All language subtitles for The.Great.North.S04E12.1080p.WEB.H264-SuccessfulCrab

Get him, everybody! Get him!

Moon, get back here!

Don't think
I won't bite a child!

Aunt Dirt,
shoot anyone who follows me!

Consider it done.

Damn it, I'm out of bullets.

Snerts!

Yes, I won!

In your face
and your face and your face.

It's very strange
to get yelled at

by my teacher like this
in my own home.

I am not here as your teacher,

I am here as
your father's friend.

They've arrived.

48 delicious Coddingham
Creme Potatoes. Huzzah!

Give me now.

What the hell is
a Coddingham Creme Potato?

Jerry, it is the Cadillac of

potato-shaped holiday
novelty chocolates.

Minty, chocolatey,

and with little bits
of fried potato inside.

Intriguing.

We were gifted a box of them

on St. Patrick's Day years ago

when Kathleen
was having an online affair

with an Irish gentleman
on AOL Instant Messenger.

LuckyCharms69. Great guy.

And even though Kathleen's
virtual romance ended,

we all fell and remained deeply
in love with these treats.

But they are only
available in Ireland,

so I spend all year
combing eBay for them.

And you only got
one box for all of us?

Please have your resignation
letter and your father badge

on my desk in the morning, Beef.

To avoid a riot,
I shall hide these

until we can
properly divide them up.

Why weren't you at school
this week, Mr. Golovkin?

I mean, don't get me wrong,
I Go-loved it.

How dare you?

I know why he was out.

A bunch of the teachers
had lice.

- Ew!
- That's nasty.

Don't worry, I've been
to Nits & Giggles

and I have a clean bill
of hair health.

You realize you are literally
scratching your head right now?

Damn it.

Hello. Yes, sweetheart, I...

No, we haven't been listening.

Yep, yep. Okay, see you soon.

Beef, turn on the weather band.

The storm has been upgraded
to a category five.

Residents are urged to
shelter in place and take

all necessary precautions.

A storm?
Like a "snowed in" storm?

Mr. Golovkin,
can you drop me off?

I can't get stuck here
for this crap again.

When these guys get snowed in,

they go full
wonkers in the conkers.

Us? No.

But maybe someone should maybe
hide all the sharps.

No reason.

Come on, Mr. G, let's roll.

No.

Moon, the lights have
only been off for two seconds.

- Stop biting my legs.
- Fine.

Moon, not my beautiful butt.

Captain on deck.

What's this gonna be?

Dad, may I be the first
to say, sick fit.

Thank you, son.
As Jerry noted earlier,

during ice storms, blizzards,
and blackouts of all kinds,

we Tobins have indeed
been known to get a little...

Big silly style
in our head tanks?

Beautifully said, son.

But it wasn't until
the last one,

when we had guests,
that I realized

how shameful our behavior is.

So, as the captain
of this family,

I have come up
with a foolproof plan.

Okay, a plan could be good.

During this storm,
we will be dressing and acting

according to the rules of
the most efficiently regulated

maritime organization
in the world:

the Royal British Navy.

That's your idea?

Well, you know the saying:

"Any idea
my dad has is perfect."

There will be no chaos,
no Moon Courts...

What's Moon Court?

It's a court
ruled over by a child,

but all the adults
take it seriously.

Sustained.

There will also be

no eating of people,
no eating of sweets...

- What?
- What? I mutiny.

Me, too. That sucks, Dad.

No mutinies allowed.

Three healthy meals a day
will be provided.

Dad, you have been known
to actually get the most

loggins in the noggins
of any of us.

Yeah, like when
you became convinced

you had "the same illness

Tim Allen had
in The Santa Clause."

Or when you made us stay awake
for 36 hours to avoid

what you called "storm snakes"

who "feed on sleep."

Yes, during storms past,
I let myself go crazy,

but I assure you, this plan
will help me keep my mind right.

The Tobin household is now
a Royal British Navy vessel,

HMS Perfect Family.

I am her captain.

Moon is her first mate.

Don't try to butter me up.

Judy, you're first "looftenant,"
as the Brits say.

