All language subtitles for newhart_s08e23_my_husband_my_peasant

Hi, George. You're in good spirits
today. I just hung up a new birdhouse in

elm tree.

Soon Mr. and Mrs.

Bluebird will move in and make that
house a home.

Oh, I hate to bring it down, George, but
I just saw two sparrows eyeing that

place. Sparrows? Where's my shotgun?

Relax, George. I don't think they're
moving in. I think they're a couple of,

know, looky -loos.

Salaam, Sultan and Sultana.

My, Joanna, don't we look chic?

Thank you, Michael. I can never get
enough of your Arabic wit.

There, there.

Little Steffi Weffy was just hungry,
wasn't he?

Nay, nay, Mommy dearest, we agreed not
to babble and baby talk like other

parents.

Okay, cupper weppers?

Of course, Mikey Ikey.

Dickie's getting sicky.

Stephanie, darling.

Libby, darling.

Scooter, darling.

What a darling surprise.

You're the one who's full of surprises,
pet.

We were jetting in from Berlin.

Big bash at the wall, don't you know?

When Kim and Anastasia DuPont told us of
the blessed event.

Really, dear? We never got an
announcement.

I thought I sent one to everyone who
mattered.

Water under the yacht.

Maybe you remember old Dick. Of course.
Who could ever forget dear Richard?

We met in New York at that society thing
for one of those causes.

And this must be your... Inn.

We call it an inn.

And this is Joanna.

We call it a wife.

How do you do? Hello.

My, what an unusual sweater.

But I suppose there's not a lot to
choose from up here, is there?

My wardrobe has suffered so since my
loom broke down.

You must be the baby's father.

No, no.

Michael is the father.

At least that's what Stephanie's led us
to believe.

That's George, the handyman. This is my
Michael.

Howdy doody, Libby Scooty.

Jumping Gibraltar, what a rock.

Did you happen to notice my little
bubble?

Yes, and I'm so worried. I can't imagine
how you'll ever get it off over those

enormous knuckles.

I don't plan to take it off, Sweetsie.

It's my wedding ring.

Why, Scooter, so you actually married
our Libby. Or should I say the rowing

team's Libby.

This must be your baby.

She's just darling.

Too bad about her hair.

I'm sure she'll grow some eventually.

Well, let's hope it'll be on her little
head and not on her chinny -chin chin.

By the way, you'd never know it to look
at me, but Scooter and I have had a

baby, too, haven't we? Well, you did all
the grunt work, Precious.

Tiffany. Isn't she just perfect? Well,
she's a little zostic.

George, I think Libby was talking about
the baby.

Oh, oh.

I apologize for that zostic remark.

Excuse me. I'm going outside and shoot
some birds.

Richard and wife, isn't Tiffy the most
beautiful little girl you've ever seen?

You're expected to say yes.

Yes. No.

Well, she's certainly, definitely on my
top two list.

You're putting Tiffany in the same
league with that little bald girl?

Well, thanks for stopping by.

Oh, no, we'll be staying, old girl. Yes,
we'd like two rooms, please. One for

Libby, myself, and child, and one for
Mrs. Butterworth.

Mrs. Butterworth?

I love your maple syrup.

I've never heard that one before.

Come on, Stephanie. Grab their bags and
we'll show them to their room.

Oh, Scooter.

Isn't this delicious?

Stephanie will be our own personal slave
girl.

Slave girl. How dare she?

Might go carry their bags up. Yes,
master.

Stephanie, I had no idea you were so
good at menial tasks.

If you ever need a job, Scooter could
find you something at one of our fast

restaurants.

Perhaps a position at the drive -by
window.

Well, thanks anyway, but this is really
just kind of a hobby.

Certainly seems that way to me.

Now be sure to treat Mrs. Butterworth
well.

She's used to having excellent service
at home.

Well, then she should get back there as
soon as possible.

Your baby is a fussy little one, isn't
she?

Well, maybe it's just the scent of
rancid perfume in the air.

Steph, I hate to eat it and beat it, but
I really should trot over to the

station for a tan.

Michael is general manager of WPIV.

And our little Steffi owns the station.

Really?

Our little Tiffany doesn't need to work.

Well, our Steffi doesn't need to work
either.

She just enjoys the pleasure she gets
out of pushing people around.

I must admit, your Tiffany is pretty.

Considering.

Cattiness looks so ugly on you,
Stephanie.

So does most of her wardrobe.

But I understand your dilemma.

Your baby could never be Tiffany's
equal.

Because her father isn't a blue blood.

I may not be officially blue -blooded,
but I strongly believe I'm as snobby as

the next man.

Once a mongrel, always a mongrel.

