Original subtitles

I was friends with one of the snakes on Medusa's head.

I ghost wrote a novel for Herman Melville.

I own a Valentino the Bear Beanie Baby.

The lie is ghost wrote a novel for Melville.

Wrong. Never owned a Valentino,

but I wish I jumped on that craze

early on like my cousin.

Now, he owns a farm in Gloucestershire.

- Hey. - Hey.

How was school?

I got a B-plus on my "Call of the Wild" essay.

Ms. Rainy says I have "wild dog" in me, like Spitz,

but I know I'm more of a Buck babe.

Oh, Ms. Rainy's back.

Well, proves my point.

This country is cool with lady pedos.

- How was work? - Bill Jr. is getting a divorce.

- The guy with a giant head? - Mm-hmm.

It's like his ears are in different time zones.

Ugh, it's enormous.

It's like the defense budget, but a head.

- Tacos for dinner?

Tacos are fine.

Herman wanted the line to be "Ishmael's my name,

don't wear it out."

I was like "You're a fucking dumbass."

Chrissy, come on.

What'd I say about dirty dishes?

Not to leave them in the sink.

- Yeah, well, what's this? - Not mine.

- Erwin? - Oh, no, no, no.

I've been as clean as a house cat.

Besides, no way I'm losing potty privileges again.

I didn't even use a dish today.

Had a bowl of Coco Poofties for brekkie.

You had eggs. It could be yours.

Well, I'm not the one who drops turkey slices

behind her bed and doesn't notice until the cockroaches

move in, so--

Um, you leave ogre intestines

hanging in the garage.

The rats love that stuff.

The smell wards off creatures

who are trying to kill my daughter.

Use a dish, wash it after.

It's really not my dish.

I'm gonna have to get this place fumigated

for the third time this month. - We got an ETA on the tacos?

Isn't it kinda weird that an anarchist who rewires

street meters because she doesn't believe in paying

for parking is obsessed with house rules?

Obsessed?

Sweetie, look around. Do I have a choice?

It's just like, at Dad's, we don't even use dishes.

We eat raw plankton out of skulls.

Okay. Well, we live in suburgatory.

Your choice, not mine.

And here, we take out the trash.

We do laundry. We clean dishes.

Maybe you fixate on things like dishes,

because you have no life outside of me and this house,

you know? - All right.

Well, we've all made some great points.

Um, no life? Okay.

Yeah. Loosen up.

Find a hobby. - Well, you know what?

I could take up cross-stitch

if you weren't out taking Kraken carriage joy rides

and destroying realms.

What's that supposed to mean?

Contribute to the normal life you wanted

or accept that you're not cut out for it.

Because you are becoming more like the devil every day.

I'd rather be like him.

He enjoys life, embraces mess.

He's not bitter all the time.

Maybe if you were more like him, I'd like you more.

Huh.

I-I ever tell you guys about the time

I pooped myself at an equinox? - Okay.

Don't clean the dish. - Great.

Thank God.

It was in Zumba during "Despacito."

You know what?

Fuck dishes altogether, right?

- Come on. - Yeah, no, no, no.

Fuck the laundry.

Let's get a little down and dirty, huh?

I had to take a shower with my clothes on.

So you're gonna act like a teen in a John Hughes movie

because I hurt your big mommy feelings?

Hey, I'm just taking a page from the Devil's handbook, baby.

That's what you wanted, right?

Where are you going?

To eat Coco Poofties in my room,

away from the psycho bitch.

Wouldn't a more fitting meal for a gross, messy demon

be these high-protein roaches?

You and your dad eat them fried or à la mode?

Fine. Okay.

We're doing this. We don't have to.

You wanna know how we do it at Dad's,

good old-fashioned demon style?

I'd fucking love to.

We throw pickles on the floor. I just bought those

pickles. - Then we lick it up

with our lizard tongues.

Oh, honey, you seem upset.

Isn't this what you wanted?

Or should I go back to sacrificing my happiness

for your selfish needs? - Oh, no.

I love this change.

In fact, I'll make you dinner.

How's about rat?

They're diseased, rabid, and hate-filled, like you.

Oh, that's funny, because roaches are like you.

You know, they eat human flesh? Really?

Even if you feed them, care for them,

they'll chew right through you.

