08x07 - Good Lord Loudon

Episode transcripts for the TV show, "Newhart". Aired: October 25, 1982, - May 21, 1990.*
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d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.
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08x07 - Good Lord Loudon

Post by bunniefuu »

- Say, d*ck-nick...

who do you think
is more important?

A chiropractor
making six figures

or a well-connected taxidermist?

- Well, it depends
on whether I have

a bad back or a dead bear.

Why?

- Well, we're picking
potential godfathers

for our little
prodigy in progress.

- So far, we've narrowed
the "A" list down to 85

of our most prominent
friends and relations.

- Would you like to
know where you stand

on the latest Harris poll?

Let's see, Loudon, Loudon.

- Michael, you're forgetting
d*ck didn't make the second cut.

- Right.

But you did make the "B" list.

See?

- d*ck.

- So then Prince Philip turns
to his trusty butler and he says,

"You idiot, I told you
to make the Queen rum,

not make the Queen mum."

- Ha, ha, ha, ha!

- Oh, you got that
one, did you, George?

- Not even close.

- Oh, does this mean I'm
losing my favorite chess partner?

- Oh, I'm afraid
that's a check, mate.

- Well, since I can't
change your mind,

I'll total your bill.

You know, I-I really
enjoyed that story you told

about Prince Albert and the can.

I mean, I...

You know, I was sure that,
you know, you meant tobacco.

- Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha.

- Here you go.

- Oh, I say, I seem to
be rather low on funds.

- That's all right, we take
credit cards, traveler's checks,

gold bullion.

- I seem to be rather
low on everything.

- Reginald.

d*ck, you're not letting
him get away, are you?

- Not if I can stop him.

- Reginald is stiffing
you on the bill.

- Oh, I'm sure this is just
another one of Reginald's jokes,

like that one you
told about Fergie,

when she couldn't pay her
bill at that spa in Brighton.

- Oh yes, yes, dear Fergie.

Yeah, she may
be short of pounds,

but she's certainly
not short of pounds.

- I want my 800 bucks.

- Oh yes, well, I'm sure there's
something we can do about...

I've got it.

For you, my good host.

- Well, I'm very flattered,

but I'm... I'm pretty
happy with Joanna.

- I'm available.

Oh, sure, I make a
joke and nobody laughs.

- What... what... what is this?

- It represents my claim
to a British lordship.

It's legitimate, I assure you.

Here, the paperwork seems
to be in order, I believe. What?

- Well, it's a... it's
a very pretty ring,

but I couldn't help
noticing your gold Rolex.

- I don't believe you're
grasping the import here,

old thing.

You see, from this day forth,

you're no longer a
humble little innkeeper.

You are Richard Loudon,
Lord of Stumpworth-on-Thames.

Well, must dash.

Oh, welcome to
British nobility, Richard,

or rather, Your Lordship.

- Well, I think we
just got the shaft.

- Yes, but the royal one.

- I get that.

- It's not a joke, George.
- Oh.

- Hi, I'm Larry, this
is my brother Darryl

and this is my other... huh?

My other brother Darryl
has cut short my intro

due to his astonishment
in seeing the signet ring

of the Lord of
Stumpworth-on-Thames.

- How did you know?

- Darryl minored
in royal genealogy

when he was on his
rowing scholarship at Oxford.

- Funny, I-I always had Darryl
pegged as a-a Cambridge man.

- No, that was Darryl here.

Imagine the ribbing
my brothers gave me

when I ended up going
to Montpellier Trade Tech.

- Darryl, I can't
believe I'm asking,

but can you tell if
this is authentic?

- It's legit, all right.

Darryl would recognize the
Queen's tea stains anywhere.

- So I really am the Lord
of Stumpworth-on-Thames?

- You may be a lord, d*ck,
but you put your overalls on

one strap at a time,
just like the rest of us.

- I-I don't wear
overalls, George.

- Too good, huh?

- You know, it might be kind
of fun being Lady Loudon.

- I-I'm not sure, you
know, if... if my being a lord,

you know, makes...
makes you a lady.

I mean, you know,
technically speaking.

- But we could still call me
Lady Loudon just for fun, right?

- Oh, we could.

But that would be wrong.

- Michael, tell them the
good news or I'll explode.

- After whittling
away at our "A" list,

we're ecstatic to announce
that Baby X's new god-padre is...

- My Great Uncle Ta-Ta.

- Ta-Ta?
- Yes, Ta-Ta.

- Not only is he well
heeled and well preserved,

he's Steph's only
unindicted male relative.

- He's been lonely and miserable

holed up for years in
that old dark mansion,

but when I told him
the wonderful news,

he took a big hit of oxygen
and wept tears of joy.

- Well, he sounds
like a happy Ta-Ta.

- Carry me back
to old Wisconsin,

there's mucho
mozzarella on that pie.

- Extra cheese
from Mama Varicella.

