07x05 - Goonstruck

[bunniefuu]

- Well, d*ck, Joanna, it
looks like the three of us

will be showering
together tomorrow.

- Why... why is that, George?

- I still can't fix
that water heater.

There's only enough hot water
left for a quick soap and rinse.

- How... how much is
a new hot water heater?

- About $1,200.

- Wow!

Will, uh, will you wash my back?

- Maybe I should keep tinkering.

- Well, isn't that new
handyman coming today?

Maybe he could help you.

- He's not a handyman.
He's a stonemason.

He repairs fireplaces.
I repair water heaters.

- No... no you don't, George.

- Low blow, d*ck.

- Honey, since we're
doing repairs anyway,

wouldn't this be a good
time to print a new brochure?

- What's wrong with
the old brochure?

- It's so dated! Read this.

- Coming soon...
color television.

Well, I guess we can
spruce it up a little.

- Great! I'll re-write
the brochure

and take some
pictures for the cover.

- Jo-Joanna, you're
not a photographer.

- I think I have a
very artistic eye.

- Well, then open it

the next time you
try to take a picture.

- Hi-ho. What's the haps, chaps?

- I'm going to update
the inn's brochure.

- Oh, did that color
TV finally come in?

- Hey, everybody.

This is Stoney, the stonemason.

- Yo!

- Yo to you.

- Hi.
- How you doin'?

- Michael, is he a laborer?

- He said "Yo," didn't he?

- Welcome to the Stratford.

- Thanks.

Hey, nice pipe wrench.

- Yeah. It was my dad's.

- He had good taste.

- Hey, you're all right, Stoney.

Do you know anything
about hot water heaters?

- Sure! My pop was a
hot water heater man.

- The fireplace
can wait. Come on!

- I-I wonder if Hallmark makes
a card for a moment like that.

- Hey!

- Don't even try it!

I know your type.

You wear a hardhat

and say things to
make me walk fast.

- Broom.

- Is that some macho
wisecrack you use

while you and your
buddies are drinking beer?

- No, I just need a broom.

- Oh.

- So, go get me one.

- Just who do you
think you're talking to?

- The maid.

- Do I look like a maid?

- Well... yeah.

- Oh, stop begging. I'll get it.

- Okay. Now I want to
get some indoor sh*ts.

- Joanna, no more pictures.

You've got pictures of
me waving to the postman,

pointing to the inn,

and making stupid
angels in the snow.

- d*ck, you looked adorable.

- A grown man lying on his back
flapping his arms in the snow.

It's not adorable. You
better burn that picture.

- I just want to
finish up the roll.

- How many more do you have?
- 30.

- I'm going upstairs.
- Oh, great!

I can get an action sh*t of
you turning down the beds.

- I know what you're staring at.

- You do?

- Don't worry.

I'll clean this mess
up before I go.

- Well, you better.

- Thanks.

- You're welcome...

and don't ask me
for anything else.

- Good morning, honey.

I finally decided on the
perfect picture for the brochure...

the one where you're posing
with some of our guests.

- I-I don't remember that one.

- Well, it will only
take two seconds.

The jolly innkeeper posing
with his happy-go-lucky lodgers.

- Uh, excuse me,

my... my wife was wondering
if... if you'd do us a favor.

- We're eating.

- Well, my... my
wife can see that,

but she'd like to take a
picture of the three of us

for the new Stratford brochure.

- Who are you?

- I'm d*ck Loudon,
the jolly innkeeper.

- Oh, say yes, Art.

Maybe he'll leave us alone.

- Okay. Here we go.

- You didn't say you
were going to touch us.

Oh, this is lovely.

- Take the picture, honey.

Take... the... picture, honey!

- Take the damn picture, honey!

- I'm waiting for
the little green light.

- Art, he's looking
down my blouse.

- Oh, that's a good one!

- It's also the last one.

- Oh, it's you.

- Yo!

I guess d*ck and
Joanna failed to mention

that we require proper
attire in the dining room.

