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Who's playing Six now?

This is what you get for chasing after Chode

over a stolen shipment of silly string!

A fat old ticket for going warp speed

through the nebula vector!

6,000 kronigs?!

Doh, now I've got to drag my powder-white ass

back to traffic school

just to keep our insurance rates down.

Damn that Chode.

And damn that - Commander Adam!

He's been pulsing those speed traps all over the galaxy.

You really are a pathetic excuse for a dark clown.

What the hell do you mean by that?!

I mean, somebody with grandiose plans

to dominate the universe

shouldn't let a purple crapsack

and some skrinky-ass rent-a-cop

push him around!

How about wreaking a little revenge?

But that would mean growing something

bigger than a pair of ping-pong balls between your legs.

Ping-pong balls, eh?

I'll show her.

I'll make 'em both wish they'd never messed with me!

Yeah, that's it...

two turds with one stone.

Okay, thanks. I owe you one.

It's confirmed. My friends got us in at Z Bar.

Yeah, well, your friend had better be a chick

and that's a drink you owe her.

All aboard! Next stop, Z Bar!

It's ladies night and you know what that means.

The tin fairy's going in drag for half-priced drinks?

Can't a fellow wear a little eyeliner without cheap shots?

Well, there's gonna be plenty of cheap shots

when Six parades her funbags around.

Chode, you're not making me hit on anything with three legs

- just to get you free drinks. - Of course not.

You've got to hustle your ta-tas for T'nuk, Gus and Whip as well.

Anything miss mammary gland can do,

I can do better. I'll get my own drinks.

Those should be good enough for at least a swizzle stick.

Why don't you blow it out your...

The following takes place

between the hours of 10:30 and 10:551/2 pm.

I thought I told you to make mine a double.

Come on, Six. Let's go get our groove on.

Isn't that Paris Ramada

the hotel heiress?

- I'm not sure. - Oh, come on.

You must've whacked off to her sex hologram like a dozen times.

Actually, I've only made it through the first 10 seconds.

After that, I fall asleep.

She's hanging out with clowns now?

She must've heard that rumor

about guys with big feet.

Move.

- Ah! - Hey!

Where are you going? You gotta buy her a drink first.

- What's going on, Uncle Chode? - Two clowns in a van,

they just took Six away!

Did you happen to catch the license plate?

- No no no! - Calm down, Chode.

- We'll get her back. - No, it's not that.

Now who's gonna hustle for the drinks?

What do you think they're planning to do?

- Torture her? - Hold her for ransom?

Drug her, tie her up and have a night of wild unspeakable sex?

Hello, Chode.

I shoulda known. Darph Bobo.

Listen to me very carefully, Chode.

Come closer to the phone.

Closer.

Very funny, you...

What the hell do you want?

Commander Adam is back in the club.

You have precisely 231/2 minutes

to assassinate him or Six is dead.

What have you done with her?

I've just transported her aboard Intergalactic Airlines

flight 69.

Now kill the commander

or Six and a planeful of innocent victims

will perish in a fiery crash!

Bobo, I always knew you were a lowlife motherless scumbag,

but this takes the cake.

Flattery will get you nowhere, Chode.

You just lost 30 seconds.

Hey, that's not fair!

The clock should start once we end the call.

I mean, what kind of extortion plot are you running here?

Fine.

You're back at 231/2 minutes.

- Happy now? - There's another call coming in

on my communicator.

- Can I put you on hold? - Nice try...!

Well, are you gonna tell us or are we gonna have to beat it out of you?

Bobo's gonna kill Six in 231/2 minutes

unless I assassinate Commander Adam.

Neither of those events are gonna happen, Chode.

My name is Jack Hour.

I'm the head of the Alien Terrorist Unit.

So you've been here the whole time staking out the situation?

Actually, no. I just swung by the club to blow off some steam.

You have no idea what my life's been like for the past 24 hours.

The good news is my people are already on top of the situation.

Once they secure the bar, they will escort the commander to a safe haven.

But what about Six?

It's imperative we find a way aboard Intergalactic flight 69.

We don't have much time.

I've got some bad news.

I can beam you aboard flight 69,

but because of their diffraction scanner,

I won't be able to beam you off.

That's okay. Once we secure Six,

I'll have the captain make an emergency landing.

Emergency landing?

Did I mention that I tend to get space sick?

How do you manage to stand upright without a backbone?

If we're going, you're going.

Confederation regulations prohibits anyone

from carrying any liquids, gels, penis pumps,

knitting needles or sharp objects of any kind.

Check.

Gus has an illegal substance on his person.

Out with it, Gus. We can't afford to lose another second.

It's merely a synthetic lubricant

for my mechanical parts.

Gus, we're saving six from a fiery death,

not a weekend on Fire Island.

Oh fine. Let's hurry and save your silicone slut

so you can have all the fun around here.

Here, put these on.

