08x17 - Born to Be Mild

[bunniefuu]

- Hi-ho, Loudonites.

- She's becoming more
like yours truly every day.

- The future frightens me.

- Hey, want to see
pictures of baby Stephanie?

- What a question, of course!

- Hey, these snaps
are in black and whitie.

If this is some sort of
artistic statement, well,

frankly, I don't get it.

- It was an old roll of film.

It was in an old camera.

That's owned by an old man.

Ooh!

Aww!

Ooh!

- Holy Kodak!

It's a monstrous-looking
teenage boy.

The lab must have
mixed up the pics.

- Michael, that means somewhere
a monstrous-looking family

is passing around
photos of our baby.

- Wait a minute, this
teenage monster is me.

- Well, lucky for you,
you grew into that face.

- George, are you saying
this film's been in your camera

over 40 years?

- Well, I've been
wanting to finish it.

- Isn't this Jim and Chester
standing next to you?

- Yeah, that's when
we were in this g*ng,

The Vermont Hooligans.

Back then, I was called Pliers.

Jim was Mustache and
Chester was Little Stinky.

- Why... why Little Stinky?

- You had to be there.

And you wouldn't
have wanted to be.

- Pliers? This cat's curious.

What sort of g*ng activities
did you guys participate in?

- The usual.

We soaped windows.

Threw snowballs against
the sides of buildings.

The snowballs were
more a seasonal thing.

- You Hooligans make the
gangs in West Side Story

look like a bunch of dancers.

- Hey, you ever think of
having a g*ng reunion?

- What a great idea.

All this talking
about the Hooligans

has made me realize
how much I miss them.

- Hey, Pliers!

- Mustache!

Little Stinky!

What are you doing
here, Mr. Rusnak?

- My Uncle Butts was a hooligan.

May he rest in peace.

- Well, I'd like to go
on record as saying

I'm against having guests.

Hooligans meetings were
never open to the public.

- That's because your mom's
porch only had room for six.

- Oh, now d*ck's here.

This must be the Vermont
tour, the Maple Candy House

and The Hooligan reunion.

- I'm just... I'm
passing through.

- Oh, what does it
matter? Just sit down.

Let's get this show on the road.

- Well, I can't... I
can't stay... I, uh...

I have a-a life.

- Stay!

- Better do it, d*ck.

You don't want to
tick off Little Stinky.

- Why don't you three
Hooligans sit over here

and reminisce about
the days of yore

while we sit over yonder...

- And hang on your every
word, our mouths agape.

- Hey, remember that time we
soaped Mrs. Gordon's windows?

- Oh, hey, what about
when we threw that snowball

at Miss Quiggly's house?

- Oh, you left out the
day that we soaped

old man Shapiro's windows
and threw a snowball at his house.

- What a lame g*ng.

- Hey, you ever think of
starting up the old g*ng again?

We'd join.

We could call ourselves
the New Hooligans.

- The New Munsters did it.

- Oh, you kids today,

with your dreams and
your bellbottom trousers.

- Starting the g*ng up again
would just make us look silly.

Unless d*ck joined.

- Uh, what?

- Why, you'd lend
credibility to the g*ng.

Everybody knows
how sensible you are.

We'd be sensible by association.

- Forget it.

- Aw, gee.

- Sure, why put yourself out

when you can just sit back
and destroy people's dreams.

- You single-handedly dealt
a death blow to the Hooligans.

- Even our archrivals
the Ruffians

were never able to do that.

- Okay, I'm a Hooligan.
- All right!

- All those in favor of d*ck
being g*ng leader, say aye!

Aye!

- How did I get to be leader?

- You're the sensible one!

- I used to be.

All right, all right.

My... my first act as...
as Hooligan leader

is to adjourn this
meeting until next year.

- d*ck, we know you're
anxious to strut around town

telling everyone
you're a Hooligan.

But first we have to
assign new nicknames

to all the new members.

Now, let's see.

Since you're the brains,

your nickname should
be something like...

- Uh, Brains?

- Very apropos.

And since Mr. Rusnak
works in a shoe store,

he'll be... Laces.

- I'd rather be Leather.

- We're going with Laces.

It's less p*rn.

And since Michael spends
way too much money on clothing,

we'll call him Clothes Horse.

- Gangish, yet fashionable.

- I'll trade ya.

- Yeah, right, like I'd
want to be called Laces.