So if you intend to eat in here,

I suggest you either
pull your shirt down

or pull your pants up.

- I'm just having
coffee, thanks.

- Milk.

- Thanks.

- I suppose you want
me to stir it for you, too.

- If you want.

You'd think a man
with shoulders like that...

could stir his own coffee.

- Greetings!

- Michael!

- How's my little sugarplum?

- Oooh, someone should send
him a message in dress code.

So, ready? The meter's
ticking on the sleigh.

- Sleigh?

- Cuppers, yesterday
was the first snowfall.

Our annual sleigh
ride down Main Street

to show off our
new winter woolens.

- Oh, of course!

Michael, you know how
I live for this day, but...

d*ck said I have to work.

- Well, this really
ruffles my muffler.

Has this man no
respect for tradition?

How about this afternoon?

- Well, I guess.
- Of course!

We throw them a curve
and show up fashionably late.

After seven hours in
foot-freezing weather,

those pedestrians
will pop their parkas.

'Til then, my dreamsicle.

- Pump too much iron?

- I must have pulled my delt.

- Your what?

- My delt.

My shoulder.

- Oh.

Is it painful?

- Ah, I can live with it.

- Good.

I certainly hope you don't
expect me to rub it or anything.

- Suit yourself.

- Is this the delt
you're talking about?

- Um, higher.

- Here?

- Little higher.

- Here?

- Oh, yeah.

- What, what's this?

- It's what I've written
for the brochure.

- "As you wake and gaze
through the leaded glass window

"of your elegantly
appointed bedchamber,

"your eyes will fairly
dance as they feast upon

"the verdant panorama
of the majestic rolling hills."

Uh, ex-exactly where
are-are-are the hills?

- Well, you know,
that one out back.

- That's not a hill. It's
more like a-a-a bump.

- So I should cut out
the word "majestic?"

- That-that should do it.

Oh, and, uh, maple syrup

doesn't... doesn't
"plummet" out of the tree.

It... it kind of, uh...
- Cascades?

- I was... I was
thinking "drips."

Of course, that's just
one man's verdant opinion.

- Right! Well, if what I've done

doesn't meet your
high standards, fine.

Write the whole
damn thing yourself!

- Uh...

Ste-Stephanie...
- Yo.

- What... what...
what are you doing?

- d*ck, I'm pushing
a wheelbarrow.

- Is-isn't that one
of the first signs

that the world is
coming to an end?

- You're a good little worker.

Oh, I got a kink.

- Uh, if you'd like, I could rub
your shoulder again for you.

- I'll... I'll just, uh...

I'll... I'll be in...
if... if anyone...

- Uh, Cuppers?

- Hi, Michael.

- Did my designer
lenses deceive me

or were your dainty digits

actually burrowing
that beefcake's biceps?

- What are you talking about?

- Steph, I could see
with my own peep...

Good God!

Is that... soot?

- Uh-huh.
- What's come over you, girl?

- I don't really know.

You see, Stoney and I...
- Stoney and I?

You're referring to
yourself and another man

in the same sentence?

- I was just doing
an honest day's work.

Stoney does it every day.

"Stoney does it every day."

Steph, don't you see
what's happening to you?

You're being swept away
by that wolf in cheap clothing.

- Michael, you're
acting like a child!

- I am not!

You like Stoney
and you don't like me!

- Michael, where are you going?

- What difference does it
make? You've got your stone man.

Oh sure, he may be
built like a Greek god

and have the strength of ten,

but I have something
he'll never have...

a festively-colored sleigh!

Ya.

- Did... did I hear a whinny?

- d*ck, I need to talk to you.

I'm a confused yet petite
bundle of hormones.

- Well, see... see, that would
be more Joanna's department.

- Please! Help me.

- Stephanie, I'm-I'm really...

I'm not... I'm not
very good with...

with hormones.

- d*ck, I don't know
what's happening to me.

