All language subtitles for s04e15_-_a_day_in_the_life

Guess who?

Captivating fragrance you're wearing.
What do you call it?

Mazzola.

Sheila.

Hi, Dan.

So, what brings you by?

I have a new position.

Will it involve a loss of consciousness?

I mean, I have a new job.

I leave for L.A. at midnight.

What? You're walking out of my life just
like that?

After everything we have meant to each
other? After everything we have shared?

At least have the common decency to
sleep with me during the dinner break.

What must you think of me to ask a
question like that?

Of course I'll sleep with you.

Ready to begin, sir.

You gotta be kidding. This is tonight's
docket? Nope. The rest are being hauled

up with a forklift.

What the hell's going on? Well, haven't
you heard?

We got a log jam of cases, Your Honor.

You got about 200 to adjudicate.

200? Mac, that's not possible. On a good
night, we do what? 75, 80?

Because of the overcrowding, a federal
court ordered that all cases not

arraigned by midnight tonight be
dismissed and the defendants set free.

Gee, I'd kill to get out of here by 12.

200 cases?

We have to arrange 200 cases in one
shift?

That's impossible.

Well, I guess we're going to have to
cancel the 10 o'clock break.

No!

What I mean, sir, is that I rely on that
break to rejuvenate myself, to refresh

myself, to have cheap sex in the broom
closet.

Absolutely not.

Sheila brought her van.

to wait till after work to pop your
clutch.

Let's get started, okay, people? And
we're off. State versus John Doe,

loitering.

Yes, sir. Mr.

Doe here refused to identify himself to
police. As a matter of fact, he refuses

to say anything to anybody.

Is he deaf?

Can you talk?

Want to go to the slammer?

Anybody got any idea?

Maybe he's got laryngitis.

Maybe he's got agoraphobia.

Maybe when he was eight, some kid dared
him to stick his tongue to a frozen

flagpole.

And it got torn out, leaving only a
pulpy, meaty stub.

You've been taking the toaster in the
bathtub again, haven't you?

Your Honor, we could be here all night
guessing.

Sir, there's got to be a reason why he's
not talking.

Where was he arrested?

Near Columbus Circle.

Hmm.

Say, isn't there a monastery near there?

Yeah, St. Raymond's.

You mean... He could be a monk.

Don't some monks take a vow of silence?

Sure. Could it be possible? Could he
possibly be a monk who's taken a vow of

silence? Yes!

Roz better take this one back for
reprocessing.

months of meditation and prayer.

Six years of training and commitment
down the tubes.

I can't believe... Shut up.

I do not believe this.

A book burning? A public book burning?
Take it easy, sir. I will not take it

easy. Not until people like this crawl
into the 20th century and realize that

the freedom of speech manifested in
our... literature is one of the very

cornerstones of our democracy.

Your Honor, they attempted to burn 1,200
copies of the same book.

I don't give a damn.

I feel it's my responsibility to set an
example by fining radical extremists

like this with every ounce of power that
this state has seen fit to grant me. The

genius of Barry Manilow.

Next case, sir. People versus Mrs.
Smith.

Mac, is that not the sweetest, most
innocent-looking face you have ever

seen? Yes, it is, sir.

What's the charge?

Prostitution.

Hello.

Hello, yourself.

So, you're...

That's the only thing she does freely.

Here's Mr. Reynolds, sir. He's the
director of the Sunset Retirement Home

where Mrs. Smith lives and hawks her
tawdry wares.

So you admit you've been doing this for
money?

Sometimes I do it for pudding.

Sometimes I do it in pudding.

Sometimes I do it just for kick.

Can you imagine degrading yourself for
green stamps?

Sure.

By now, I would have had enough of that
sailboat.

Your Honor, Mrs. Smith has some
character witnesses she would like to

present on her behalf.

Well, that's a little unusual under the
circumstances, but... Ah, sure, go

ahead.

men as happy as that before they met Mr.
Smith?

No, but they could all walk.

Tenant-landlord dispute, sir.

Your Honor, Mr. Shea has refused to pay
his rent for the last three months. When

he was given an eviction notice, he
responded by barricading himself inside

of his apartment.

Mr. Shea, what happens to be the
problem?

All I need is a few more days. I've
almost got it right.

Beg your pardon? Mr. Shea is an amateur
magician, Your Honor.

I'm on the verge of an almost an amazing
and astounding revolutionary effect.

Something that has never before been
accomplished. Something that will alter

forever our very perceptions of reality.

Mr. Shea, as committed as I'm sure you
are, the fact remains that

even successful magicians with unlimited
resources and lots of money sometimes...

spent lifetimes fruitlessly trying to
develop...

Next

case.

Wait a minute. It is not my fault he
canceled the dinner break.

Bye, Dan.

Oh, Dan, wait.

Listen to me. Look, look, look, look,
look. All right.

Your flight's at 12.30. We'll be out of
here by 12 at the latest.

We take your van. I know a shortcut. We
get to the airport by 12.22. Figure on

baggage check-in. That'll leave one
minute in the unloading zone.

All right.

All right.

Midnight, but not a second after.

Gentlemen, start your engine.

Mac, how many cases we got left?

Not including the last one, 135.

Oh, this is hopeless. No one can
possibly adjudicate 200 cases in one

night. Well, Judge Klein arraigned 199,
but that's the record. Yeah, well, I am

not Judge Klein. Oh, no, sir. You're not
at all like Judge Klein, and he would be

the first to agree.

Oh, yeah?

Uh-huh.

Isn't he the one who called you an
amateur?

A panty waist pup.

An underqualified and undernourished
judicial error.

Let's take him down, Matt.

Next case, sir. People versus Grossman.
It's an attempted suicide.

