Original subtitles

It's alive!

There's 401 k's, IRAs, Roth IRAs, retirement funds.

Uh, what is it?

We just fooling with you, man.

Man, we poor as fuck.

Retirement investing.

Oh, man.

Dumbass!

That ain't happening.

And how did that joke make you feel?

Before you answer, look at this joke.

There's 401 k's, IRAs, Roth IRAs, retirement funds.

Um, what is it?

We just fooling with you, man.

Man, we poor as fuck.

Retirement investing.

Oh, man.

That ain't happening.

And how did that joke make you feel?

Are you learning something about yourself?

Before you answer that, look at this joke.

Ahhh!

Well, if my calculations are correct, you have an erection

and regret that you never knew your great-grandparents.

Oh, my god, save us!

Run for your lives!

No, my pelvis!

Ahhhh!

Damn it, no! Not that one.

That's the claw.

You don't need the claw.

Okay, ease back on... no!

Don't touch... No!

Stop! Okay, don't... hang on!

Go left! Left, left, left!

I can't believe we lost the bet

and have to spend the night in this old haunted house.

That's an oddly complete summary of our predicament.

Um, we're going this way.

Yeah, to hide the pickle in the hair sandwich.

That just means they won't get into heaven.

Well, I guess I'll go find an empty room to masturbate in.

Sweet.

Look at me.

I'm fall out boy.

Oh, Dean, you're the coolest.

Whoa!

Dean?

Dean?!

I've got to get help.

Rape ghost.

What?

Rape ghost!

Maybe there's an old medical book

with pictures of boobs in it.

Ah!

What? Hey!

Oh, oh, oh!

R- r-r-r-rape ghost!

It stole my black cherry.

Oh, my god. Where's Tina?

Gee, I hope the rape ghost doesn't get me.

Oh.

What's better than roses on your piano?

Tulips on your organ.

Toodles.

Come back anytime.

Even me?

Ew, no!

Timber!

Why, someone left this job half done.

Can we fix it?

Yes, we can!

Ain't nobody finishing nothing.

I'm sorry, who are you?

We're from the Union, and we say

you don't have the right equipment for this job.

We have all the equipment we need.

Really?

You got a talking briefcase

full of hundred-dollar bills over there?

No, but... oh, okay.

That's, you know... oh, whoa! Hey!

Ha ha ha! Can I play, too?

Sure, asshole.

Hope you like smelling what you ate.

Spud!

Don't forget to wear your safety goggles.

Oh, thanks, Bob.

Whew! Rock and roll!

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Ahh!

Now dig these mother fuckers a grave, Scoop.

No prob, Bob.

Ew, New Jersey smells like bad tuna.

Can we go home?

All: Yes, we can!

Yay!

So, as you can see, it's 200 square feet,

new carpeting, tons of space under the bed,

and the boy scares easy.

Does he... does he wet the bed?

Like a faucet.

I love it.

We love it.

My name is Sonny, and I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

All: Hi, Sonny.

Yep, never married, never had kids, but I've got my train set.

All aboard.

Whoo-whoo!

Next stop, Lonelyville.

Whoo-whoo!

Ha ha. Lucky? You bet.

Whoo-whoo!

What's wrong, Cowboy Curtis?

I just found out I have cancer.

That's our secret word of the day.

Pee-wee, Pee-wee, seriously.

He said it's malignant.

What's malignant?

The cancer.

Experience military combat like never before.

This is "Inside the Battlefield - The Weather Dominator."

September 10, 1984... mother nature was on the rag.

Was it merely her time of the month?

Bow before Cobra and my weather dominator,

or I'll crank up the humidity so high

no ass crack will ever be dry again.

An eternity of swamp ass.

My gosh, that could send oil prices skyrocketing.

Can you imagine gasoline for over $1 a gallon?

G.I. Joe, the nation's elite anti-terrorist task force

with the nation's least oppressive dress code,

leapt into action.

Almost immediately, two top Joes were captured and forced

to dual in the Cobra Sportatorium

in a desperate bid to drive concession sales.

That was crazy.

Imagine if the nazis had captured Eisenhower

and put the war on pause so they could watch him

fight a mute dude in a ninja outfit.

No offense, Snake Eyes.

Oh, great, the Etch-a-Sketch.

I can't even read that.

Much like Britney Spears' fragile psyche,

the weather dominator was split into three fragments

and scattered around the Earth.

Which was kind of a shocker.

The complexity of a weather dominator...

you'd think more than three pieces, but no.

Destro, how did that make you feel?

Like this.

Thus was launched a three-fronted battle,

engaged first on the Island of No Return...

today a Sandals resort.

I signed up to travel the world, pay for college,

and shoot lasers at guys in masks,

which had always been a dream of mine.

Then I heard we were going to The Island of No Return.

I mean, who the fuck sends a 19-year-old kid to...

I mean fuck man.

Some attempting to return from The Island of No Return

would find returning difficult.

My dearest Clara,

this is our fourth day on The Island of No Return.

We've been circling around, looking for an ion correlater.

...to stop Cobra from compiling their weather dominator.

Food is scarce, and morale is low.

Blam.

I never understood that last part.

That last part was Morrie getting shot.

Oh, that makes sense now.

Oh!

Oh, Morrie!

Next, the fight for the hydromaster fragment

erupted in another remote locale

the Palace of Doom.

Otherwise known as my mother-in-law's house.

I kid, but seriously, don't marry jewish.

Zartan, we're late for Seder.

Kill me.

Meanwhile, the battle for the final fragment

led to an impromptu hockey game.

Tthat was the most fun I ever had as a Joe.

It was pretty hilarious.

We should have all been court-martialed.

Firing lasers at the last piece of the weather dominator

worth billions of dollars...

Whoa, Cobra Commander would have had our nuts for that.

And speaking of nuts...

So cold, shrinkage on an epic scale.

Oh-ho, my scrotum was like the size of a walnut.

I think my testicles

might have actually retracted into my body.

It was like reverse puberty.

I was quite comfortable.

A last-ditch assault on the Cobra stronghold

decided the final outcome.

G.I. Joe had emphatically planted an American flag

in Cobra's ass... both metaphorically and,

in one unfortunate case, quite literally.

We flew in, beat them like mixed-race stepchildren,

and Cobra Commander went to prison.

And he promptly escaped.

Whew, boy, the other countries of the world were pissed.

They wanted him put to death immediately,

but we kind of dragged our heels,

and by that time, Zartan had busted him out

with a wicker-basket thing and a remote-control snake

or something.

Oh, good times.

Good times.

Oh, for god sakes, just stop it.

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk # # Ba-bawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk # # Ba-bawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk # # Ba-bawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk bawk bawk #

Ba-gawk! Bawk.