Original subtitles

¶ [SPOOKY THEME MUSIC THROUGHOUT] ¶

¶¶

[PHONE RINGS]

ROSIE: Ted's Diner.

Yeah, you know how rumors are, Gladys,

they're usually true.

And this one is, for sure.

Uh-uh, Ted's Diner is closing.

Yeah, he sold it to this French guy.

He's gonna turn it into some kind of fancy

Chez Ted place... ... that don't serve food...

They serve hoity-toity CUISINE.

Oh no, I hate French food.

Mind you I do love French garbage.

I know this place is kinda the pits...

I love pits.

But it's our pits.

Right, now how could Ted sell this place

right out from under us?

I bet the new guys won't spill burnt lard on the floor.

Ha, the new guys won't even use lard.

Gah!!

Maurice?!

ROSIE: You know Ted. He's got a heart

the size of a flea's little toe.

To him, all that counts is business.

We have to do something.

We can't let Ted's Diner disappear.

If Ted's Diner disappears, what happens to our show?

¶ [EERIE / TRAGIC MUSIC] ¶

CEMETERY GROUPIE: This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

His name was Lorenzo ...and he's dead.

And he looks grand. I did him up personally.

You see, Lorenzo had been a famous movie star

when he was young.

But alas, the only one who remembered he was in the

cemetary mausoleum was his friend Basil,

the old man who sat out front selling flowers

from a little stand.

One day, some years ago, on the anniversary of

Lorenzo's death, a mysterious woman, dressed in black,

climbed up the hill to the cemetery,

and placed a single long stemmed rose on

Lorenzo's mausoleum step.

A young photographer was in the cemetery at the time.

He snapped some shots and when he was about to leave,

he realized that the old woman was gone.

He ran to the gate of the cemetery

but the only one there was Basil.

The photographer sold the picture

to the local newspaper.

The next day, a thousand people showed up to see

if the mysterious lady in black would come back.

But nobody was there except Basil, who was pleased

to sell out all his flowers, for a dollars a piece.

A year passed.

The photographer was now working

at the local television station,

and realizing that it was the anniversary

of Lorenzo's death, he brought a film crew

to the cemetery.

As expected, a mysterious woman, dressed in black,

appeared and hovered near Lorenzo's mausoleum.

She placed a single red rose on the steps.

The photographer tried to interview

the mysterious woman.

But she was gone! Disappeared!

And when he ran to the gate of the cemetery,

old Basil was sitting there reading a racing form.

That night the story was all over television.

And the next day, ten thousand people showed up

at the cemetery to see the mysterious woman,

and pay their respects to Lorenzo.

And everybody was able to buy a flower from Basil,

at two dollars each.

Another year went by.

The night before the anniversary of Lorenzo's

death, the photographer sneaked into the cemetary and waited.

Just as dawn was breaking, the mysterious woman in black

returned and left a single red rose.

At the gate, a vast number of people waited

to buy roses from Basil, this year at three dollars each.

Poor Basil was so busy, the photographer decided to help.

As things became more hectic, the photographer dropped some

change behind the counter and noticed something.

Basil was wearing women's black shoes.

And on a shelf tucked away in back, was a woman's dress.

Black. And a hat, veil and sunglasses.

The photographer said, "the woman in black?"

Basil smiled.

[GOOFY LAUGH]

The photographer, desperate for the truth,

swore he would tell no one.

So Basil walked him to Lorenzo's mausoleum

where he opened the door.

Inside, was Lorenzo.

And he sat up. There in the crypt.

Basil counted off half the money he made that day

and handed it to Lorenzo.

Then he turned to the photographer to explain,

"He gets half because it was his idea."

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

But he's dead.

And now, so is his friend old Basil.

Whom I did up equally well.

And the photographer makes forty thousand dollars

one day a year dressing up like a lady

and selling flowers. [CHUCKLE]

You sure you want to go out there?

PIERRE: We will put zee carte des vins ici.

If this Pierre guy sees the place's got roaches

it might squelch the deal.

Be careful out there, old buddy.

Maurice, he's a new guy. How much trouble can he be?

PIERRE: A cockroach!

[WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!]

We will get in zee exterminator, put up l'tente

and kill every living thing in this place.

Larry, you have to think of something.

Yeah, I know.

Roll the next story.

ARCADE GUY: This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine. Ernie.

I remember when Ernie came into the arcade and asked

to speak to the owner.

Nobody would want to speak to Big Tony...

without wearing a gas mask.