- I just want to
compliment everyone

on... on how much
we've accomplished today,

but, once again, the
meeting is adjourned.

- Not so fast, Brains!

We still have to
order the jackets.

Oh yeah, the jackets.

- Okay, hoods or not?

- Oh, we're hoods all right.

- Stay with the program, Pliers.

Do we want hoods on our jackets?

- Well, Vermont has
gotten colder in recent years.

- Hooligans aren't
afraid of the cold.

- Some of us Hooligans
have poor circulation.

And when your head's
warm, your body's warm.

- I don't agree.

Now what if, on a snowy day,
you went out without pants.

But wearing a hat.

Are you saying you
wouldn't be cold?

- You're muddying the issue.

We will be wearing pants.

Hooligans have
always worn pants.

- The problem I have with
hoods is that damn string.

- That damn string is
what prevents the hood

from flapping in the breeze.

- But sometimes the
string slips inside the hood

and you can't pull it out.

- Just tie knots in the ends.

That's my secret.

- What kind of knots
are we talking about?

- Enough already!

We're going with
hoods, and that's that.

Now I adjourn this
meeting till next year.

- You mean till next week.

We still have to
pick up the jackets.

- Fine, we meet next week

and then we
adjourn till next year.

- Is that a year from today
or a year from next week?

- Who cares, Pliers!

- I think Brains
is having a stroke.

- So, what do you Hooligans
have planned for today?

Gonna soap some windows
or throw some snowballs?

- We're waiting for our g*ng
jackets to arrive, so there.

- Ooh, Joanna,
they're getting jackets.

What's next? g*ng night shirts?

- Yeah, this used
to be a quiet town.

Then the Hooligans rode in and
gave us something to laugh at.

- What's their problem?

- Oh, women always
laughed at us Hooligans.

That's why none of us ever
dated till we were well past 30.

- They're here, they're here!

Our jackets are here!

- Now don't mob us.

Remember, you're
Hooligans, not Ruffians.

- Brains.

Pliers.

Clothes Horse.

Laces.

Little Stinky.

- Just throw it in the
dryer for a week, it'll shrink.

- Oh my, does my
jacket also say Hooligals?

- Oh, darney! It does!

Now, how'd that happen?

- This might explain things.

Next to my order
George checked XXL.

And under g*ng name
he wrote "Hooligals."

- Darned if I know
what I was thinking.

- Why we left the
ordering to Pliers

instead of Clothes
Horse is beyond me.

- Well, there's only
one thing to do.

Send back our jackets.

Disband the g*ng and
live happily ever after.

- Or we change the name
of our g*ng to Hooligals.

- Now there's an idea.
- Hey, that's great!

- What the haps here?

- Oh, dear.

A brick through
an opened window.

That's the Ruffians'
calling card.

- It's from the Ruffians.

On embossed stationery.

- Well, the Ruffians
leader owns a print shop.

Fine work at reasonable prices.

- "Dear Hooligans, we
heard you're back together.

"You are cordially invited

"to attend a rumble
at 2:15 this afternoon

"in the alley behind Miss
Anna's Cap and Twirl."

- Wow, our first rumble!

This'll keep the gals from
laughing at us Hooligals.

- Right.

- As g*ng secretary,

I'm checking the
"will attend" box.

- This afternoon we rumble.

- Oh, Brains.

I washed your Hooligal jacket.

Shouldn't you be getting
ready for your rumble?

- Not if I'm not going.

- Oh, come on, you'll
disappoint your little Hooligal pals.

Oh.

Excuse me.

All this masculinity in one
room is making me swoon.

- One thing about
being a Hooligal,

you get to hear
a lot of sarcasm.

- We went over to the alley

and picked up all the
broken glass and things.

This way there'll
be no injuries.

- Yeah, you know, you wouldn't
want to get hurt at a rumble.

- We even scraped
up all the gum.

And hosed down the area.

Boy, a person could
eat off that asphalt.

- Laces did.

- Trying to get my
nicknamed changed to Oinker.

- Michael, I made you
lunch for the rumble.

There's hot cocoa, a Twinkie,
and a Flintstone vitamin.

Now don't go
trading the Ruffians

for things their mommies
put in their lunchboxes.

- Do my eyes mislead me

or is my mirthful muffin
getting laugh lines?

- So, Brains, ready to rumble?

- No. No, but you guys
go and have a good time

and tell the
Ruffians I say "Yo!"

- Oh, come on.

