Original subtitles

[screaming]

[door thuds]

Party's over, Skiñata Killer.

[knife clatters] No blood or candy will be spilled today.

[dramatic music]

[both screaming]

[door thuds]

Drop the spoon, Mary Choppins.

[spoon clinks]

You're supercalifragilistic- expialidoc-under arrest.

♪

[screaming] [door thuds]

Cos-Slayer, put your paw...

[yawns]

Wow, sorry. Long week.

You know what? Book yourself.

Wait, is this the same place?

Maybe we should arrest this warehouse.

♪

[groans]

Aw, come on. Are you serious? Kobe.

Barkley.

[exciting music]

♪ ♪

[shattering]

[bell rings]

Stan the man, what is the plan?

Harassin' ducks at the pond?

Huh? Internet porn at the library?

- Cap the night with some light arson? - If it isn't Stan,

who wears a cape in an obvious attempt

to fly away from his broken home.

Hey, why don't you lay off him?

[dramatic music]

It's Zephyr. The most beautifully damaged

- kid in the eighth grade. - Yo, Tyge, your lips are pretty chapped.

Is that from your dad's mouth-kisses

or your mom's breastfeeding?

I haven't touched mother's milk in a year

and you know it! Come on, boys.

Whoa. Is that you riding a demonic snake

- that's eating Grimsburg? - Oh, yeah, it's just a drawing

and not a prophetic vision I keep having.

- You're pretty different, aren't you? - Me? Heh. Nah.

- Just the normal amount of different. - [sighs] That's too bad.

♪ ♪

Wow, that is one hot, brooding

25-year-old-looking tween.

[slurps]

[gulps] Ugh. I hate this flavor.

You okay? Lookin' a little tired.

Oof. I just need to get to the weekend.

And look, it's already hump day.

If by hump day you mean the second hump on the camel,

then yeah, because it's Thursday.

[dramatic music]

[groans] Marcia Gay Harden!

The Grimsburg Miniature Competition.

There's not much time to make not much of a room.

[light classical music]

Mr. Flute. After your award-winning

Cottagecore mudroom last year,

- I'm eager to see what's next. - Well, Jebediah,

I thought I'd go in a different direction...

a real back-to-basics Scandinavian kitchenette.

Well, the stools are a bit rickety.

The fridge door won't fully close. And this knife...

huh. Is this...

- a toy? - I was out of time,

and I may have borrowed it from my

son's Barbie Dream Investment Property.

[all gasping] Judas!

Come on, Jebi D. It was one little mistake.

In our tiny community, little mistakes are huge.

You are... disqualified.

How dare you? Ahh!

[grunting]

After all I've given to the Mature Amateur Miniaturists,

this is like a to-scale knife in my full-sized back.

Wish I could return the favor.

♪ ♪

[bottles clattering]

[snoring]

[notification chimes]

[dramatic music]

♪ ♪

Weird. I was just here yesterday.

♪ ♪

[gasps]

- This was found on his body. - Sharp enough for what?

[all gasping]

Like cashmere in the dryer,

it's time for my crime mind to get shrunk.

[echoing] ...shrunk.

[suspenseful music]

♪ ♪

But who could have done this? [whistles]

♪

Brown hair. Too coarse for the head.

Too straight for a pube. More like a mustache.

This is like a to-scale knife in my full-sized back.

Wish I could return the favor.

[gasps]

This means the killer is...

- Me? - I'm sorry, Flute.

[handcuffs click]

Run!

- Hey! [groans] - Oh!

[panting]

Gotta find a disguise.

♪

[grunts, groans]

♪ ♪

Ugh.

We got ourselves a fugitive.

I want you checking every warehouse, farmhouse,

henhouse, outhouse, whorehouse,

"Full House," "Fuller House,"

House of Pancakes, "The Haunting of Hill House."

That covers single-family dwellings.

Now let's move to apartments: "The Apartment,"

apartment 23, where the B should not be trusted.

- I think we're good, sir. - Summers, you're with me.

- Let's go prove Flute's innocence, sir. - No. Flute's a murder suspect.

We gotta do our jobs and track him down.