Ham, second "looftenant."

Honeybee and Wolf,
co-third "looftenants."

Yes, I'm my Dad's third.

Babe?

And to make up for last time,

Jerry shall take on

a comfortable role
as my best friend

and personal confidant.

Fine.

Golovkin, since you have lice,
you will be a barrel boy.

And what is a barrel boy?

A diseased boy in a barrel.

But since we have no barrel,

you can ride this out
in the brig.

We should burn his clothes, too.

Fine by me. My whole outfit
cost three dollars.

Perfect. Jerry, I offer you

this book and pen
for recordkeeping.

And I also offer you my
reassurance that we will all

act very normally
for the duration of the storm.

I do not believe you

and, in fact, think
you have already gone crazy.

Well, I can't wait
to prove you wrong.

Welcome aboard
the HMS Perfect Family, troops.

The voyage begins upon my bell.

Sail yeah.

What a fine, brisk day
at sea, is it not, Jerry?

Everything very calm,
very normal.

Yep, just one of those
normal days

dressing your children in
jaunty little sailor outfits

and pretending
the house is a ship.

Dad, I don't want
to get ahead of myself,

but so far this has been better

than slowly descending
into madness.

See? I told you all

that a little order
would go a long way.

Honestly, I was
worried about you, Dad,

but you know I love chores.

And usually by now

I'd have chugged two full
bottles of maple syrup,

and me and Judy
would be fist-fighting

about who was the best Bachelor.

- It was Brad Womack.
- It's Lorenzo Borghese.

This is why you're single.

Borghese? More like Barf-ghese.

Speaking of barfing,
I wouldn't mind

getting my hands on

all 48 of those
Coddingham Creme Potatoes.

Captain Father,
shall we set a course

to the Potato Creme Bay?

We don't need sugar,
First Mate Moon,

we need structure.

Jerry, take an entry
into the captain's log.

Day one aboard
the HMS Perfect Family.

We set sail mere hours ago,
and morale is high.

No signs of slappy fights,
scurvy, purple-nurples,

cannibalism, or Moon Court.

Even our louse-ridden
barrel boy is well cared for.

I daresay my plan is perfection.

Day two commences.

The sailors happily enjoy
a hearty breakfast

of plain oatmeal
and a refreshing glass

of room temperature water,

filling one and all
with both vim and vigor.

Meals are followed by exercise.

The lunchtime rations of
boiled chicken were generous,

as were the spirits of the crew.

I know this routine
is supposed to

keep our brains
from turning to goo,

but I'm starting to feel
like one of those animals

that runs on a wheel,
you know? Like a...

- Hamster?
- Yes, Judester?

No, I... Never mind.

Excuse me for a moment, sailors.

I must prepare
the afternoon's entertainment.

I agree with Ham.

All this boiled food
and cleaning

is not making me less restless.

Don't worry,
my cooped up Catherine,

Dad has absolutely
everything under control.

I don't think so.

How dare you not think so?

Guys, it is very obvious

that your dad is
slowly going mad.

Like Dad Dad? No.

He's specifically not
getting wobbled in his bobble.

Haven't you ever seen Mutiny
on the Bounty? Or-or Cast Away?

Your dad is seconds away
from frenching a volleyball.

Maritime lecture, ahoy.

Welcome, sailors, to
the captain's lecture series.

To properly swab,
first thing you'll need

is a bucket of hot, soapy water.

You want to dump
your mop into the bucket...

Soak up the hot, soapy water
with a mop

and a back-and-forth
swabbing-like fashion...

your azimuth compass

and set your mop's course
due north-northeast...

This is pure teak,

so you're gonna be sanding
with a hollystone...

He's been lecturing us
on swabbing for hours.

He just keeps repeating himself.
What is going on?

Something to say, "Looftenant"?

Just, you know,

there's a lot of swabbing
information happening here,

and I think we got it.

Well, then, let's put
our wet rags

where our mouths are.

In fact, tonight's meal
will be delayed

so that we can swab
the walls, the countertops,

the individual coins in the
swear jar, and the rafters.

