- Hm.
- What's the headline, George?
- "Local officials concerned
over booming cat population."
According to a recent
survey there are, quote,
"A lot of cats in this town."
- That many, huh?
- And they say if
the trend continues
by the year 2010
there will be, quote,
"A lot more cats in this town."
- Will this madness never end?
- I don't think so, d*ck.
You see, when two cats
fall in love, the male cat...
- I know, I know, George!
I was... I was on the
porch outside with you
when... when we
saw the, um, the show.
- Oh, what a morning.
First, the wallpaper hanger
showed up an hour late for work.
- You're over an hour
late yourself, Stephanie.
- Then, they just stood
around drinking coffee
and gabbing about
their personal problems.
Anyway, the carriage
house looks great.
You really should
see it sometime.
- We'd love to. When?
- Ah, Joanna, that
was just an expression.
A pleasantry. It's like
when I say, "How are you?"
I don't really expect an answer.
- By the way,
Steph, thanks for that
super cocktail party last night.
You must have had
2-300 people there.
- You see, d*ck, I
wasn't dreaming.
There really was a
mile-long conga line
going up and down our driveway.
- Half of Vermont rates
and... and we don't?
- Well, I didn't think
you'd fit into our circle.
- But George would.
- He scribbles those
caricatures of people
that are just out of this world.
Okay, okay, okay.
You want to drop by tonight?
- Well, we hate
putting you out like this.
Maybe we should
bring our own dinner.
- Aw, you're a dear.
But no red meat.
Michael is trying to lay off.
How about chicken Kiev?
- There's something
quick and easy.
- Hi, I'm Larry.
This is my brother, Darryl.
And this is my
other brother, Darryl.
We're here to
return George's drill.
- Aw, thanks.
- Unfortunately,
Darryl's root canal
took a tad longer...
than expected.
- Well, here's your problem.
You had the bit in upsidedown.
- Miss Stephanie, thanks again
for last night's elegant soiree.
My brother so enjoyed tickling
the ivories on your new spinet.
- You and the Darryls
were invited too?
- Their Jerry Harmon medley
practically reached
religious proportions.
- I'm sure the only thing
missing from the evening was us.
- I'm sorry, d*ck.
Maybe if you had
some hidden talent
it would've warranted
an invitation.
- Well, you know, I-I play
the... the bongos a little.
- Could you fellows
make it over again tonight?
Right now, my dinner
party sounds like death.
- Okay.
- Thanks.
- Okay, Joanna,
chicken Kiev for eight.
- Better make that for nine.
Sometimes Darryl likes to
bring his imaginary friend Lionel
to these affairs.
- Oh, wonderful. I'm
always looking for an excuse
to spend an entire
day in a hot kitchen.
- Then this must
be your lucky day.
- Say hey, one and all!
Me and mine are off to the mall.
- Can't you...
you just say "Hi"?
- Not when this slap-happy pappy
is charged for charging.
The spring infantware line is in
and I want to scoop
up a sack full of those
baby Yves St Laurent stretchies.
- Michael, don't you
think you're overindulging
baby Stephanie just a tiny bit?
- Thanks for the
morning chuckle, Jo-Jo.
- Ha ha ha.
- Oh, by the way, Michael.
We're having
another party tonight.
d*ck and Joanna
invited themselves over.
- Dull as Arenaville.
Then again, they did
give us our casa for nada.
- 7-ish?
- The mall doesn't close till
10-ish. How about 11-ish?
- 11-ish? Pretty late-ish.
- Oh, what the heck. I
mean, d-doesn't everyone
eat dinner watching Carson?
Ish?
- It's nearly midnight,
c-can't we eat?
- And insult our
host and hostess?
- Our host hasn't
even showed up yet
and our hostess is upstairs
soaking i-in a damn bubble bath.
- Okay, who wants another hit?
- Fill it to the top, Pop.
- How I do savor the
'66 Chateau la Tour.
A bit pricey but, ooh,
that nutty bouquet.
- Oh, down so soon, Stephanie?
You've only been
soaking for an hour.
- Well, I knew I
had guests waiting.
Joanna, I know you
don't get out much,
but is this how we
dress for a dinner party?
- See, Joanna, I told
you, you should have worn
a towel on your head.
- Apparently that
Jack-in-the-box
has tickled my siblings'
collective fancies.
An element of suspense
followed by an
element of surprise.
The same device
exploited by Hitchcock
in his overly spoofed
1960 thriller, Psycho.
- Sorry I'm so tardy.
Mr. Marky's Baby Boutique
had a midnight madness sale.
- Oh, Michael, you
look exhausted.
Why don't we do this
party thing another time?
- But, Cuppers, all your work.
- Oh, don't think about that.
We can do it all again
tomorrow night, right Joanna?
- You want us to leave?
- Well, yes, it's
after midnight.
Some of us have
work in the morning.
Oh, baby is so pretty.
Yes, you are.
Oh yes, you are.
- Well, glad I had
that late lunch at 9.30.
- We'll grab a burger
at Jack-in-the-Box.
