All language subtitles for The Cleveland Show s04e16 Who Done Did It.eng

(funky disco plays)
♪ My name is Cleveland Brown

♪ And I am proud to be

♪ Right back in my hometown

♪ With my new family

♪ There's old friends
and new friends ♪

♪ And even a bear

♪ Through good times
and bad times ♪

♪ It's true love we share

♪ And so I found a place

♪ Where everyone will know

♪ My happy mustached face

♪ This is
The Cleveland Show. ♪

(chuckles)

(humming
"March of the Marionettes")

Good Clevening.

(chuckles)
Tonight's episode is a mystery,

so pay attention.

Even if things appear
to be slow and unfunny,

they may be important later.

Wow, there are
a lot of people here

I don't want to talk to.

Hey, Gus.

What are you auctioning?

Copies of my new
exercise video.

Oh.

GUS:
Run faster.

You don't want me to
catch you.

Hmm.
Hey, there go that guy

Cleveland's mama
go with sometimes.

Hey, Grandpa.

Why are you pretending

to be famous mystery novelist,
Jocelyn Elderwood?

I ain't pretending.

I am Jocelyn Elderwood.

It's my nom de plume.

Gay.

You ever see a man read
a book?

And women only like buying
books written by women.

So, you want to bid
to get a master class

in mystery novel writing?

Yes!

Or do I?

(chuckles)

Ah, man,
I didn't bring my wallet.

There's no room in my pockets

'cause they're
all filled with my ass.

That's all right, Junior,
I got this.

You got any hard candies

in your work purse,
Grandpa Freight Train?

Stay out of there.

I got my new mystery
novel book in there.

Ask Not What Your Country
Can Do For You.

Ask What You Can Do
For Your Murder.

That's a little cumbersome.

So are you.

♪

What's your
highest bid, Donna?

I forget, what
is less than zero?

Your IQ-- boom!

And don't nobody need
no closet organized.

I know black people just throw
their clothes onto the floor,

but some people prefer
to use hangers.

Closet organizing.

Oh, my God, Donna,
you can finally get

all your clothes off
the floor.

Look, Lloyd,
you love closets.

I do.

Bitch.

$300?

$400.

Hello, Fern.

$2,000.

(crowd gasps)

What are you gonna do, Fern?

Take it.

Well, don't forget,
at my table I will be auctioning off

a dish I made using
a special jasmine peanut oil

I got in India when I was
picking out my foster children--

my homemade peanut brittle.

Get that away from me.

I am deathly
allergic to peanuts.

I would think someone

with your fat, squirrel cheeks
would love nuts.

(laughs)

It was funny.

$2,000.

You know how many recorders
I can buy with that?

All of them,

for they are cheap like you.

Boom.

(Donna grunting,
Arianna growling)

DONNA:
Aah, not the nips!

(Donna grunting,
Arianna growling)

I can't believe Arianna would
embarrass me at a function--

the most important
thing for a woman.

(sighs)

Poor Donna.

I wish there was something
pointless I could do for her.

Maybe there is.

Ah, what would be the point?

I got it.

Hey, Rock Hudson, you want to
go for a walk, huh?

(barking)

You know what?

I'm gonna pee
in the yard, too.

(panting)

No one humiliates my wife
except me

and herself
and sometimes her children.

Take this, Arianna.

(Cleveland grunting,
eggs cracking)

(chuckles)

(barks)

Someone threw eggs
at Arianna's house?

Well, I am glad somebody
got that uppity-ass bear.

She think she people.

(giggling)

Yeah, somebody.

(giggles)

Mr. Brown, did you have
something to do with this?

Who, me?
Couldn't be.

(grunts)

Now, as a strong,
confident woman,

I certainly don't need a
man defending my honor,

but when it happens, I can't
help but take my bra off.

Mm.

Kids, don't come
in here!

You know, Wally has been very
rude to me this week at work.

Told me I had
gross knuckles.

Well, maybe Wally's going
to have a little egg-cident.

Ooh, you're getting
me all egg-cited.

Let me do
the jokes, woman.

Sorry, egg,
at least you got laid once.

(chuckles)

Donna would have
butchered that.