Boy.

Guys, I think
Golovkin was right.

Maybe your dad is starting to
go a little, you know...

Master and Bananas?

I'm sure he has
a very good reason

for keeping a stuffed parrot
on his shoulder

and speaking with it
and sometimes kissing it.

What's that, Darius?

Good one, my fine bird.

Look, if Dad's getting a little
loose in the brain caboose,

maybe that's to our advantage.

Father?
On behalf of the crew,

I am humbly requesting
we each be allowed

one small treat
with our evening meal.

Perhaps one of
the Coddingham Creme Potatoes?

Ship's historian, best friend
and personal confidant?

Yes? Shall I get the potatoes?

No. Take a log/letter.

Dear First Mate Moon,
request denied.

You bastard.

Come on, Dad.

We've been trapped inside
for 51 hours.

Yeah. And all we are asking for
is one tiny, itty-bitty treat

to get us through
till the power comes back on.

And also to get our phones back

and not to do any more work
and no more lectures.

Absolutely not.
This is my voyage

and we will stay this course.

- Told you.
- Silence, Barrel Boy.

I'm noticing that the trim
around the baseboards

of the ship is dirty.

Let us clean it all
before bedtime.

Jerry, please go and get

a pack of toothbrushes
from the basement.

Pirates of the Crap-ibbean:

Curse of the What the Hell?

Dad, it's 4:00 in the morning.

It's time to scrub the galley.

Jerry, take a log.

Day three begins before dawn,

with all and sundry cheered
by my buoyant leadership.

The troops have

pleased me today, and so Darius,
my shoulder companion,

encouraged me to reconsider

- my dessert edict.
- Yes.

Dark chocolate?
That's disgusting.

It's basically a vegetable.

Now, if you could all excuse me,

I have a private captain's
matter to attend to.

Also please note that today,

when I was on the phone
with Mrs. Claus,

she told me
the snow snakes are back

and they don't like smiles.

So, just something
to keep in mind.

Okay, enough. That man
is full melon in the cerebellum.

This ends now.

Moon, what you doing, bud?

You can't kill Dad,
we've been over this.

No. God, no.

You sick son of a boat captain.

You ate 48 candy potatoes?

No, this isn't
what it looks like.

I found them like this.

Save it, Dad. I'm afraid
you've been caught brown-handed.

While your crew goes hungry,

you're gorging yourself
on Coddingham Creme Potatoes,

only available
on another continent

or the Potato Dark Web.

I didn't eat them, I swear.

I only came down here
to grab more swab supplies.

I thought, after your dessert,
we could swab each other

and the snakes.

And Mrs. Claus could use
a swabbing, if I'm honest.

Captain, we are relieving you

of your duties,
effective immediately.

What? You can't mean...

We can mean.

You say "potato,"
we say "mutiny-tah-tah-to."

And you know what?

I believe that I would
actually like to press charges.

- Me, too.
- And I.

You may have kept us
from going mad

but not from getting mad.

You said no Moon Court,

but you didn't say
no Moon Court-Martial.

You better lawyer up, pal.

Darius, don't say another word.

Order. Order.

This special
court-martial tribunal

is now called to order.

Ham, Judy, and Wolf Tobin,

who are the victims
of the defendant,

Captain Beef Tenderloin Tobin,

who is guilty.

You can't say I'm guilty
before the trial starts.

Overruled. Who will represent
the plaintiffs in this case?

- I will, Your Honor.
- Sustained.

And who will represent
this disgusting potato hog,

who is the worst and
very guilty, case dismissed?

No one? All right,

I shall proceed
with the sentencing to death.

Come on, somebody?
Jerry, please.

All right.

Court stenographer,
Diseased Barrel Boy,

please read the charges.

Captain Beef Tobin
stands here accused of being

a nasty little
potato hog, oink-oink.

- Sustained.
- Judge Moon,
if it pleases the court,

I have something to say.

I'll allow it, Barrel Boy.

I feel the need to point out
that it is usually

the mutineers who are court-
martialed and not the captain.

Is that so?