- Tomorrow night,
what about seafood?
- Why the hell not?
- Be careful, d*ck,
you're about to trip over
baby's first cappuccino maker.
- You know, Michael, if you
keep buying the baby all this stuff,
sh-she'll grow up to be a
spoiled monster like, um...
you know, uh, some
character on a... on a TV show.
- But I happen to like
characters on TV shows.
Except for that Mrs.
Roper on Three's Company.
I still can't look at a muumuu
without thinking of
that horny woman.
- Well, since you completely
miss my point, I'll be leaving.
- What does Dr. d*ck know?
Nothing wrong with
spoiling your kid.
Is there?
- Baby is so pretty.
Yes, I am.
Oh yes, I am.
- Hi baby Steph. Daddy's home.
- Yay! You look so pale.
Have you been selling
your blood again?
- My last pint.
- Oh, goody! Where's my present?
- Here you go, princess!
- A cashmere sweater?
And it's so expensive.
It's a good thing
you're working five jobs
and Mommy's cleaning
toilets at the all-new 2000-room
George Utley Stratford
Inn and Casino.
- Well, that still
didn't cover the cost.
I had to sell my spleen
to buy you that one.
- That's okay, Daddy.
Everybody has two spleens.
- No, everybody has
two kidneys. Except me.
- Oh, that's right.
You sold one of yours
to buy me that beautiful
graduation sweater.
- By the by, where
is that swell sweater
I sent you from Sweden, sweetie?
- Well, let's see.
It must be around
here someplace.
I really should
start labeling these.
- Honey, remember
how I vowed never to rest
until you owned every
cashmere sweater in the world?
- Of course, Daddy.
You put it in writing.
- Well, this last one makes
your collection complete,
and my job is done.
Are you happy, sweetie?
- Oh, Daddy!
I'm the happiest
girl in the world!
Of course, I'd be
even happier if I had...
every shoe in the world.
- Oh no!
- Aren't I Daddy's little girl?
- Yes, honey, but
Daddy's all out of blood.
- Then make some more.
- I'm not sure I can
without a spleen.
- I want pumps, slingbacks,
penny loafers, sandals...
- No.
- Boots...
- No.
- Slippers, wedges...
- No.
- Space boots, espadrilles...
- No!
- Walking shoes...
- No!
- Jogging shoes...
- No!
- Running shoes...
- No!
- High tops...
- No!
- Low tops... medium tops...
- No!
- Hush puppies!
- No. No!
No! No!
No!
Daddy's little girl.
Daddy's little ghoul.
- "Local officials report sharp
decline in mouse population."
- On one hand, there
are more cats in this town.
On the other, there are
fewer mice in this town.
- There almost... almost
seems to be a connection.
- Hi.
- Just... just hi?
- Oh, d*ck Doc, you were right.
Last night I dreamed a
little dream of little Steph.
She grew up to be a pouty,
albeit pretty, prima donna.
She was like Evita,
Leona, Imelda.
- Joanna.
Maybe I don't get this list.
- Maybe... maybe not, George.
- Granted, I admire a
healthy dose of selfishness
as much as the
next egocentric, but
all this clothes horsie did
was take, take, take, take, take.
- And, of course, all that
you and Stephanie do
is just take, take, take.
- See the difference?
- Night and day.
- My opinion might
not mean much,
seeing I'm a childless old
bachelor with bum knees
and a trunk full
of broken dreams.
- Can we zip this
along, G. Geezer?
- Right. Maybe you
shouldn't spoil baby Steph.
- But how else can
I buy the affection
of my post-fetal femme fatale?
- You don't have to buy
it. Just spend time with her.
Take her... take
her to the park.
- Park?
- You know, that... That
thing across the street
with... with grass
and... and rocks.
- Grass?
- Rocks?
- Think of a park
as, um... God's mall.
- Sort of a green
galleria. Go, man, go.
- Well, a-a park has swings
to play on and hills to climb.
- Hills.
- Let's see, uh...
They are like, uh,
out-of-order escalators.
- Screeching tires, this
six-cylinder cerebellum
just did a 180!
From now on, we'll
go barefoot in the park
and find splendor in the grass
and picnic under
the yum-yum tree,
but please don't
eat the daisies!
- The Poseidon Adventure!
d*ck, did I just miss
the point of another list?
- Yup.
- The way I figure it, the
rise in the cat population
has something to do
with the decline of
the mouse population.
- My brothers
scoff at your theory.
They blame the decline
in the mouse population
on their wildly successful line
of rodent skin
coats and mufflers.
- "Elegant mouse,
rat, and weasel skins
"for the discriminating buyer
"who's tired of
wearing... feathers."
Well, I know I'm pretty
bored with my chicken hat.
- Well, I'm not
waiting any longer.
I'm going to serve dinner
before my crabcakes burn.
- Is Michael here yet?
- Probably still out
looking at trees.
- Trees?
You mean, like they
have in those park things?
- Actually, Michael
took little Steph
to one of those park
things, you know,
to show her the... the
best things in life are free.
- Now, who would put a
stupid idea like that in his head?
