Original subtitles

Woman on radio: Robbery in progress.

Mitchell Flute: Detective Flute is on it,

Detective... Mitchell Flute.

Hey, dispatch, sure got a sweet voice.

You new? Don't bother, Flute.

I've been warned that you are quite the ladies' man.

I don't know who told you that,

but your eyes sure sound beautiful.

Nice try, but-- wait. Why am I naked?

I'll tell you over breakfast.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I got to slide across a hood

and knock a guy out with one punch.

Uh!

Well done.

Can I help you with something?

I could use someone like you

in my secret crime fighting organization.

What's the catch?

You'll have to leave your family.

Now I know that--

Oh. You're gone.

Your pop's got a hell of an opportunity

to go town to town fighting crime in tight jeans.

I got to take it, Marvin.

So you're just gonna leave me and Junior?

Come on, now. I'm not a monster.

Junior's coming with me.

I knew it. You've always loved him more than me.

Hey, that's not true.

In fact, you'd be my first choice if he wasn't available.

Ohh. Thanks, Dad.

I'll be back soon, Sport-o.

And when I do, I'll teach you how to play ball.

Let's go, Junior. You got it, Dad.

I can't wait for him any longer.

Let me know if a strange older man shows up.

Marvin Flute: Ugh. How did I go from murders

to mopping up a boring bank robbery?

What's next, solving CAPTCHAs? God. I hope not.

I've literally never gotten one right.

Is the driver part of the motorcycle?

Judging from the markings here,

they got into the vault using heavy machinery.

Sorry. "Heavy's" offensive.

I meant big, beautiful machinery.

Who's in charge of this investigation?

I am. Who are you,

man inexplicably in shadow on a bright day?

I'm 190 pounds of dry-aged, grass-choked,

grade-A certified beefcake...

but you can call me Mitchell.

Daddy. Hee hee!

I'm sorry. You are...?

Ha! Good one, Dad! Oh, Sport-o!

I just didn't recognize you because you got so darn big.

My doctor says all my numbers are really high.

What, no hug for me, little brother?

Junior.

I missed you, buddy boy.

Go on. Give your brother a hug.

I see you're still stupid.

I smell you're still stinky.

Stop! Stupid jerk! Let go! Dad!

Oh, he's crying because he missed me.

Wait.

Your brother's a car? Not just any car.

This here is Junior.

He's loaded with the coolest technology 1985 had to offer--

T-tops, six lighters,

and a back seat big enough for one handsome man

and the lucky waitress he picked up that night.

Dad's had a ton of sex inside me.

And on your hood. Heh heh!

And this is OK because he's a car?

So you came back here just to see me?

Of course I did.

And I'm investigating a string of bank robberies

across the country.

But I'm mainly here to see you

and also mainly to solve this case.

If you want, you can come back to the office

and we can, like, share clues and leads

and, like, you can, like, meet my friends and stuff

or whatever.

Sounds great, Chief-o.

Oh, hey, your fly's down.

It is? Bam!

Gas cap sack tap.

White families are weird.

Oh, God. I'm dying,

and I never got to shake Lena Dunham's hand

and thank her for her short window of bravery.

Mr. Flesh: Who cares about you?

What happens to me if you die? Do I come alive?

Do I become you? Aah. What a nightmare!

No offense. We gotta talk to your mom.

No! She's too overprotective.

Mr. Flesh: Then we better hurry and find your dad

while we're in the sweet spot

between breakfast, beer, and lunch--also beer. Come on.

Look, Dad, here's my award

for most property damage during a pursuit.

Uh-huh. You know, Tom Selleck

once complimented me on my chest hair at the airport.

As he should. It's very lush.

And that's when a whole turd

fell out of Flute's pant leg

during the Presidential Fitness Test.

What an absolute pooser. That's a--

Poop loser! Very funny.

Thank you. How the--

You're on my desk, Junior!

Oh, sorry. Did I crush your desky-wesky?

Mitchell Flute. This guy.

You two know each other? We worked together.

I used to call him Kemosabe, and he used to tell me to stop.

Many times. Where you been?

You know me.

Solving cases, kissing faces, and jumping cars

over drawbridges that are almost but not quite open,

too far to get across.

