Original subtitles

- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -

This is recording 297.

Observations of the Doom Patrol by Dr. Harrison, day 93.

The Codpiece mission.

I continue to be astounded by the garden of psychological plights

presented by this group.

It's been three months and my decision to stay

continues to pay dividends.

This bargain basement sideshow has been working as a superhero team,

aptly named the Doom Patrol.

Rita has carved out a starring role for herself

as team leader, because no one wanted the job.

Ready? Positions.

And action!

But this failed starlet,

failed high school drama teacher and failed community theater extra

seems to have found her niche, by default.

Believe it or not, she's led this busted Justice League

to seven successful missions.

Dear Rita tackles the job with endless enthusiasm

despite the lack of cooperation or respect of her teammates.

Any questions?

Yeah, not going after Codpiece,

and not doing codenames.

A question beings with "who," "what," "where," "when" or "why," Clifford.

Why do you get to pick the codenames?

Because they suck.

When you spend days researching and plotting missions

while getting paper cuts and inky fingers,

you can choose the codenames, okay?

Until then, you're Robotman.

Dr. Harrison is Crazy Jane.

Larry is Negative Man,

Vic is Cyborg and, Rouge,

you're Dogshit McGivens.

Rita's ire for Madam Rouge is as hot and fiery as ever.

And Rouge eats healthy doses of her shit

because she desperately wants to make amends

for Malcolm and the Sisterhood.

Even though it runs counter to her true nature.

Yeah. Good choice. Mmm-hmm. Elasta-Woman.

Thank you.

In between hating Rouge and being disrespected,

Rita had the good idea

to attach The Brain's robot head to the time machine.

Now, we no longer have to hurdle

through space, time, duct taped to Shipley.

She also solved the time travel memory loss problem.

Ah!

Strangely enough, with jellyfish.

I couldn't tell you why it works.

But it does.

Oh, no, thanks.

Codpiece just robbed the bank.

Can we speed this up, please?

Not everyone can handle a full-load from this big gun.

- So juvenile. - Overcompensating much?

- Gross. - Everyone back to order.

- I've seen bigger. - That's disgusting.

Robotman, flank him on the left.

Robotman.

Robotman!

Clifasaurous.

Left flank. Got it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dogshit McGivens, draw his fire while the others get to safety.

Draw his fire? Seriously?

Just do it!

Fuckin' hell.

Not behind the bush.

His ammo will cut right through.

Just like my multi-man batter.

Could you try not to be disgusting for two seconds?

Rita tries to control the team's every move

because she can't bear to lose another loved one.

Diagnosis?

A textbook perfectionist, slash, narcissist

with survivor skill and PTSD.

Vic and his father repaired most of the Robotman's smooshed body.

However, the testicle creature incident led to global shipping delays

and they're still waiting on parts for his other arm.

Okay. I'm gonna go rip his dick off.

God damn, son of a...

No. No! No. Still grateful for my crappy petite body.

Everyday outside that giant robot is a blessing.

I suspect Cliff has a low IQ

due to poor breeding, a Florida public school education,

and race car fumes.

Diagnosis,

a grade A simpleton.

The hero formally known as Useful

has settled into place as the team's one man IT squad.

Without his tech, Rita prefers he stay out of harm's way.

But Vic is unsatisfied by his new role and yearns to do more.

Elasta-Woman, you got a bogey flyin' in.

Elasta-Woman.

Hey! Yo, that's far enough.

No, no, no, no. No, no, no. Don't... Don't do anything.

I'm not really part of Codpiece's crew.

I'm... I'm just the IT guy.

What do you mean, "Just the IT guy?"

You're an integral part of his villainy.

You're the foundation he builds his nefarious successes on.

Oh.

Yeah. Yeah, I... I am vital.

I guess I am important, huh?

Are you good?

Yeah. Yeah, just... just hang on.

I can't do it if people are talking.

Shit.

Oh. Oh. Shit.

What was your part of the plan?

Was it to engage with an ass-bazooka wielding twit?

But he was literal...

I don't want to hear it.

You stick to the plan or you stay home.

Plain old Vic takes the red-headed miss'

admonishments as a lack of faith in his abilities.

He doesn't realize she too was working through her own issues.

Together they form the perfect storm of psychological inadequacies.

Though Vic fearlessly jumped into the fray against a nimrod

with a rump cannon,

he's far less courageous when it comes to following through

on the promise he made himself to find his happiness.