How 'bout we eat buffet style?

Yeah!

Oh, I love a buffet.

Buffets are cesspools for--oh, oh, God.

Whoa.

Hey, Laura, I have an insane hangover.

Do you have any pickles?

Oh. They're on the floor. Okay.

Oh, hey, Darlene,

have you met the chill new fuhrer in town?

Say hi to the demon that lives in my house.

Oh, jeez, I haven't felt this uneasy

since my divorce attorney

asked me to read her screenplay.

Darlene, get out of here. Uh, no.

You can do whatever you want, Darlene.

Go. Definitely go.

You're like a roided out toddler.

The only thing you're good at is breaking shit.

I'm the destroyer? Right, right.

After what you did to your friend?

Don't you fucking go there.

Oh, what?

Don't talk about how you turned your best friend

into a fucking blob monster?

You asshole!

- Oh, God! Ladies! - Okay.

You wanna be a full-blown demon?

I'll treat you like one!

Bring it on, bitch!

This is war!

Oh, I think I just wet myself.

Equinox all over again.

So then, I said "Lighten up.

What is this, a fricking funeral?"

It was, but still.

Whoa. Cool.

And that's why I'm signing this bill to

shut down Italian restaurants that have lied to me

about their wait time.

Oh, shit!

I gotta see what they're feeding on.

Bite her. Bite her.

Ladies, please.

Please, let's just take a breath,

with a gas mask or something,

'cause it smells like shit in here.

Stay out of this, Darlene.

Hey! Watch where you're poking me!

My roaches are gonna eat your rats' heart out.

And my rats are going to rain hellfire on your roaches.

Rats, turn her room into a fucking poop palace.

No! Roaches, to our room.

If they touch my stuff, I'll torch your weed.

You don't know where it all is.

Don't rest easy, old woman.

This shit ain't done.

It's only just begun.

Oh, don't you fucking rhyme with me.

Well, then bend the knee.

Or would you rather flee? - Ahh!

Climb a tree. Ahh!

I hope you don't have to pee.

She'll tire herself out.

Roaches, kill every rat on site.

Protect my stuffies! - ...to Mackamagee?

Hot dogs. Get your hot dogs.

I should call my husband.

He loves mother-daughter fights.

Hey, 20 bucks on the kid?

We've got six grand on the mom.

She's a cold-blooded psychopath.

Oh, God. Thanks for coming so quick.

I know you're still torn up about Chrissy

turning you into a conjoined Stay Puft man.

Yeah.

At first, I was gonna ignore your text.

But then, I woke up in the fetal position

with an intense pang of guilt.

So I came here. What's happening now?

Laura and Chrissy both retreated to separate parts

of the house where they're working on

their next plans of attack.

So we gotta talk them off the ledge

before things go any further.

We do?

If they walk themselves to the ledge,

don't you think they should find their own way down?

No way. As their friends,

it's our job to be waiting below

with a giant trampoline so they bounce when they fall,

instead of explode into a bloody mess.

Okay.

But let's not jump to conclusions.

It might not be as serious as you--

Soldiers, I've gathered you all here today for a purpose.

No longer shall I live under the hand of a tyrant.

She may be a stone-cold bitch

with a seemingly unbreakable shell,

but even that devil dog, Spitz, in "Call of the Wild"

had his weak spot.

He had no imagination, no cunning, like Buck, the hero.

We will psychologically break her.

We will bite down on her leg.

She will beg for mercy.

And we will give her none!

We are Buck!

And we will defeat her!

My estimation, she takes a bowel movement

every three hours.

Let's lock off the bathroom, people.

Ah, yes.

Prima, Hilda, you've done well.

You're the adult--

shouldn't you take the high road?

If I allow her to bulldoze me,

the little power I have over her will vanish.

I'll become nothing more than a limp, wet chode.

She must-- she will bend the knee.

I hate to admit it, but I am rock hard right now.

Where the fuck is my phone?

Back down, Chrissy Feinberg,

or I delete your Shitsta account.

I'll never back down, hag!

Deleted!

You bitch!

Say goodbye to your weed!

I'm gonna fuck this weed!

That's it!

Your phone's gonna see you in hell.

Her mom is stone cold, and I respect and love it.

- Gut-wrenchingly iconic. - We love a bitch.