Come along, Scooter.

Dear George promised we could watch him
fix some things.

It's a shame we didn't bring that damn
cat of yours along.

Here to join us, dear Richard. George is
bound to be good for a yuck.

I'm pretty much yucked up for the day.

Do you think that it's possible that
baby Steph isn't as perfect as Tiffany?

Because Tiffany was all quiet on the
Stratford front while little Steffi was

kid on the river cry?

You can't compare babies.

They're both perfect in their own ways.

Leave it to Joanna to try to soothe us
with a sunny observation.

Okay, what way?

Don't ask me. I might slip and say
something sunny.

Um...

Well, Tiffany has lots of curly hair and

adorable dimples and the longest
eyelashes.

And baby Steph has a chin.

Every baby has a chin. Yeah, but not
that.

Pronounced. Michael, Tiffany does have
bigger dimples. And gobs and gobs of

Goldilocks.

Face it, Michael. Our perfect baby's
bald and bitchy.

Notice

anything

new, Vo, about our babe in tow?

Oh, my.

Look at all the hair she's grown in the
last two hours.

Keep it under your hats, cats, but those
follicles are faux.

It's a tiny toupee.

Amazing way of life, like, don't you
think?

Kind of reminds me of a drooling Ted
Koppel.

See? I told you we should have gone with
the Deborah Norville.

What's the use? We can't even fool these
fops.

It's not fair. There is a flaw in my
ointment.

Oh, Michael.

We made a terrible mistake.

We married for love.

Oh, stupid, stupid Cupid.

There's nothing wrong with marrying for
love. Look at us.

Oh, stupid, stupid Cupid.

You realize what this means?

Would you mind telling me... What the
hell are you talking about? We're

a divorce.

Stephanie? Bye, Michael.

Michael, Michael, Michael, freeze.

You don't have to be so dramatic, Dick
Olivier.

A simple weight effect would have
sufficed.

What are you doing? Don't you listen to
us when we're hysterical? We're getting

a divorce.

I'll try to find a nice lawyer, Steph. I
will, too.

This is unbelievable.

That we could find two nice lawyers?

Justice Jojo's right. We'll settle out
of court, Cuppers. You take everything.

Deal.

Oh, Michael.

Our marriage is...

Lips sliding away.

I guess now there are 51 ways to leave
your lover.

That cinches it. Are you two out of your
minds?

I mean, don't you want to see your
little girl grow up?

Hmm, that'd be nice.

Maybe Chicago's too far. Is there a
state that borders Vermont?

No. No.

No, we're surrounded by water.

Then I'll rent a houseboat off the coast
of Vermont and I'll get a job at an

offshore TV station.

Farewell, my former wife.

I'd ask for a lock of our baby's hair,
but thanks to my dorky DNA, she doesn't

have any.

She's, uh... She's whimpering. I guess,
you know, one of us should say

something.

Well, you know me and my sunny
disposition.

I'd probably just make matters worse by
curing her up.

Stephanie, we need to talk. Oh, I know
what you're thinking.

That even though I'm incredibly
attractive as a single mother, I'll

date.

No, that wasn't exactly what I... Well,
get this straight.

My eternal love for Michael shall never
die, and I swear by all that's holy that

I shall never remarry.

Why, do you know someone?

Look, I'm about to tell you one of my
long -winded stories. Maybe you'd better

sit down.

Maybe I better lie down.

Well, when I was a boy, I had a problem

similar to yours.

I didn't have a baby, of course, but I
did have a guppy.

See, Ethel was a purebred and very
beautiful.

Like me?

A scalier.

Anyway, Ethel was in love with this
other guppy, Maurice.

Oh, a French guppy.

Well, French -Canadian.

Anyway, they had lots and lots of
babies.

Dick, is this story going anywhere?

It must be.

Oh, I've got it. Ethel and Maurice loved
their children so much, they didn't

care if, you know, they were the
laughingstock of the tank.

So much so that they finally...

Ate them.

Ew.

But you know, Ethel and Maurice are a
lot like Michael and me.

They are?

It's amazing how you paralleled the
upheaval in a fish tank to the turmoil

family life.

That's what I do.

And nobody does it better. Thanks, Dick.

I am good.

Maybe I'll, uh, write a book about my
fish fables.

Ethel would have wanted it that way.

And, uh, Ethel and Maurice have lots and
lots of kids.

Or snacks, as they turned out to be.

Gee gad, the cats.

It is a fishy fish world.

But what's the drift of this icky tale?

Well, in his morbid, long -winded way,
Dick was trying to say that fish can be

good role models.

They ate their children.