But Ernie needed a job real bad.

Someone told Ernie that Big Tony had

put an ad in the paper,

looking for a guy to work the change booth.

Somebody HAD to tell Ernie

since Ernie couldn't read or write.

Which is why he didn't get the job.

But Big Tony felt sorry for the little guy,

so he gave Ernie one of those dumb prizes you win...

a big, furry thing.

Ernie took the big, furry thing outside

and all depressed when this limo pulled up and

a rich guy got out.

Seems he forgot to get his kid a birthday present.

So he gave Ernie a hundred dollars for the furry toy.

Ernie figured some people will buy real weird things.

So when he saw a guy throwing a broken table

into a dumpster, Ernie gave the guy the hundred dollars

for the table.

Just then, this old guy steps out of an antique store,

and yells, "That's exactly what I've been looking for!"

Turns out the table belonged to one of those

French Louis kings, and the old guy gives Ernie

a thousand bucks for it.

Ernie knew he was on a streak when he saw a wreck

of a heap of a pile of rust that once was a car.

It had a 'For Sale' sign in the windshield and Ernie

paid a thousand dollars for the old, rusty heap.

Well along came this scraggly, scrawny mutt to do his thing

right on the car's rear bumper.

It seemed the dog had no owner, so Ernie took him home,

washed him up, brushed him out and the mutt looked

grand enough to enter the dog show and to win first prize...

and ten thousand dollars!

For some smart people, ten thousand would be

a good quitting number.

But Ernie took the ten thousand and bought

a pickup truck.

Then he took a ride and picked up a hitchhiker.

A seedy old bearded man who didn't smell to good.

But Ernie had a big heart.

Two days later, the old guy keeled over.

He happened to be a billionaire.

And he left Ernie three million dollars.

Enough to get through life in high style.

But not Ernie. He bought himself an airplane.

Not the most luxurious plane in the world,

but it could fly... with passengers.

To Acapulco.

And Nassau.

And all kinds of sunny places,

just when North America was hit with the

coldest cold spell in decades.

Ernie had to buy more planes.

Then a few cruise ships.

And the Island... with all the hotels on it.

Then a few amusement rides for kids.

And eventually, ERNIELAND.

With all that money coming in there was

only one thing for Ernie to do.

Make Movies.

Ernie made blockbuster megahits,

like Explosion II, Explosion III

and the classic, Dinosaur Park.

Ernie bought a TV network,

newspapers and a hockey team he called The Mighty Ernies.

And on his thirtieth birthday,

Ernie was interviewed for a magazine cover article.

The reporter asked where he was born, what his dad did,

what school he went to.

Ernie admitted that he never learned to read and write.

The reporter said, "Imagine what you would have become

if you could read and write."

Ernie replied, "A bookkeeper in a video arcade."

This was a true story.

Happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

And today, Ernie is finally learning to read,

so he can take a newspaper into the bathroom

just like the rest of us.

You know something Maurice?

NO!

This ain't no good at all.

NO!

I work my whole life to get this show on the air

and then along comes some guy

who can't even talk English good...

Not like you Larry, you talk English the Goodest.

You know what? We gotta come up with a plan

to save this joint.

But what can we do?

We're just a cockroach and a maggot.

What are you talkin' about?

You and me, we're a pair, we go together.

We do?

Yeah!

¶ WE'RE PALS, WE'RE BUDDIES, ¶

¶ WE'RE FRIENDS TO THE END. ¶

¶ WE'RE THE PICTURE OF A MIXTURE ¶

¶ THAT IS THE PERFECT BLEND. ¶

¶ LIKE MEAT AND POTATOES? ¶

¶ CHEESE AND TOMATOES. ¶

¶ LIKE SUNSHINE AND FLOWERS, ¶

¶ WHAT'S YOURS ¶ ¶ IS MINE ¶

¶ IT'S OURS. ¶

¶ LIKE SATIN AND SILK, ¶

¶ COOKIES AND MILK. ¶

¶ LIKE ROCK IS TO ROLL, ¶

¶ JAMES BROWN IS TO SOUL. ¶

¶ LIKE PEACHES AND CREAM, ¶

¶ FREUD AND HIS DREAM. ¶

¶ I'M FAT, HE'S SKINNY ¶

¶ I'M AN OUTIE, ¶ ¶ I'M AN INNIE. ¶

¶ WE'RE PALS, WE'RE BUDDIES, ¶

¶ WE'RE FRIENDS TO THE END. ¶

¶ WE'RE A PICTURE OF A MIXTURE ¶

¶ THAT IS -- ¶ [THWAP!]

