My name is Cleveland Brown And I am proud to be Right back in my hometown With my new family There's old friends and new friends And even a bear Through good times and bad times It's true love we share And so I found a place Where everyone will know My happy mustached face This is The Cleveland Show.
Good Clevening.
Tonight's episode is a mystery, so pay attention.
Even if things appear to be slow and unfunny, they may be important later.
Wow, there are a lot of people here I don't want to talk to.
Hey, Gus.
What are you auctioning?
Copies of my new exercise video.
Oh.
Run faster.
You don't want me to catch you.
Hmm.
Hey, there go that guy Cleveland's mama go with sometimes.
Hey, Grandpa.
Why are you pretending to be famous mystery novelist, Jocelyn Elderwood?
I ain't pretending.
I am Jocelyn Elderwood.
It's my nom de plume.
Gay.
You ever see a man read a book?
And women only like buying books written by women.
So, you want to bid to get a master class in mystery novel writing?
Yes!
Or do I?
Ah, man, I didn't bring my wallet.
There's no room in my pockets 'cause they're all filled with my ass.
That's all right, Junior, I got this.
You got any hard candies in your work purse, Grandpa Freight Train?
Stay out of there.
I got my new mystery novel book in there.
Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You.
Ask What You Can Do For Your m*rder.
That's a little cumbersome.
So are you.
What's your highest bid, Donna?
I forget, what is less than zero?
Your IQ-- boom!
And don't nobody need no closet organized.
I know black people just throw their clothes onto the floor, but some people prefer to use hangers.
Closet organizing.
Oh, my God, Donna, you can finally get all your clothes off the floor.
Look, Lloyd, you love closets.
I do.
Bitch.
$300?
$400.
Hello, Fern.
$2,000.
What are you gonna do, Fern?
Take it.
Well, don't forget, at my table I will be auctioning off a dish I made using a special jasmine peanut oil I got in India when I was picking out my foster children-- my homemade peanut brittle.
Get that away from me.
I am deathly allergic to peanuts.
I would think someone with your fat, squirrel cheeks would love nuts.
It was funny.
$2,000.
You know how many recorders I can buy with that?
All of them, for they are cheap like you.
Boom.
Aah, not the nips!
I can't believe Arianna would embarrass me at a function-- the most important thing for a woman.
Poor Donna.
I wish there was something pointless I could do for her.
Maybe there is.
Ah, what would be the point?
I got it.
Hey, Rock Hudson, you want to go for a walk, huh?
You know what?
I'm gonna pee in the yard, too.
No one humiliates my wife except me and herself and sometimes her children.
Take this, Arianna.
Someone threw eggs at Arianna's house?
Well, I am glad somebody got that uppity-ass bear.
She think she people.
Yeah, somebody.
Mr.
Brown, did you have something to do with this?
Who, me?
Couldn't be.
Now, as a strong, confident woman, I certainly don't need a man defending my honor, but when it happens, I can't help but take my bra off.
Mm.
Kids, don't come in here!
You know, Wally has been very rude to me this week at work.
Told me I had gross knuckles.
Well, maybe Wally's going to have a little egg-cident.
Ooh, you're getting me all egg-cited.
Let me do the jokes, woman.
Sorry, egg, at least you got laid once.
Donna would have butchered that.
Well, I guess the yolk's on me.
Ha!
Now, mystery is "My Story.
" Oh!
Boom!
Now, every mystery's got three pieces: the "huh," the "aha," and the "Dun-dun-dun.
" Now, if you'll excuse me, Jocelyn Elderwood's got to take a Number two.
That's a "wordsmiff" right there.
Cleveland, guess what happened at the grocery store.
They didn't charge you for the soda you "forgot" on the bottom of the cart?
Nah, they noticed it this time, but Lydia Waterman took my parking space.
Bushy.
Look at me, crawling along like a little worm.
I were a worm, I'd like to be called William or Scooter.
Scooter Worm, Scooter Worm.
Aw, now I'm all dirty.
Garafalo!
Oh, my God.
Lydia.
She's dead.
Donna, I have something to tell you.
Well, I have something to tell you.
Let's say it at the same time.
This lingerie is reversible.
I k*lled Lydia Waterman.
What?
!
What's on the other side?
!
Leopard!
You k*lled Lydia Waterman?
!
Yes!
With more news on the m*rder, here's Larvell.
Thanks, bro.
Um, so, this is, like, really wild.
So the detectives are now saying that some guy allegedly chucked a egg that hit Lydia Waterman upside her head, and that's what m*rder*d her into her soup.
Thanks, Larvell.
Oh, my God.
You must have taken the hard-boiled eggs from the top shelf.
That's why it sailed like a brick.
Donna, you numskull.
I've told you a thousand times that hard-boiled eggs belong in the crisper.