Diagnosis, personality dysmorphia and social cowardice.

Larry and Keeg have been getting on like a house on fire.

It may be the first reported case

of a host developing Stockholm syndrome towards its parasite.

Oh.

Larry's managed to let go of himself enough

to share his life and body with Keeg

in a way he never could with the Negative Spirit or his human family.

And though Larry tells himself the new life he's forged

with the neon leech is fulfilling enough,

the truth is, he yearns for more.

I'm fine, buddy. Just you and me.

Diagnosis,

good old-fashion self-loathing with a healthy dash of co-dependency.

Madame Rouge refuses the jellyfish on every mission

because it gives her the briefest respite

from remembering her betrayal of Malcolm and the Sisterhood.

Oh. Excuse me!

What am I meant to be doing again? I...

What? You don't remember?

Transform into something to psych him out.

Right.

Holy shit! Nice one, Rouge.

Are you body shaming me?

That's some next level evil.

I won't even go there.

I'll kill your face! So hard!

But Rouge's memories always return with a vengeance.

And she's created a nasty ritual

that's a form of psychological self-harm.

The results are always the same

and she's forced to face the fact that she's relegated

hundreds of people to obsolescence.

Though all encompassing, her pain is a quiet one.

The kind that's always there,

just under the surface, smoldering,

looking for something to catch, but never finding anything.

Diagnosis,

self-loathing doormat with sociopathic tendencies.

As for me, I've managed to find my own place

amongst this bunch of walking tragedies.

One that makes use of my specific talents.

Come now, Mr. Codpiece,

who are you really mad at?

Because it can't possibly be me.

You don't even know me.

I know I only get one phone call, Dr. H,

but I think you're right.

It should be to my mom.

This doomed patrol is the El Dorado

of psychological dysfunctions.

I could publish volumes based on my observations.

Oh.

Thank you.

Unfortunately, my attention has been divided,

between my work and my obligations.

That's too much.

Abuelita only uses two shakes.

Really?

Why are you here, H?

To ask you the same question.

The others are all searching for Kay.

Why aren't you?

Because I can think of better ways

of wasting my time, like trying to eat my own face.

So you're not concerned about the girl?

Of course I'm fucking concerned.

But Kay constructed this place.

And if she doesn't want to be found,

we're not going to find her.

So you're here in her memories, enjoying warm beverages.

I'm doing something actually useful.

I'm trying to figure out what the girl needs.

- Wanna know what I think? - Mmm.

Yeah, more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire miserable life.

I think you're on vacation here.

Hiding in the girl's memories to avoid your responsibilities.

How relieved you must feel

of not having the weight of it all on your shoulders.

Or maybe this is just sour grapes.

After all, the girl did disappear,

under your watch.

Mmm.

Remind me where you went to medical school again?

Was it the University of I-Watched-A-Shit-Ton- Of-Sally-Jesse-Raphael?

Enjoy your stay, Jane.

- Looks good. - Yep.

So then, boom!

With the press of a cell phone button,

she teleported the entire bus of Edgelords into the Phantom Zone,

which they didn't seem to hate.

But we, uh, we busted them out anyway.

Cell Phone Silvia, huh?

- Yup! - And what was your part in this caper?

Me? Yeah, I, um...

I downloaded her phone's user menu from the internet.

That thing is over ten years old.

Man! That was hard to find.

Sounds like you're keeping busy.

Yeah.

But, um,

are you leaving any time to find your bliss?

I didn't ditch my tech to spite you.

When are you gonna understand that this choice was about me?

It wasn't an accusation, son.

I'm sorry.

The truth is, this isn't as easy as I thought it would be.

Scary tryin' to find yourself, isn't it?

I think I'd rather take on an Edgelord.

Now, just give yourself time.

You'll get there.

Looks like we're done here.

Thanks for your help on this, Dad.

He's gonna be psyched.

Of course.

It was fun.

Yeah, it was.

Let's gather the troops.

All right, all right, all right.

Whose face are we stomping justice into today?

Is that my fucking arm?

As a matter of fact, it is.

Fuck. Fucking sweetness!

Why is everyone else here?

Well, we couldn't make your arm exactly like it was so, um,

we decided to make it better.

Looks like the same old shitty robot arm

with the same old shitty robot fingers that I can't type for shit with,

or write, or bowl.

We...

We gave you the sense of touch...

In one finger.

