All language subtitles for S01E22_S01E23 - Fools Die On Friday - Sam & Max Vs The Uglions

Okay, this one's for the championship.

Sam, get that meal.

And remember, we're talking breakfast
here.

I'm going to say a chutney beef
enchilada with maple syrup. That's

I got it, I got it, I got it.

It's the electronic page to action, Max.

We have a situation on board receding
airlines flight 531 from Switzerland.

To the GB!

Hold on to your headgear, because here
we go!

Here we are skimming the vast Atlantic
aboard our aerodynamically adorable

flying GB.

According to the commissioner, a crazed
madman has seized control of a

commercial flight and is threatening to
crash it unless his senseless demands

are met.

Among other things, he wants $5 million
in unrolled change and a getaway car

powered by a mixture of B -spit and
earthy loans.

Wow! Demands just don't come any more
senseless than that. Thank you, crazed

madman.

We should be in visual range any second,
Sam. Does this airplane have any

distinguishing scars?

Don't say anything about an airplane.

It's the Airship Muggenfiff, Max.

Time to perform the daring GB to
Zeppelin aerial transfer.

Permission to come aboard, Capitan. That
wasn't so hard. Hey, what about the GB?

It's all taken care of, Max. I activated
the autopilot before we hit the silk.

Autopilot? Sam, that thing doesn't even
have an a... tray. Then what was that

big happy button I put?

Are you the authorities?

Oh, please, can you help us? This madman
has shackled himself to the wheel.

He was the passenger in seat 4B, kept
clapping his hands and calling for nuts,

more nuts, flossing his teeth,
disturbing the other passengers and

like a broken cuckoo clock.

Not to worry, Swiss Smith. We have
everything under control.

Everything except the airspeed,
altitude, and basic maneuverability of

paper -thin party boat?

On the count of three, I'll lob you at
the unsuspecting beggar so you can latch

on to him like a hungry bear trap. Your
hands are freezing.

One, two, three.

Hey, fellas!

Great day for a blimp ride, huh?

Up we go into the wild blue yonder,
flying high...

I can best answer your question by

quoting directly from this classic 70s
ditty. Why do nerds suddenly appear

time we are near?

Just like me, they long to be close to
you. All right! Lord, what are you doing

here? And what have you done with our
demented terrorist?

Send him over. He's ours.

Well, in truth, fellas, I'm the demented
terrorist.

Or more accurately, the demented
terrorist is channeling his mind -sick

through me.

Kooky, huh?

You're disappointed. I can tell. You
were hoping to square up against a more

worthy opponent.

You being the brilliant freelance police
and all. Well, we did come all this

way. On a Saturday?

Would it make you feel any better if I
told you I was doing this against my

will? That I'm being manipulated from
afar by an evil mastermind who planted a

hurtful device in the base of my
cerebral cortex after plying me with

beer in the airport lounge?

I regained consciousness after the
takeoff, and there it was, forcing me to

bad things!

Not that we doubt your claim, Lorne, but
personally, I'd like some kind of proof

of your story. And first dibs at pulling
the stitches.

Quiet! There's another command coming
in. Yeah? What do you want me to do this

time? Haven't I served you well?

I don't know, Sam.

Something tells me this is just another
of Lawrence's elaborate charades to

wheedle his way into our personal space.

But until we're sure, we'll have to
indulge this sad grab for attention.

We have the safety of the passengers and
our pledge to provide patently

ridiculous scenarios to consider.

No! No! No!

He says he's tired of your meddling and
wants me to cast you into the sea. But I

won't do it. You hear?

You can't!

Hunniston, it begins.

Maybe there's something else I can do
for you.

I'm not too fond of the captain.

Let's throw him off.

May I have another?

I'm not entirely buying this high
-frequency head game, Sam. Me neither.

These crippling cranial episodes could
be a common occurrence for Lorne. That

would explain his meteoric slide through
the public school system.

Lee, my friend, it's too late for me,
but you can still save yourself.

What about the passengers?

I'll stall Marconi long enough for you
to speak him off. Now.

Gee, Lorne, that's mighty big of you,
considering the punishment will be

And excruciating.

Well, I guess we better get cracking.

Yep, time to wake them.

Do you think I need a coat? You might.
It was pretty cool on the way here.

Excuse me. Sorry, Gordon. Could you hand
me that?

Attention, passengers.

Attention,

passengers. We are now approaching
Nantucket. Please collect all...

belongings, and rude limericks in
preparation for de -blimping. Thank you.

Goodbye. It's been our pleasure to serve
you.

We hope you'll fly the good ship Mug and
Book again.

Don't drink the water.

Bob's your uncle. Oh, you kid.

You can swoon unconscious now, Lorne.
That's the last of them.

