!

They should call my boy the Lumberjack

the way he's chopping down all that wood.

Or Working Girl,

the way he works those balls so nice and sweet.

You know what? Let's stick with lumberjack.

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Move in, now move out ¶

¶ Hands up, now hands down ¶

¶ Back up, back up ¶

¶ Tell me what you're gonna do now ¶

¶ Breathe in, now breathe out ¶

¶ Hands up, now hands down ¶

¶ Back up, back up ¶

¶ Tell me what you're gonna do now ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

¶ Keep rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin' ¶

Timber!

What's wrong with Steve?

He looks bummed.

Maybe I'm not bringing it hard enough.

Come on, let's get it going for Steve!

I say, "Lumber," you say, "Jack!"

Lumber!

Look, we just want to support our own kids, okay?

That's it, it's gorilla time!

I'm an innocent man!

(violin playing)

NARRATOR: Adolphus Schwinn next took his invention

on tour to Quincy, Illinois; Newport, Kentucky;

Wheeling, West Virginia; Utica, New York;

Dorchester, Massachusetts; back through Newport, Kentucky,

then on to Portsmouth, New Hampshire;

and, finally, Allegheny, Pennsylvania.

But it was another discovery in New Albany, Indiana,

that was about to change the bicycle forever.

MAN: Now, you can't talk about bicycles

without talking about rubber.

NARRATOR: And talk about rubber, we shall,

in the next 6-hour installment of "Ken Burns' Bicycles."

Wow.

(whistle blows)

Tape change!

(groans)

ANNOUNCER: Welcome to the NBL Junior Invitational!

The excitement is palpable here.

The stands, absolutely packed

with what I like to call gutter people.

(laughs)

Delightful bowling pun there, Greg.

Bowling pun?

Try to keep me from the biggest tournament

of Steve's life -- fat chance!

He's gonna win this thing.

And I'll be damned if I'm not gonna be there

to con-Taz-ulate my own son.

Better hang out in the back so as not to draw attention.

What's your most inconspicuous entrée?

The chicken-fried steak

ain't making any lasting impressions.

GREG: And the ball is loose!

GREG: It all comes down to this.

Knock down just one more pin

and you'll qualify for a spot on the pro tour.

That's right, Steve's days

of bowling in lame-ass father-son tournaments

are about to be over.

Oh, I didn't realize.

But I guess that's the sacrifice

you have to make to be the best.

I've let this go too far.

It's time to make things right.

(screams)

ANNOUNCER: My God!

The Lumberjack has been stabbed!

This is truly bowling's darkest, most exciting day.

(chuckles)

Shh. I'm right here with you.

(gasps) How bad is it, coach?

Career-ending!

Goodbye forever, Steve.

(horn blares, tires screech)

(crash!)

What?! What happened?!

What have I done?!

Oh, my God! (gasps)

I stabbed my son!

I still can't believe I stabbed my own son!

But that's all in the past now.

You've got your boy back, so now you're just gonna focus

on reconnecting with him and never letting him go.

You don't tell Steve about this,

and I won't tell Klaus

you're the one who broke his Dilbert mug.

Okay, deal, deal!

Hey, there, slugger!

Want to work on a Lego set together

or go down to the Whole Foods buffet,

pick up some slops and stews?

Maybe get super into jazz --

father and son, two big jazz heads.

Actually, all I really want to do

is figure out who att*cked me.

What if this sicko tries again?

I'm pretty sure the stabber's stabbing days

are behind Stan -- him -- it!

You sound like the cops.

They've given up on the case already, too.

To them, I'm just one more white kid

who got stabbed in a bowling alley.

Ah, what are you gonna do?

Let's home-brew some root beer.

But -- well, you're kind of a detective --

you know, working for the C.I.A.

Maybe you could help me investigate, as a...

Team?! Team Steve?!

Let me think.

From what I recall,

the stabber covered her tracks perfectly,

so, yeah, father-son time, let's do it.