But Flute would never kill. And I'd know.

He's my best friend.

That's what this friendship bracelet means.

- What does that one mean? - Oh, that's the one I made Flute.

But he said it meant nothing

and he'd kill me if I tried to give it to him again.

♪ ♪

[water running]

[somber music]

The only person who believes in you is I, me.

What is us gonna do?

♪ ♪

Wide-ruled lines.

Residue from a scented eraser. Written with...

a jelly-grip JellyJoy gel pen you'd find in a middle school?

- Pentos. - Do you mind? I'm kind of pee shy.

Oh, I'm the opposite. Very peesuadable.

If I even think about... move!

I'm also easily impooenced, so please move! Ah...

[locker rattles]

"Have lunch with us?

Class pet cemetery. Zephyr."

- Uh, euphori-yeah! - I don't know.

I'm dealing with my dad being a killer.

Forget about your dad. He's gone.

Who knows the next time you'll see him?

[suspenseful music]

♪ ♪

- Why are you framing me? - I... I am ashamed to admit

I frame so many I cannot put a name to your face.

It's me. Flute. And I found this at the crime scene.

I couldn't have done it, Marvin. I was at show choir last night.

Did I get the solo? No. Thank you for asking.

I am no longer doing show choir.

But you have been set up.

And whoever did it forgot to check their work.

This isn't just a hilarious "69" joke I don't understand.

It's a secret code.

And it may be the key to keeping me out of prison.

But it's still funny. [chuckles]

69. [chuckles]

And I shan't let someone else ruin the life

of my nemesis-cum-protégé.

After all, what is a cat with no mouse?

Would you watch a show called "Tom"?

No. I need my Jerry.

You may bunk with me while you clear your name.

Then it looks like I'm going undercover

in the most cutthroat and lawless world known to man...

- middle school. - Hey look, it's Ron Obese-sley.

[laughter]

Crack the code, solve the case, clear my name.

3-5-0-1-6-9. Ha.

[computer beeps] Uh-oh.

[door opens]

- [sobbing] - Immediately no.

[register beeping]

Does this mean anything to you?

Well, I don't know how to void this,

so blame it on inflation, kid.

Has to be someone who blends in.

Someone creepy-looking. Someone like...

♪

That creep.

Um, you sure we should pursue Flute on an empty stomach?

We could stop at Cheesecake Factory.

Hey, just because Flute's your friend

doesn't mean you gotta believe he's innocent.

Yeah. That's a good point.

Let me turn on the radio. [upbeat music]

♪ Believe in people sometimes ♪

♪ When they're your friends ♪

♪ Believe in your friends until the end ♪

♪ Sometimes ♪

Damn. Music's really good these days.

But we can't listen to the radio right now.

We have to find Flute.

[suspenseful music]

Remember, they like weird, but don't be too weird,

- 'cause that's just weird. - Oh, hey, Stan. You made it.

Welcome to the Trauma Club,

a group of everyday American teens but with incredibly dramatic

and horrific backstories. That's Kyler.

He's only 12 but already has face tattoos

and severe anger problems.

Stitney's an ex-pageant star who was pushed to her limit

and now she can't stop scream-crying.

- I'm happy! - And that's Renee. She's just really tall.

So tall we could never, like, actually hear her backstory,

but she sounds really traumatized.

[mumbles indistinctly]

- So what's your damage, cape boy? - Um, uh, well...

my dad abandoned me today. For a second time.

Because he murdered someone.

- Whoa. Trauma-rama. - Epic sadness!

[mumbles indistinctly]

- Let's get this kid some eyeliner. - It's a low bar,

but I've never been more proud of him.

No, stay! Bad! Back to hell.

Ahh! [handcuffs clicking]

No, I'll never go back to my job on Wall Street!

Oh, yes, you will. You... wait, what?

- Aren't you from the IRS? - Me? No, I'm Marvin Flute,

undercover detective trying to clear his name.

- And you didn't frame me? - No. My name's Cal.

I've been hidin' out here ever since I walked away

from making millions on Wall Street.

You walked away from the heady thrill

of gambling with people's life savings for... this?