- How... how does Joanna
get those mashed potatoes
so... so darned fluffy?
- Home again, home again,
jiggity jog. Sorry I'm late.
I'm late for a very
important date.
- Michael, you have shredded
green stuff on your Guccis.
You have been to one
of those park things.
- No more shopping
sprees for our little shiksa.
Wilderness. The good earth.
The lilies of the field.
- The g*ns of Navarone.
- Michael, what's
wrong with you?
Have you forgotten
our vow of materialism?
- But, muffin, I had a dream.
I've been to the mountain.
- This is no time to
quote Shakespeare.
Michael, read my
perfectly-lined lips:
No more park things.
Who knows what horrible
effect it could have on our child.
- My mother used to take
me to one of those park things
all the time.
- You see?
- Well, a lot you
care about my spleen!
- All right, let's eat.
- Will you look at the time?
- Imagine how much fun one
of these dinner parties would be
if we actually ate dinner.
- I agree, Darryl.
This is eerily reminiscent
of our all-naked production
of Edward Albee's Who's
Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
- Now somebody's going
to enjoy this damn meal.
Hm, those crabcakes
look delicious.
- Could my Cuppers be correct?
Is it wrong to nurture
my nibblet with nature?
- More wine? Oh, thank
you, yes, I'd love some.
Well, maybe just half a glass.
I don't want to get tipsy
and start talking to myself.
Do I? No.
- Hi, baby Steph, I'm... home?
What have you done
to our carriage house?
- Why, Papa, I've turned
it into a soup kitchen
for the unfortunates
of this world.
- Oh, baby Steph,
you're getting worse.
First it was the Peace Corps
and VISTA and Greenpeace.
- Ah, yes. Remember
the harpoon I took
in my thigh from that
Japanese whaling ship?
- You're a gift
from God, blondie.
- No, you are, sir.
- Why are you
doing this to yourself?
- Oh, Papa, I just want to
make the world a better place.
- Then put on a designer
dress and some eyeliner, please.
- But, Papa, those are
material possessions.
I know the best
things in life are free.
- Who taught you that claptrap?
- Why, you did, when
I was two months old
and you took me
to that park thing.
- Damn that d*ck. I lied.
Look, the best things in life
cost lots and lots of money.
Did you get the dozen
cashmere sweaters
I sent you from Scotland?
- Ah, yes.
And I hope they're from
naturally shedded goats.
Not ones that were
sheared against their will.
- Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure, sure.
Here, look. Here's two more.
- Oh, they're lovely.
- Wait, you're... no, you...
- Oh, very uptown.
- But not so dressy you
can't wear it downtown.
- Baby Steph, I
order you to stop
giving away your pretty things.
- Who needs expensive clothing?
- You do!
- Oh, Papa, virtue
is its own reward.
- Bite your tongue, young
lady! If you insist on disobeying,
I'm just going to have to
buy you more sweaters.
- I'll just give them away.
- Then I'll buy you shoes.
- I'll just give them away.
- Then I'll buy you hats.
- I'll just give them away.
- Then I'll buy you dresses!
- I'll just give them away!
- Then I'll buy you furs!
- Ew!
- I meant fake furs.
- I'll just give them away.
Oh, Papa, can't you get
this through your head?
I don't need possessions
to make me happy.
Soup's on, boys!
- Your sweaters!
Your sweaters!
These are petite! These
men are all medium.
You're a large!
No! No!
These pastels are
wrong for your skin tones.
Please, no!
Nooooo!
- What's in the
evening paper, George?
- Oh, the usual.
w*r. Politics. Cats.
You know, maybe I'll get a cat.
According to the paper
they're supposed to be, quote,
"soft and warm and furry."
- George, if that's
what you want,
I'll give you one of
Joanna's sweaters.
- Hm, I'll have
to think about it.
Let's see.
One will look good wrapped
around my shoulders,
the other has a V-neck.
- There you are.
- And here I go.
Catch the lights
on your way out.
- Halt! Harken to my
tale of woe, good knight.
- Goodnight!
- d*ck, wait.
Last night I had a Nightmare
on Baby Steph Street, Part 2.
I denied my bubeleh her booty
and she grew up to be
a kind-to-mankind, man.
- Kids of the future.
- d*ck, she wasn't
wearing makeup and...
she was an idealist.
- Oh, my God, no.
Michael, obviously,
you're going to
have to compromise.
You know, don't... don't
deprive Stephanie of everything
but at the same time, don't...
don't give her too much.
- And take the chance she
won't be gorgeous, Dickens?
Forget it, Fenster.
I'm spoiling my
spawned one silly.
- Exactly what I'd do.
- I just have to convince
my spousal spitfire
to take me back.
I got it! I'll just plead
temporary insanity
on the grounds
that I listened to you!
I'll just tell her I was
stir-crazy, I was bananas.
That this one flew
over the cuckoo's nest.
- The Blob!
- Go to bed, George.
- Goodnight, d*ck.
- Goodnight, George.
- Meow.
08x18 - Daddy's Little Girl
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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.
d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.