Original subtitles

Ch-Ch-Cheerio!

And welcome to tonight's

Bareknuckle Boxing Championship bout,

where the action is set to get underway

in just a matter of metric seconds.

In one corner, we've got the champ himself,

the undefeated Prince of Punches,

the Lord of Long Armspan, Punchy Dunkins.

And our challenger...

...Pee-Wee Pipsqueak.

Please get prepared for some pugilism!

Now let's watch as Pee-Wee is pummeled

into human jam before our very eyes.

Down goes Punchy!

Eight, nine. Cock and hen. It's a knockout!

And Pipsqueak has defeated the champ.

Unbelievable!

Yeah, he went down like a ton of bricks.

So, what's the gig, Nigella?

You hiring us to look for that coffee filter

Shakespeare called a collar?

His Elizabethan Ruff?

That's actually rather a good idea.

I'll make a note, but no.

I've someone I'd like you to meet.

The Lord of Long Armspan?!

Let me guess. He's a big, scary guy, but when he talks,

he has a funny voice like Mike Tyson.

'Ello. Nice to meet you.

I was right! -Punchy, tell them what you told me.

Well, everybody knows me training ritual.

I've one very strict rule: no shags the night before a fight.

That's right. You abstain from sex before boxing

because it saps your strength.

On the eve of the championship, I called for room service.

- An order of crisps... - Chips.

- And an order of chips. - Fries.

Even though I knew the carbs'd go straight to me fanny.

- U.S. or U.K.? Butt. - U.S.

When the bellman arrived in me room,

he started reciting a poem.

I-I don't recall the words,

but it was quite beautiful, actually.

And-and by the time he finished,

I, uh... I climaxed.

Well, then, I guess the legend 'tis true.

Someone has found Shakespeare's Lost Sonnet.

Okay, I'm going to need you to...

...rewind.

Okay, that was very cool. Now, here comes the explanation.

There have long been whispers

that the immortal Bard once wrote a sonnet so romantic,

so passionate, so heartbreakingly amorous,

that simply hearing it would cause any listener

to become aroused to the point of biological climax on sight.

- You mean shoot ropes? - Precisely, yes.

Wow. I knew he wrote the source material

for 10 Things I Hate About You, but he also wrote a poem?

When he realized the sonnet's power,

he hid it away from the world.

I'd never encountered any proof of its existence,

but like a casual Fleetwood Mac fan, I'd heard rumors.

And now let me guess. You want us to track it down

so you can keep it safe within your archives.

Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?

I can't help but imagine it would.

Talk to me, Agatha.

Rip, I called every London bookie I know

and found only one sizeable bet placed

on that little guy the night of the fight.

The bettor used a pseudonym, but called from a local pub

where a bunch of stage actors hang out

called "The Broken Keg,"

which is actually a pretty novel name.

So I better put down the phone and laugh for a moment.

Looks like I'm going to have to go undercover.

And when I go in, I go all in.

Rip, no. Every time you go undercover,

you get in too deep, and you can't come back.

- Well, that's ridiculous. - No, it's not!

What about the Winnipeg incident?

This is nothing like the Winnipeg incident.

- What's the Winnipeg incident? - I'm sorry,

but you're just gonna have to trust my instincts here.

Don't like it? There's the door. There's a complaint box on it.

You're welcome to drop a complaint in it.

You better believe I will.

Your instincts nearly got you killed.

But they didn't! Instead, they paid

for that Starbucks gift card you're always reloading

for double the points.

- Guys, come on! You're friends! - I'll kill you!

I'll have you arrested for homicide. -Guys!

Fine, fine! But as of right now, I am no longer Rip Digman.

The name's Doobie. Doobie McBooberton.

Maybe we can work on the name?

Oh, now even she's coming at me. Jesus Christ!

16 ounces of beer, please.

Okay, here's a tongue twister for you.

Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow.

A proper pot of coffee in a proper coffee pot.

The pot acts all posh, but we know they are not.

Ha!

Got a problem, mate?

I hear you laughing, but I don't see anyone performing

- The Taming of the Shrew. - It's your friends.

Their words couldn't twist the tongue of a toddler!

Well, if you think you can do better, the stage is yours.

Unless it gives you... fright.

Saltine, Swooper, bail me out here!

"World's hardest tongue twister."

Got it. Repeat after me.

A biscuit baker...

Mixed a box of biscuits in his mixer.

"Mixed biscuits?" cried the baker.

The mix betwixt the mixer. Ow!

- My tongue! - She sprained her tongue, Rip.

- You got to take it from here. - Well.