- You make me sick.

- Could be all that
alley food you're eating.

- Pretty soon that guy
won't have any tires left.

- Hey.

It's... it's a beautiful
turkey from the Ruffians.

Now I feel bad about all those
nasty things we said about them.

- Suppose now we have
to cook them something.

- Here, Brains. This
is addressed to you.

Did I mention you make me sick?

- I believe you did.

- "Dear Brains, we
knew you'd turkey out.

"You don't have
the giblets to rumble.

"Sincerely, the Ruffians."

- Gobbler must've sent this.

His father owns that
turkey farm over in Toyville.

- Delicious birds at
reasonable prices.

- So, Brains. You,
uh... turkeying out?

Do you have giblets?

- I have giblets.

I may not know what they are.

But I'm sure I have them.

- Well, come on,
let's go, Hooligals.

We've only got
the alley until 2:30.

- Yeah, and I got a Kn*fe
fight at the freight yard at 3:00.

- So, what do you
think of our alley?

- Spotless.

- Looks like those
Ruffians are late.

I bet they got cold giblets.

- Here they come.

- You guys are more pitiful
looking than I remember.

And that's not saying much.

- Well, since Brains
is our leader now,

he'll be the one
responding to your barbs.

- So you're Brains, eh?

What's this, your dad's jacket?

- No, it's not my dad's jacket.

My wife tried to shrink it.

But it... uh...

it didn't... it didn't work.

- Good comeback,
Brains. Very factual.

- Hey, their jackets
say Hooligals.

Sounds like we're fightin'

a bunch of Hawaiian
dancing girls.

- Oh, yeah?

Another barb for
you to respond to.

Maybe there's something
about Hawaii being the 50th state.

- You guys are, uh...

kind of brave for a
g*ng called Puffians.

- Okay, okay.

Glass houses.

It's Wrench's fault.

He did the ordering.

- Wrench. What a silly name.

- You tell 'im, Pliers!

- Hey, look, we didn't
come here to gab.

Or did we? I've never
been to one of these things.

- We came to rumble!

- So let's rumble!

- We're not going to rumble!

- Gobble, gobble, gobble.

- I'm not turkeying out.

Just think that
rumbling is... is stupid.

Speaking of stupid,
your name is Beauty?

- I used to be quite a looker.

I was!

- Maybe Brains would
rather be home writing

one of his how-to books.

You know, the ones with
all those grammatical errors.

- My, uh, my books don't...
don't have grammatical errors.

- "It is important to gently
hammer the towel rack

"into position."

You split an infinitive?

- Tell me it ain't so, Brains.

- The publisher
rushed me on that book.

- Oh, I suppose it was
your publisher's fault

you used a dangling participle,

double negatives and
all-around poor sentence structure.

- You know, you got a lot
of nerve criticizing the work

that I devoted my life to.

- Did I just hear you end a
sentence with a preposition?

- H-How would you feel if I said

that your father strangled
the turkeys all wrong?

- Why get upset?

So, your book's garbage.

Well, we'll just put
it where it belongs.

- You showed him.
- That's it.

We rumble!

- Wh-What do we do next?

- Jumping Jerome Robbins,
without a choreographer

we're pretty much
dead in the water.

- But what did you do, you know,
the other times you rumbled?

- We never rumbled before.

We never had a reason.

Come to think of it, we
don't have a reason now.

- Yes, we do. The
Puffians insulted my books.

- No, that's your
reason, not ours.

Don't get us involved
in your vendettas.

- I think we should all go home

and start thinking
about next year's jackets.

- Hey, wait a minute,
nobody's going home!

After everything
I've gone through,

I'm entitled to a rumble!

Rumble!

Rumble!

- How about if the two
of us just arm wrestle.

Would that make you a happy guy?

- Arm wrestling's good.

- Fellas, fellas!
We just cleaned!

- On three!

Come on, one, two...

- Get your head in it, Brains.

- Isn't that Liza Minnelli?

- That's it, Beauty!

- It is Liza Minnelli.

What?

- I won! I won!

- Yeah, but you won by lying.

- Oh, shut up!

- All right, Brains,
you got us this time.

But there's always next year.

Knock wood, we're still alive.

- We'll be ready, Puffians.

- Yeah, I got your
Puffian right here.

- Well, now that we
won, what do we do?

- Well, I don't know
about you guys, but...

I'm going to Disneyland.

- Meow.