Okay. This is where the att*ck occurred.

(screams)

Hmm.

(gasps) Look!

These must be the stabber's footprints!

See?! They're the only ones with a tread.

Bowling shoes are smooth.

And the shoe prints continue out here,

which means we can track where the stabber went!

Wait, since when is Steve smart?

He's a jock.

NARRATOR: And who knows what the future holds

for the humble bicycle.

Maybe a basket to put all your stuff in.

The end.

(sniffles)

So beautiful.

(snoring)

(whistle blows)

Wha-- what's going on?! Did -- did I win?

Roger, you made it through the whole thing.

Kudos!

(air gushing)

(both screaming)

Wait a minute.

(laughing)

(both scream)

What are you doing in my room?

Are you serious? The contest!

Oh, yeah. Yeah, I got bored.

That's why I molted

and came in here to watch "Yas Cat" videos.

Molt and bolt, baby.

Ha! -Oh, snap!

Is that a new "Bad Lip Synch"?

Oh, tight.

Look at the two of you. You're pathetic!

No, Klaus. I realized something

about two days into whatever it was we were watching.

A short attention span

is not something to be ashamed of,

it's something to be proud of --

like owning a sous-vide or having big old tits.

Throughout history, it's been people

with short attention spans

who've been responsible for...culture

and inventions that, um, have changed the course of...

What are we talking about?

You were... Uh...

Didn't you ask me something?

-I thought -- what? -Huh?

I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met.

My name is Roger.

You're digging through trash, son.

No judge is going to admit garbage as evidence.

It's gross.

This Dumpster is filled

with weapons and blood-soaked hoodies.

How am I supposed to find the ones

that belong to my stabber?

Hey!

Well, you gave it your best sh*t.

Aha! I distinctly remember the stabber

reeking of chicken-fried steak.

(inhales deeply)

Just like this hoodie!

And, look!

It's a receipt for a custom

"Con-Taz-ulations, Steve!" cake.

This Taz-loving sicko

must have really been obsessed with me.

Find that cake and we'll find our stabber.

You...were the one who stabbed me?!

Where's your proof?

Damn it!

Why would you do this?!

The edge pieces have the most icing.

No! Stabbing me!

I don't know!

We had such a good thing going for a while,

and -- and then I started to lose you.

And -- and when I heard I'd never be able

to bowl with you again, I -- I...

I just snapped.

Can you ever forgive me and also not tell the police?!

(sighs) Yes.

But you didn't have to s*ab me.

I didn't?

Well, what? Of course you didn't!

There could never be a reason to st--

Never mind. What I mean is...

I was gonna gutter ball that last roll.

What?! Why?!

You had a chance to go pro, to be the best!

I thought that was what you wanted.

I never cared about that.

I wanted things to go back to how they were

when it was just you and me having fun.

That's what I wanted.

It was?

Is that why you were acting so weird?

Weird?! How?

Stabbing me comes to mind!

You're just never gonna let me live that down, are you?

Come on, look, getting stabbed is not that big a deal.

See? Bop! See, nothing?

Bop! Bop, bop, bop!

No biggie. Do it in the back.

Bop, bop! I'm fine, see?

Few more? Bop, bop, bop.

It's possible that some of this could have been avoided.

You know where the breakdown was?

In your mental state?

In our communication.

We both just wanted to spend time together.

And if we'd been open about that,

none of this would have happened.

So you swear you're not upset

that I'm never gonna be the best bowler?

Yes. Because you're already the best son.

At least, the best I've ever had.

Mmm!

Let's agree that from now on,

before we assume we know what the other person wants,

that we'll talk to each other about it first.

You got it.

Excuse me. Langley Falls P.D.

I couldn't help but observe

Steve's detective work back at the bowling alley.

Your boy's got a gift. With my expertise --

He would love to.

(bird squawking loudly)

Hmm!

(retches)

(sobbing)

Whose kid is this?!

Who would let their kid see this?!

Have a great night.