01x03 - Standard Deviation

[bunniefuu]

I do solemnly swear that everything

I am about to tell you is true.

A spill of weirdness

from another dimension

turned my hometown into the center

of weirdness for the entire universe.

Don't believe me?

Just watch.

For months now, Stanley and me have

been fighting the biggest lie there is.

Namely that Erie is the most

normal town in the country.

You just have to look out your

door to see what's going on here.

But even my own family would

rather believe the statistics.

The society of certifiable UFO observers.

Oh honey, where did we go wrong?

Dad, seriously, I need

parental consent to join.

Well, what about the corn scouts, or 4-H?

Cows can be fun.

Alright, Mom, Dad, if my picture wins,

Stanley and me could win a $500 prize.

See, there's a UFO right there.

Mitchell, I'm a scientist.

Dad, it was a real UFO. We saw it.

What's going on out there?

Stay calm, Mrs. Taylor.

We're here on the official business.

This median is from BS,

the Bureau of Statistics.

She needs a few answers from you.

The right answers.

Well, I could have a few

moments of your time.

The entire country would be grateful.

This is a very special household.

According to our statistics, Erie is

the most normal town in America.

And this house is at the exact

geographical center of Erie.

That makes you, the

country's most normal family.

Please, come in.

If I'd known you were coming,

I would have vacuumed.

On the contrary, a certain amount

of carpet lent is statistically desirable.

Oh!

Who are you?

Mitchell?

The average family has

3.1 members this boy,

but to nine-tenths of a

person over the desirable limit.

Oh, but we wanted Mitchell.

Didn't we, Edward?

Oh, of course we did.

Yeah, absolutely.

For now, we'll record him as a

standard deviation of minor consequence.

I'll have my eye on him, though.

Thank you.

In typical Erie style, our UFO photo

would soon seem downright ordinary.

Agnes median was about to

unleash a tidal wave of normalcy,

one that might even wash

away our entire family.

One thing I've always liked about my family,

they're light years away from normal.

But all that was going to change

if Agnes median had her way.

You haven't got one answer right.

It doesn't make any sense.

If you're not the most normal family in the

country, what are you doing in this house?

Living here?

That young man can be remedied.

Talking about, this is our house.

They can't make us move.

I've already labeled everything

I own with this address.

There might be a simple,

painless solution to our problem.

We'll use a form, 1363L.

We tested on data or

populations that might be tainted.

If you ask me, it's Erie that's tainted.

It's not possible. I know I grew up here.

Now.

Everyone go off and do their

business as though I'm not here.

I'll handle the rest.

You little man.

Stanley.

Shouldn't you be at home

with your mother and father?

My mom's at work.

And your father?

He's out doing the weekly groceries.

Right, Stanley?

Oh, yeah, yeah.

He left a couple of hours ago.

Then he should be back by now.

The weekly shopping

area only takes 1.6 hours.

Mitchell, I think she

knows I don't have a father.

What's she gonna do?

I think we'd rather not find out.

The cereal is normally kept

in the cupboard by the fridge.

And the average family only buys one

generic brand for every two game brands.

I'll go shopping tomorrow.

Where do you keep your waffle iron?

Maybe it's a Oh, we

don't have a waffle iron.

The average family has

waffles 6.3 times a month.

Waffle irons make a statement.

They say, normal.

You know, it's funny.

I was just looking at a

waffle iron at the world of stuff.

Maybe I'll slip out this

afternoon and pick that up.

From cereal mom to

waffle mom in 3.2 minutes.

And as for dad.

That's Mitchell and

Stanley's Halloween costume.

Dad, that's the costume you and mom

wore to the eerie dress up in Hodown.

Which end were you?

The rear.

Mom and Daddy caved without a fight.

But surely Carrie could never be normal.

But it's the perfect music mix.

Well, it might be perfect, but it

is not typical of a girl your age.

You should have 32.6% of a rock.

9.3% pop.

And 0.8% country.

That's unfortunate, but But I like

movie music like last tango in Argentina.

No tango music.

It's the music of broken dreams.

It shreds young girls' hearts.

How many boyfriends do you have?

Two.

How often do you talk to the mama fall?

An hour a day, and I suppose

you think that's too much.

On the contrary, you

should have 3.5 boyfriends.

You should talk to them 4.7 hours a day.

Carrie was okay at math, but

she was an absolute genius when

it came to calculating her

maximum number of boyfriends.

Well, Jack's a 10, so he

counts as one with a boyfriend.

And Billy's a 7, so that gives me

1.7, which leaves me with 1.8 more.

So, I could either find 3 guys who

are 6's, or get rid of Jack and find 2.5's.

Agnes' median and her statistics

had ruled over my entire family.

It didn't take rocket science to figure

out that Stanley and me would be next.

Well, well, what kind of nasty little

deviations are you boys hiding away up here?

79% of boys with overactive

imaginations prefer playing in the shadows.

Heaven just knows why.

But your secrecy is perfectly normal.

It's even normal the way

you tried to cover up that box.

What's in it?

Uh, nothing important.

Baseball cards.

Toy soldiers.

Monster models.

Useless junk.

Typical of boys like you.

Yeah.

Typical.

What?

Where did you?

Oh, we took it just

outside the old water tower.

Where was this?

A month ago Tuesday.

The full moon?

Oh.

The odds against citing alien

spaceships are 4 million to one.

We know what we saw.

No, it can be dangerous, young man.

I really have to pay

a visit to your father.

Mm-hmm.

Boys without proper

fatherly guidance are

statistically more prone to

being shipped out of Erie.

more than any other type of boy.

I'm sure your father would understand that.

Morning, son.

Morning, Dad.