The crisper's full of brown lettuce.
Well, there's blood on both our hands, both of ea-each of ours's hands.
Four bloody hands total.
You're right, what are we going to do?
Think, Donna, think.
It's curtains for us.
I'm calling the police.
You ain't calling.
We could just disappear, buy a submarine.
World's 80% water.
Give Roberta some money, she could take care of the kids.
The kids can come with us.
We'll send them to the University of Atlantis.
No, you know what?
We do nothing.
Just act normal-- business as usual, okay?
Got you, biz as "youge.
" Guess I won't be needing this, and I better cancel the admissions interview.
Ahp, wrong number.
Act normal.
Just another day at the office.
Waterman's Wife.
m*rder*r Brown speaking.
I mean, Waterman Cable.
Cleveland m*rder*r speaking.
Hey, Cleveland, did you hear about Waterman's?
All right, you got me, Aaron, I k*lled Lydia Waterman.
I did it!
Do you hear me, everyone?
!
I k*lled her and I peed in the yard!
Ew, Cleveland peed in the yard.
All right, here's a mystery where the twist is, you know everything-- who did it, how they did it, and why.
You just don't know the characters' names.
Let me guess, the k*ller's name turns out to be Elliot.
No, it was Elli-- oh.
Man, this is hard.
No wonder all writers k*ll themselves.
How did you come up with the idea for your new book?
Keep your hands to yourself.
This ain't your ding-a-ling.
I guess we're not in the shower.
No, no, i-i-it's still a work in progress.
These pages are all blank.
Dun-dun-dun.
There's your "dun-dun-dun" moment.
I got stuck on the dedication.
I got nothing left.
Looks like it's all over for Jocelyn Elderwood.
You paid for a master class, but all you got is front-row seats to the death of an old man's female persona.
I would not have bid on that.
That was Len Stein the Jewish lawyer.
The good news is, no more bedtimes around here.
Cleveland was the only one enforcing that stupid rule.
The bad news is, he'll probably be in jail for 14 years if he behaves himself.
And you know he won't.
Cleveland didn't k*ll no one.
I heard what happened, and Cleveland's a lot of things: a goof, a sap, a wienie, a dork, a dill weed, and a worthless fat-ass, but he ain't no k*ller.
Well, how do you know?
I don't, but Jocelyn Elderwood has a hunch, and a lady's intuition is always right.
You know, sometimes, Grandpa, I wish we could just play catch.
No time for catch.
Cracking this case will put Jocelyn Elderwood back on top of the Amazon self-publish list.
And I'm gonna need my two star pupils to help me.
We're his star pupils!
Oof, oof, oof, oof!
To prove Cleveland's innocent, we're gonna have to prove-- and follow me here-- he didn't do it.
Cleveland can only throw 30 miles per hour because he has what I call "wuss arm.
" To simulate his throw, I'm gonna throw this egg left-handed at Kendra.
I was told there'd be soup.
Still alive.
See?
Cleveland couldn't have k*lled her.
Thanks, Kendra.
No problemo.
Thanks for the egg, dude.
She eating the shell.
She don't care.
So if Dad didn't k*ll her, who did?
We'll find out at the morgue when we talk to Lydia.
Because corpses talk the loudest.
Ooh, get that down-- I can end a scene on that.
As long as no one says anything else after it.
Howzit, brah?
Wait, where do I know you from?
Oh-ho-ho, I was on your jury.
Ah, slept through the first half of that trial, but when I woke up, I wanted to prove I was paying attention.
Might as well convict somebody.
Persuaded every last one of them.
Wow, that was 19 years ago.
Man, you have missed a lot.
Gilmore Girls got cancelled.
There was a show called the Gilmore Girls.
What, do you collect Vaseline?
Oh.
The gentleman in my cell is not a good person.
If it wasn't for the kindness of the Aryans, I don't know what I'd do.
They're a godsend.
Them and your love.
I don't tell you this often enough, Donna, but you are a beautiful woman and a wonderful wife.
What?
Help, Donna!
The mammaries-- let me see the mammaries!
Damn!
Check out the ass on that ladybug.
Oh, yeah.
Interesting.
Here it is-- Lydia Waterman, D.
F.
E.
"Death From Egg.
" Boy, a lot can go wrong in life, huh?
Lydia was a dear friend of mine.
Could I see the body?
Absolutely not.
Whoops.
My distressed-suede ankle boots.
All right, that's how chapter nine ends.
Now for chapter ten, "The Morgue, the Merrier.
" Nice.
Now, let's creep.
Mmm, oh, good, it's P, B and J.
I was worried that the "J" might be blood.
And yet you took the chance.
Aah!
Death!
Quiet, Rallo, her soul is sleeping.
There is a small bump where the egg hit her.