Ah.

So the biscuit baker mixed the mixes in his biscuit mixer

as Seabiscuit sold his semen by the seashore by the liter.

Lighted by the light on the ledger by the lighter,

the letter read more lightly

than a lady lightly looming lollies littered on a sweater.

"Better wetter," said the swimmer,

who was drier but not slimmer,

and as limber as the timber of a soggy finger splinter.

"Time for dinner, David Schwimmer!"

said the weary biscuit mixer, whose elixir was a fixer

and a fixture in the picture of the scripture for the richer,

not the poorer. "Pour the mixture

"with a soggy swimmer's sweater texture

sprinkled by a sprinkler!"

No notes.

Brilliant!

His tongue-- it has nary a knot!

That twister would please Thespis himself.

- What's your name? - Fourth. Wally Fourth.

Come rehearse with us. The Englandshire Theater,

tomorrow night at 10:00.

Thank you, ten. Rip,

- you did it! - Rip? Who's Rip?

Oh, right. Me. Almost got in too deep.

- Sorry. That's my ringtone. - Yeah, you should change that.

It gives me a great sense of unease!

Okay, Rip, once you're inside, all you

got to do is locate and extract that missing sonnet.

Don't get sucked in by his charisma.

Come on, Swooper. What do you take me for?

I'm serious, Rip! Saltine, I think

he's going to be fine. The guy is rock solid.

Wally Fourth, welcome to our humble home.

Quite chic. How'd you land such a fit flat?

Well, let's just say it was thanks to a recent lucky bet.

Everyone, lend me your ears.

For too long, we have toiled as understudies,

always waiting in the wings.

We deserve the spotlight.

Wow. This guy's charismatic as shit.

But soon, we understudies shall become overstudies.

And we shall mount the greatest production

of Hamlet the world has ever seen.

We've already secured the greatest stage.

Next, the greatest prop. For you see,

playing the part of Yorick's skull will be...

the skull of The Bard himself.

But isn't that at the Shakespeare Museum?

Exactly. So we'll just have to liberate it.

Are you in? No! Stay behind

and look for the sonnet, Rip!

Don't betray the plan!

You bet I am.

Then let's go fetch that head bone.

Ha, ha! Yes!

The skull is yonder. -SWOOPER: Rip, what are you doing?!

We're supposed to be working for Nigella, not robbing her.

You don't think I see the irony in this?

Come on, Wally.

Most excellent fancy.

Hey! What's all this, then?!

I'll give you one chance

to put down your weapons and lay on the floor.

- Or else what? - Or else... this.

Wally, put these on!

"Such sweeter form."

Now, Wally, put them on!

- We lost sound! - Don't panic!

Too late! Oh!

Come, Wally. Let's make haste.

To us-- The Understudies!

Yeah! Hear! Hear!

Hey, Seb, say, what even is that?

Oh, just something I found tucked away inside

- a very old book. - Oh.

And where do you usually keep it?

That is something I'll take to the grave.

I like the way you handled yourself today, Wally.

You're one of us now.

Good night, my friend. Parting is such sweet...

Well, you know the rest.

Sorrow.

I am an actor.

Rip, where have you been?

Oh, I think you've got the wrong chap.

The name's Fourth. Wally Fourth.

Attention! The time has come to unveil the cast list

for our most epic production of Hamlet.

Behold!

Ooh.

Gravedigger Number Two.

You may not have many lines, but remember, for an actor,

there's no such thing as a small role.

- I agree! - Thank you, man with headband.

I can't believe we get to perform Hamlet

with Shakespeare's actual skull.

That's got to be the most extreme acting there is.

No, it's not.

All right, here he goes again with his myth.

Oh, 'tis no myth! Every 50 years,

a majorly mondo tempest comes out of Antarctica

and blasts the South Pacific.

The most extreme acting would be to perform The Tempest

in that tempest.

It's happening next year. All are invited, Wally.

- Then I'd better leave. - Where are you going?

To find work as a gravedigger and truly live the role.

For you see, when I go in, I doth go all in.

Welcome back to ArkyTAINMENT This Evening!

The theater world is abuzz with, well, buzz

about actor Wally Fourth.

Wally Fourth's turn as Gravedigger Number Two

is the greatest non-Joker performance I've ever seen.

And once the reviews were in,

the television industry came a-calling.

Wally walked 100 kilometers a day

for the one-line role of Pedestrian

in the hit BBC drama Small Cars Driving in the Left Lane.

He went that way.

He broke his own wrist for the role

of Waiting Room Patient in the show

Feeling a Bit Iffy, Are We?

before a last-minute rewrite changed the injury.