[THEY WHIMPER & SCREAM]

Okay, okay, that's it, that's it, I am out of here!

Hey Maurice, Maurice. Where are you going?

This place is too dangerous.

You can't give up.

Oh, I can. I did.

But wait, come here wait, I got a plan.

Yeah. And you are the key.

I am? The ... what key?

Our future is in your hands...

Oh?

well, maybe not your hands exactly.

But another part of your body.

I don't have that many parts.

Exactly.

Stay tuned.

DAVE'S PAL: This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Dave works the graveyard shift.

See, Dave's what you call, a Psychic Investigator.

And Dave's one of the good ones.

That's why he was called to that place on

Bonny Meadow Road.

The family had ghosts, and they had 'em bad.

Their nice little suburban backsplit,

suddenly had a little life of its own.

It started innocently enough with the TV

flicking on and off by itself.

No big deal. Bad wiring.

But then there were the ringing doorbells

in the middle of the night, but nobody there.

And then the oven door flying open and firing the

roast chicken across the kitchen.

And then the voice on the phone.

The voice that kept telling Bob and Alice,

and their teenage son Richie,

that they could never leave the house alive!

They hadn't slept in weeks.

The noises and voices had ruined their lives,

ruined their health, and were ruining the house's value

at just about the time they decided to put their house

up for sale.

Nobody was really interested in a place with walk in closets,

central air and wall to wall ghosts.

Dave went to work.

He would spend the night alone in the house.

For Dave, step one: ascertain the house is empty.

Step two: Check the fridge for leftovers.

Dave sat down to a great meal of leg of lamb,

potato salad, cold pizza and beer.

Step three. Nap-time.

Steps four through ten: wait until it got dark.

About nine o'clock, Dave hooked up his plasmometer

and took readings throughout the house.

Negative. No recordable ghostal presence.

Dave did a standard wall check --

no discernible space/time warps.

So Dave set some spectrum analysis codes on

his apparition apparatus, and settled in

to watch the ball game.

11:08 p.m. The TV began to change channels randomly.

He saw nothing unusual except that

the Cubs had actually won a game.

2:03 a.m. Dave is awakened by the doorbell.

He opened the front door and found nothing there.

This happened every five minutes for an hour.

Once Dave came across something of note.

At 2:48 a.m. his pizza arrived,

but the anchovies were missing.

3:15 a.m. During a phone call to his office

to check massages, Dave felt another life force

on the line.

The disembodied voice yelled into the phone,

"Dave, get the heck out of my house".

4:52 a.m. On his way to the bathroom,

Dave passed a family picture in the hallway.

Red liquid poured from the necks and hearts of a smiling

Bob and Alice and Richie.

7:16 a.m. An exhausted Dave stumbled into

the kitchen to make some breakfast.

The toaster shot charred blackened toast

into his forehead.

At eight a.m. Bob and Alice showed up.

Dave led them to the basement,

to a tiny door covered with cobwebs,

hidden behind the furnace.

Dave kicked open the door to reveal Richie,

with an extension phone, the TV remote control,

and the house's electrical control panel

opened and rewired.

"There", said Dave, "is your ghost".

Sob - sob, anger - anger, as Richie

explained how he didn't want to move

and sabotaged the house so they could stay

in the neighbourhood.

As Dave was leaving the house, he told Richie he'd done a

pretty good job for an amateur.

Especially the bleeding picture.

That's the mark of a real haunted house.

"What bleeding picture?" asked Richie.

This is a true story.

Happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Dave, who used to be one of the great Psychic Investigators...

although now, for some reason, he prefers to sell real estate.

Okay, buddy, do your thing.

You really think this is going work?

Hey, Maurice are you kidding me?

You are the Prince of obnoxious odors,

the Count of stinky smells,

the King of suffocating stenches...

True.

Now get out there and let 'er rip!

[MANY FARTS]

Ha! A direct hit.

Go Maurice Go!

PIERRE: What is zat...? Odour!?

ROSIE: Oh yeah, it just wafts up from time to time.

Waft em!

PIERRE: I will never get rid of ziss...

ROSIE: We never could.

PIERRE: Zat is it! Tell your Ted zat ze deal is off.

Ha. The deal is off!

You did it Maurice.

We're staying. We're back in business!

Hey guys, here's another Freaky Story comin' at ya.