Mitchell's too humble, so I made this.

Welcome to the dangerous world

of a hero who was never there--

Mitchell Flute, a loner with fists of stone

and the hair of an aging secretary.

Finally free from his son

who shakes out full turds from his pant leg,

Mitchell vowed to help the helpless.

Assisting him along the way is his hot mechanic Ashley

until she turned 26 and had to be replaced.

Also, here's another pic of Flute shaking turds out

created by A.I. in the style of Wes Anderson.

Why is that in the video?

Heh! You boys.

Hey, I gotta clean the old spit valve on my meat horn,

but when I get back, remind me to tell you

about the time I bedded Mrs. America

after taking down three terrorists with a thumbtack

and a skunked can of Lowenbrau.

Look, I know what you're gonna say.

My dad is such a hunk, right?

Uh, that's not how you should describe a parent.

And didn't he abandon you?

What? No. Pay attention.

My dad wasn't the problem. Junior was.

He's the one who drove my dad away from me,

literally and the opposite one.

Imagine a son not having his father around at that age.

Dad, can I talk to you about something?

It's kind of important.

The most important thing in life is

a father connecting on a deep level with his son.

So please leave me alone, so I can connect with my father...

son.

You OK, Stan? You look absolutely crushed emotionally.

As your dad's partner, I'm very familiar with that look.

There's something I really need to talk to my dad about,

but it's private.

You can talk freely here.

Your dad's so abusive to us, we're practically family.

Well, last night, I sort of had a weird dream,

where everyone I knew was dead.

You were just having a nightmare.

But when I woke up,

there was a mess on the front of my pajama pants.

Come back. Flute!

Wait! Bad parenting ass.

Hope you enjoyed stealing Dad from me

because once he sees how good I am at detectiving,

he's gonna dump you off at a Carvana and stay with me.

I wouldn't try that if I were you.

You couldn't handle Dad.

Oh. Want to bet? I'll bet you my legs.

That's OK. I'm good with my 4 wheels and one dad.

Fine. Then what about this?

Oh, my hood ornament! I knew you stole it.

Solve the case and I'll give it back,

but if I solve it...

I'll leave town and you get Dad.

Deal. Jinx! Jinx. You owe me a Coke.

Jinx. You owe me a kiss.

And that's what happens when you lose a jinx.

What if you win it?

Ohh, I don't know why I kidnapped you.

All right, Junior, what you got?

I've indexed businesses with heavy machinery

able to rip off a bank wall-- No, no, no, no.

What you got for us tonight? Daddy's looking for love.

I have so much love to give.

Daddy's looking for sex, dummy.

Well, since you like waitresses, you should

try The Wet Noodle.

They're not the prettiest, but they're not the prettiest.

Heh. My boy gets me.

Take us there, Junior. Sounds great.

Did I ever tell you about the time

I bedded Mrs. America

after killing three terrorists with a thumbtack

and a skunked can of Lowenbrau?

A table for two... people. No cars.

Great. Well, while you two eat,

I'll check the heavy machinery rental shop.

Actually, maybe I'll help Junior.

Glad to see my boys getting along.

What's your name, doll?

Huh. You're crazy

if you think I'll ever let you drive me.

And you're crazy if you think anyone

would drive you now. "Now"?

Now that you're covered in seagulls.

Crouton attack!

Aah! Not the seagulls! Yes, yes.

Poop, my pretties. Poop... Ugh! Why? Ugh. Ohh...

Oh, great.

He's one of those spiral-drawing kids.

Look, we owe it to our community to help this kid

or we're gonna wind up with another Jake Paul.

As a lapsed/relapsed/ prolapsed Catholic,

you shouldn't talk about sex

until after you've had your third kid.

Don't worry. I'm downloading

a chronological history of sex off the internet

to help explain it to Stan.

I'm starting in the 1800s--

blowing kisses, tasteful decolletage, furtive glances.

Seriously? The human body is my specialty.

I'll handle this.

Hmm. Pornography used to be so artistic.

Whoa! Looks like razors haven't been invented yet.

Wait here while I go bond with a human

in a way you can't because you're a stupid car.

Hey, man, I'm also a man.