Here's the thing about cleaning up vomit,

once the sawdust dries and the dust pan's full...

- you're done. No more vomit. - You're not haunted by it,

replaying it in your mind night after sleepless night,

agonizing over some clue you might have missed

until you can't take it anymore

and you rush out of bed to the crime scene

in your T-shirt and boxers.

But you find nothing except a cold breeze.

And that's when you realize you popped out of your boxers a little.

It's probably not indecent exposure, since it was clearly an accident,

and the uniform on duty didn't see anything...

or maybe just pretended not to see anything.

There's none of that.

No agonizing, no insomnia, no haunting.

Uh, except for the ghost upstairs.

[ceiling panel squeaks]

Let me show you what my nights are like.

[mellow acoustic music]

Whoa.

♪ ♪

- Pretty nice man-roof you've got. - Not just me.

All of us janitors have run away from our high-stress jobs...

brain surgeons, corporate execs...

- even Prince Philip. - But look at me now.

I flat-mopped a diarrhea, I did. Pip, pip!

See? None of us have a care in the world.

And we get a solid ten hours of sleep every night.

Ten? They make that many hours of sleep?

You could have it too, Flute.

♪

You know, this gas station has beer

- that can be stolen. - Oh. Uh, okay.

Then allow me.

Now we're cookin' with felonies, baby.

Wait, I didn't have to convince you.

I mean, isn't that my whole... [bell dings] job?

[soft dramatic music]

[bottles clinking]

Goin' somewhere, kid?

♪

Yeah, I'm gonna walk right out that door,

- and you're gonna let me. - Oh, yeah?

- And why would I do that? - Because you're safe.

And I'm chaos, baby. I've been abandoned, kidnapped.

I'm screwed up beyond belief.

Now get out of my way before I prove it to ya.

[door opens] [bell dings]

Take me with you.

- Party at my house! [all cheering] - Let's get wasted.

[dramatic music]

"Reba McEntire Red."

Flute always said she has the best hair in country.

Ah, there's a print.

Go ahead and scan it, see if we can get an ID.

Oh, I'd love to, but my scanner hasn't worked

- since the last update. - Listen, I know this is hard for you.

But you don't always know people as well as you think.

I used to have a partner too.

We were close. Really close.

Didn't just work together. We lived together.

Even slept in the same bed. Showered together too.

Turns out he was gay the whole time.

- You think you know someone. - Um, yeah.

But it kind of seems like you did know.

Ask yourself, how well do you really know Flute?

♪ ♪

[scanner trills]

Match found. Marvin Flute.

- Let's bust a Flute. - Seriously?

[mellow music]

♪ ♪

You're almost one of us.

Meet me at school tomorrow and let's finish it.

Is it a medical condition to spin that much?

Stan, this party's getting a little out of hand.

Somebody's gonna end up sleeping

with their best friend's ex-boyfriend

and then get blackmailed into writing a play about it.

But you're always telling me to do stuff like this.

- "Embrace the chaos"? - Yeah, the fun chaos.

This is dark chaos.

Look around... no kids' lives should be this dramatic.

You're just jealous that I have real friends

and don't need you anymore.

Come to think of it, if I imagined you,

- I could easily un-imagine you. - Wait, Stanny, let's talk about this.

♪ ♪

[serene music]

[soft vocalizing]

♪ ♪

Marvin! Hate to interrupt your dreamy bag reverie,

but it's only a matter of time

before the manhunt turns into manfound.

You must get back to clearing your name.

Or I could just change it to a name that's already clear

and will totally blend in. Goodbye, Marvin Flute.

Hello, middle school janitor Rodney Pornocopter.

♪ ♪

[whistling]

♪

Um, Marvin?

Any closer to solving this twisty, turny casey?

Pentos, I told you. I'm a janitor now.

Killers aren't my problem anymore.

Now, if someone murders a toilet, sure, give me a ring.

Unless it's on the freakend.

I was just wondering what you're working on there.

Using my new free time to get back into making miniatures.

But I'm finding myself a bit uninspired.

Maybe take a break.

Have I ever told you what I indulge in on my freakends?

The school's Lost and Found.

