04x10 - Episode 10

[bunniefuu]

- Any messages for me, Michael?

- Yes.

- Well?

- Um, A Mr. Simonemfenn called for you.

- Who? - Sketelenfenn.

- Look, Michael, why don't you write the messages down

so you can remember them?

- I don't have to write the messages down,

it's all up here.

- So you don't have to write the names down?

You're telling me a Sketafetaheta called me?

- Yes.

- Look, just write-- write the names down

from now on, okay? Thanks.

- Oh, and your meeting was changed to Guesselent day.

- What day?

- Guesselent day.

- Guesselent day?

- That's what the guy said.

- Michael, what's my name?

- Your name? - Yes.

- Scah-- felnensiumthanscienthiam.

Mr. Scalnium tiom thion thonsiun tium tiempents.

- Nope. - Thahn schin schompth--

[phone rings]

Uh, Berman, Beskilen and Conten--

- Berman, Berman, and Sloan!

- I know.

Berman, Berman, and--Sfrontzel.

Well, do you even know who you're calling?

[laid-back rock music]

*

[eerie music]

*

- Good evening,

and welcome to "The Darkness Pit."

I am your host, Sir Hecubus.

I brightened it up a little bit,

I felt it was too gloomy.

Oh! Today we are having an employee-employer exchange.

So I will be your host as we look at the unconscious

and the hidden truths that lie hidden in men's souls.

- Come on, move it along, it's all about pace.

The people are getting bored!

- I don't think so. I think I'm doing fine,

don't you think?

[cheers and applause]

- Traitors.

- Get down, get down, get down.

Get down, down, down, down, down.

Down lower. Get down lower.

Lower, get down!

Okay.

Okay.

Now, I would like to introduce to you one

who could be the spawn of Satan himself--

- Hurry up! My knees are going.

- One who has walked along the path of evil many times--

- Hurry, my knees, my back,

my arches!

- One who, in fact, quite enjoys

a brisk evening's walk along the curving path of--

- That's it, I'm coming up!

- Manservant Master.

[cheers and applause]

Now I will put you in a trance, Master.

- Oh, good. The Sleep of Ages.

I wrote this one.

Okay, rookie, while attempting the Sleep of Ages,

you must separate your fingers like this,

thus preventing injury.

[whispers] Don't worry if it doesn't work, I'll fake it.

- It's okay. I've got my own way.

- Oh, really?

This I've got to see.

What-- what the hell is that?

- Sodium pentothal.

- You're not sticking it in my--ow!

- Now, everything you tell me will be the truth.

- It's not working. I don't feel a thing.

You're ruining the show!

- What's your correct age?

- .

Evil!

- Now, Master, tell me.

Do you like -year-old girls?

- No, I do not "like"...

-year-old girls.

That would be wrong.

- Then let me rephrase the question.

- Oh, you bastard.

- Do you--

do you lust after -year-old girls?

- Yes, oh God, yes!

Evil, evil!

- Now, Master,

go into the darkest recesses of your soul,

and reveal to us

your most hideous and deeply hidden truths.

- No, must resist-- - Tell me.

- Must resist-- - Tell me!

- I go home late at night--

- Yes?

- I turn all the lights off-- - Yes.

- And I fantasize-- - Yes?

- About...

being a dentist!

- Why?

- 'Cause they've got it all figured out, man!

- I've gone too far, and for too little.

Master, revive.

- Wha--I don't remember a thing.

What happened? What did I say?

- Nothing, it was a complete and utter failure.

Take over, Master.

- So, I guess you've learned my job isn't so easy, eh?

- Yes, Master, it is more difficult than it looks.

- Well, I'm a big man,

I can admit your job also requires some minor skill.

- Thank you, Master.

- I guess we've gained a certain respect for each other, eh?

- Yes. - Thank you.

Good night from the...

Darkness Pit, and please remember,

you can lead a horse to water,

but--good night!

[police siren wailing]

- I'm gonna ask you a question.

A is?

- Uh, break and enter. - Correct.

And a is?

- Uh, drunk and disorderly.

- Correct.

is?

- Rabid dog?

- No, it's a trick question.

[both snickering]

- And a 's a gullible rookie.

[both laughing]

[laid-back rock music]

[Italian folk music]

*

- Take the tea.

Stir it eight times clockwise.

- Like-a this, signor?

- No, faster, you old fool, faster.

- Sorry, signor, sorry.

- Now come on, now, drink the tea.

Good, now hand me back the cup.

Come on, today, today.

[gasps]

You're worried about something.

- Yes! It is my son.

- I knew it, I knew it.

Now to explain this to you, I may have to go into a trance.

Uh oh, here she comes.