(cries out)

(clucks)

(clucking rapidly)

(grunting)

(crying)

Well, I guess the yolk's
on me.

Ha!

Now, mystery...

...is "My...

Story."

Oh...!
Boom!

Now, every mystery's got

three pieces: the "huh,"
the "aha," and the...

(dramatic music plays)
♪ "Dun-dun-dun."

Now, if you'll excuse me,

Jocelyn Elderwood's got
to take a...

(dramatic music plays)
♪ Number two.

That's a "wordsmiff"
right there.

Cleveland,
guess what happened

at the grocery store.

They didn't charge you
for the soda you "forgot"

on the bottom
of the cart?

Nah, they noticed it
this time,

but Lydia Waterman took
my parking space.

(sighs)

(grunts)

Bushy.

Look at me, crawling along
like a little worm.

I were a worm, I'd like
to be called William or Scooter.

Scooter Worm, Scooter Worm.

Aw, now I'm all dirty.

Garafalo!

Oh, my God.

(gasps):
Lydia. She's dead.

(screaming)

Donna, I have something
to tell you.

Well, I have something
to tell you.

Let's say it at the same time.

This lingerie is reversible.
I killed Lydia Waterman.

What?!
What's on the other side?!

Leopard!

You killed Lydia Waterman?!

Yes!

With more news on the murder,
here's Larvell.

Thanks, bro.

Um, so, this is,
like, really wild.

So the detectives
are now saying

that some guy
allegedly chucked a egg

that hit Lydia Waterman
upside her head,

and that's what murdered her
into her soup.

Thanks, Larvell.

Oh, my God.

You must have taken
the hard-boiled eggs

from the top shelf.

That's why it sailed
like a brick.

Donna, you numskull.

I've told you a thousand times

that hard-boiled eggs belong
in the crisper.

The crisper's full
of brown lettuce.

Well, there's blood
on both our hands,

both of ea-each
of ours's hands.

Four bloody hands total.

You're right,
what are we going to do?

Think, Donna, think.

It's curtains for us.

I'm calling the police.

You ain't calling (bleep).

We could just disappear,

buy a submarine.

World's 80% water.

Give Roberta some money, she
could take care of the kids.

The kids can come with us.

We'll send them to the
University of Atlantis.

No, you know what?

We do nothing.

Just act normal--
business as usual, okay?

Got you, biz as "youge."

Guess I won't be needing this,

and I better cancel
the admissions interview.

Ahp, wrong number.

Act normal.

Just another day at
the office.

(phone rings)

(exhales)

Waterman's Wife.
Murderer Brown speaking.

I mean, Waterman Cable.
Cleveland Murderer speaking.

(groans)

Hey, Cleveland, did you
hear about Waterman's...?

All right, you got me, Aaron,
I killed Lydia Waterman.

I did it!

Do you hear me, everyone?!

I killed her
and I peed in the yard!

MAN:
Ew, Cleveland peed in the yard.

All right, here's a mystery
where the twist is,

you know everything--

who did it,
how they did it, and why.

You just don't know
the characters' names.

Let me guess,
the killer's name turns out to be Elliot.

No, it was Elli-- oh.

Man, this is hard.

No wonder all writers
kill themselves.

How did you come
up with the idea

for your new book?

Keep your hands
to yourself.

This ain't
your ding-a-ling.

(laughs)
I guess we're not in the shower.

No, no, i-i-it's still
a work in progress.

These pages are all blank.

♪ Dun-dun-dun.

There's your "dun-dun-dun"
moment.

I got stuck
on the dedication.

I got nothing left.

Looks like it's all over
for Jocelyn Elderwood.

You paid
for a master class,

but all you got is
front-row seats

to the death of an old man's
female persona.

I would not have
bid on that.

That was Len Stein
the Jewish lawyer.

The good news is, no more
bedtimes around here.

Cleveland was the only one
enforcing that stupid rule.

The bad news is, he'll
probably be in jail for 14 years

if he behaves himself.

And you know he won't.

(door slams open)

Cleveland didn't kill no one.

I heard what happened,

and Cleveland's a lot
of things:

a goof, a sap, a
wienie, a dork,

a dill weed, and a
worthless fat-ass,

but he ain't
no killer.