You want to shake hands because we both have them?

Oh, my God. Is that a classic car?

Wow. She's a beaut.

You ain't so bad yourself, Don.

Whoa! You can talk?

I can say all kinds of things, like "Suck it, Flute,"

and "I need the names of anyone that rented heavy machinery

from you this week."

Happy to give you that private info

if you'll let me look under the hood.

Yeah, you're looking at 250 cubic inches.

Damn! You're huge.

Yeah, well, I'm 5 1/2 clean.

Now, give me that list of names and a Mach Three Sensitive.

Ha!

Have fun on the ground, car.

Last one to the top has to french my tailpipe. Ha ha!

Uhh? Huh? Wait. Don't!

I know all the words to "All Too Well," ten-minute version.

Ow! Fire!

Ah, yes. Thank you.

Mmm.

Ah, ha ha ha! Got you back. Now please flip me over.

This is the morgue. I am dying!

Wynona, chuckling: No.

You are here to see that the human body is

a beautiful piece of engineering.

And it all starts with reproduction.

Mr. Flesh: Holy human centipede.

Sorry. Wrong body. Ha ha!

This guy was attacked by his pet chimp.

Anyway, this is where the genitals would be

if Bobo hadn't bitten them off.

Mr. Flesh: Don't worry.

This will be a pivotal part of the podcast

after you Menendez your parents.

All right. That's enough.

It's time to do things the old-fashioned way.

Watching "Deep Throat" now.

Still no sign of Nixon,

and I'm really praying that continues.

Well, none of those leads turned out.

Can wait to tell Dad how you beefed it.

Well, not if I tell him how you beefed it first.

Wait. Is that Dad?

Hey, Dad, um, are--are you feeling OK?

He's feeling great. This dawg's on a walk of shame.

Told you The Wet Noodle was a bronze mine.

What was her name?

I...don't remember.

Dad, I think you need something to eat.

I'm fine. Don't tell me what to do.

I wouldn't tell you what to do, Dad.

I believe in permissive childing.

You still got that butt banana?

He needs food. He's not thinking straight.

Oh, really? Then what's that?

Dad figured it out.

This is the heavy machinery we've been looking for.

Cross-checking the internet,

and they've had a rally in every city

where a bank's been robbed. Let's go.

You remember how many fingers she had?

That's how I know the waitresses' names.

Someone here robbed the bank, but which one?

Freeze. Police.

Gah! I can't see.

I won.

Looks like Dad and I will see you in another 30 years,

Flutie boy.

I doubt that based on my cholesterol numbers

and because I'm busting this perp.

Hey. What the...?

All right. Fine. You won.

But you need to understand, Dad didn't just choose me.

He needs me.

You're not that special.

You're just a talking car. Everything talks these days--

my phone, my doorbell, my son.

You don't understand.

No, you don't understand,

so let me put it in your language.

The tank's on E and there's not a gas station for miles.

You're a wreck, completely totaled.

Even NPR wouldn't take you as a tax-deductible donation

to keep quality independent programing on the air.

Your VIN number has been sanded down.

Stop it, stop it! You made your point.

Here's Mitchell's stuff.

Where's Junior going?

Who cares? It's just me and you now.

Uhh! Boy, this is heavy. What's in it?

Pills, CPAP machine, more pills.

Say, did I ever tell you about the time

I bedded a terrorist after I killed three Mrs. Americas

with a thumbtack and a skunked can of, um,

of, uh...

Lowenbrau?

Sounds good. Let's go get one.

Oh. Time to scrub Daddy.

And I'm not referring to "Shark Tank's"

number-one selling product, though you may need one,

because my adult diaper is full

and it does not smell Mr. Wonderful.

36, 37.

Wow. I didn't realize you had so many health issues.

Look, I know I wasn't there when you needed me,

and I appreciate you're here when I need you.

I love you.

I've been waiting my whole life

for you to say that to me.

Now come sit on Daddy's lap.

Hee hee! OK.

So what's underneath that shirt?

A butcher's diagram of a cow tattoo I got

after watching ten minutes of "The Bear."

But then I binged the rest, and now I want to get it removed.

Too much screaming. You don't have to work with your cousin.