[moaning]

- [shrieks]

- This is a sign that you must perform certain duties

to rid the world of evil spirits that are threatening your son.

Okay?

- Yes, I will do anything you command me.

- Good. What you must do is

take this package to the address written on this slip.

And when it's delivered,

you must call me back at this number

for further instructions.

All right?

Now!

Hey--wait, wait.

And, uh, get a signed receipt.

Most important. - A signed receipt.

- A signed receipt. - A signed receipt.

A signed receipt. - Hurry!

- A signed receipt.

[frantic Italian folk music]

*

The box. The box.

The box!

Please, kind lady, take pity on me.

Sign this receipt.

It's for my son.

He's very, very sick.

He don't feel nothing from here to here,

I've never seen such a thing in my life, it's so--

thank you, God bless you. Thank you.

God bless you!

The phone!

I must use your phone.

[phone ringing]

- Hello?

No, the psychic can't talk to you right now.

But he told me to tell you-- he said, "Further visions

"of the tasks you must perform to put your spiritual universe

in order." Okay?

Got a pen? - Pen.

I need a pen! - Pick up at th floor

[indistinct] leave the package at the first [indistinct] --

Hold on, hon.

[moaning]

- It's a sign!

- Still there? Okay.

Drop the first one at th Street

and second at Main and Church.

Delaney Advertising.

Oh, and remember.

The more packages you deliver,

the more spiritual energy you'll receive.

Buh-bye.

[upbeat polka music]

*

- Let go of the package!

- I need it to help my son!

- I don't care about your son.

- Packages!

[all gasp]

- Thank you.

- Here are your coffees you asked for, sirs.

- Great, rookie. Pour 'em out.

- What?

- Uh, pour them on the ground, rookie.

Thanks for the coffees, rookie.

- We really enjoyed 'em, rookie.

[both laughing]

- Yep, yeah.

[laid-back rock music]

- [as Jack Nicholson] This is Jack Nicholson.

You've reached the answering machine of Randy and his belle,

Christine.

Listen to old Jack, he's not gonna snow ya--

[imitating wind howling]

Listen, can we do this, please?

- What do you mean?

- Well, the bell was late, it's all just really ragged.

- The bell was not late--

look, can we just finish this and go out, dear?

- Fine, fine.

Let's try, okay?

This is Jack Nicholson.

He's not gonna snow ya, citizen.

We're out at a Lake--

And what are you going to use to represent a Lakers game?

- The little ball.

- Could we please get into this?

- I am, it's just-- - It's just what?

- Well, I just don't think your Jack is, well, very strong.

- Well, the gloves are off, aren't they?

- Look, can we just leave a straight message for once,

saying, "We're not home, please

leave a message after the beep"?

- A straight message?

Old people leave straight messages.

Government clerks leave straight messages.

- All right, dear. - No, no, I don't think you

know how important our answering machine messages are.

We've set a standard.

People love our answering machine messages.

People call up just to hear our messages.

- Well, it used to be more fun when we started living together.

- Well, it's always fun at first, but please

understand, sweet Christine,

that Picasso didn't feel like getting up every day,

but he did, and he spoke French, and he painted--

- It's an answering machine. - Yes.

An answering machine,

the most important creative outlet of the 's.

- Answering machine!

- Yeah, yeah. But if William Shakespeare

were alive today, he wouldn't be writing plays,

he'd be writing answering machine messages.

[phone rings]

- What? - Hello?

No, it's me.

It's not ready yet.

You happy?

Fine, fine, you're dead to me,

I'll do it myself.

- Go ahead. - Thanks.

Why don't you just put on a jazz tape,

and I'll improvise a little something.

[Dixieland music]

*

I'm not in a rut!

- I'll do it.

- What? You can't do it.

- I'll do it. - You can't do it.

- Why? - 'Cause you're a girl.

- What? - Everybody knows

girls don't make good answering machine messages.

- That's ridiculous. Get up, little man.

- We're not here right now.

We're somewhere else.

- It's not as easy as it looks, is it?

- Shut up!

- Eek! Eek!

We're out monkeying around and can't come to the phone.

Please leave a message after the "eek!"

and we'll swing on by.

- See, you never finish anything you start.

- Shut up! - You dropped out of college,

you only took one vegetarian cooking class,

it's a joke.

[phone rings]

[answering machine clicks]

- Eek! Eek!

We're out monkeying around

and can't come to the phone now.

So if you leave a message after the "eek!"

we'll swing on by.

- See, you can't finish anything you start, can you?

- Shut up! - No.

You dropped out of college,

you only took one vegetarian cooking class--

you can't finish anything.

[beep]

- Hey, that's great. That's the best one yet.

That's better than the, uh, sun screening our calls one.