Well, if you're such a huge fan
of the captain,

why don't you join him
as a defendant?

- Wait, what?
- You are hereby charged

with being pretentious
and a teacher at my school.

Sustained.

Please sit right next
to my father,

- same chair.
- But he has lice.

Is that so?

Well, a trial on that matter
will be set

on the dumbteenth of stupid.

But who will be
the stenographer?

I'll do it.

A stowaway.

Aunt Dirt, where the hell
did you come from?

I came over to the main house

right after
the blizzard started,

but when I peeked my head
into the kitchen

and saw everyone
was doing chores

dressed as Scientologists,

I decided just to hide
in the panic room.

I had my gun, my flask,
my backup flask,

so I was all set.

But the flasks ran out,

and this seems kind of fun.
So now I'm in.

Sustained.
Aunt Dirt is recognized

as the court stenographer
and also the jury.

Motion to also be a publicly
intoxicated loudmouth?

So granted.

Yee-haw, your highness.

If there are no further motions
at this time,

The trial
of Beef Tenderloin Tobin

for being a horrible captain

and nasty spud piggy
is called to order.

Counselor Honeybee,
your opening statement, please.

Your Honor,
gentlelady of the jury.

- Present.
- Let me begin
by asking you a question.

What do we mean
when we say "potato pig"?

Webster's defines
"filthy potato pig" as follows:

a man with a red beard
and no soul

who used an ice storm to starve
and torture his own children,

their gorgeous wives...

Guilty as described.

The gorgeous wife's
extremely nice brother Jerry,

who would never hurt anyone
in this world,

- and him.
- Hey.

And while I sometimes say
"I rest my case" just for fun,

in this case I do rest my case

because every single person
in this room, except Aunt Dirt,

saw this little potato piggy

Beef Tobin down on all fours
just piggin' those potatoes,

slurping that potato slop,

- in his little piggy sty...
- Objection.

On what grounds?

I didn't do it.

You should've thought of that
before you did it.

So, in conclusion,

this little piggy
went to the basement,

this little piggy
ate chocolates,

and those
Coddingham Creme Potatoes

went wee-wee-wee
all the way to his stomach.

In your face,
and I do rest my case.

Your Honor, may I approach
the bench to kiss my wife?

Overruled. Jerry, your opening
and closing statements, please.

I call to the opening
and closing statement stand,

- Captain Beef Tobin.
- Objection.

He can't call a witness
during his opening statement.

That's hearsay, Your Honor.

I'll allow it. Dad,
please take the witness stand.

Now, Beef, you are, in fact,
just a man, is that right?

- Guilty.
- Objection.

I'll render the verdicts
around here.

Sustained.
And like any other man,

you like chocolates,

particularly novelty chocolates,
is that right?

I've been known to dabble

with the devil
in the brown dress, yes.

And so, you, as you admitted,
just a man,

had been at sea for three days,

burdened with
overwhelming responsibilities

and an ungrateful crew,
is that right?

Indeed. I was simply trying
to keep us all sane.

Even though Santa bit me,
and I'm slowly becoming him,

like Timothy Allen.

Darius was so worried.

Of course he was.

Aw, he's going for
the insanity defense?

Brilliant.

And under that kind of pressure,

you went down to the basement
to get the swabbing supplies,

but then there it was,

an unopened box of four dozen

Coddingham Creme Potatoes.

So you thought,
"What could be the harm?

I'll just have one."
But they're so good,

just the right balance

of chocolate
and minty cream filling

to soothe a warped mind,

that you just kept going back.

You didn't want to do it,
no, you did not,

but you were insane
from the storm

and from trying to take care
of all these

insubordinate scallywags.

Scallywags,
please murmur angrily.

These sailors you trusted,

that you loved like they were
your own children,

well, they hurt you,
didn't they, Captain Tobin?

- Didn't they?
- Yes.

It makes me sick.

They swabbed the deck,

but they couldn't swab
their own hearts.

In closing,
you must find Beef Tobin

not guilty
by reason of insanity.

Who could blame
this sad shell of a man

for seeking out a little bit
of chocolate-covered joy

in this crazy snowed-in world?