OK. Come on, darling.

I'm not paying you to talk. I'm paying you to clap.

Now, when I was your age,

a boy learned this stuff by doing.

Stan, I want you to meet...

Vernadette.

Vernadette holds the record for the most arrests in Grimsburg.

She does it all-- petty theft, light arson,

instructional prostitution.

Hey, kid, you ready to become a--

a man?

Oh, Vernadette.

So did you two... you know?

Shucks! We was having way too much fun

on an all-new "Vernadette,"

Friday nights at 8/7 Central.

Junior, drunkenly: Keep the ethanol coming, man.

Say, you got a nice perm. Want to solve crimes?

I'll let you inside me.

Hey! I can't believe you cared more about winning a bet

to hurt me than telling me Dad was losing it.

I was trying to win the bet

to save you from finding out.

And were you saving me when you ruined my life

and ran away with Dad? Fine.

Look, I was happy he took me with him,

but it hasn't been as great as you think.

I mean, did we have incredible adventures? Sure.

Have we dabbled in every sexual experience,

including a devil's four-way with dad,

a Waffle House waitress, and her mid-size SUV? You bet.

Did it traumatize me? Ask my therapist.

Do I have a therapist?

No. Because my car insurance doesn't cover mental health.

I guess it wasn't so great being you either, huh?

You're too close to Dad and I'm not close enough.

It's been hard since Dad's health turned south,

but I didn't want you to see that.

I wanted you to remember him the way he was.

So you were trying to protect me?

Isn't that what big brothers do?

Thank you. Also, might be time to change your blades.

Thanks. So where is he?

I left Dad at home. Alone?!

Y--you saw how he wanders.

Oh...

According to my tracking map,

he's on the field at the monster truck event.

We gotta save Dad!

You're too drunk. I'll drive.

I've always dreamed of getting to drive--

Oh, my God! This seat is also a bedpan?

How often do you empty this?

Just drive.

Well, I guess we're as bad at parenting as Flute.

We can't be that bad.

The kid feels calm enough to sleep around us.

Aw. Cute kid. Wonder what he's dreaming about.

Dreaming?

Wake him up before it happens again.

I'd say shake him, but the last 20 years

are the first time in human history

where you can't touch a kid, no matter how rotten they are.

What the hell are you doing to Stan?

Oh, great. Now I gotta wash these, too?

I already washed his pajamas

after he slept on that yogurt tube last night.

Yogurt tube?

Yeah, he lost his last tooth,

so I put a Go-Gurt under his pillow

because I had blown the last of my cash on a horse

that was supposed to be a sure thing but turned out

to be a kiddie ride in front of a supermarket.

I'm not a perfect mother.

Perhaps we're not as bad as we thought.

Maybe parenting is just hard.

Not as hard as the stepmoms are making it.

That's not how homework works!

Dad!

And that'll do it for our monster truck show tonight.

Oh, thank goodness.

Which means it's time for Biggosaurus,

and he's hungry for some junky cars.

Vroom. Vroom. Meep-meep.

Vroom. Rrr!

Time for turbo boost.

Oops.

It's too dangerous. Jump out.

No! We're a team. No, we're a family.

No!

Oh, you can't hurt me.

I've seen my dad's anus.

Brother!

But we were just getting to know each other.

I had so many questions.

Like, do you get horny for other cars?

And, well, that was it,

but I'm sure there would have been more.

Just take care of Dad, and I'm actually...

into trains.

No, Junior. Please don't--

die.

Thanks for fixing Junior, Tisha. Happy birthday.

I know this is a rare moment of lucidity,

so I'm going to say it quick before it's gone.

I'm proud of you. You're a good man...

with a great rack.

I feel good as new.

Well, not quite.

My dad is such a hunk.

Ugh. I guess that does sound weird.

Mitchell Flute,

a lone crusader in a dangerous world

that has totally passed him by.

He and his car--mostly his car--

fight crime, help the helpless,

and no longer have sex in front of each other

because they've set up healthy boundaries.

So if you seek justice and you can find him

and it's within daylight hours

and there's not lots of memorizing involved,

you, too, can hire--

Should we pull over and...?

No.

Mitchell Flute.

Bento.