Okay, see ya. | - Oh, I'm sorry, baby. Come on.

- Don't touch me.

[laid-back rock music]

- Hello, viewing audience.

Right now, I'm at a pretty interesting stage in my career,

because I'm just a little bit famous.

Somewhere between Pauly Shore and the Maytag Repairman.

As a celebrity becomes more famous, he or she

is assigned more responsibility by the media.

Eventually, they reach the stage where they get to talk in public

about their terrible childhoods.

Experts say that this helps commoners come to grips

with their own similar problems

by identification with a celebrity.

Until a celebrity experiences a tragedy, it doesn't exist.

That's why AIDS didn't exist until Rock Hudson got it.

Before that, it was just a lot

of ---- collapsing from dance floor exhaustion.

Before celebrities, people didn't have terrible childhoods.

They just grew up.

Nobody made a big deal out of child abuse or incest.

You had sex with your father, you moved on.

Don't get me wrong.

I think it's great

that there are celebrities out there who,

through their openness about their own lives,

help all of us come to a greater understanding

about our own common humanity.

But this path is not for everyone.

Each celebrity is like a-- a snowflake.

This snowflake will never burden

you with stories of his hideous childhood,

no matter what the financial recompense.

I love my grotesque family too much

to drag them through a public spotlight for fun and profit.

You see, I just don't feel any need to talk publicly

about my own teen years as a hustler...

Or my allegiance to the devil.

Please--please,

just let me remain a private man in a public business.

To all you other celebrities out there

publicly struggling with alcoholism, bulimia,

or lazy bladder--

Not me.

I salute you.

You, through your courage,

you help all of us feel just a little bit better about our own

pathetic and blighted lives.

Thank you, Oprah, Roseanne,

Suzanne, Axl, La Toya.

Cut, cut!

[vomiting]

- Hey. Hey.

First dead body, rookie?

- Yeah.

Hey! What'd you do that for?

- What'd you mean? It's tradition.

- Hey, look.

- Pah.

[vomiting]

[laid-back rock music]

*

- Mr. Tisane, how would you describe your relationship

with Mrs. Tisane?

- Not good.

- Would you elaborate, please?

- She hits me.

- What? - She hits me.

- Your wife hits you?

- Hits me hard.

- No more questions, your honor.

I'd like to call to the stand Mrs. Tisane.

- Calling Mrs. Tisane to the stand.

[gloomy dance music]

*

- Don't hit me. - Ay.

- Put your hand on the bible, and repeat after me--

- No!

Peasant! Go, go, go!

Ay!

- Mrs. Tisane--

- Hey, is not Mrs. Tisane.

Is Miss Francesca Fiore.

I keep my maidenhead.

- Fine, Miss Francesca Fiore.

Your husband is suing you for divorce

on grounds of physical abuse.

- What?

- Now let's go back to the beginning, shall we?

Why did you marry your husband?

- Well, I marry him for Canadian citizenship.

In my circle, is very chic.

Beside, I get to study woodland animal.

I like the beaver,

but the wolverine is my favorite.

Only one who k*ll for pleasure!

- So you're admitting you didn't marry your husband for love?

- No, of course not. Ay!

- If he knew that, why do you think he married you?

- I told him to.

- Happiest day of my life.

- Is true.

- Miss Francesca Fiore, do you b*at your husband?

- What?

No.

Maybe. Yes, but is hard not to hit him.

- I rest my case, your honor. - No!

Judge, just look at him.

- Oh, good, tea.

- Ay?

- Why did I do that?

- Is not your fault, bible man.

There is just something that he give off,

like a gas or pheromone,

which make you want to hit him.

Have to hit him!

- Objection, your honor! - Is true.

I take him to scientists, they weigh him and everything.

- Mr. Tisane, would you please approach the bench?

- Come on. - Uh-oh.

- Closer, please, Mr. Tisane.

- I'd rather not.

- Mr. Tisane, please, come closer.

I have no intention of hitting you.

[sniffing]

- I rest my case. - Ouch.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Tisane,

but it appears that no matter who you're with,

they'll hit you. It's scientific.

I see no reason to grant--

- I have reason!

- And who are you?

- I am Bruno Puntz-Jones.

[cheers and applause]

And I am married to that woman.

- Miss Fiore, is this true?

- Well, maybe is true.

But we were only!

- No, Francesca, I was .

You were .

- Really? That would make you forty--

[g*nsh*t]

- Bruno! - Order!

- Bruno!

You still love me!

- Francesca.

- Oh, Bruno!

- But why you want to be Canadian?

- Well, Canada does have the best health care system

in the world.

- Yes, is true.

all: Canada does have the best health care system in the world!

["O Canada" playing]