Waffles will be on the

table in 10.5 minutes.

I think I'm gonna have some cereal.

Waffles say who we are as a family.

Who's in the attic?

Oh, that's just Miss Median.

You can't do this.

Son.

Miss Medians get statistics on her side.

Here's her the right to

pluck nose from your hair.

Hair from your nose.

If she feels it's necessary.

Take everything, ma'am.

Removing this rubbish will

improve your family's average scores.

You just want to hide the truth about Erie.

The truth is that the

chance of finding all these

peculiar objects in one

attic is infinitesimally small.

Ergo, they should not be here.

You have a nice family, Mitchell.

It would be a shame if you skewed their

numbers and made them deviate from the norm.

Because then Erie deviations are adjusted.

The last time I was adjusted

was in the sixth grade

when a doctor put back

my dislocated shoulder.

I remember a loud cracking sound

before I passed out from the pain.

Something told me this time

I'd enjoy myself even less.

Agnes had started using the word adjusted

right after she saw the photo of our UFO.

Before that, she thought our evidence

was just depressingly normal kid stuff.

Maybe she knows more than she's letting on.

Where you going?

To talk to the man who knows

everything about everything.

Erie wise at least.

Shouldn't we worry about

getting me a father first?

Maybe Crawford can help us with that too.

Statistics 378, Part B, Subsection 2.

What's going on?

Buckle here should have

used only one sugary's coffee.

Kind of makes you sick, doesn't it?

I warned him. You can't tell some people.

Mr. Crawford, will you be my father?

Yes.

You will?

Well, yes, statistically the most

popular answer to a yes, no question.

Will you take me to a ball game?

No. Statistically, most fathers don't

spend enough quality time with their sons.

So, black cows all around?

Did you know Agnes median

when she was growing up here?

Keep it down, will you?

You want to get us adjusted?

What?

Look, fellas, believe me, you do not

want to annoy an official from the BS.

We already have.

Make her twitch?

Uh-huh, yep.

If something I can get

you to eat, I'll ask Mio.

How about a blindfold?

We want to know about Agnes median.

All right, I'm putting my

life on the line for you too.

I can't fuse a last request.

I'm by dancing days.

Recognize anybody?

Agnes?

She was a splendid woman back then.

A vision of tempestuous beauty.

What happened?

I blame it all on the mysterious Armando.

It was 20 years ago.

At a Tom and Lorna's

convention center in Truxtop.

The eerie singles mix and mingle

were holding their annual tango contest.

A tribute to the forbidden dance of love.

It was a full moon that night, my friends.

I did everything by the book.

The Corrida, the Cominada,

the Gancho, even the Molianet.

But then Agnes took the floor.

And on her arm, the mysterious Armando.

From the second he

placed the one perfect Rose

in her teeth and

whirled her onto the floor.

The crowd was hypnotized.

Armando knew secrets

only the great masters know.

And Agnes was spectacular.

Wild and free utterly without restraint.

She was always a Vixen with

the way she danced that night.

I couldn't take my eyes off her.

All right, so I missed one little step.

Believe me, I've paid for it.

I haven't tangled since that night.

Well, what happened to Armando?

That, my friends, that word gets,

you'll pardon the expression, weird.

See, Agnes came back the

next day, saying he was an alien.

And that he was coming back in his

ship, the next full moon, to marry her.

But you never saw Armando again.

Poor Agnes.

Yeah, poor Agnes.

All that heartache and humiliation drove

her straight into the Bureau of Statistics.

But deep inside, who knows?

You don't easily forget

to tangaro like Armando.

This was the very song

they were playing that night.

Mr. Crawford, can we borrow

your scrapbook and record player?

Sure, why not?

The last dance before they take you away?

I don't think I'm much

in the mood for dancing.

Don't you get it? Tonight's a full moon.

Statistically a night of romance.

And alien encounters.

We know all about

Armando, and we believe you.

You know he's an alien.

I've never seen an alien. I never will.

I never want to.

Aliens do not exist.

Oh, yeah?

Well, then come out to the

water tower and prove us wrong.

Agheria, you dare me?

32% of all adults are tempted

by Dares' 45% of the time.

And regret it, seven times out of ten.

If aliens don't exist, you'll

have nothing to regret.

All right. I'll go.

After three hours

in that field, Stanley

and I were getting

pretty twitchy ourselves.

Agnes never moved, except once

when she wiped her hand across her eyes.

Maybe it was a teardrop.

But I wasn't seeing too straight by then.

We'd bet on a long shot and lost.

Thank you, boys. I needed that.

It confirms how badly you

are in need of adjustment.

We were doomed, dead, daffy,

ducked, ready to buy the farm.

But then, Erie finally came through.

Agnes.

You stirred me up.

Never. I was a few years late, that's all.

I'd forgotten my watch was

still set on Venusian time.

But I've come back here

every full moon since.

I am 20 years older.

I am not the same woman you loved.

No. You are as beautiful now

as on the night we first met.

Am I dreaming?

Can I really dance in your arms again?

Dance with me now.

A true tangaro is the ultimate lover.

His dance is the expression of his love.

Oh no. Time to go or we'll

miss the next space one.

You're leaving?

We are leaving. Are you ready?

I have impact. My hair is perfect.

And I know a planet with an

all-night shopping mall and casino.

We can get married tonight.

Oh, don't ever stop believing.

I think they'll ever come back.

I'd say there's about a

one in a billion chance.

But this is serious.

I keep your camera loaded.

Hey Mitchell, I was thinking.

Maybe I should keep Crawford as my father.

Nah.

It makes a sort of twisted sense

that the only person besides me

and Stanley who knows about Erie's true

weirdness is doing the tango in warp space.