I would never do such a thing to baby
Steph. I mean, though on occasion I may

have said I'd like to eat her up, I
would never eat her up.

Well, what's gotten into Dick? He's
losing touch with reality.

I only know that I don't want you to go.

Sorry, Steph, but for our sullied
seedlings' sake, this pop has got to be

rolling stone.

Gaga!

Did I just hear my micro -muffin call me
Dada?

No, Michael, it was Gaga.

Oh.

Gaga!

Michael!

That time I think she did say Dada.

Really?

Yes, she's saying Dada!

She doesn't want you to go either.

A double family whammy. My mainspring
and my offspring want me to stay.

See, she doesn't care about your stupid
old blood.

Oh, Steph, you realize what this means?

I can paste my head back into the family
photos.

Could Scooter and Libby be making fun of
me? They seem to laugh at everything I

do. Well, they're probably, you know,
laughing with you, George, not laughing

you. But I wasn't laughing.

What were you doing, George?

Well, I was putting up a no sparrows
allowed sign in the new birdhouse, and a

dog came by chasing a cat and knocked
over the ladder.

I tried to grab onto a branch, but there
was a beehive attached to it.

Bees started stinging me, so I let go
and fell into a bramble bush.

Well, you don't look any worse for wear.

Oh, yeah. Every inch of my body is
covered with bloody welts and scratches.

want to see?

No. No, thank you.

I'm still trying to get over the image
of your body after you were trampled by

that cow.

Libby called me a rube.

What is that exactly?

George, it's a derogatory term for a
person from a small town.

Well, I may be a hick, and I've been
called bumpkin.

And once or twice I came running when
someone yelled, hey, yokel.

But it really galls me when a la -di -da
snot nose labels George Utley a rube.

Parking home, boys.

We come bearing nifty news.

We've decided to stay together.

So, so my story worked.

Oh, being guppy, Dickers, you should be
filleted for that fish favor.

It was baby Steph who talked us into
reconciling. Your five -month -old spoke

you? Yes, she said, Dada, whatever you
do, please don't go.

Ah, there you are, George.

George.

We were wondering if you'd care to motor
down to the Hamptons for one of our

functions. You'd be the guest of honor.

It'll be loads of fun. We call it a
roast.

No, thank you. Maybe when you come up
again, I could invite you to one of our

functions. We call it a tar and feather.

Oh, Scooter, what a darling threesome
they make.

Just like a little peasant family.

Michael may not be blue -blooded.

But we're together, and we're happy.

Hi.

I'm Larry. This is my brother Darryl,
and this is my other brother Darryl.

Larry!

Scoots!

Lovely to see you again, dear Lawrence.

I believe the last time was at Leona's.
I'm just wild about...

We dropped by to offer our
congratulations on the arrival of your

see whether you require our expert child
care services.

Thank you, Lawrence, but our little
Tiffany is upstairs and very capable,

gnarled, Hans.

Well, then, we'll bid our adieus and
return to our genetic experiments.

Daryl here is attempting to cross a
porcupine with a pussycat.

Alack. The offspring tend to clean their
sills to death.

Oh, Scooter, do say hello to your mom
for us. Our floors ain't been the same

since she stopped scrubbing them.

Pardon?

Apparently, Scooter's humility prevented
him from bragging about his mother's

proficiency as a scrub woman.

Your mother was a scrub woman?

Well, before she met my stepfather, we
were a mite cash poor, so... That's

enough, Scooter.

No, it's not.

So, Scooter, I guess this means you're
not a full -blood blueblood. Well,

actually, strictly speaking, I am.

I've never been so humiliated in my
life!

Well, hopefully you'll have plenty of
other chances.

Don't get so high and mighty with me,
pet, lest we forget your grandfather

used pickup trucks in Scranton. They
were not pickup trucks.

They were recreational vehicles.

Oh, this is so delicious.

I'm going upstairs to pack.

Come along, Bernie.

Oh, well, we're going to start using our
real names, are we now, Shirley?

Keep a cot warm for me, dear chum. I may
be bunking in for a while.

It appears I've just performed the
function of deus ex machina in this

drama.

In Greek theater, the deus ex machina
was raised and lowered on a rope while

chorus explained the offstage action.

Well, since our chorus is relatively
silent and our rope is holding up

pants, we'll settle for an exit upstage
center.

Oh, Michael, do you think we almost let
Bernie and Shirley break up our happy

home? I'm reminded of the immortal words
of Tony Tennille when she warbled,

Love, love will keep us together.

Come, my captain, let us celebrate with
a bottle of Dick and Joanna's finest

champagne. Or maybe Dick and Joanna's
finest tap water.

Baby Steph called me Dick.

I wonder what she wants.