I guess putting Lorne through the
cerebral wringer is one way of regaining

control of this big floating weenie.
I'll just stow this leaky baggage in the

overhead compartment and our troubles
will be over. Look, it's New York. Death

ahead. He wants me to steer right into
Lady Liberty's pointy hat. If I refuse,

he'll burst my brain like an egg in a
microwave.

Sam, I don't ask for much.

But I've got to see that.

Easy, Lorne. Your conspicuously unseen
tormentor can't very well blame you if

the blimp suddenly starts flying out of
control, can he? Well, no, but she's

handling fine. Not for long.

Wait, what?

Um, far be it for me to question the
methods of the incomparable freelance

police, but, um...

of what we're doing, we're going to
crash this thing right into the Raving

Wacko's backyard.

You tell him, Max.

When you say the Raving Wacko's
backyard, are you referring to the

park and my cozy roach -infested flop
therein?

Wowee, you guys are amazing.

How did you ever see some disinvolved
yet harmless masquerade of mine?

Well, duh.

Sam and Max are only the world's best
crime solvers alive, thank you very

From the very start, they probably saw
right through my little prank about a

shady Spengali with disease control in
my brain, and decided to cut old Loren a

break by humoring him. Even though he
came close to wreaking major havoc in

America's happiest megalopolis.

What a couple as well, fellas! Can we
turn him off somehow?

Huh?

Where should we park this light and
fluffy Swiss loaf? I hear Lakehurst, New

Jersey has a few spots open.

Normally we look the other way, Lorne.
But blimp -jacking an airship full of

innocent Austrians... Then posing as a
radio -controlled patsy being

by some distant doom merchant.

Well... That's just wrong.

I'm not a terrible thing.

It's just that... Well... Johnny! I love
you guys.

I do feel kind of cheated that there was
no surgically implanted device back

here.

At least now we know what to get him for
his birthday.

Maybe we should go easy on him, Sam. He
does score points for actually

inflicting pain on himself in order to
sell his sick story.

Yeah. Instead of simply faking those
wild criminal episodes, Lorne went the

extra distance with this.

Just palm it and press for an earful of
agony.

And even though my future as a free man
is in doubt, I feel lucky to have been

part of yet another high -flying
adventure with Sam and Max, freelance

It was a masterstroke how you tricked a
full confession out of me.

Sure, genius.

You mean by threatening to crash land in
the raving wacko's backyard?

Uh -huh. That was no trick. Until you
spilled your guts, we had to assume you

were really under the influence of a
demented loony. We had every intention

crashing this baby into the safest place
we knew.

The raving wacko's backyard.

An old abandoned seafood joint on Route
6.

You mean I blab my secret for nothing?

Uh -huh. Uh -huh. Boy, is my face way
beyond red.

If I were the kind of guy who looked
good in hats, and sadly I am not, then

would sure be off to you. Yes, indeedy.
For I am your bestest, most gushing

friend for life.

Why do nerds suddenly appear every time
you are near?

Just like me, they long to be close to
you.

Can I try that? I took the liberty of
jacking up the pain levels.

Close to you. Better give him another.

Close to you.

It's not working!

Have you got it on AC or DC?

Close to you.

At the dawn of time, the inhabitants of
our world have looked to the skies

and pondered about the existence of
invaders from outer space.

The question of whether we are alone in
the universe has finally been answered.

And as our brave men in uniform, those
howling leathernecks, risk life and limb

to keep the alien horde at bay, John Q.
Public furrows his brow and wonders

whether all this hostility and military
machismo is really necessary in this

battle of wit between Sam and Mac versus
the Uglyons from

outer space.

Our story begins on a night not so long
ago, when from the blackest pocket of

the universe came the Atleons, a cold,
emotionless race of sky dwellers

who set sail for this island Earth, not
in search of peace, but to satisfy their

hunger for human flesh.

Wild, disgusting creatures are they.

devoid of all humanity, intent on
satiating their primitive urges without

concern for the pain and suffering they
will undoubtedly inflict.

Oh, it makes me just want to scream. I'm
so mad.

Them with their big weapons and superior
intellect.

I bet they wouldn't be so tough without
those.

Without those, I bet they'd just be
babies.

Go on, babies. Go crying home to Mama
before we earthlings really give you

something to...

This is the scene here at Grover's Mill
as hundreds of people have gathered in

the shadow of this otherworldly device
to be forever linked with this historic

event. As yet, there's been no activity
to speak of, but it's still early, and

I'm certain that... Wait.

Nothing's happening? I think... Yes.

Someone's coming out.

People of Earth, heed my words.

Smith Party of Four.

Table for Smith Party of Four.

Yes, for a close encounter of the
succulent kind.

beam yourself down to the Frying Sauter
Restaurant.

The Frying Sauter, where the food isn't
the only thing that's out of this world.

This is quite the place, Sam. Nice
atmosphere.

I like that it's breathable. I'm
speaking from experience when I say the

is remarkably authentic.

