Original subtitles

Ripped By mstoll

(car horn playing "Yellow Rose of Texas")

Buck?

What happened, sir?

Oh, Hank, thank goodness.

This horn was giving me an awful headache.

Is there a propane leak?

Oh, God, it's Goobers mooches, isn't it?

I told them that buffet was a death trap!

Naw, Old Top!

I come a-calling with good news!

The zoning board approved!

You mean...

The new storage yard!

Triple the storage capacity!

Wow, the new storage yard...

I-I can't believe it's finally happening.

Just one problem, though.

I need you to buy me some art.

Uh, sir, I...

Zoning board won't give you something for nothing.

They passed this public art law;

got to beautify one part of town

if they're gonna let you uglify another.

Keeps everything nice and even.

But I don't know the first thing about art.

The Zoning Board can't hang excuses in city hall, Hank.

Now get buying!

MAN: Hello, Triple-A.

Hey, there.

Oh, hey, Hank, what can I do you for?

Well, I got kind of a tall order for you, Fred.

Uh, I need some help with... uh, buying some art.

Let's see.

There's the McMaynerbury artists' colony.

Do they have good art?

Couldn't say,

but it's one of this month's "Great Drives."

HANK: Boy, this is a great drive.

Do you already know what kind of art

you're gonna buy?

Because I should let you know now...

I'm willing to pose for a statue.

Uh, thanks, Bobby.

But this art is going to be put in the median

on Travis Boulevard.

A lot of people drive by there

on their way to the interstate

and I want them to be inspired

when they get there.

What kind of?

Thank God you're here.

I haven't been able to send a fax in two days.

Uh, no, uh, I'm Hank Hill, Strickland Propane.

I need to buy a piece of public art,

about three feet across, five or seven feet tall.

Doesn't have to be real arty.

No nudity, of course.

Maybe something with a lion or a bald eagle.

Something that says America.

Hmm.

Oh, wait, wait! I've got it.

A life-sized portrait

of George Washington!

It's a hologram.

From here... George Washington.

But from over here, he morphs into Adolph Hitler.

Washington, Hitler.

Washington,

Hitler.

Picture Ronald Reagan.

He's squatting over...

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

I have just the thing.

I'm calling it

Industrial Penis

Number Five. Bobby! Car!

HANK: ...and then it just got worse from there.

I don't get it.

I just wanted to buy something

that people would want to look at,

spruce up that highway median.

Isn't that what art's supposed to be?

Hey, man, you know, you dang ol' naive, man.

Talkin' 'bout ol' like a dang ol' dada, you know,

like a little toilet in a museum, man.

You know, talkin' 'bout, dang ol'... ideas, man.

(chuckling)

I never could understand a word of that art mumbo-jumbo.

You know what I never understood?

Why a pretty girl would model naked and let someone paint her.

And, you know, if she'd do that for just anyone or...

(clanking noise)

What the?

It's me!

Wow!

Don Quixote's Authentic

Spanish Cuisine and Karaoke

went out of business

and guess what I bought from them!

A suit of armor!

Is it real?

I was hoping you'd ask me that.

Gentlemen, nine irons.

(grunting)

Ha! Ha! This is amazing!

I am invincible!

Come on, Hank, take a whack!

Well, as much as I'd like to hit you with a golf club,

I can't do it right now.

I've got to come up with some art.

Don't be afraid of the groin, boys.

I don't think those artists ever shower.

It was like,

just when you thought

you'd never smelled anyone worse than one guy... Bam!

The next guy smells even worse!

It was awful, Peggy.

Makes me wish there was some way

to buy art without the, you know,

artists and whatnot.

Maybe I can help you find something.

I've always had an artistic bent.

And I have decorated every birthday cake

in this family for 20 years.

Yeah, I remember the cake you made

for Bobby's fourth birthday.

The one that looked like a train?

Chocolate chip cookie wheels...

Well, heck, Peggy,

why don't you just make the art?

It can't be very hard.

I mean, even the people who do it for a living

don't seem very good at it.

Well, Hank, only if I can think of an idea.

Now let me think.

Propane... America... The future...

I've got it!

A probot!

A... A what?

A Probot, Hank.

A robot made entirely of propane tanks,

welcoming the people of Arlen to the future.

A future of Arlen pride.

And hard work.

And clean-burning barbecues. And...

Stop, Peggy.

Can you do it for under $800.

Buddy, you want to stop that?

No, I don't, you armorless jackass!

And there's nothing you can do about it!

Dale, maybe we should get out...

(groans)

You know, I never thought anything

could put this crazy

propane game in perspective,

but you did it.

So what do you think, sir?

It don't matter what I think.

Could be a statue of two dogs a-humping

as long as the Zoning Board thinks it's art.

And what...

Speak of the devil.