But over time,

if things work the way they're supposed to,

the nanites will spread to your other fingers.

Wh...

I'll be able to feel with my whole hand?

That's the plan, Robotman.

I don't know what to say.

Thank you!

Uh, from my bottom of my non-existent heart.

All right.

- Okay. - All right.

And this how you say "Fuck you" in England.

Now we can calibrate your sense of touch.

Let's start with the cotton.

Uh, would it be okay if I didn't?

It would be better if you did.

You... you mind telling us why you don't want to?

I haven't felt anything for 40 years.

I think the first thing I'd like to touch is my grandson.

Cliff,

not to be a spoilsport but technically,

you are touching that oven mitt.

Doesn't count. Doesn't count.

But, goddamn, it's soft.

Come on, fuck nuts!

To the time machine!

We're going to fucking Florida!

Um, Clifford, I know that you are excited,

but the time machine is not an Uber.

It is a crime fighting apparatus.

Oh, come on, Rita.

What is the harm in a wee jaunt to America's sweaty armpit?

This is a joyous occasion.

Why don't you make a little exception?

Oh, what's the harm?

- Yeah, come on, Rita. - Don't be so controlling.

Be cool for once.

All right, all right, all right.

Just this once.

Fuck yeah, let's roll!

I think I'll sit this one out. I am allergic to jellyfish

and experimental fringe science.

- Take care, son. - All right, Dad.

I'll talk to you.

Um, Rita, a private word?

What is it?

Uh, well, I, um, thought over time if I consumed enough of your shit,

I... I'd earn your forgiveness but I'm realizing that's...

Probably never gonna happen. And since my presence here

is a constant trigger for you,

I was thinking, perhaps maybe, once I...

Well, perhaps maybe, once we all return from Florida,

it might be best that I find somewhere else to live.

Unless of course, you can find it in your heart to...

Forgive me.

I hear there are a lot of nice efficiencies

in Cloverton, if you don't mind getting scabies.

I... I don't actually.

And perhaps maybe you could give me...

Give me the address.

This is the best day of my entire freaking life!

Can we leave already?

Why have we not left yet?

No, thank you.

No, you listen here, Madame Rouge.

You will put this jellyfish on top of your peanut head

because I want you to remember every word of your promise

to leave my home.

Oh, fucking...

Okay, Florida five minutes from now. Everybody ready?

Shipley, play some travel tunes, will ya?

♪ Hands ♪

♪ Touching hands ♪

♪ Reaching out ♪

♪ Touching me ♪

♪ Touching you ♪

♪ Sweet Caroline ♪

♪ Pa, pa, pa ♪

♪ Good times never seemed so good ♪

♪ So good, so good, so good ♪

Are you an animal, vegetable or mineral?

Yes.

Are you Animal Vegetable Mineral Man?

Damn it! I thought that'd be harder.

What else could possibly fit that description?

You guys seein' this?

Oh, it's probably another time goat.

Let's not get paranoid.

It's a woman.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Help me. Help me please.

Is this bad? 'Cause this feels pretty fucking bad.

I don't think it's good.

I know her.

She likes to watch people pee. No judgement.

That's Isabel Feathers.

Who?

The talentless wannabe who portrayed me

in the Cloverton Theatre's Our Town, huh.

Help, help me!

- Should we let her in? - No.

Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.

What's she doing in the time stream?

Uh, that might be my bad.

When I arrived in Cloverton,

she watched me taking a massive wazz,

then fell right into my time hole.

I... I didn't think it was worth mentioning.

Please! Angry Jesus!

Don't let me die before I touch my grandbaby!

Arrival imminent. Arrival imminent.

When are we headed, Victor? What year?

No idea.

Everybody brace for impact.

This is gonna be a rough landing.

Is everyone okay?

I think so.

Where on earth are we?

When are we?

Doesn't matter and don't care.

Let's just hop back into Shipley

and get back on track to the FLA.

Shipley's overheated.

It's gonna be a while before we can shove off again.

I think I know where we are.

Um...

I think we went a little further than five minutes into the future.

Well, what do you suppose the shotgun is for?

For whatever the fuck that is.

Executive decision.

Yep.

And... and go where exactly?

There's no place like home.

Wow.

This reminds me of my mother's house.

She was a hoarder,

and a war profiteer.

The air's really stale.

Maybe no one's living here anymore.

Well, we'd better have a look through just in case.

Everyone, I have found something.

What is it?

Hmm.

