Original subtitles

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LARRY: Hey there.

Welcome to Freaky Stories.

Tonight we are going to be...

Maurice! What the heck is that?

A hair.

It's bad enough I gotta deal with the ugliest,

slimiest, grossest, disgustingest creature...

YOU! I'm talkin' about you!

New rule.

No hairy maggots on the show...

Get it? -Got it.

Go. Go on get outta here.

Hey, it's just you and me -

Hey, somebody, fix that, would ya?

We'll be back, after this Freaky Story.

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine,

it surely did.

Sweet Lucy Feeney, known all over the county for the

yumminess of her strawberry cream pies,

which she was delivering to the Little Sisters of

Charity in her pie mobile when she heard

the wail of a siren.

Lucy looked into her mirror to see the flashing red

lights of the town's only police car,

and pulled to the side of the road.

Poor dear actually trembled as Officer Benny waddled

over and without so much as a howdy- do...

And even before poor Lucy could say a word,

Officer Benny launched into one of his ridiculous

tirades that he always delivered with a ticket...

"I know one eensie-teensie mile might not seem like a

lot to you, but that's how it always begins,

and before ya know you're tearing up the road like it

was some sort of speed car race!"

Fortunately for old Lucy a fighter jet from that nearby

Air Force base zoomed overhead and drowned out the

rest of Officer Benny's hot air!

But if there's one thing you could say for Officer Benny,

he sure didn't play favorites.

Take the time he was ticketing the Mayor's car,

when his Honor came running out of the barber shop,

his face still covered with lather,

he shouted..."What do you think you're doing?"

and Officer Benny said, "Giving you a ticket for

parking in the red.

Ya should know better than that, Mr. Mayor."

To which the Mayor replied..."But I parked

in front of the red not in it!"

And wouldn't you know it, Officer Benny whipped out

his magnifying glass, and sure enough showed the Mayor

his front tires were exactly one inch inside the red,

and "One inch may not seem like much,

Mr. Mayor, but if every car in the world did that you'd

have yourself a real parkin' problem!"

Fortunately for the Mayor, too,

that fighter jet zoomed overhead again,

drowning out the rest of Officer Benny's lecture!

Then came Black Tuesday, the day Officer Benny was issued

the first Radar Gun in the county.

He quickly became known as Radar Benny,

which made his head swell up like a watermelon and his

brain shrink like a pea.

No one was safe anymore, not even Reverend Jones who was

pulled over for going...

"One tenth a mile over the bicycle speed limit might

not seem like a "THOU SHALL NOT" to you,

Reverend, but if every bicycle in the universe

did that, it would equal the Speed of Light!"

And what made it even worse, for some reason the fighter

jet wasn't flying that day and the poor Reverend had to

hear every single word of Radar Benny's

never-ending sermon.

But it seemed it was dear Lucy Feeney and her pie

mobile that took the brunt of Radar Benny's crusade.

Pulled over once again she pleaded...

"But I was only going 9 miles an hour!"

And Radar Benny responded, reading his radar gun...

"8-point-3 to be exact.

Which is 1-point-7 slower than the legal speed limit.

If every car in our solar system went that slow,

blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-bla h- blah!"

All the while Lucy looked sadly to the sky praying for

the friendly jet to reappear!

And from that time on no matter how carefully Lucy

Feeney drove to deliver her yummy strawberry cream pies

to some worthy charity, Radar Benny was always on

her tail, forcing her to pull over.

But one time Radar Benny waddled toward her,

triggering his radar gun like Jesse James shooting

bullets into the air, when the fighter jet suddenly

reappeared!

And inside the cockpit the Radar Detector

began to blink.

It zeroed in on the Radar blips coming from

Radar Benny's gun.

There wasn't much the pilot could do,

those planes being so automated and all,

it mistook Benny's gun to be enemy radar and the detector

automatically fired a rocket.

Hearing the eerie whine, Radar Benny looked up to see

the missile heading straight at him,

clocked it at 903 mph.