Have you ever been
uncontrollably attracted

to someone whose powerful
biceps are slick with sweat?

- No.

- d*ck, I want Stoney... bad!

- Stephanie, I'm-I'm not
sure I'm the right person...

- And then again,
I still love Michael.

Oh, d*ck, make
this feeling go away.

- Which... which one?

- I'm not sure.

- I-I-I don't know
where to begin.

- Daddy always used
shopping as a metaphor.

- Oh, all right, all
right. Let's see.

Let's say you're out
shopping for-for-for clothes.

- Can we make it
sweaters? I love sweaters.

- Fine, fine. You're out...

you're out shopping,
shopping for sweaters.

- Good.

- And... and you walk...
you walk into this store, and,

and you see this
nice blue sweater.

- I prefer red.
- It's red.

And-and you'll look great in it.

- You think?

- Yes.

Uh, but... but when
you examine it closely,

there... there's something
that's not... not quite you about it.

- It's orlon.

- What? Whatever.

Well, see, Stoney is like
that orlon sweater, and,

and somehow I just...
I just can't picture you

going out with an
orlon kind of guy.

- Go on.

- Go... go on?

Um, on the other hand,
Mich-Michael is, is more, uh...

- Cashmere?
- Okay.

- Cashmere lasts,
and I wear it so well.

- Great.

So the... the... the point is,

you're... you're going to
have to make up your mind.

You know, is it... is it
orlon or is it cashmere?

- Daddy would let me have both.
- Well, this...

This is my story.

- Okay.

I'll take the cashmere,
but then again...

- You-you can't
change your mind.

All sales are final.

- I don't like your store. The
salespeople are so pushy!

- Stephanie, is... is
any of this sinking in?

- I think so.

You're saying that Stoney
is sort of a machine knit

whereas Michael is
more of a handwoven.

- That's... that's where
I was going with it.

I'm so glad we're
talking in sweaters.

It actually makes learning fun.

Thanks, d*ck.

Well, I guess I better
go break this to Stoney.

He probably doesn't
have any sweaters.

How do I say this
using t*nk tops?

- Well, just... tell him
how you feel with...

Without clothes.

- d*ck, that would
only lead him on.

- Nice work, Stoney.

- Okay, it's like this.

I'm a natural fiber person,

and I could never
even try on a synthetic,

let alone have one in my closet.

I hope this doesn't destroy you,

but we must end
this madness now.

- I don't understand,
but I'm sure I'll get over it.

- Not you, George... Stoney.

- Oh... oh.

- Well, another job
done. I'm outta here.

What do you say we go
somewhere for a drink and talk?

- I don't think so.

A clean break is best.

- Uh, not you... George.

- Sure!

- Well, you're a
good little worker.

I mean that, Stacey.

- How did he, uh...
how did he take it?

- He was destroyed.

- And stay out!

- I'll... I'll just, uh...
if... if anyone...

- Michael, you're soiled!

- Never whip a nag before
you climb into the carriage.

You should have
seen the looks I got

dashing through the snow
after a one-horse open sleigh.

- I don't know
what came over me.

It's all my fault.

I was driven by a
surge of unbridled lust,

but I know with you by my
side, I'll never feel that way again!

- That's my girl.

- Do you think you
could forgive me?

- What's to forgive?

I never thought for a moment

that sturdy stallion was
any match for this polo pony.

- Oh, Michael!

- There have been times

my loins still have been
tempted by animal passion.

- When?

- Whoa! Look at the time!

If we're going to
make that sleigh ride,

we better meet
back here in an hour,

cleansed, coiffed, and
covered in cashmere.

- He said cashmere!

- Look at this.

- What-what are you laughing at?

- Pictures of you, d*ck.

- George just picked them
up at the one-hour photo.

- Oh. Let me... let me see.

- Okay.

- These are good.

What's this picture of
Stoney doing in here?

- Oh, that's mine.

- What?

Joanna, let... let me explain

the difference between
cashmere and orlon.

- Meow.