Well, how do you know?

I don't, but Jocelyn Elderwood
has a hunch,

and a lady's intuition
is always right.

You know, sometimes, Grandpa,
I wish we could just play catch.

No time for catch.

Cracking this case will put
Jocelyn Elderwood back

on top of the Amazon
self-publish list.

And I'm gonna need my two
star pupils to help me.

We're his star pupils!

Oof, oof,
oof, oof!

To prove Cleveland's innocent,
we're gonna have to prove--

and follow me here--
he didn't do it.

Cleveland can only
throw 30 miles per hour

because he has
what I call "wuss arm."

To simulate his throw,

I'm gonna throw this egg
left-handed at Kendra.

I was told there'd be soup.

Still alive.

See? Cleveland couldn't
have killed her.

Thanks, Kendra.

No problemo.

Thanks for the egg, dude.

(egg shell crunching)

She eating the shell.

She don't care.

So if Dad didn't
kill her, who did?

We'll find out at the morgue
when we talk to Lydia.

(dramatic music plays)
Because corpses talk the loudest.

Ooh, get that down--
I can end a scene on that.

As long as no one says
anything else after it.

Howzit, brah?

Wait, where do
I know you from?

Oh-ho-ho, I was
on your jury.

Ah, slept through
the first half of that trial,

but when I woke up, I wanted
to prove I was paying attention.

Might as well
convict somebody.

Persuaded every last
one of them.

Wow, that was 19 years ago.

Man, you have missed a lot.

Gilmore Girls got cancelled.

There was a show called
the Gilmore Girls.

What, do you collect Vaseline?

(laughs) Oh.

The gentleman in my cell
is not a good person.

If it wasn't for the kindness
of the Aryans,

I don't know what I'd do.

They're a godsend.

Them and... your love.

(crying):
I don't tell you this often enough, Donna,

but you are a beautiful woman

and a wonderful wife.

What?

Help, Donna!

The mammaries--
let me see the mammaries!

Damn!

Check out the ass
on that ladybug.

Oh, yeah.
Interesting.

Here it is--
Lydia Waterman, D.F.E.

"Death From Egg."

Boy, a lot can go wrong
in life, huh?

Lydia was a dear
friend of mine.

Could I see the body?

Absolutely not.

Whoops.

My distressed-suede
ankle boots.

All right, that's how
chapter nine ends.

Now for chapter ten,

"The Morgue, the Merrier."

(laughs)
Nice.

Now, let's creep.

Mmm, oh, good,
it's P, B and J.

I was worried that
the "J" might be blood.

And yet you
took the chance.

Aah! Death!

Quiet, Rallo,
her soul is sleeping.

There is

a small bump
where the egg hit her.

But look at all this
skin irritation.

Just as I thought--

her throat's swollen shut
from anaphylactic shock.

She died of an allergic
reaction to something in the soup

she was eating before
the egg even hit her.

(inhales)

(moaning)

Bleh.

He gets all the ladies.

Junior, let your grandpa
blow into your mouth.

Oh, he's that kind of grandpa.

I need Junior's super palate
to place this flavor.

Okay, just
don't goose me.

(exhales)
Oh.

(bleeping)

Jasmine peanut oil from India.

How are we supposed to figure
out who has jasmine peanut oil?

I know!

Fern Stapleton.

She had that bland peanut
brittle at the silent auction.

All right, let's go kick down
the bitch's door.

♪

(gasps) Just what in
the heck do you guys think you're doing?

We found traces
of youjasmine peanut oil

in Lydia Waterman's
dead mouth.

She told you she was allergic,
and you poisoned her anyway!

On purpose!

You make us sick!

Now, show us
the peanut oil!

That is high hogwash!

Besides, I was
in Mud Falls the night Lydia died,

visiting my bitch sister,
Nancy Jean.

If I was gonna kill
anybody, I'd kill her.

I'd kill to have
a pantry like this.

It's very handy.

That's weird.

It's almost empty.

Okay, there are prints
on here,

but mostly mine.

Should've used gloves.

Are these footprints
a clue?

(gasps)
Somebody broke in!

Smash-and-grab--
classic Chris Brown.

I thought about that.