He turned a-runnin' as fast as his stubby legs could

carry him, but they were no match for the rocket.

KA-BLOUIE!

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

As for Radar Benny he traded in his radar gun for a cushy

seat IN the pie mobile, where he now delivers Lucy

Feeney's yummy strawberry cream pies...while keeping a

very close eye on the speedometer.

Okay. Our next story...

Hey!

What's goin' on?

Oh man.

I gotta find out -- here's the next story.

Hey guys, I'm comin' over...

This is a true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

He also used to be Captain of the HMS Victory,

the finest battleship in her Majesty's fleet.

His name was Newcombe, and he jolly well did like

being captain.

He wore his full dress uniform all the time,

and marched about the bridge barking orders at the crew.

On the tour directly after mine the Victory took on a

very special observer, a certain Admiral Sir Horatio

Bigbum --there to make an official year-end evaluation.

As opposed to Captain Newcombe,

Sir Horatio was a true naval hero,

and in time past, used to be Newcombe's commander.

When Sir Horatio came on board,

Newcombe puffed his chest out so far he popped three

brass buttons.

But Sir Horatio snorted that battle ships were sort of

out-dated and belonged in a dust bin.

"I should rather be on a proper aircraft carrier,

like my old flagship, the "Royal George V".

Captain Newcombe did his best to impress the old

bird, showing off how up-to-date and modern his

ship was, and putting his crew through their paces.

But it was no use.

Whatever Newcombe did made him look like

a bloody idiot.

For example, when a gun turret spun about wildly,

Newcombe pushed the Admiral out of harm's way

and into a bucket of swab water.

Sir Horatio remarked that he could see why Newcombe was

merely in command of an old tin of beans.

Oh, that really hurt.

Newcombe was quite depressed.

But then his First Officer happened to remark that they

were on pace for a record transatlantic crossing.

They just might drop anchor in Halifax Harbour

in record time.

That was enough for Newcombe -- a new speed record would

definitely impress an old navy fogy like Sir Horatio!

Newcombe ordered full speed ahead.

As the ship bounced over the waves,

some of the crew members got a bit weezy and put their

ditty bags to good use.

Still Newcombe was determined to have his

speed record.

By eight bells, the fog was as thick as pea soup,

but Captain Newcombe refused to slow down.

He was depending on his radar to pick up any other

ship that might be in his way,

and great heavens, the radarman did pick up a blip

straight dead ahead.

The blip looked as though it was stationary,

but it was right in Newcombe's path.

If he changed course to go round it he would lose his

speed record.

So he ordered his radio man to send a message --

"Increase your speed and alter course by

two degrees."

Several minutes later there was a message in reply,

telling Newcombe to change his course by two degrees.

Well!!!

Nobody ever refused one of his orders before.

So he sent his original message again --

"Change your course by two degrees".

And again the answer came back telling Newcombe to

change his course by two degrees.

Well, now Newcombe was quite upset.

If somebody did not change course immediately,

they were going to collide.

Then Newcombe had an idea.

He grabbed the radio, flicked the voice switch and

began to shout "I strongly suggest you alter course

two degrees or risk being rammed!

This is Admiral Sir Horatio Bigbum!"

Newcombe was certain that pulling rank,

so to speak, would get results,

and he was quite pleased with himself...

until he turned around to see Sir Horatio

standing directly behind him.

The old boy was about to pop a blood vessel.

But before Newcombe could think of anything to say

the radio crackled.

"Ahoy there Admiral!" said a voice.

"I still strongly suggest that you change your course

by two degrees.

This is the lighthouse keeper."

This is a true story --

it happened to a friend of a friend of mine...

ex- friend...ex-Captain.

With proper instruction, Seaman Second Class Newcombe

can become the best swabee in the entire Navy.

Hey, I can't do a show with all this...

what's going on anyway?

It's me, Maurice.

Like you told me, I'm getting rid of that ugly hair.

What?

Like my mom gets rid of her mustache.

I'm doing... Electrolysis.

Let's have a Freaky Story.