I stand corrected.

Things are sufficiently heated up.

Time for action.

Ooh, since inside's a germ-riddled kill zone,

we're gonna mediate the situation from out here.

I did get high school guidance counselor

on an online career quiz.

We just need to wait for the rest of our party to get here.

- The rest of our-- - Boom shakalaka,

you trick-ass hoes.

Daddy's here. - No.

You called him to help? - Desperate times, hun.

But he always has ulterior motives.

I learned my lesson with him.

Ha! You sure did.

And once Chrissy offs her mom, which, by the looks of it,

she will, nothing's standing in the way

of good old Maximus Dawnus.

I'm just gonna make sure it's a lock.

Toodle-oo, double dongs.

Okay, Mr. Mephistopheles isn't helping.

But no sweat, because this is gonna be easier than--

Hey, fuckwad! check out V-Bone.

Guess you can't drive away from this problem!

Skidang! Girls got puns.

Well, good luck getting anywhere now, freeloader.

I'm gonna burn all your stuffies, starting with Maude!

You touch her, I'll torch your Tempur-Pedic!

What the fuck do you want?

Okay. Cool. Uh, we got their attention.

So we could just--

Um, hi.

It's me, Bennigan.

Yes, we know.

Right.

Hi, Chrissy.

Hey, Bennigan.

Um, okay.

First things first, are you injured?

No. - You're doing great, sweetie.

Um, well, I'm still mad at you, Chrissy,

for obvious reasons.

But I don't want you to get hurt.

I--I think that'd suck.

Short speech, but effective!

Yeah. Hi, gals. Darlene here.

So you wanna rip each other's heads off.

It's what happens with family.

I mean, one time my eldest son Trevor

got so mad after I told him he couldn't watch

"Sex, Lies, and Videotape" that he ran away

and I found him playing craps with Duncan Sheik--

The point is, it's difficult between you two right now,

but you love each other.

Remember that time you helped your mom

get all those leeches off of her?

After she purposely used them to infiltrate the PTA moms?

Yep! She says she puts me first?

Bullshit! She's Hitler with boobs.

She's Titler!

And now you're putting down

your Jewish heritage? So cool of you.

What heritage?

You said Elijah was a waste of good wine.

I stand by that.

Time for the escalator to escalate.

Hey, dipshit. It's Satan.

Tell me where I can find the worst shit on Laura,

something that'll make Chrissy go fucking nuts,

or I'll crawl into your brain and rewire it,

so every time you touch your butthole,

it feels like you're covered in lava.

Ah, fuck.

Ladies, look. I have two daughters,

two wives, a mother,

and multiple close female friends.

So how about you both stop torturing yourselves

and eat something?

Why don't you remember the time that you peed your pants

in front of the whole town?

Shut up, old man!

Uh, thank you, Mayor. He's a genius.

Come on, you're being too hard on each other.

Chrissy, I know your mom cares about you

more than anything in the world.

She infiltrated the PTA

to show you those moms didn't have doodoo on her.

And Laura, Chrissy cares about you

more than you realize.

She's a teenage Antichrist.

Every day she chooses to fight her nature and stay with you.

Look, Chrissy, Darlene is right about the PTA moms.

I did that for you, mostly.

I always put you first. - Okay, you put me first once.

Great.

But don't get a big head about it.

A big head, like Bill head, big fucking--

big head--big bitch?

That wasn't a laugh.

That wasn't a fucking laugh. Don't look at me.

Now, we're getting somewhere.

Time to hit 'em them some 'roke to clinch them.

Oh, classic. ♪ Islands in the stream ♪

Listen up, cucarachas.

Sounds like we're a song away from a mother-daughter

"Shallow" duet,

so we don't have much time.

We're entering the lair of the wicked witch

to obtain a heavily-guarded weapon

of mass emotional destruction.

So get your thoraxes in gear so we can end this war

in your disease-riddled favor.

All right, get in there, guys.

Second wave!

Ignore the dead!

Bring it home, boys!

What's this?

"I think I've found a way to solve all my problems."

Laura?

Laura, where are you?

I'm here.

I'm right here.

Look, things got out of hand, okay?

But I'm ready to call it quits if you are.

"Got the two pounds of Sphinx flesh, check.

Baryonic matter, check."