Hi. I think I broke my collarbone.

What's next for Wally?

Well, he's just been cast as Denim-Clad Dad

in a commercial for Eegan Blue Jeans.

And to prepare for the role,

he's already adopted a small child.

- We've lost him. - That's so, so, so sad.

Dibs on his flat-screen.

- Okay, Rip's birth certificate? - Toss it.

- Rip's beloved childhood sled? - Toss it.

I just don't see how this is necessary.

Rip's gone, dear. I got to get all his belongings logged

and incinerated by the end of the month for tax purposes.

- Rip's petty cash? - Toss it.

Wait. How did Rip come back from the Winnipeg incident?

I told you never to say those words around me ever again!

- No, you didn't! - Well, I meant to!

He finished the original mission.

He said that made him remember his true purpose in life--

to become the greatest arky of all time.

After that, he was Rip again.

So if he came back last time,

why are you guys giving up so easily?

Shouldn't we be trying to save him?

Saltine, he's a famous actor now.

He doesn't want to be saved.

It's clearly simpler to just burn everything

and start our lives over from scratch.

Screw that. I worked too hard to get this job.

If he came back once, he can come back again.

We just need Wally to pick up where Rip left off

and find the sonnet for the Shakespeare Museum.

And how are we going to get showbiz's hottest method actor

- to do that? - I know what we can do.

That's great, dear. We'll get on it

as soon as we finish up here.

- Rip's stick of dynamite? - Toss it.

Honor,

heritage, tradition,

a rooster weather vein.

Eegan Blue Jeans, one of the 7,200 subsidiaries

of EeganCorp.

And cut. Great take.

I'm so glad I directed this myself.

You're Wally Fourth, right? Ah, your aces, bruv.

You know, you'd be a dead ringer for my old boss Rip Digman,

if you didn't have that scar or dark hair.

Bet you do, so, never mind. Uh, you want to party after we wrap?

Don't know what you're talking about.

I'm just a modest farmer.

I got to tend to my dying crops

and my beloved little young boy son.

- You do your homework, lad? - I swear I did, Pop. I promise.

Actually, you know what? I think I got all I need.

- That's a wrap. - Whoo!

Let's fucking rage!

- Back to the orphanage, bub. - But you adopted me.

No, Denim-Clad Dad adopted you.

Hold on. This is my agent. Talk to me.

A film? Brilliant!

SWOOPER [with gruff voice]: Wally Fourth.

Just the man I want to see.

I'm Don Sleaze, and here at Sleaze Pictures,

we make highbrow art films that take home Oscar gold.

Huh. The name is misleading.

We've got the perfect project for you to sink your teeth into.

- Bring me the script. - I'm Jill Filth!

Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fourth.

Ooh, look at that physique.

You'd be perfect for this. Boopy de doopsy!

The Rip Digman Story. Hot off the press.

We want youse to play Rip Digman.

The has-been arky? Interesting.

But if I take this role, I am going to live as Rip Digman.

Do you think you could hook me up

with his old coworkers for research?

Oh, I think that could be arranged.

That should be no problem at all.

Is this how he walks?

How about this?

The seat goes up for number one and down for number two.

I'm sorry. I just don't follow.

Oh, what about something like...?

Ooh!

Okay, very funny.

Hey, I sound just like him.

I got to say, I'm feeling more and more

like this Rip chap all the time.

Wish I had a little more backstory, though.

W-What was he doing before he disappeared?

He was trying to find Shakespeare's lost sonnet

by infiltrating a production of Hamlet.

Maybe you could complete the mission.

An undercover job, eh? Let me guess.

When Rip would go in, he'd go all...

No! Rip would only ever go partially in.

You can just be Rip.

He never learned where the sonnet was hidden.

But the actor who had it said

he'd take that info "to the grave."

Well, if it's a production of Hamlet,

maybe he meant Ophelia's grave.

- Beneath the stage! - Swoopy, fire up the plane.

We're headed to London, England.

It's "Swooper," but okay.

Hey, hey, you're the actors who are doing Hamlet, right?

Indeed.

Bartender, I'd like to buy these kind folks a round...

- of steaming hot piss! - What the devil?!

The person you've got playing Gravedigger Number Two

can't act for shit. There, I said it.

'Tis true. Ever since Wally left,

we've been going through one replacement after another.

The play is terrible now.

You're right to order piss for us to drink.

Why don't you let me play the part?

I'm a goddamn arky.

Wait just a Big Ben tick.

Aren't you Rip Digman?