I know I can't. I won't!

It's like the
leprechaun's limerick

inscribed upon
the Creme Potato says,

"Potatoes are the root vegetable
of all happiness."

And I do rest my case.

I'm so sorry, potato papa.

We're gonna get you
the help you need.

Damn it, Jerry's good.

We will now move on
to sentencing.

Moon, wait, I have new evidence.

I know who ate the potatoes.

It was you, Jerry.

No, don't listen to this man.

Three days ago,
when the potatoes came,

Jerry said he'd never
seen one before.

The only way he would know
about the leprechaun's limerick

would be if he ate
the potatoes himself.

- Dang.
- Order.

Order. Order me some popcorn
'cause this is getting good.

The trial of Jerry Shaw
for stealing

and eating Coddingham Creme
Potatoes is now in session.

Jerry, how do you plead?

Not guilty. I'm Jerry.

As was stated earlier,
I never do anything wrong.

Liar! Murderer!

Judy, don't, it's not worth it.
That's not how we get justice.

Who will be representing
Mr. Shaw?

I'll take the case,
but if it pleases the court,

I'll be pretending
to be my favorite lawyer,

the lead character
from the 1961 TV show

Shirley Dunn,
Lady Lawyer with a Gun.

She waves her gun around a lot
and occasionally shoots a juror.

Court is pleased. Continue.

Honeybee,
your opening statement.

Same statements as before,

but about my brother this time.

Very good.
Lady Lawyer, you're up.

The defense rests.

Hey, you're supposed
to defend me.

No can do, buckaroo.
I saw you eating those potatoes.

The court will now gasp.

Last night I went down to the
basement looking for cigarettes

and nudie mags,
and that's when I saw...

Toothbrushes, toothbrushes...
Ooh.

Well, top of the morning to me.

You all think I'm so sweet.

Perfect little angel baby Jerry

would never eat
a stolen candy potato.

That's how I got away
with it for so long.

- It wasn't that long.
- I did it because of him!

Beef, you promised me a better
Tobin snowed-in experience,

and this was not that.

I was just sitting around,
taking your logs,

while you slowly went bonkers

in every single tonker
you possessed.

Yes, I ate the potatoes
with my actual mouth,

but I was driven to do it
by Beef.

They might as well be
swimming around in his tummy.

I'm not guilty by reason
of Beef being a bad captain,

and, in closing,
I put Beef back on trial.

He is guilty. The end.

- So ordered.
- What?

Honeybee, your opening
and closing statements.

Same statement as last time
and the other time,

but about Beef again.

In your face,
and I rest my case.

Will anyone defend my father,
the potato pig?

- I will act as my own counsel.
- Proceed.

Yes, I admit it.

This was probably the most crazy
I ever acted.

In fact, I was probably
literally nuts

from the moment I came in here

in my little white suit.

I knew it!

And I do, in fact,
sentence myself to death.

So granted.

But, before I walk the plank,

I must make my real confession.

I told a rank and abhorrent lie
a few days ago,

and I cannot die
with that sin upon my soul.

There are, in fact,

a whole bunch more potatoes
in the basement

that I was hoarding for myself,
and I cannot...

Court adjourned.

Aunt Dirt,
shoot anyone who follows me.

Consider it done. Shirley Dunn.

Moon, don't you dare
eat those potatoes.

Damn it, I'm out of bullets.

Get him, everybody, get him.

Moon, get back here.

Don't think I won't bite
a child.

No, come on.
Give me those potatoes.

Oop. Hey. Power's back on.

I definitely still have lice.

I believe we all do.

Well, it seems
my British Royal Navy idea

worked pretty well after all.

Beef, respectfully,

what the hell
are you talking about?

No one died, no one ate anyone,

and the house is very clean.

Pretty good, right, guys?

Yeah, Dad, best storm yet.

Terrific.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I have to go see
how the elves are doing.

It's only a few days
till Christmas,

and we are way behind
on wooden ducks.

Dad, please go lie down.

You got it. Ho ho ho.
Merry Christmas, everybody.

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