And they're gonna keep on comin'. Oh yeah.

FARMER CYRUS: This here's a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine who got

tangled up with one of them big-city insurance companies.

This fella from the insurance company was always

lookin' through the claims to see if anyone was

tryin to pull somethin'.

Well, one day he finds this old dirt-farmer

who'd made an awful big claim...

seemed to have worse luck than a Bombay steak salesman.

You know, fires, tornados, what have you!

This insurance fella decides to drive on out to

this farm and see what's what.

Well sure enough, the place is in real rough shape.

He goes up to where the farmhouse used to be and

it's just a big pile of lumber

lookin' like it was pulled apart by some big wind.

He looks around for the barn but it's just

mainly charred stumps and nothin' but some

make-shift shelters for the animals.

All except the pig,

who had this real purty brand-new stye!

I tell ya, that pig lived better'n Ivana Trump.

And that pig was in a beautiful brand new

electric wheelchair...

which he needed,

what with it not havin no hind legs or nothin'.

Which got that insurance fella thinkin'

that maybe he had this farmer dead to rights.

So he says, "Why don't you confess

what's goin' on here with you and this pig?"

The farmer kinda rears up and says

"Virgil ain't no dirty old pig?

That pig is the smartest, the bravest,

the most wonderful pig in the whole wide world."

And he tells him how one night,

his whole family woke up to hear this pig

gruntin' out in the yard.

[HORRIFIC PIG SQUEALS]

Gruntin' that woke the whole house up.

Next thing he knows, there's this bangin'

at the back door, like some giant mutant woodpecker.

'Course it brought the whole household downstairs,

just as that pig kicked the door in.

So this farmer grabs his shotgun, and is

about to make some instant bacon

when he notices there's a twister coming

right for the house!

The farmer got his family to the storm cellar

just before that twister came and leveled the house.

Well this insurance man is studying this farmer's face.

He sure don't seem to be lyin'.

But he still wants to know about

that suspicious barn fire.

Seems the old Guernsey kicked a lantern over

and that old barn lit up faster than

the parson's nose on a Saturday night.

There was no way that that farmer coulda got all the

animals to safety by himself.

But that pig pitched in and got all the animals

outta there.

Then just when they thought all the animals were safe,

they hear this cheep-cheep- cheepinng of baby chicks

from inside the inferno.

Without a thought for saving his own chops,

this pig grabs hold of a burning rope,

hoists himself up to that blazing hayloft,

gathers up those chicks in his arms

and dives straight into the water trough.

A perfect double gainer...

except for the tuck, which wasn't great on account of

him having pig legs.

At least at the time, he did.

And the farmer explained he spent the insurance money

on the wheelchair because he owed his life

and the lives of all his animals to that pig.

But there's just one more thing

botherin' the insurance man.

"How come that old pig don't have no hind legs?"

And that dirt farmer just looks this insurance guy

right in the eye, very serious-like, and he says

"A pig that good - you don't eat all at once."

[WHIMPER-SCREAM]

That's a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

And you can only hope your next meal can do

as much for you!

ROSIE: Hi there, come on in. We're open for business.

Ah yes, once again all is right with the world.

[DISTANT FARTS]

[SNIFFS] Oh man.

Augh... Maurice. [COUGHS]

Hey, everything... has it's price.

¶ WE'RE PALS, WE'RE BUDDIES, ¶

¶ WE'RE FRIENDS TO THE END. ¶

¶ WE'RE THE PICTURE OF A MIXTURE ¶

¶ THAT IS THE PERFECT BLEND. ¶

¶ LIKE MEAT AND POTATOES? ¶

¶ CHEESE AND TOMATOES. ¶

¶ LIKE SUNSHINE AND FLOWERS, ¶

¶ WHAT'S YOURS - IS MINE - IT'S OURS. ¶

¶ LIKE SATIN AND SILK, ¶

¶ COOKIES AND MILK. ¶

¶ LIKE ROCK IS TO ROLL, ¶

¶ JAMES BROWN IS TO SOUL. ¶

¶ LIKE PEACHES AND CREAM, ¶

¶ FREUD AND HIS DREAM. ¶

¶ I'M FAT, HE'S SKINNY ¶

¶ I'M AN OUTIE, ¶ ¶ I'M AN INNIE. ¶

¶ WE'RE PALS, WE'RE BUDDIES, ¶

¶ WE'RE FRIENDS TO THE END. ¶

¶¶