Yup. My whole life is going on digs.

Good Lord, you're right. Hell, even your name is "dig man."

Oh, yeah, it is, isn't it? Never really put that together.

This is so mental,

it just may bloody work.

I pray this isn't utterly dreadful.

Looks like the trap door where the sonnet is hidden is locked.

But I think I know a way around it.

Maybe we can get it after the show.

No, I've got a better idea.

Get thee to... a nunnery!

Where is the beauteous majesty...

of Denmark?

- Showtime, mate. - Let's give these boards

the trodding of their lives.

Is she to be buried in Christian burial,

that willfully seeks her own salvation?

Yup! Let's dig!

Go, get thee in,

and fetch me a stoop of liquor.

Actually, I shall not fetch thee a stoop.

I shall continue... to dig!

What the hell are you doing?!

What I do best.

- Aha! - Dear God, no.

En garde, Rip Digman!

Wow. Break the fourth wall much?

Parry! Fleche! Flunge!

Uh, guys, am I good at fencing?

No. - Oh, that's too bad,

because Wally just completed an expert-level fencing course.

But I will not draw upon those skills.

- Ugh. - You didn't know that!

How could you have known that?!

It's Wally Fourth!

No, no, no, no, no. I'm Rip! I'm Rip!

Give me the sonnet.

You're going to jail. -I don't care what happens to me,

but this sonnet shouldn't be locked away.

Let me read it, here, now, for the people.

I know the real Wally is in there somewhere.

Don't let him have that sonnet, Rip!

The name's Wally, not Rip.

Oh, goddamn it.

And I'm not an arky.

I am an actor.

We have to get in there and stop him.

Not anymore, Saltine.

We have to trust his instincts.

You're the one who didn't trust his instincts earlier.

What possibly convinced you to trust them now?

I'm too tired to walk in there.

We just flew to England!

Lights, please.

A sonnet by William Shakespeare.

"Such sweet a form thy body and thy skin

"and charms, that thou hath learned to preen and show.

"But I desire what lieth deep within,

"the part of thee that only thou yet know.

"Oh, how mine poenis plumpens when you're near!

"To see thy comely form all squished and smushed,

"mine humors boil forsooth and roar arear.

"And lo, unto my britches poenis pushest.

"But what is silhouetted on the wall?

"A shapely maiden? Nay.

"My poenis 'tis. It's back.

"In powdered wig and child's shawl,

"for thine delight to dance a merry jig.

"And now, as one, our seeds shall both be sowed,

as your sweet maidenhood meets my stout chode."

Ah!

Breaking news out of London.

William Shakespeare's skull has been recovered

by police and returned to the Shakespeare Museum.

Stage actor Sebastian Lines has been found guilty on all counts

and shipped to the penal colony of Australia.

They should really update the law. It's very nice here.

And ever since being recited publicly,

Shakespeare's lost sonnet has spread like wildfire.

And as global orgasms skyrocket,

so too have sales of Eegan Blue Jeans.

Jeans so tough, so rugged, so resilient.

Good luck creamin' them.

Query for you chaps.

I noticed a door in the garage

that says Rip's Secret Chamber.

Am I allowed to go in there for research?

- Do whatever you want, Wally. - Cheers.

I don't get why he didn't revert to being Rip.

He finished the mission.

Yeah, I was only guessing

that that's what would bring him back.

I'm not a shrink, Saltine.

Huh. Whoop.

Well, aren't you fit.

I remember my true purpose in life.

- What was that? - Everything okay, Wally?

Who's Wally? It's me, Rip.

Oh, man, I went in too deep again, didn't I?

- Rip, you're back. - Yeah, I guess I am.

Just like the Winnipeg incident.

No, this was nothing like the Winnipeg incident.

Will you please just tell me what was the Winnipeg incident?

Well, there was a missing poem that made people orgasm

and Rip had to disguise himself as an actor to get it back.

How was that any different than this?

It happened in March, not May.

So this was just a big waste of my time?

Or was it so funny that you actually don't mind?

I agree. It's funny in theory. It's just not my kind of humor.

Well, I guess everyone has their own taste.

It's good to be back!

I knew you wouldn't miss the 50-year tempest.

Wally Fourth.

It's not Wally Fourth anymore.

I'm Rip Digman.

Are you?

You are just in time for my one- man performance of The Tempest.

Time to dance with the universe.

Boson! Here, master: what cheer?

Good. Speak to the mariners:

Fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground. Bestir--

Oh, my God! These waves are huge!

I'm going to fucking die!

Well, I guess all's well that ends well.

Chirp.