There she is. Let's go get her.

Not yet. My people have informed me

there's a high probability this plane is boobytrapped.

You mean Bobo packed the time bomb in Six's cajungas?

No, Chode. I'm talking about you and I

searching the ship's cargo hold to diffuse any possible explosives.

- Oh, right. - You two stay up here.

Keep your eyes on Six. Whatever you do,

remain calm.

- What's wrong? - We're out of coffee.

Where are you going? Jack said we should stay here.

If you must know,

I'm gonna pinch off a peanut-filled fudge stick.

Sue me.

He's sure one lucky pizza delivery guy

What the hell?!

How did they know that...

Jack Hour!

They've just released a news statement,

something about thwarting a plot

to assassinate Commander Adam?

Nice job, numbnuts.

Get off my back, Bernice.

Plan A might not have worked out,

but plan B is rolling along nicely.

That reminds me, can you pick up a tube

of Preparation-H on the way home?

You know, just forget it.

I don't know why I even bother anymore.

There doesn't seem to be anything of an explosive nature.

Oh no? What about this new CD by Michael Jackson?

"Let's Hear It for the Boys"?

He never learns. Let's get back upstairs.

Poisonous snakes. So that's how Darph Bobo

plans on bringing the plane down.

Well... me hard on a sandy beach.

Come on, we don't have much time.

Holy... The snakes have beaten us to it.

Hey, you two, get your asses over here.

Why not? We're running out of pillows anyway.

The plane's been infected with hundreds of deadly snakes.

- Oh my lord. - On the bright side,

we'll all be dead when it crashes.

We'll deal with the snakes later.

First we have to find a way to get Six away from those two goons.

I think I've got that one covered. Yoo-hoo, Six.

Good to see you, Six. Let me look at you.

Huh?!

Whew, that was close. For a while there,

I thought you were six feet under for sure.

You've outgrown your usefulness to me, Six.

I suppose I could give you one for the road,

but I'm sure the old ball and chain would find out

- and make my life a misery. - Chode will find me, Darph.

- I know it. - He won't even come looking.

He thinks you're that cheap carbon copy aboard flight 69.

But even if someone does find you

and opens the casket,

a deadly virus will be released

killing everything in 100 square mile range.

You can't be serious. That's way too convoluted, even for you.

Wait, there's more!

Once I close the lid,

you have precisely 12 minutes of oxygen.

Nighty night, Six. Pleasant dreams.

Darph, please, no.

I'm Jack Hour, head of the Alien Terrorist Unit.

And a guy a little obsessed with time.

I promised to get you safely out of here, but I need you to remain calm.

- We don't have much time. - I rest my case.

Listen, I've been through situations 10 times worse than this

and the one I've learned is the key to survival is never panic.

Ahh!

Jack, Jack, what do we do now?

Panic.

I just had the most incredible dream.

You were there and you were there.

- He's delirious. - Or deliriously gay.

That's from "The Wizard of Oz. "

The passengers are starting to freak!

- Now what do we do? - Gus, go to the cockpit,

warn the captain. T'nuk, get out there and calm them down.

You mean the ones who are still breathing.

It's too late for me, Chode.

You're gonna have to finish this without me.

No one's ever died on my watch and I'm not about to start now.

Six, I'm gonna need you to suck out the poison.

Ahh!

- What is it? - I think I've been bitten.

Can't blame a guy for trying.

Everybody remain calm!

The situation is totally under control!

Snakes on a plane? Come on, that's ridiculous.

It's true, Captain. Half the passengers are already dead.

You've got to radio...

You're wasting your time, you metal moron.

You can't stop 'em all!

I've got you now, black mamba!

I'm the head flight attendant.

Let me at it.

Whip, do you hear me?

- Six, is that you? - Yes.

I'm trapped in a casket.

You have to lock onto my position and beam me aboard the ship.

But... can't be.

Uncle Chode's on... jet liner trying to save you as we speak.

You must warn Chode. The Six on the plane is an impostor.

Darph Bobo's buried me somewhere on the planet

with less than eight minutes of air left.

The planet only has eight minutes of air left? That's terrible!

She means the casket has eight minutes of air left.

Listen carefully... don't... the casket.

Six, I can't hear you!

- Six! - I repeat,

the casket will release a deadly virus

the moment the lid is opened.

- Whip? Hello? - Six, are you there?!

Bob, lock onto Six and beam her out of there.

Bob, talk to me!

Bad news. I can't reach Six.

There's something blocking the transporter beam.

You can always trust Six's sucking to put color back in your cheeks.

Chode, you've got to stop the snakes from getting into the galley.

Use the luggage as a barricade.

Yeah yeah yeah.

- Jack Hour. - Jack, it's Whip!

You need to listen to me very carefully!

Six is an impostor!

What? Are you sure?

The real Six is buried alive on the planet

with less than seven minutes of air left!