This is a true story.

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

Sissy O'Grady's one of those young southern belle's from

the wrong side of the tracks posing as a debutante

from the upper side of the crust.

You see, things money can't buy,

she doesn't need.

So when the hundred and ten year old billionaire she was

dating died and left all his money to his children

Sissy didn't know what she and her little Gigi

were going to do.

I mean, all they wanted was a little ole mansion in the

hills with a couple of hundred acres of manicured

lawns, maybe a nice ole pool and a nice young

pool boy, and a husband to pay for it all of course.

So when an extremely eligible-looking young

bachelor ran into her while she was window shopping at

the jewelry store (I mean, there's no better place to

go casting for the big fish now is there?)

Well, that Sissy didn't lose any time.

She faked a fainting spell right then,

and had the boy helping her into a very expensive

restaurant for a restorative lunch where she claimed to

have misplaced her pocketbook before you could

whistle Dixie.

And the young gentleman seemed all too obliged.

He was handsome, charming and most important

he had that air about him that said rich, rich, rich.

Sissy was as close to love as a girl

with a stone heart can get.

Gigi on the other hand?

Well the pooch had a pedigree rather similar to

Sissy's...

A sordid past at the pound covered up by a good hair

cut and a real sassy wiggle in her walk.

But that fuzz-ball had street smarts and they told

her the new fella was no good.

But things couldn't have gone any better for Sissy.

The boy wasn't exactly throwing money around,

but just by the way he talked about wine and

dropped the names of people called van something

and de la something else, Sissy new she'd hit it big.

But it wasn't long before Sissy cooed and coaxed and

cuddled her way into an all-expense paid

7 night cruise.

They would go together.

And then if all went accordin' to plan,

Sissy'd have that guy signed,

sealed and delivered before they ever got back to port.

One quick ceremony by the Captain at sea,

and a solid-gold future would be her very, very own.

But things didn't go according to plan.

Mr. Right was called away to an emergency board meetin'

just as the ship was going to set sail.

And Sissy was forced into the awkward position of

going on what she hoped would be her weddin' cruise

all on her own.

Luckily this left one Mr. Right free to dog sit with Gigi.

So things weren't all that bad.

Or so our little gold digger thought.

One week later Sissy returned home to the most

horrible fright.

There was Gigi lying on the living room floor,

barely breathing.

Sissy rushed her to the vet just as quick as her leased

Jag could go...

things didn't look so good.

They told her to head back home.

It would be better to get the news there.

So Sissy got home quicker than anyone expected.

And that's when she noticed her apartment was not the

same as she had left it.

Her imitation Renoir was missing and so was her

discount store antique rug.

Her crystal zirconia necklace wasn't in it's fake

naugahide box.

In fact, all of her faux jewelry and imitation fur

coats were out of their usual places and stacked by

the back door, just like someone'd been planning to

make off with the whole stash.

And then she noticed a trail of blood.

Little dots all the way to the fake French Provincial

bedroom closet door.

But just as Sissy pulled on the simulated ceramic knobs,

the phone rang.

It was the vet.

And boy did he sound freaked.

He'd found out what was wrong with poor little Gigi

all right.

The poor darling had something caught in her throat.

The funny thing is, that something was a severed

human finger!!!

Well, Sissy would have fainted but she didn't have time.

Cause just then the closet door swung open and huddled

inside was her so-called dream boat,

'Mr. Right', hoped-to-be future husband.

But it was going to be hard marrying the guy,

considering he was a thief and worse yet,

now he didn't even have a ring finger.

This is true story.

It happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

Gigi made a full recovery, of course.

She and Sissy are working on this poor- little-girl act now.

I mean, what's the point of being a gold-digger if you

attract guys looking to make it rich??

Okay, we made it...

Let me guess. The waffle iron right?

Cover me with maple syrup and call me

the breakfast special.

[With an Italian accent:] Buon giorno.

This is true story.

It happen to a friend of a friend of mine.

His name is Giacomo.