What are you,
royalty or something?

- I was just made
a British lord,

but it's no big deal and
please don't bow or curtsey.

- He's pulling your newly
waxed leg, lambskin.

They don't give
genuine lordships

to just any old doofus.

- d*ck is not just
any old doofus.

- Reggie couldn't pay his bill,

so he stuck me
with this stupid title.

- So, does this make
you Lady Loudon?

- You would think
so, wouldn't you?

- She, uh, she lost...
lost out on a technicality.

- Was it your hair?

- No!

- Calling all Harrises.

Congrats, Lord Loudon.

After agonizing deliberation,

we've selected you as
god-poppy to our prized prodigy.

- We're so happy for you.

- Well, what a wonderful
and incredibly shallow gesture.

- Thank you.
- We thought so.

- Won't this upset your
Ta-Ta when you tell him?

- She's right.

Unless this is
handled delicately,

it could crush the
very life out of him.

- We won't tell him.

We'll fax him the news
first thing tomorrow morning.

- You're a softie, you know it?

- Well, your lovable lordship,

we bid you a royal farewell
and for you, Joanna,

a generic nighty-night
should suffice.

- A generic
nighty-night back at you.

- Don't you want
to say goodnight

to your future godchild?

- G-Goodnight, kid.

- There, you see, I
told you I smelled pizza.

- Oh, you're always
smelling pizza.

- We'd like to
request an audience

with Richard Loudon, Lord
of Stumpworth-on-Thames.

- Look, w-will you
give the bowing a rest?

Wh-What do you want?

- Well, we'd like Your
Highness to use his royal wisdom

to settle a dispute.

Chester thinks it's time
for me to get a haircut,

but I disagree.

- Oh, grab a mirror, Jim.

You look like one of those
ragamuffin MTV punks.

- Admit it, Chester.

You're just jealous of
my boyish appearance.

- This is idiotic.
I'm no barber.

- We know, you're a lord.

We're waiting, Your Lordship.

- I think you could
use a little trim.

- There, you see, Jim?

Now, before we waste the
rest of a perfectly good evening,

let's go back to your house
and finish that game of Battleship.

I'm going to destroy your
fleet if it takes me all night.

- I'll meet you in the car.

I'm awaiting a decision
on my sideburns.

- You know, Jim, this
is getting kind of sad.

- Well, actually, that was
just a device to get you alone.

- And an ingenious one.

- Well, here's the skinny.

Have you heard about
the bait and tackle shop

that's opening this weekend?

- Who hasn't?

It's been the lead story
in the news all week.

- We had a secret meeting
of the town council today

and we voted for you,
our beloved Lord Loudon,

to do the ribbon cutting honors.

- Isn't that one of
the mayor's jobs?

- Well, this is too
big for a mayor.

This is Vermont's first
in-mall live bait shop.

Boy, you know what that means?

- Yeah, it... it
isn't outside...

which is where a live
bait shop should be.

- Then you'll do it.

Oh, hot dog!

I hope we can also count
on Lady Loudon's presence?

- I'm sure Mrs.
Loudon might tag along.

- Boy, what a coup!

- Well, this is going
to destroy Chester.

He became mayor just
so he could cut ribbons.

- Honey, what can I do?
Th-The people have spoken.

My people have spoken.

- Oh, my Lord.

- You, uh, you can
still call me d*ck.

- What's with the new suit?

- Well, Giuseppe, the tailor,
thought that I should wear

something more befitting
my station at the...

at the ribbon cutting.

- You bought a custom-made suit?

- It... it was free, but
I'm... I'm letting Giuseppe

hang a sign above
his shop that says,

"I'm-a the guy that made-a
the nice suit for Lord d*ck."

- A spot of tea, My Lord?

- I wouldn't mind a spot.

H-Hit me.

- A spot of tea? You hate tea.

- I know, but I just
feel I should be doing

something very British-y.

- Before I fetch
M'Lord his scones,

might I pick his royal brain?

- Pick away, my child.

- Michael and I were hoping
you could help us elect

a suitable godmother.

- What about Joanna?

- Get real, Your Highness.

A lord for godfather

and a common
wench for godmother?

- Couldn't you just pretend
that Joanna was... was a lady?

- I suppose, but
that would be wrong.

- Well, I guess it's time
for this common wench

to go milk the cows and
sing some bawdy songs.

- She's simple, but good folk.

- Anyway, if it's not a bother,

I was wondering if you could
call the Queen of England

and ask her to be
our baby's godmother.

- Well, I don't know that the
Queen would want to talk to...

What... what am I saying?

I mean, we are both noble.

- Thank you.

I'll see to your scones now.

Long live you, M'Lord.

- And long live you too.

- What... what... what is that?

- The royal wave.

- Ah!

- Want to know where
I've been all morning?

Listening to
Chester spill his guts

about this ribbon cutting thing.

- He-He's that upset, huh?