A planet with seven minutes of air left...

- how dumb is that? - That's what I thought.

And the hits keep on coming...

And coming.

I'd kill for a cigarette right now.

You and me both, but I'll settle for a dump.

Control, this is flight 69.

We got a serious situation here!

Ah! Oh!

- Are you guys okay? - I'm afraid Jack didn't make it.

I meant your fluffpuffs.

What happened?

He's dead. You know what that means?

This is the last time you can say "No one's ever died on my watch"?

Well, that. And we're totally screwed.

Our situation couldn't get any worse.

Gus, turn those... alerts off.

There, that's better. Now pull up, pull up!

What do you think I'm trying to do, a loop-de-loop?

I need some help here.

Hit the auto-pilot.

- All right, the worst is over. - Pardon moi.

Is there a Chode McBlob in here?

- T'nuk, are you okay? - My name's not T'nuk.

It's...

I can't seem to remember.

Millicent. Mildred? No.

Looks like amnesia.

I bet she doesn't remember how ugly she is.

- I'm Chode. - I've got a message for you

- from a Whip. - Go ahead.

He said Six is an impostor.

The real Six is buried alive in a casket somewhere.

He's unable to beam her out

and she only has five minutes and 14 seconds of air left.

Bob is programming the coordinates

into the plane's flight computer

so we can land right next to Six's location.

- Is that all? - No.

The women's lavatory is out of toilet paper.

It's a lie... about me, not the toilet paper.

Chode, Whip might be a useless masturbating teenager,

but why would he concoct a whopper like that?

You're right. We have to find out if she's who she says she is.

And there's only one way to prove it.

You're not actually going to have to have sex with her now

on a plane full of deadly snakes and flying on fumes?

Relax, this shouldn't take long.

I don't believe

we've been properly introduced.

- My name is Helene. - Oh shut up.

How could you have sex in five seconds?

I blew off the foreplay.

- Well, is she the real deal? - No doubt about it.

Now let's land this bird.

You and what's-her-name go outside and start stacking the bodies.

I don't want anymore of those - snakes coming in.

Six, can you hear me?

If you can, I'm not gonna lie to you.

I can't beam you aboard.

Your casket is lined with refractive alloy.

And because you're underground,

I'm only getting static on your communicator.

- Say something comforting. - Six, I want you to know

that everything is gonna be all right.

Mind you, for all I know you might already be dead

and I'm just sitting here like an idiot talking to a corpse.

Perfect.

This is crazy. There's no telling if Chode will get there in time!

- I'm going down. - But I want to go down on Six.

I mean, I want to go down and save Six.

- You're a ship, Bob. - Sure, rub it in.

I feel about as useful as a Michael Richards public apology.

This is your captain speaking.

We are coming in for a landing.

Please put your tray tables away

and your chairs in the upright position.

And if you have a free hand, enjoy the moment.

It might be your last.

Aah!

Six, what are you doing?!

If this about the other night,

I only screamed out Pamela Anderson's name

- 'cause I was thinking of you! - Say good night, Chode.

Think again, chesticles.

- T'nuk, is that you?! - Who do you think it is,

- you dumb...? - Yeah, that's her.

What the...

We're gonna make it! We're gonna make it!

Not gonna make it. We're not gonna make it!

If you can hear me, Six, I'm gonna read you a story

to settle your nerves. Ahem.

"A Tale of Two Cities. " Chapter One:

"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. "

Bob, I can hear you.

Whip, don't open the casket.

If you do, you'll release a deadly virus.

In that case, I'm just gonna skip to the end of this thing.

Phew.

Smooth landing, Captain.

You know what they say. Any landing you can walk away from

is a good landing!

Whoa!

- How much air does she have left? - About 20 seconds.

What are you waiting for? Get her out of there!

If we open the lid, a deadly virus will be released into the atmosphere.

But if we don't, Six is goner.

This day is turning out to be just one... sandwich after another.

Six, it looks like the end.

What do you want to do with our last 15 seconds together?

He could make love to her three times.

Hold your breath, open the lid, and have Bob beam us back on board.

Right. So simple, it's brilliant.

- Why didn't I think of that? - Here's a thought...

because you're an idiot!

Bob, beam us in three, two, one.

Go!

Bob, aren't you forgetting somebody?

Oh right.

- Six, are you all right? - How do we know it's the real Six?

You're right. We need proof.

Can you guys give me five seconds?

Hello, Chode.

I may not have won the war,

but today marks a major victory

for the Dark Clown Federation.

Watch and relish with me

the moment I cast open this casket

to reveal the remains

of one of your most cherished

and sexually permissive

crew members!

Nice job, numbnuts!

Cut! Cut!

I can't believe audiences actually eat this "24" crap up.

Plane crashes, explosions, kidnappings, extortion...

And that's just in the first 10 minutes.

When's the guy even get a chance to take a leak?

Mmn.