He is bellhop at big fancy hotel here in Roma.

The trouble it starts when Giacomo he pick up the bags

of a family who come to visit Italy

for the first time.

Giacomo thinks they are rich,

because the papa is loud and fat.

So he tells the hotel manager to put them in a

special room, with a special view.

Giacomo is expecting a big tip.

But Giacomo is young.

The family was a mama and a papa,

a little boy and a bigger little girl.

Giacomo carries all their bags up to their room and

what he gets from the papa is,

"Hey, here's a tip, don't order the gnocchi

from room service."

The papa, he thinks he's funny.

[laughing]

The little boy, he says he wants to see the Pope so

maybe he can get a ride in the Pope-mobile.

The girl, she only wants to see naked statues.

The papa only wants to use his new,

expensive video camera.

And the mama only complains.

About anything.

Giacomo, the window is stuck."

"Giacomo, the ice melts too fast."

"Giacomo, my ring fell down the toilet bowl.

Get it for me."

Oh, this family not only makes the trouble at the

hotel where Giacomo works.

No-no-no...

they make it all over Roma.

The little boy, he jumps in the wishing fountains to

take out the coins people throw in for the good luck.

The girl, she don't like her gellato,

she toss it in the street and she make a mess.

And the papa sticks his camera in everybody's face

-- the butcher, the baker, the canoli maker.

This papa, he is the tree from which his little acorns

do not fall too far from.

And then back to the hotel so the mama can complain

about Giacomo.

She tells the hotel manager her TV is broken.

"No picture?"

"No English, I can't understand a word...

and it is Giacomo's fault."

She tells the manager to fire Giacomo or they are

checking out.

This manager is not happy with the idea of an empty

room, so he fires my friend...

Giacomo.

With no more for the mama to complain about,

the family goes out to find a good hot dog...

si, they come to Italy and they do not like

Italian food.

Tourists!

But when the family returns to their room,

they see the door, it was broken into.

The papa demands they call the police.

The mama is fainting from the thought of

what the robbers stole.

The little girl was happy her doll was still there.

And the little boy?

Seeing Italian police in leather coats.

Way cool.

The police search the room.

Everything is there.

Even the mama's Leaning-Tower-of Piza

earrings.

Nothing is stolen.

The mama, she has a fit for no reason,

except maybe to get a lot of attention.

Maybe I think she is a little disappointed she

cannot blame this on Giacomo.

So, the family goes home.

Maybe they do not have such a good time,

but the papa got lots of video tapes.

Many not aimed too good -- the top of a nun's umbrella,

the foot of a bicycle racer, half of most of the sights.

And there was one video of Giacomo.

He is looking into the camera and laughing.

Laughing, while he shoves the family's toothbrushes --

two in his nose, one in each ear.

Then he puts the toothbrushes back in the

bathroom.

The whole family -- mama, papa,

little boy, bigger little girl,

they all think for a second and then....

They all throw up.

Hey, this is true story.

It happened to friend of a friend of mine Giacomo,

who, if you visit Roma, you take my advice,

and don't complain about him.

This letter is from a maggot named...

I can't make out the name.

It's Marvin.

Isn't Marvin your cousin?

Yeah. Just read it.

Okay. Dear Maurice, we all know of all your many talents...

It is from your cousin.

Will you please do some of your marvelous

impersonations. Huh?

Okay, viewers, because you asked for it.

Guess who this is.

You can't handle the truth.

Hey Jack Nicholson.

Not bad.

Can you do, uh...

Sylvester Stalone?

Ok.

You can't handle the truth.

Stallone sounds exactly like Nicholson.

Could be they were twins separated at birth

or something.

Um. How about that Latin movie star,

Antonio Banderas.

You can't handle the truth -- amigo.

And L.L. Cool J. would be...

You can't handle the truth -- bro.

and Jean Chretien...

You can't handle the truth -- What do you tink of dat, eh?

Ladies and gentlemen, tune in next time to see Maurice

do Frank Sinatra.

He's dead.

Exactly.