Margo, you look just radiant.

Hmm, interesting.

What does everyone think?

Real interesting.

What do you think, Margo?

Mm-hmm, hmm.

And who is the artist?

Voila! Peggy Hill.

Peggy Hill?

Wait, aren't you my daughter's

substitute Spanish teacher?

Ah, so you can see the Spanish influence

in my work.

Is this some kind of joke?

What?

You're a substitute teacher,

not a real artist.

This is crap.

Complete crap. Unmitigated crap.

I don't appreciate you wasting my time, Buck.

Permit denied.

Yeah, but...

I want some art, Hank!

I don't care if you have to rob a museum to get it.

I can do this, Buck!

Just give me another chance.

Oh, what about your idea about the two dogs?

Sorry, Peggy.

You had your bite at the apple.

HANK: Well, there goes our ride.

Stupid da Vinci with his stupid classical training.

Margo'd probably marry him.

Well? Did the zoning board reconsider?

Not exactly.

Buck's setting up a meeting

with some art dealer from Dallas.

A guy named Jazz. (groans)

So that's it?

Just because I didn't go to some snooty art school

I can't make art?

Hey, you're preaching to the choir.

I always liked the probot.

You look at the probot, he looks at you,

you think, "Hey, things are going to be okay."

Sure, Peggy can make a metal man,

but I'm living it!

This some kind of a joke?

Yeah. Knock-knock. Who's there?

Sweet revenge.

Sweet revenge who?

Get out of here.

Not so fast,

Mister King of Eighth Grade.

Gribble?

Looks like you didn't count on me

coming back in a suit of armor

when you were throwing my lunch on the roof!

Ha!

We're going to settle the score right now.

Cut it out.

You and your flesh skin can't hurt me.

Can he, Bill?

No!

Uh... maybe we can talk about this...

Forget it, Bill.

There's no reasoning with this animal.

This big, fat animal.

This big,

hairy,

fat...

(grunting)

Where is the?

Supposed to be a turnoff...

Whoa!

Yeah, it's Jazz.

Can you tell my 1:00 I'm going to be late?

I just ran into something amazing over here.

If I am not an artist,

what is that?

Oh, it's crooked.

(gasps)

(doorbell chimes)

Are you Peggy Hill?

The Peggy Hill who created this?

And who are you?

Jazz Colton, art dealer.

Now tell me everything.

You didn't go to art school, did you?

Didn't need it.

I am completely self-taught.

And so how does an artist like you end up here?

Well, I was born in a small town in Montana.

I moved to Arlen in High School.

That's when I met Hank.

We married two years later...

I've heard enough.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

This must be so boring for you.

Boring?

Ha! It's treasure.

Peggy, I want to buy anything you can make.

I want to sell your art.

You do?

Everyone is going to want

a Peggy Hill.

So, uh...

that's it, huh?

Just the silverfish?

You don't have anything for me to exterminate

that's got a little more fight to it?

Don't think so.

Come on. Mountain lion? Bear?

Old Rottweiler you don't need anymore?

Sorry.

What about that old bag

of a wife of yours?

(phone rings)

Hello?

Jazz!

So, how's my best-selling artist?

What? No!

Your stuff has been flying out of the gallery.

Your latest... The Prinker... brilliant.

That's why I've got a wonderful honor

in store for you, Peggy.

A gallery show just for you

and one other special local artist.

This is going to be your coming out party,

the night that introduces you to the art world.

How does that feel, superstar?!

Can I invite everyone who didn't believe in me

and really rub their noses in it?

It wouldn't be an art show without it, Peggy.

See you there.

Yello, Margo?

Uh-huh. Peggy Hill here.

Yeah, the Peggy Hill you said wasn't an artist.

Listen, I just wanted to let you know

that she is having a special gallery show in Dallas.

Mm-hmm.

That's right.

And I can get you in because you are lucky enough

to know the artist.

My God, art is fulfilling.

Well, I don't know a lot about artists,

but you sure are the prettiest one

I've ever seen.

MARGO: Peggy!

Margo.

You came.

I'm impressed, Peggy.

But between us girls,

I had a feeling your stuff was good.

Why didn't I trust myself?

Uh, water under the bridge.

Care to enter with the artist?

Bobby?

Amazing. She's a genius.

Oh, look at this.

I find the only real art comes from people

who have no self-awareness, the outsiders

who hover on the fringes of society.

Oh, there's our guest of honor!

(applause)

(glass tinkling)

What an evening, friends.

What a special evening

for art.

You don't discover a Peggy Hill every day.

It's a rare privilege.

But then it happens.

You find someone the art world has ignored.

(applause)

Here is someone

who despite having no formal education

has been able to touch us.