But this was a window,
not a lady's face. Hey,

these footprints are
from Skechers Shape-Ups.

Fern's off the hook--
these are too big to be lady footprints.

But what guy would
wear Shape-Ups?

Lloyd Waterman
wears Shape-Ups!

And I really
should, too.

(laughs)

So, how long you
been playing the harp?

(organ playing quietly)
(birds chirping)

(woman sobbing quietly)

I'm very sorry
for your loss.

Your wife left a
beautiful corpse.

Thank you, Mr. Coroner.

(loud grunts)

Why did I knock
that door down?

I don't know.
Who really killed this woman?

I do know.

(whispers):
They're not doing it.

(gasps)

Settle down, people.

Lydia wasn't killed by an egg.

She was poisoned...
by her husband.

(dramatic music plays)
(crowd gasps)

There it is.

That's preposterous!

I didn't kill my wife!

I loved her...

and everything about
our heterosexual intercourse.

(disgusted groan)

Look! He's wearing Shape-Ups!

He left Shape-Up footprints
in Fern Stapleton's house

when he broke in
to steal her peanut oil,

which he used

to poison-kill Lydia!

Those could have been
anyone's Shape-Up prints.

Besides, I'm as allergic
to peanuts as Lydia.

It's what first
brought us together.

I can't even be
in the same room with peanuts.

So it couldn't have been me.

It's the truth--
it was a D.F.E.

MAN: A Death
From Elephant? Egg.

Good guess, though.

Okay, well, then this jasmine
peanut oil should kill you!

(screaming)

Ugh, I am melting!

Ooh...
(grunts)

(panting)
Oh, no!

He's having a deathly
allergic reaction!

(choking, gasping)

(exhales, stops breathing)

Idiot!

You've killed him!

Did Lydia ever get her
closet organized?

Someone call an ambulance!
He's dying!

(soft, wet exhale)

This is why my books
don't sell very well.

(siren blaring)

(quiet moaning)

I can't believe
we pulled it off!

Here. Take us to the airport.

We're going wherever
Tommy Bahama is from.

Now we can be gaybos
together forever!

What a neat idea it was
to kill my wife.

(tires screech)

Boom! You
goin' to jail!

What's going on here?

Did you get it?

(on tape):
What a neat idea it was to kill my wife.

It's all over, Mr. Peanut Oil.

So, what tipped you off?

That's not a rash
on your neck.

Those are hickeys.

If there's one thing
I know, it's hickeys.

Ain't that right, Cookie?

COOKIE: You do
know a hickey.

And when your
"little buddy" gave you CPR,

I figured that's
what he was doing--

make it look like you had
an allergic reaction.

COOKIE:
I could go for a hickey right now!

Shut up, Cookie!

I noticed the hickeys,
then I remembered

at the morgue,
Mr. Coroner here

was wearing distressed-
suede ankle boots.

Awful expensive shoes
on a coroner's salary.

Lot of footwear-related
clues in this mystery.

And earlier today
when we first met him,

he was eating a peanut
butter sandwich.

I know, because I had some.

You son of a bitch!

When he was
giving you CPR,

he would've got peanut
residue in your mouth,

peanuts you supposedly can't
be in the same room with!

(chuckling)

Oh. There is
just one more thing.

How did you get the oil
into her soup?

A spoon.

(shocked groans)

And, boys, there's
the title of our book:

Waiter,
There's a Murder in My Soup.

Thus ends your
master class.

Oh...!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

(quiet music playing)

What a night it's been!

Who done it?

You done it,
Freight Train, once again.

(applause, whooping)
Well, you know what?

I had some help with this one.

Rallo, Cleveland Jr....

(applause, cheering, whooping)

...and real-life events which
led to the false imprisonment

of my son Cleveland.

Where is Cleveland?

Still in jail!

Now, that's something
I should've noticed.

CLEVELAND:
♪ I see trees of green

♪ Red roses, too

♪ I see 'em bloom

♪ For me and you

♪ And I think to myself

(crying):
♪ What a wonderful world...

Cleveland jr.:
Daddy! Daddy!

First of all,
you look really pretty.

Second of all,
you're free!

I'm, uh...

never gonna be the same.

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