I'll bet there's an interesting little
anecdote goes with this one. Yes, sir.

Apparently, Mr. Grossman tried to
terminate his life in a laundromat by

stuffing himself and $12 worth of
quarters into a jumbo dryer.

Fortunately, they pulled him out right
in the middle of a fluff cycle.

What do you mean, fortunately?

I was trying to kill myself.

Mr. Grossman, whatever would make you
despondent enough to attempt

laundricide?

Look at me.

You know what it's like to be this
short?

Men pat me on my head.

Women snicker at me when I ask them out.
The last job I was offered was as a lawn

jockey.

I can't take it anymore.

I didn't have to go through life being
five foot six.

You can't be five foot six. I'm five
foot six.

What?

Mr. Grossman, you didn't by any chance
set the dryer to... high, did you?

Oh, my God.

Maybe you need a good shrink.

I mean, I mean, I mean, I mean, maybe
psychiatric support is in order.

Wrong.

This way, Mr. Grossman. I'm ruined.

My life is even more desolate and
hopeless than before.

Yes, but at least now you have that nice
April fresh smell.

What's next, Mac? Indecent exposure.

Mr. Prosecutor, the evidence?

No need to tag this one.

Sir, the next case involves mutual
assault charges.

Who's this?

He claims to be God.

How dare you have the temerity to
suggest that you're God?

Who are you?

I'm God.

The other defendant, Your Honor. Oh,
God.

Yes?

Never mind.

If I am not treated with reverence and
awe, I shall put a plague on your house.

And that address, please.

Come on, I think we can solve this
problem without resorting to the

indiscriminate use of locusts.

Your Honor, the dueling supreme beings
here manifested themselves in green

-black deli whereupon they began to
smite each other with turkey rolls.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

How do you like a thunderbolt where the
sun don't shine?

Gentlemen, gentlemen.

to know the mind of God, but what do you
say we give Bellevue a crack at it?

Well, would you escort the entities down
to holding?

Going my way.

And I thought I screwed up when I made
the platypus.

What's next, ma'am? A fight over
tablets, Your Honor.

Drugs? Yes, again.

You do know that's available in
paperback now, don't you?

What's the story?

Oh, my client was arrested for
trespassing, Your Honor, but as the file

shows, his record is spotless.

How do you plead?

Oh, please!

Oh, please!

Next case, sir. Disturbing the peace and
creating a public disturbance.

Killer. Stop it.

Murderer. Obviously, this is a domestic
dispute.

Yes, neighbors called police after they
heard blood-curdling screams emanating

from the Boswell's rumpus room.

He killed Lucy.

There's been a death?

She's referring to the new Lucy TV show,
sir.

Of course.

Sir, the Boswells are a TV ratings
family.

What they watch in part determines what
stays on the air.

We represent 840,000 viewers.

Have you got any idea what it's like to
have your remote control wired to the

viewing pulse of a nation?

Kinky?

We never even go out anymore.

Never? Well, we went out once for our
anniversary.

And?

I think what we're losing here is
perspective. Now, there are a lot of

things in life much more important than
television, and I would think that first

and foremost would be the sanctity and
the harmony of the family.

He canceled the Jetsons.

That was you?

I read a book.

It won't happen again.

Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to
fine you folks 200 bucks. Maybe that'll

help bring you back to reality.

200 bucks.

Weren't you informed that you were
entitled to a phone call to prepare for

this very possibility?

We made that phone call.

Sorry I'm late.

Listen, I left as soon as I got your
message.

Who are you?

Brandon Tartikoff.

Brandon what-a-cough.

I'm Brandon Tartikoff, head of
programming for NBC.

I'm here to post bail for the Bosworths.

Brandon, if that is your real name, the
bailiffs will help you with that.

Listen, don't worry about a thing. I'll
have you out of here in time to see The

Misfits of Science.

It's been canceled.

I knew that.

Mr. Tartikoff, what's the secret of your
success?

Well, certainly luck and timing play a
big part.

But I also pride myself on being a man
of principle and integrity.

You see, I will kowtow to no one. Excuse
me, are Mr.

Cosby's on the phone for you?

Oh, God, the sandwiches!

Tell him I already left.

He'll be right there.

Why don't you suck on one of those
pudding pops while you're here?

Max, there's only 15 minutes left. Oh,
but just two cases left, sir. You're

kidding. Oh, no, sir.

Hey, we're home free. Nothing's going to
stop us now, sir. People versus Damon.

Let's start.

Your Honor, my client had a midnight
deadline for his quarterly filing with

the IRS. Mr. Tuttle here was the postal
clerk on duty. My client, frustrated

with his pace, merely tried to stuff him
in the overnight slot.

He's pretty cut and dry, huh, Mr.
Tuttle? You have anything to say?

Yes.

Well, then go ahead.

Well...

It's a long

story.

Why am I seeing my life flashing before
my eyes?

Well, he does have a legal right to
speak, Your Honor.

Okay, Mr. Tunnel, let her...

Thank you.

you had the... Hogshead cheese.

Bon appetit.

Mr. Tuttle, I got one question for you.
Do you or do you not...

driving, sir. Tell me. All we gotta do
is turn that over to the grand jury. We

could still make it.

I'm afraid not, Your Honor.

My client refuses to waive the reading
of the information.

You what?

We never do that.

But the formal charge goes on and on and
on.

Unfortunately, word got out that anyone
not arraigned before midnight was set

free. Oh, we were so close.

Oh, well, that's it. We're finished.

No, we're not. Not as long as I got a
chance to sleep with Matilda the Hun,

we're not.

... ...

...

...

that what I really need is a man who
takes his time and I found him.

What?

for you downstairs.

Don't knock it till you've tried it.

Hey, pal, did I get your order?

Give me ten puddings.