- No d*ck, he's spilling
his guts in a happy way.

What a twit.

Thanks to you, my old pal
Chester's a broken mayor.

It may sound silly, Your
Fancy-Pants Lordship,

but he loves cutting ribbons

the way other men love
greasing their snowblowers.

What the hell are you doing?

- Just practicing
the royal wave.

- Boy, stick a fork in
you 'cause you are done.

- Wow, he's practicing
his royal wave.

- No, no, I just had a kink.

- Well, we came to escort
you to the grand event.

Your townspeople
await your royal arrival.

- I love your feet.

- You know, they...
they get me around.

- You remember Mr. Resnick
from the Circus of Shoes.

- I come bearing
complementary footwear.

Would you allow me to
slip them on the royal feet?

- What the hay?

- Eight and a half, triple D,
same width as Maggie Thatcher.

There we go, our top of the line

Korean made imitation
leather-like wingtips.

How do they feel?

- Almost like real shoes.

- Yeah, most people
can't tell the difference,

'til they get them wet.

- After you, My Lord.

- A coach and a
dozen ponies await.

- Look guys, don't you think
you're going a little overboard?

I mean, you know, it's just
a simple ribbon snipping.

- He does understand
this is an in-mall bait shop?

- Well, I thought he did.

I hope you're not backing out.

The whole town's turned
out for your speech.

- I-I didn't prepare a speech.

- Oh! Well, your presence
alone will be enough.

Just... just say
hello, tell a few jokes,

and you're out.

- Okay.

Are these shoes supposed
to stick to the floor like this?

- Guess the paint
hasn't dried yet.

- I saw a beautiful
coach outside.

I've always dreamed
of riding in a coach.

- Yeah, well, keep
dreaming, woman.

This coach is SRO,
Stratford Royalty Only.

- I suppose we couldn't
pretend I was royalty?

- Well, we could... BOTH:
But that would be wrong.

- Fresh paint, watch the shoes!

Watch the shoes!

- Wow, what a noisy throng.

Look, can you
quiet down, please?

- Hey! Hey, don't make
me come out there, people.

- I give you Richard Loudon,
Lord of Stumpworth-on-Thames.

- Thank you, and
hello... hello, everybody.

- Hello, Lord.

- I'd like to welcome you
all to the... the grand opening

of this lovely live bait shop.

I-I didn't... didn't really
prepare a speech or anything.

You know, I just thought I
was going to cut a ribbon.

I don't know, would anyone
like... like to hear a-a joke?

- Yes!

- Okay.

A couple of guys walk...
walk in to, uh, no, I'm sorry.

It's one... one guy walks
into a... into a tobacco shop

and he asks if... if they
have Prince Albert tobacco.

No, no, he, uh, asks if they
have Prince Albert in the can.

Yeah, that's... that's it,

and the shop owner
says that, uh, that they do,

and... and then the
other guy, you know,

the guy... the guy that
walked into the shop, he says,

"Well, y-you better let him out,

he probably can't
breathe in there."

I-I knew that one would go over.

Well, I guess it's
time to cut the ribbon.

- Tell another joke!

- All right.

It seems that dear Fergie
went to this fat farm in Brighton

and she couldn't...
she couldn't pay her bill.

I can't remember
the stuff in between,

but the... the... the
punchline is something like,

she... she may
be short of pounds,

but she certainly isn't
sh-short of pounds.

- Is that a true story
about Sarah Ferguson?

- No, it's a... it's a joke.

- Oh.
- So what are you doing, Loudon?

Making fun of fat people?

- I thought... I thought
you'd like royal... royal jokes.

- You're the royal joke.

- Hey, listen, why don't I
just... I'll just cut the ribbon.

- He slams the royal family

and still thinks he's
going to cut the ribbon?

Who does he think he is?

- What are we going to do?

If nobody cuts the ribbon,
how do we get in the store?

- Let's go in through the roof.

Yeah.

- No need for that.

I'll cut the ribbon.

- Chester, please
fire this lord.

- You can't fire a monarch.

He either has to
abdicate his throne

or have his head cut off.

- Well, since we don't
know what abdicate means...

- I-I don't get it.

I mean, one minute
you're bowing to me

and then I-I tell a few jokes

and... and you turn on me
like a pack of rabid dogs.

What's wrong with you people?

- Well, we're a
fickle little town.

- Come on, Chester.
Cut the ribbon.

- Well, here goes.

Now let's all get in
there and buy some bait.

- Honey, wh-where are you going?

I mean, aren't you... aren't
you going to stay here with me?

- I'd rather eat bait, Lord.

- See, I told you they'd
have refreshments.

- You scuff 'em, you bought 'em.

- Well, it's like
the old saying.

"What goes around comes around."

- Here George,
want to be a lord?

- Do I?

Hey, everybody.
Look at me, I'm a lord.

I'm a lord.

- Meow!
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