Wha--where did you get--

"With this Posterum spell, I can go back

"and forget I ever met that sick bastard,

forget I ever had a kid."

Okay, let me explain.

"Forget I ever had a kid"?

What is this? - That? What is that?

That is just my journal from when

I was in a very dark place,

drinking lots of tequila. None of it's real.

Tell me about this Posterum spell, now.

It was just some silly spell this old which sold me

when you were four and we were on the ferry

from Thunder Bay to Waukesha.

I'm sure you're too young to even remember.

And the spell?

It--you know, it was supposed to reverse time

and take me back to before I ever met your father.

And before you ever had me.

Well, technically, yeah, but--

Erase me from your life

so you could start a new life without me.

That's putting me first?

At the time, I thought I was doing

what was best for the both of us.

We'd been on the run for years,

living off of beans and food scraps.

You were starving.

- Jesus fuck. - But the spell didn't work.

So yay. And--and I regret--

You actually tried?

Why would you even try,

on your own fucking daughter?

- I-- - Why?

- I-- - Why?

Because your birth felt like my death.

I mean, no.

I didn't--I didn't mean that.

You evil fucking cunt!

Incoming.

This is what I'm talking about, baby.

I feel alive!

Ow!

Here comes daddy.

Oh, my God! Shit!

So this is how it ends,

with a bang, not a whimper.

Huh, TS Eliot was wrong.

Well, at least he was good in "Road House."

Fuck you!

You robbed me of a childhood and fucked me for life.

You did it out of spite.

I hate you!

Wait.

I don't--how does this--

Nothing a little divine intervention couldn't fix.

I told you. I told you it was a bad idea

to invite him. - Listen,

I was giving him a shot.

Everyone has layers.

I don't.

Later, losers.

This family keeps showing us who they are

and somehow we keep expecting something different from them.

People can change, Benny.

Clearly, this family can't.

And ever since they moved here,

it feels like I've been living in service of their lives.

Even when we have our own thing going on,

they find a way to make it about them.

You know what? You're right.

Screw this. Hey.

How about we go enact our independence

on the karaoke machine at Gumbo Sheena's?

Sold.

But dibs on "Total Eclipse."

Bonnie Tyler's my girl.

- That's fine.

I prefer "Holding Out For a Hero."

Chrissy?

Come out and let's talk.

Okay?

The spell was a moment of desperation.

It was stupid.

I honestly thought it was the only way out.

I was so young and rash,

but I worked my ass off to help us survive

and be your protector.

Wow. How selfless of you.

Mind mess 'em ups!

Laura.

So I haven't been the perfect mom, but I'm trying.

"I'm twying."

I chose this life with you every day.

I chose to sacrifice--

Sacrifice?

What did you sacrifice exactly,

an internship at a slaughterhouse?

Slaughterhouse? No.

Oh, but I was an apprentice at a kill shelter.

Your life was going nowhere.

Chrissy, please.

If anything, I define you.

And you hate me for it.

- No. No! - Admit it!

I hate myself, okay?

For being resentful and unhappy with my life when I shouldn't.

I'm a shit person. I failed us.

I failed you.

I've been trying to fake my way through motherhood,

but the truth is I'm not cut out for it.

And I'm afraid I never will be.

All right, everyone, pack it up.

Um, I think I'm gonna head to Dad's for a bit.

Yeah, cool.

Cool.

Oh. No, don't worry about me.

I just dug myself out, for fuck's sake!

I was cruel to my wife. I admit it.

I used to think because I could throw things farther,

grow hair in more places,

I deserved to climax and she didn't.

Now, I know my hatred of her and all women

came from a fear of rejection,

as a man and a sexual performer.

Born out of, not to sound cliche,

a toxic relationship with my mother.

And I can say this across the table

to a woman I've just met, because, recently,

I was liberated from my hatred of all women,

my ire distilled into a singular object,

the little girl who got my dick shot off.

Decimating her soul is my life's purpose.

And yes, I don't have a dick,

but if we choose to take things further,

I believe my metal replacement won't disappoint.

How would you feel about dessert?

Eh, it's her loss, really.

Not everybody's ready for a man who's so set on his goals.

Still, glad I went.

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take,

and I'm done not taking shots.

After all, as Lil John and LMFAO said

"Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots."