02x28 - The Bird's Last Jest

[bunniefuu]

We have previously seen in a fancy
new restaurant run by an old friend...

a gay dinner party...

interrupted by a shocking
and senseless theft.

Caught red-handed.

Too red-handed. It could have
been a plot. Better call Batman.

Strange, he wants
to be arrested.

So let him go.

Spy on him, find out his plans.

Cold-blooded m*rder.

A fake. Another attempt
to get into the pen.

What? A super-crook
like him in a mere city jail?

What's his scheme?

Got it. He wanted to contact
a forger who's doing time.

But Penguin broke out of jail.

Snatched Chief
O'Hara as a hostage.

Challenged the Dynamic
Duo to a fair duel.

A fair duel? With
that crooked bird?

O'Hara in a trunk.

Deadly Penguin g*ns waiting.

High-voltage electric
cables into the pool.

Shut your eyes.
Hold your breath.

In just one minute, the
g*nf*re is going to blast.

Look! That trunk on the slide.

Push it.

- Holy Davy Jones!
- Hold it.

This could be a deathtrap.

- Fire!
- Down! Bat Shield.

Holy Guadalcanal,
Batman. What now?

Stay calm. Let's assess
this desperate situation.

Dollars to doughnuts,
Chief O'Hara's in that trunk.

And look! There's Penguin
at that electric switch.

Right. First thing...

drive the bird away
with a Bat-pellet.

Nice eye, Batman.

No time for
compliments, I'm afraid.

Let's advance our Bat Shield
through this deadly g*nf*re.

- Make for those big electric cables.
- Right you are.

What do we do? Cut them
with our Insulated Bat-clippers?

On the contrary. I'll reverse the
polarity with my special Bat-inverser.

Oh! I'm blinded.

Those dratted bat fellas.

Watch it. Someone's getting
back to that electric switch.

Indeed. Just as I'd
hoped. Get back.

All right, fry, Chief O'Hara.

You fry and sizzle and boil.

Holy levitation. How
did that happen?

Simple. By reversing
the polarity of the cables...

I transformed the swimming
pool into a gigantic antimagnet.

It repelled the
metal of the trunk.

Curses. We're out of amm*nit*on!

It's a trick to get us out
from behind our Bat Shield.

- No trick, Robin. They are out of amm*nit*on.
- How do you know?

Easy. I've been counting
their b*ll*ts. At them.

Surrender, you criminals.

- Up with your flippers!
- Quack.

Open the trunk.
Release Chief O'Hara.

Roger.

- Are you all right?
- Whew.

Drat it! It's most irritating.

A perfect plot gone awry.

It'll happen to the criminal
every time, Penguin.

Get set for a short flight.

- Next stop for you, the bar of justice.
- Quack.

Next case, bailiff.

An arraignment, Your Honor.
Mr. Penguin and his rascally restaurateurs.

- On what charge?
- Various, Your Honor.

"Kidnapping of a police chief...

illegal electrification
of a swimming pool...

littering public property
with machine g*n cartridges...

without proper
license therefore...

attempted m*rder,
mayhem, battery...

and compound as*ault."

Dear me, most serious.

Where's Mr. Jefferson
Hamfurter, the district attorney?

With your permission,
Judge Moot...

Mr. Hamfurter has asked
me to represent the people.

Of course. It will be
an honor, Batman.

Will the prisoner Penguin
rise and state how he pleads?

In the immortal
phrase of Émile Zola:

J'accuse!

What? You accuse?

Indeed, Your Honor.

I accuse Batman and Robin...

and the Gotham City
Police Department...

with conspiracy to deprive
me of my lawful rights.

You got that?

On what facts do you base
your grave charge, Mr. Penguin?

Well, early yesterday
evening, Your Honor...

I was apprehended in the act
of heisting a diamond bracelet...

from the wrist of one
Mrs. Harriet Cooper.

And although my
guilt was manifest...

Batman and Robin
prevented my arrest.

Astonishing. What
do you say, Batman?

It's quite true, Your Honor.

I felt in this
peculiar situation...

He felt, he felt!

Under what do we
live in Gotham City, sir?

We live under a code of law...

or do we live under a
costumed madman's feelings?

Point well taken, Mr. Penguin.

Thank you, Your Honor.

- Your Honor, I object to...
- Objection overruled.

Continue, Mr. Penguin.

Thank you, sir.

As a law-breaking citizen...

I had and I have a
clear right of admission...

into the Gotham
State Penitentiary.

Quite so. Quite so.

Now, deprived of those
rights, I had no other recourse...

but to protect myself by
any means at my disposal.

Hmm. Mm.

In other words, the acts
of which you're accused...

were merely a citizen's reaction
to illegal police conspiracy?