A collection of cold cases with no one to solve them.

Nope. No solving for me.

Although if I did, I'd take note

of the sweat stains along the brim here

and scan yearbook photos for oily-skinned boys.

And based on the wear of these wheels,

I'd deduce this belonged to someone who walked to school,

eliminating the carpoolers and bus jockeys.

- And this one? - Hand-sewn burrito pocket.

The initials M.F.

A patch that reads "J.V. Forensics Club

(not the debate kind)."

- [gasps] Wait, it's mine. - You can run from the law,

but you cannot run from yourself.

[dramatic music]

Crack the code, solve the case, clear my name.

[seams splitting]

Call my tailor.

The Superlative Gala?

I think I heard the Stable Boys talking about this.

Oh, it'll be something to talk about, all right.

Incriminating pictures of the Stable Boys

that I photoshopped. [laughs]

When these photos get projected on the screen,

it will destroy their perfect world

and set them on a life path of irreparable trauma.

Do we ever just get, like, pizza?

What do I do? I wish Mr. Flesh was here.

Flesh, you still in there? Is anyone in there?

♪ ♪

- Who are you? - My name's Oil.

Eee-ahh!

Here. Whoever framed me

must have snuck in through this tiny window,

which means the killer is skinny... middle school skinny.

And if it's definitely a student,

what would a kid do with these numbers?

It's not a locker combination or a student ID.

Wait... no. It doesn't say "BOOBLESS."

♪ ♪

Life can be real easy if you know how to read it.

You should check it out.

Sweet Dewey Decimal. It's for a library book.

♪ ♪

But who took it out last?

Gotcha.

Most Nearsighted goes to Nedward Weems.

[light applause] [glasses shattering]

Next, Most Affectionate Friend Group.

♪ ♪

I... I can't do it. Look at their parents.

I want my dad to be that proud of me someday.

Ugh, your dad's not coming back. Trust me, I made sure.

I knew you needed a push to join my Trauma Club,

so I cut the cord... in this case, with a tiny knife.

- Why would you do that to me? - So that all of us lonely,

excessively hot freaks could finally have friends.

Trust me, Stan. We'll be there for you.

- But your dad is never gonna show up. - I know who framed me.

[crowd gasping]

And I've got proof.

At the crime scene, you accidentally left this,

uh, library thingy.

You know, like, the tiny paper inside the book cover?

Does anyone know what that's called?

You know, it's got the dates and names of who took it out.

I... there really should be

a name for something like that. Stan!

♪ ♪

Fleeze, Frute! Wait, let me try that again.

Summers, get out of the way.

I have to catch that gorgeous bad boy

before he hurts my nondescript sad boy.

No! Today I learned that no matter how well

you think you know somebody, you never know

- what they're capable of. - Let him go, Summers.

That song we heard in the car today,

I can't get it out of my head.

And I think there's a reason for that.

Because you have to...

♪ Believe in people sometimes ♪

♪ When they're your friends ♪

BOTH: ♪ Believe in your friends ♪

♪ Until the end sometimes ♪

♪ ♪

Stan, come with me.

I'm the only one who understands you.

You're wrong. Someone does understand me.

The real me. [grunts]

Ooh, do not send me back, Stanny.

You do not wanna see what's buried

in the recesses of your mind.

[door opens]

It's over, Timothy Shallow-grave.

[gasps]

How'd you put all the pieces together?

Because I'm a detective. Cal?

♪

[grunts]

This trauma will only make me hotter!

[body thuds]

♪

Goodbye, Cal.

And farewell, Rodney Pornocopter.

Rodney Pornocopter? He sounds cool.

He was, Summers. He really was.

Wow, I can't believe I send my kid here.

This place is a dump.

Wow, Nedward, it looks like your glasses

are as broken as your home.

[grunts]

[cackles]

I just wish I had one friend who understood me.

[mysterious music]

My name's Oil.

[screams]

Aw. No one likes Oil.

[sighs]

What are these kids doing to each other?

[sighs]

♪ Believe in your friends ♪

♪ Until the end ♪

♪ Sometimes ♪

sync & correction by f1nc0 -- Addic7ed.com --