But look at all this skin irritation.
Just as I thought-- her throat's swollen shut from anaphylactic shock.
She d*ed of an allergic reaction to something in the soup she was eating before the egg even hit her.
Bleh.
He gets all the ladies.
Junior, let your grandpa blow into your mouth.
Oh, he's that kind of grandpa.
I need Junior's super palate to place this flavor.
Okay, just don't goose me.
Oh.
Jasmine peanut oil from India.
How are we supposed to figure out who has jasmine peanut oil?
I know!
Fern Stapleton.
She had that bland peanut brittle at the silent auction.
All right, let's go kick down the bitch's door.
Just what in the heck do you guys think you're doing?
We found traces of your jasmine peanut oil in Lydia Waterman's dead mouth.
She told you she was allergic, and you poisoned her anyway!
On purpose!
You make us sick!
Now, show us the peanut oil!
That is high hogwash!
Besides, I was in Mud Falls the night Lydia d*ed, visiting my bitch sister, Nancy Jean.
If I was gonna k*ll anybody, I'd k*ll her.
I'd k*ll to have a pantry like this.
It's very handy.
That's weird.
It's almost empty.
Okay, there are prints on here, but mostly mine.
Should've used gloves.
Are these footprints a clue?
Somebody broke in!
Smash-and-grab-- classic Chris Brown.
I thought about that.
But this was a window, not a lady's face.
Hey, these footprints are from Skechers Shape-Ups.
Fern's off the hook-- these are too big to be lady footprints.
But what guy would wear Shape-Ups?
Lloyd Waterman wears Shape-Ups!
And I really should, too.
So, how long you been playing the harp?
I'm very sorry for your loss.
Your wife left a beautiful corpse.
Thank you, Mr.
Coroner.
Why did I knock that door down?
I don't know.
Who really k*lled this woman?
I do know.
They're not doing it.
Settle down, people.
Lydia wasn't k*lled by an egg.
She was poisoned by her husband.
There it is.
That's preposterous!
I didn't k*ll my wife!
I loved her and everything about our heterosexual intercourse.
Look!
He's wearing Shape-Ups!
He left Shape-Up footprints in Fern Stapleton's house when he broke in to steal her peanut oil, which he used to poison-k*ll Lydia!
Those could have been anyone's Shape-Up prints.
Besides, I'm as allergic to peanuts as Lydia.
It's what first brought us together.
I can't even be in the same room with peanuts.
So it couldn't have been me.
It's the truth-- it was a D.
F.
E.
A Death From Elephant?
Egg.
Good guess, though.
Okay, well, then this jasmine peanut oil should k*ll you!
Ugh, I am melting!
Ooh Oh, no!
He's having a deathly allergic reaction!
Idiot!
You've k*lled him!
Did Lydia ever get her closet organized?
Someone call an ambulance!
He's dying!
This is why my books don't sell very well.
I can't believe we pulled it off!
Here.
Take us to the airport.
We're going wherever Tommy Bahama is from.
Now we can be gaybos together forever!
What a neat idea it was to k*ll my wife.
Boom!
You goin' to jail!
What's going on here?
Did you get it?
What a neat idea it was to k*ll my wife.
It's all over, Mr.
Peanut Oil.
So, what tipped you off?
That's not a rash on your neck.
Those are hickeys.
If there's one thing I know, it's hickeys.
Ain't that right, Cookie?
You do know a hickey.
And when your "little buddy" gave you CPR, I figured that's what he was doing-- make it look like you had an allergic reaction.
I could go for a hickey right now!
Shut up, Cookie!
I noticed the hickeys, then I remembered at the morgue, Mr.
Coroner here was wearing distressed- suede ankle boots.
Awful expensive shoes on a coroner's salary.
Lot of footwear-related clues in this mystery.
And earlier today when we first met him, he was eating a peanut butter sandwich.
I know, because I had some.
You son of a bitch!
When he was giving you CPR, he would've got peanut residue in your mouth, peanuts you supposedly can't be in the same room with!
Oh.
There is just one more thing.
How did you get the oil into her soup?
A spoon.
And, boys, there's the title of our book: Waiter, There's a m*rder in My Soup.
Thus ends your master class.
Oh!
Yes!
Yes!
Yes!
What a night it's been!
Who done it?
You done it, Freight Train, once again.
Well, you know what?
I had some help with this one.
Rallo, Cleveland Jr.
and real-life events which led to the false imprisonment of my son Cleveland.
Where is Cleveland?
Still in jail!
Now, that's something I should've noticed.
I see trees of green Red roses, too I see 'em bloom For me and you And I think to myself What a wonderful world Daddy!
Daddy!
First of all, you look really pretty.
Second of all, you're free!
I'm, uh never gonna be the same.