Solomon himself could've put it
in no neater nutshell, Your Honor.

But, Your Honor,
kidnapping, mayhem...

the attempted drowning
of our beloved police chief.

Holy flip-flop, what's
happened to justice?

You call attempted mayhem
a "normal citizen's reaction"?

Enough, Boy Wonder. I fear you're
out of your depth in these thorny matters.

Way, way out.

Ahem. Now, our code of law is
the cornerstone of our society.

Whenever it is violated by
those sworn to uphold it...

which you clearly did, Batman...

then what recourse has
the humble citizen but action?

Now, which of us is
to cast the first stone?

We've been outwitted, Robin.

It's not fair. Let's fight.

Another day, another way.

Your Honor, the people
withdraw their case.

Very well. Dismiss the charges.

Release Mr. Penguin and
his rascally restaurateurs.

Do you mean that you are not
sending me to the state pen?

No. Your eloquence has
gained you freedom, Mr. Penguin.

Now fly the straight and
narrow path forevermore.

Faugh.

This is one plan
Penguin won't twist.

There. That ought to do it.

Remarkable indeed, sir.

You can say that again. I bet
Batman's the only one in the world...

with a hand steady enough
to paint false fingerprints.

Come, come, Robin,
don't exaggerate.

All it takes is a little
practice and a bit of patience.

Fortunate the criminal classes
don't realize the possibilities.

It wouldn't help them
if they did, Alfred.

The poor wretches are
addicted to tobacco and alcohol.

They lack the nerve
control for this sort of work.

You know your role?

I've committed it to
memory by rote, sir.

So proceed to The
Penguin's Nest. Good luck.

- It's a privilege to be of help, sir.
Good day. BATMAN: Ah, ah, ah.

Don't touch anything for a minute
and 23 seconds. Remember.

Very good, sir. Yes.

Robin, would you get me police headquarters
via the special tip line, please?

Roger.

- It's ringing.
- Good.

Police headquarters.

This is a friend speaking.

There's trouble at Table 7.

What now? Some nitwit
complaining about a fly in his caviar?

- Police trouble.
- Police? What do you mean?

That bonehead chief flatfoot.

The one that we tried to bump
off in the trunk. Better have a look.

But, my dear chap...

Don't you "dear chap"
me, Mr. Quill-Pen Quertch.

- "Quill-Pen Quertch"?
- Who's he?

Heh-heh-heh. My
pretty brainless birdie...

he's merely the most brilliant
criminal penman who ever lived.

What an astonishing
stroke of luck.

Get out of town, Quill-Pen.

As St. Paddy said to the
snakes in dear old Ireland, "Out."

I give you three hours.

Or is it too neat to
be a stroke of luck?

You're right. It
might be a trap.

Chickadee, get the
gentleman's fingerprints.

Mr. Dee, come with
me. Quack, quack.

Ah, fingerprints.

Famous Forgers, International.

- Ah! Here we are.
- His water glass, Pengy.

Well done, my sweet.

Mm-hm.

Right index finger.

Can you read me Quertch's
classification in the file?

"Twelve-R-seven-one-Q-six."

seven-one-Q-six.

Eureka!

It's Quill-Pen, after all. Shh.

Your host and
colleague, Mr. Quertch.

That brainy bird of
prey, the Penguin.

- I'm honored, Comrade Penguin.
- Heh, heh.

Oh, yeah, that's right.

Now, uh, allow me to suggest...

a mutually profitable
collaboration.

By all means, old bird.

What's the setup?

You see, it happens that I
have very cleverly got hold of...

Curious. ALFRED: Huh?

Uh, I have a strange feeling that I
have seen you somewhere before...

- Mr. Quertch.
- Heh.

Well, perhaps my... My phiz
in the Rogue's Gallery, what?

No, I don't think so.

Great heavenly ice floes!

Mercy me! Oh, the
poor man has fainted.

Ladies and gentlemen,
friends of The Penguin's Nest...

I regret to announce the
outbreak of a sudden epidemic:

Moldavian food poisoning.

I suggest, while you can...

run for your lives to your
favorite family physician.

- What's happened?
- Who is he, Pengy?

He's an impostor.

I recognize him as a busybody who
has stumbled into my stew before.

His name is Alfred.

He is the faithful butler of
the millionaire Bruce Wayne.

I don't like it.

He should have checked
in five minutes ago.

Gosh, do you think Penguin's
seen through our ploy?

I don't know.

But I may have made a grave mistake
in sending Alfred to that devil's lair.

Come on, Robin, quick!

I don't get it. Why should Bruce Wayne's
butler be wearing a set of phony fingerprints?

Alas, it's too simple.