Her mind lacks the fine tools of the academy,

but she hacks and bludgeons with the blunt instruments

of her unspoiled childlike spirit.

Since that day she came down from the mountains

and became the child bride of a simple laborer,

she has been looking for a way to express her anger

at the world passing her by.

She is angry, she is practically illiterate,

but like a wounded animal

crying out, she makes herself heard.

Bless you, Peggy, for letting us hear you.

(applause)

PEGGY: What?!

"I ain't got no learning"?!

Oh, God, Hank.

Of course,

we are here

to honor another exciting new voice of outsider art,

the only artist I've worked with

who can be called Peggy Hill's peer,

Jimmy Wichard.

Hey, Peggy!

Now it all makes sense.

Peggy, you are an inspiration

to inbred morons everywhere.

I love your work.

I was wondering, do you feel sad sometimes,

like your heart has a tummy ache?

Oh, Hank, let's get out of here.

I'll get Bobby.

Jazz,

how could you?

"I ain't got no learning"?

(laughs)

You did say you didn't have any formal training,

Montana, high school sweetheart...

Look, I just spiced everything up a little.

Oh, God.

So people weren't buying probots because they liked them?

They were buying them because they thought

I was some kind of inbred hillbilly?

Of course.

(chuckles)

Let's face it...

middle-class hausfrau stacks a bunch of propane tanks?

Even I'm falling asleep!

But say it's made

by someone straight out of Deliverance and kaching!

Hey, you make guys, too?

I make guys.

Don't copy my guys!

No. You got to shake it!

The art don't work if you don't shake it.

And how's the robot game treating you?

So, uh, you know, I bet a lot of artists

had people thinking they were all kinds of stuff

before they got famous.

Did you see this letter from the zoning board?

"Dear Mrs. Hill,

"Though the board understands

"you overcame a lot in your life,

"angry hillbilly

"is not the face of Arlen

"we want to metal debris promptly."

And look

at the size of this typeface!

This typeface!

That's, uh, pretty big.

It was a great show, Jimmy.

You're going to be a rich artist.

Hey, what happened to the stuff I made?

Your art, Jimmy?

We sold it.

You sold the stuff I made?

I want it back! Give me it!

No. Remember?

We sell it, I give you money.

I can't make new stuff out of money!

Give me cans! I want cans!

The good ones!

Yeah, the... the smash 'ems!

So, you don't want money.

You want cans.

Duh!

You're the boss, Jimmy.

I'm the boss!

Stay angry, Jimmy!

Oh, hey, Mr. Hill.

Don't give me that.

You made a laughingstock out of my wife.

And you want what?

I want you to sell some of her art for real,

without all the lies.

I sympathize with you.

Honest injun.

But it isn't going to happen.

Says who?

It's good art, I tell you what.

And they liked it before, they'll like it now!

Look, I can see

the inbred hillbilly thing is really bothering you,

so I'll make you a deal...

I'll say she's insane.

But it's got to be criminally insane,

or we've got nothing.

No! That's it, Mister.

You just sold your last probot.

How about syphilitic?

Hook hands?

Transgender?

Oops.

Oops.

Oops. My beer!

Dale, you did that on purpose!

Mihn, I'm taking your roses!

(speaking Laotian)

Soft shells!

Cower before me!

(metal clanking)

BILL: It ends now, Dale.

You can't kick Rainey Street around anymore!

Oh, sweet, sweet,

stupid, Bill.

(silly groan)

(silly groan)

(loud gasp)

(silly groan)

(loud hacking coughs)

(breathing heavily)

Bill, roll me over so I can kick your ass.

Actually, just move your ass closer.

Mihn, I believe this is yours.

Hank!

How could you bring that thing here?

I didn't want to see it torn down.

I thought, I don't know,

we could put it up in the yard somewhere.

I want it dead, Hank.

I can't stand it laughing at me, telling me he's not art,

just a bunch of stupid tanks.

(sighs)

Why don't you sleep on that, Peggy.

Besides, I don't have the right tools here, and I just...

I want it dead now, Hank!

I need those tools!

Where are the tools?

(sighs)

Strickland.

No, Hank.

Let me do it.

That's right, metalhead.

This is personal.

All right, you're making another one!

Hey, honey, they're building another probot!

So you like it?

Yeah. Every time I drove by it, it made me feel...

optimistic.

Real? Well, that's what I was going for!

Hey, we're not exactly the art types,

but do you think

you could make us a little probot for our lawn?

Oh, yeah, that'd be great.

You make them to order?

You think you could do one

holding a pool cue for my rumpus room?

Well, sure.

How' bout holding an American flag?

Yeah, well, hold on, hold on.

I need to write it all down.

Yeah, uh, one at a time, please,

you know, so the artist can hear you.

Ripped By mstoll

Washington! Hitler! Washington! Hitler!