Vienna sausages and Skittles.

Ew. On both fronts.

I haven't seen shit like this since the '70s.

And we were all high as fuck back then.

No, wait.

- Fucking asshole! - Why did you do that?

God.

- Oops. - Idiot!

You had to touch the weiner?

Quiet. We're not alone.

Welcome to 2042.

Holy shit bears!

Who is it?

It's you.

A rusty, busted version of you.

The hell? Yo, let me through.

Yo, let me through.

If this mitt falls off and I touch something that isn't...

- Someone is kicking me. Stop kicking me. - ... my grandson's perfect skin...

... I will murder every single one of you.

This is weird.

What's that on your face?

Is that tech?

Who wants tea?

It all started about 20 years ago,

Cloverton was the epicenter.

Spread slow at first

and after a few weeks it was everywhere.

Hey, Omega man,

you wanna skip the dramatics

and just tell us what the lemon drizzled fuck happened?

Papers called it The Buttpocalypse.

I think he's serious.

No, that's impossible.

We killed those assholes.

Apparently, we missed one.

And infected it with zombiism.

You mean to tell us the world has been overtaken

by Zombie Butts?

That we created?

I mean, the zombie part anyway.

It's about the size of it, yeah.

Where are the rest of us?

You tend to stick to your rooms for the most part.

Go say hi if you want.

Rouge.

You won't find anyone in your room.

Oh.

Did I change rooms?

Did I just pop out for my laundry?

Well, that can only mean one thing.

I am at a LARPing retreat.

I am dead then, aren't I?

Actually, I don't know what happened to you.

You moved out right before shit kicked off.

We lost track of you soon after.

Well, then I could still be out there,

thriving under the New World Order. I...

Look, I go into Cloverton nearly every day

and I'm yet to see another survivor.

I'm sorry.

Vic, take a walk with me.

Something I gotta show you.

What the fuck?

Larry? Keeg?

What the hell is goin' on here?

Hello!

Rita?

I know what this is. It's a death hoop.

Rita Vivian Farr,

I know what you're doing, and I want you to stop this instant.

You're not fooling anyone, you know.

This is the exact same blocking we did in the picture,

The Return of Ghost Gal, Ghost Gal's Gal Pal.

Pish.

I was hoping you would have forgotten.

Well, what do you want?

- For starters... - They're dead.

Everyone's dead.

I see.

Let me guess.

I had a carefully well laid out plan and nobody followed it.

Not exactly.

It was Rouge.

Rouge betrayed us like she did the Sisterhood of Dada.

No.

It turns out we were about as good

at being a team leader as we were at being a high school drama teacher.

How can that be?

I... I... We have an undefeated record.

It's complicated.

There's a lot to unpack.

Tell me everything.

Well, are you going to talk or just continue staring

out the window like a catatonic tuna fish?

Are you really in such denial that you can't deduce what happened?

Perhaps you're too much of a coward to own up to your actions.

Cut the shit, H.

Your pathological arrogance got the girl killed.

No. In my time the girl is still alive.

I haven't done anything yet.

It was you.

Was that a different clan of cataclysmic misfits

you darkened my doorstep with?

But that's impossible.

- The girl is... - Your primary concern.

Guess again, sister.

If you were really interested in protecting her,

you would have taken her far from this place

and these people right after you seized control from Jane.

But no,

you were more interested in emotionally

dissecting your little lab rats,

and now Kay is dead.

Peace...

Continued on A-13.

A-13?

Where is A-13?

Oh.

What the fuck?

So, you can't, uh, fuck with the sex ghosts at all?

Sure, sure.

I mean, not literally.

I mostly do a lot of watching and commenting.

But that's not really what you wanna ask me about, is it?

No.

- Are they... - Clara and Rory are fine.

They took Mille's dad's boat out on the Atlantic

and are safe and sound.

Really?

No.

Tell me.

Bro, you don't want to know.

Can you at least tell me what happened to me?

Parkinson's got us.

Really?

Bro, you do not wanna know.

Listen, bro!

Either you start talking or I'll make it my life's mission

to figure out how to rip off your ghost head

and shit down your ghost neck.

Which would entail a side mission of figuring out how to take a shit,

but so help me, I will fucking do it!

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay. Jesus.

You want the truth? Here it is.

Your perfect grandson, Rory,

you never get to touch him.

Because I died before I could get to Florida?

Bro, you do not want to know.

Oh, there you are.