I'm particularly amused by all the hokey
costumes and overdone theatrics of the

personable staff.

Notice how they only haul the most
ravishing, just -swooned babes to their

shrieking demise?

They've really done their homework.

Who wants my skin?

No! Let go!

Help! Help me! Please!

I think they mean it!

Looks like everybody's in on the act.

Is all just in fun, right?

Why, a couple of hours.

Stays only for pleasure and amusement.

Uh, if you guys will excuse me, I have
to go to the little geek's room.

If it's all just an act, why doesn't
anybody come back?

Hey.

For a small restaurant, they sure have a
lot of freezers.

You're just in time. They brought our
food and took Max.

So long, little buddy.

Bye, Sam.

I admit they lack the theatrical chops
of a Mr. Bob Saget. Let's follow him.

Run for it next.

These guys are for real.

We don't mind you yolks handling our
food. But we do draw the line at you

handling our women, folks.

We're leaving now.

And you can forget about the tip.

Quick. We've got to locate Colonel Korn,
the base commander.

Split up.

Colonel Corn.

I'm sure he'll be all ears.

Afternoon, folks.

I'm Sergeant Stone, and it's my duty to
welcome you to the visitor's tour.

Shouldn't we be looking for Colonel
Corn, Sam?

We are, little buddy. If this tour is
worth the price of admission, we should

quick -stepping past military higher
-ups in naturalistic poses in a matter

minutes. A few things you can do for me
today.

Stay with the group. No talking. No
photos. No taking notes. Do not touch

anything. Do not ask me about UFOs or
aliens.

In fact, do not ask any questions at
all.

Any questions?

Excuse me, Sergeant.

Will we be seeing any aliens on this
tour?

Something wrong with your brain?

There are no aliens here!

Those stories are media fabrications,
and that is the last I want to hear

it. Are we clear?

Sir, yes, sir.

Good. Now follow me.

Eyes right. Here we see the recently
painted mess hall.

Eyes right.

Here you see a plaque commemorating our
glorious victory over the foreigners in

one place or another.

Eyes down. As you can see, this asphalt
was recently resurfaced.

Pinnacle, do you know what's going on
out there? The entire base is overrun

aliens. Heck, we invited them, lured
them from across the cosmos to take pot

shots at them like living skeet in order
to justify rampant overspending on

military weapons that have no practical
use.

It was a hoot until we found out these
things from another world were a highly

advanced and indestructible race.

Oh, well, who knew?

And with no way to stop the uglians,
they started carrying out their prime

directive. The freezing and unloading of
as much human takeout as their ships

could carry.

It's too bad, really.

Why are you telling me all this?

Because I'm tired of keeping decent,
hard -working citizens like y 'all in

dark.

Actually, I'm in a big hurry to join the
rest of the boys down in the bomb

shelter. Our long -range nuclear
missiles ought to be picking out all of

prime saucer locations any minute now.

Nuclear weapon?

Are you crazy?

Them ugly aunts will never know what hit
them.

neutralized in your military's foolish
attempt to beat us. They cannot help you

anymore. No! It's not possible!

Do what you want with me, but tell me,
what happened to Sam and Max?

Relax, geek. This was all just a clever,
albeit icky, ruse to get inside an

actual flying saucer. And within arm's
reach of the controls.

She purrs like a warm kitten. This is
the kind of thing that puts the joy in

joyriding.

Ah, boys, can we get down to business
here? The human race has been totally

wiped out. What are we going to do about
it? Maybe we can rebuild it from

scratch. You could clone an entire
civilization of us.

Or we could fly around Earth really fast
in reverse time.

Or, better yet, we could just mess with
this time displacement dial right here

on the dash.

That's it.

time travel.

We'll just set this futuristic doohickey
to send us back to the point in time

before the Uglyons arrived on Earth.

And... Boiler!

It's like Armageddon never happened.

That restores mankind and all. But
what's to stop the Uglyons from carrying

their recipe for world conquest all over
again?

I say we change that recipe.

People of Earth, heed my words. Hey,
what's that on his face? It's me! What?

What are they pointing at? It's me! God,
it's a piece of me!

It's me! Bimble, Bimble! God,

don't look at us. We're ugly.

The world is off. It's my country.

Wow, what did you guys do?

It was simple, really. We just changed
the key ingredient in their recipe for

doom from fresh frozen earthlings to
chocolate junkies. You see, Keith?

After collecting and consuming all that
chocolate and air, we knew that the

Uglians, a prideful race, would be so
embarrassed by their ensuing facial

eruptions that they'd abandon their
profane plans for Earth and retreat to

galaxy wracked with self -doubt and
insecurity, like so many teens on

day. Defeated, after all man's devices
and defenses had failed, by the humblest

things that God, in his wisdom, has put
on this Earth.

Sam and Max, freelance police, right?

No, this. Pay attention.

You crack me up, little buddy.

Or is it?