Original subtitles

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?