See, Mr. Wayne is a very
prominent bank director...

and they have got wind of my
super-crooked forgery scheme...

and this is a counterplot laid by
the Gotham City League of Bankers.

- Yeah. Yeah, that figures.
- So, what do we do?

I am brainy. I am
nimble. I am versatile.

This Bruce Wayne will pay
dearly for his clumsy interfer...

Mr. Blue. Mr. Blue.

I want you to prepare
50 pounds of piecrust.

We are going to make a
gigantic butler pie. Heh!

Sinister.

This could be a crude
attempt to throw us off.

There's no one
in the dining room.

There may be someone
in the kitchen. Let's find out.

Alfred's bowler.

Heavily dusted
with pastry flour.

Holy chocolate éclair.
What can it mean, Batman?

I scarcely dare think.

I fear it's too grim.

Who are you? What's
the meaning of this?

It's a catered affair, madam.

- In honor of Mr. Bruce Wayne. Is he home?
- No.

We'll wait.

You get out of here. You
get out of here at once.

Shoo, you hideous
creatures! Shoo!

Answer it.

Answer it.

Hello?

Hi there, Aunt
Harriet. It's d*ck.

Bruce and I were just wondering if
there's anything new around the house.

Well, yes, I'd say
there certainly is.

Eh. Hello? This
is Mr. P. N. Guin.

- Penguin, you...
- Careful. You're d*ck Grayson.

You mean the Penguin?

The famous criminal
I've read so much about?

That's who I mean, Dicky boy.

And you better tell your guardian, Mr. Wayne,
that if he wants to see Alfred alive...

he'd better hurry home fast.

Quick. To the Batmobile.

Ah, there you are, Mr. Wayne.
Good day, Mr. Wayne.

And good day, my boy. Welcome.
Welcome, the both of you. Heh.

- Why, what an extraordinary pastry.
- The biggest I've ever seen.

Yes, its name is
Humble Pie, Mr. Wayne.

- And you are about to eat it.
- You don't say.

Yes. Mr. Blue, prepare
to light the burner.

Now, inside that pie
is Quill-Pen Quertch...

the famous British forger.

- Why, you...
- Steady, d*ck, I'll handle this.

And he will be cooked
before your very eyes...

millionaire Bruce Wayne,
the banker's friend.

Unless you compensate me...

to the tune of $1
million cash. Now.

A million.

I believe I have that sum on hand
in the small wall safe in my study.

Come on, I'll
help you get it out.

Turn off the a*t*matic
Costume Change Device.

Costume Device off.

Quickly.

Now, a small tricky charade
to preserve our secret identities.

- Take your cues from me.
- Roger.

Look, d*ck.

Good gravy, d*ck, coming
through that window.

Why, Bruce, isn't that
Batman and Robin, Bruce?

It certainly is, d*ck.

Go on and get them,
Batman and Robin.

We'll just be out here so
as not to be in your way.

Nice.

Curse it!

We have you this time, Penguin.

We planted a tiny homing device in your
hat. We've been tracking you relentlessly.

Up with your flippers.

Surrender that gigantic pie.

To the fray, my
rascally restaurateurs!

Stop, Batman! Stop or I
blow the lady's brains out!

Batman... Oh!

Well hit, madam.

Quickly, down and up the
Batpoles before they wake.

- Ah.
- Good gravy.

That must've
been quite a battle.

Yes, indeed, sir. Too
bad you missed it.

Where are they, Alfred? I'd
like to give them my thanks.

They departed through the
window, sir, in some haste.

Oh, and, sir, they asked
me to give you a message.

Should you ever again come up
against such a criminal as the Penguin...

don't endeavor to capture
him yourselves. Call the police.

- Quack.
- The job of crime-fighting is theirs.

Faugh!

There you are. Only one.

Quack. Triumph at last. We're
being sent to the state pen.

Rendezvous with Ballpoint
Baxter in the next cell.

- You still got the handwriting samples, Pengy?
- Of course I do.

In the handle of
my tricky umbrella.

- Ha-ha-ha.
- Oh.

- Good morning, commissioner.
- Oh, hello, Bruce.

Has my man arrived?

He should have been here
by now. O'Hara went to get him.

Oh. Here he is now.

Ballpoint.

Ballpoint Baxter?

That's right, Mr. Penguin.
I've just secured him a parole.

Mr. Baxter's going to
teach penmanship...

in one of the Wayne Foundation
camps for underprivileged children.

Oh, no. No.

What about the
underprivileged criminal?

All right, you crooked
birds, let's get moving.

Quack. O'HARA: Come on.

Ballpoint. Ballpoint.
Ballpoint, don't leave me.

All right, come on. The bus is
ready to take you to the state pen.

Come on, Mr. Baxter,
an honest life awaits.

One I'm sure you'll
find very, very satisfying.