My God, we're dead.

Hey!

Hello?

Yeah, that tracks.

Future Keeg.

Future Keeg, release.

Hey, whe... where's Keeg, Larry?

Larry, please.

Where is he?

Keeg doesn't live here anymore.

Wha... what happened to him?

What the hell did you do?

Hey! I'm talking to you.

Larry, I'm talking to you!

Oh, thank God.

Look at you!

You're all grown up.

How you doing, buddy?

And what does he mean, "You don't live here anymore?"

Huh? You look... You can talk to me.

What is going on here?

Hey, what's happening?

What are you doing to him?

Whoa!

What the hell did he say to you?

Oh, my fuck sticks.

Shitting hell!

He's gonna steal the time machine.

Sooner or later, if they don't get eaten,

they're gonna make their way here.

If you all keep them occupied, I'll double back and take Shipley.

I may be in the minority,

but perhaps we should give our past selves a chance.

Maybe with our guidance, they can avert this terrible future.

I can't believe you got through that with a straight face!

You're trusting those morons to right the future. Could you imagine?

Going somewhere?

I don't want to fight you.

I bet you don't, old man.

Or talking is also good.

This is for the best. For all of us.

How is stealing the time machine

instead of telling us how to stop this better?

Look, you're just gonna fuck it up.

The way I see it, we haven't fucked up anything yet.

It was you all who caused this future, not us.

If you know how to avoid this, then you need to tell me.

There's no point.

Where you're at right now, you're not gonna hear me.

Where am I at?

You still think you're on-plan?

- You just don't get it... - Don't get what?

What about us?

Are we in a clear headspace?

You better be. They're here.

Fuck these fucking Butts.

We kicked their asses once, we can do it again!

That's exactly what you said 20 years ago,

When a Butt cracked your head like an egg and ate you.

Thank you. Finally, someone tells me how I die.

Careful. Don't let them bite you.

We can't win this.

- We have to go. - No! Not until he talks.

I love a fight as much as the next robot...

But, this is nuts.

Dr. H is right. Let's get out of here.

We're bugging out.

Come with us.

Help us fight the future.

Hell, no. I'd rather be ravaged by Zombie Butts

than revisit that point of my life.

Then I'm not going, either.

Absolutely not, Victor. It's suicide.

Maybe your jellyfish wasn't on tight enough?

But you can't do shit, remember?

You don't have shit to fight with.

Here!

Booyah!

Boys!

Stop this nonsense! Immediately!

- Dad? - Dad?

Call me Pop-Pop, please.

Wait.

No!

No!

Why did you do that?

Okay, we're going, everybody.

The launch sequence has already been initiated.

It won't open.

You can't save him, Vic.

"You can't have it all."

Easy, buddy. Easy.

Please.

Look.

Your other dad would write me a note sometimes.

Could you try to do that?

Can you please just tell what future Keeg showed you?

Was it about me?

What did you do to fuck this one up, Trainor?

Did you see?

Every hairy detail.

I don't know what to say.

Good. Because I do.

You were right.

I was hiding out in Kay's memories

because being Primary is hard and it's fucking draining.

And I needed a break.

But after what I saw in the future,

I am going back up right now and so help me,

I will chuck you face-first, into the fucking well if you...

Kay. Where have you been?

What happened to Dr. H?

Don't follow me.

Listen to me, please...

What the fuck?

Oh.

That's unusual.

'Kay.

Uh, do you think it was random seeing

Isabel Feathers in the time stream?

I'm not sure, do you?

I'm not sure either.

Might be worth finding out.

You're not leaving anymore, are you?

Given what we've seen in the future

it's... probably for the best?

Well, isn't this just the shitty cherry on top

of a shitty sundae made of shit?

Okay.

Think that went well.

You can't have it all.

Fuck that.

Rory, I am gonna come touch your perfect, squishy tush.

But, first I gotta stop the Buttpocalypse.

But I promise you.

I will not touch a single thing with my new hand before I get to you.

Until then, fuck you, the future.

This better be good, Bunbury.

I was in the middle of Graham Norton.

Can't be serious with this shit.

I mean, it's a stupid hoax, he's not real.

I bought you the wrong bedding one time.

When you gonna get over it?

Can we, maybe just, get back to the photo?

A... a thousand apologies, Bunbury.

Prophecy only mentioned the Butts.

Now, if this is real, really, really, real,

it can mean only one thing.

We're well and truly fucked.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -