Original subtitles

So we found it strange that we were making toys in February.

We thought, toys in February? Since when?

The Christmas holiday just happened.

It was odd.

But then we realized what we were making.

- And what was that? - Objection. Relevance?

Overruled.

It was a toy.

It was a... forgive me.

It was a sex toy.

Please state your last name.

Claus.

First name.

Mrs.

How would you characterize your relationship with the plaintiff?

He's an elf. He's one of my husband's elfs.

Elfs? Elves?

I don't know. Sorry.

- He's one of many. Sorry. - It's Ok.

I'm feeling a little nervous.

I'm more of a behind-the-scenes gal.

That's Ok.

Do you know Dodo?

Yes.

We're all family.

That's what I thought, at least, if you ask me.

Him and the other ones would come over for dinner,

small parties, Christmas parties.

It's at one of these parties where Dodo found a present.

He was instructed to create a strap-on.

He alleges it was in your home for personal use.

Elves make the toys. My husband delivers the toys.

The toys are his responsibility.

And it's our responsibility, as for all the presents,

that we ensure the quality and we test them out ourselves.

I gladly tested it on Santa for Christmas.

Sorry.

Behind-the-scenes gal.

That's Ok.

Dodo alleges elves are made to work for free.

Not for free. No.

For the love of Christmas.

And can you share with us what Dodo said at one of these parties?

He said... and he was tipsy. I'll give him that.

This one can sure drink a lot of eggnog.

He said, "God, I hate Christmas."

I was devastated.

I still haven't recovered, if you ask me.

And I think that's why he's on this social-justice-warrior kick.

He hates Christmas. Don't you?

Tell 'em the truth.

I don't like that Dodo.

He wants to cancel Christmas, for Christ's sake.

Ok, so you're interested in corporeal service.

- Yes. - You want to get rid of your body?

- I would like to get rid of my body, yes. - Ok, great.

Well, let me tell you a little bit about us.

New Solutions Incorporated specializes in mind-upgrading services

and are certified by official agencies nationwide.

- Our incorp... - Sorry, like the FDA?

- No. Let me finish. - Sorry.

Our incorporeal service can free you

of your daily bodily ailments and discomforts.

"Without a body, I have never felt more like myself."

Jonathan R., Brooklyn.

- I can read it... - "Service was fast and easy.

I left feeling better than I had in years."

Sam K., Manhattan.

Do you have change for $20?

I just got some dumplings.

We're here to help people just like you

get rid of the burden of having a body.

You just float around.

It says here that you're battling a skin disease.

Yes. I'm actually a little worried about this.

I'm sorry. It's really bad.

But you don't have to worry about that. You don't have to worry about a thing.

You don't even have to worry about getting an apartment

because you won't have a body.

You'll just be floating around.

- Like a ghost? - Let me finish.

You will be floating around like a freed mind.

And you ever feel, like, hungry,

or, after you eat food, you're, like, bloated?

Sure. Yeah.

- Yes. - See?

That wouldn't happen if we upload you.

Hey, I got to get this.

Hello? Yes, this is the real bank.

- I got a call saying... - Hey. Hey, can you get this?

- I got to take it. - Oh, I don't know what the...

Everything is in the brochure.

- Yeah? - Ok.

Yes.

Yes, I'll just need your full name and account number.

Right now we are offering

a promotional fee of $999 a month

because you are a preferred customer.

That's nice. For how long?

Initial 10-year commitment.

And if I stop paying, I can just return to my body?

No. No, you can't.

Can't do it. Just...

So, sorry, I guess the question is,

if I upload my consciousness into the ether

and I become this little light for a fee,

if I stop paying that fee, where does my consciousness...

...go?

That's between you and your pastor.

- We don't do that. - Well, to sign you up, we just need

your credit card to put on file and then a copy

of your proof of existence.

I don't... Wait. I'm sorry.

I need to prove that I exist so I can stop existing?

It'll be real fast. We'll swipe it. All you need is proof. That's it.

I don't have it because I don't want it, is the issue.

Wait, so...

How do you have an apartment? How do you take out a loan?

They're going to be asking for it soon to get on the subway.

...you never knew you needed until now!

I even heard you'll need it to vote soon.

Toilets.

Go back.

It breaks my heart to see them naked,

undignified, shivering in the cold as they swallow our daily filth.

That's why I've dedicated my life

to fashioning toilet dresses.

You see, every toilet is a she.

And she, she ought to be dressed.

Go.

Yes, her favorite holiday is Thanksgiving.

The turkey one.

And her? Well, she woke up early just to bake bread with her two ugly daughters.

Daydreaming of a Hawaiian honeymoon

with a man she'll never meet.

What the hell are you doing?

Not the cowgirl. She's private.

People are always asking me,

Denise, I tried to go to your website, and I couldn't find the online shop.

And I say, don't be an idiot. I don't have an online shop.

You know that.

You have to call me personally at home, and you need to ask for a consultation.

Then I'll come to your home when you least expect it

but when it's convenient for me, and I'll have a moment with your toilet.

Feel its skin.

Feel its gurgles.

Hear it roar.

She wants a sequined seat.

- Won't that hurt? - Babe.

I don't want to sit on sequins.

"Won't that hurt?" You are an idiot.

This one doesn't mind being the other woman.

And her, I'm not ready to discuss.

My dedication to this cause began

back when I was a little girl.

I live alone with my grandmother, so you know my childhood was excellent.

Put your pants up, you vile, vile girl.

My life is hard, and it's your fault!

I dump all my shit on you.

Thank you to my producers for making that flashback happen.

Ok, well, don't make a whole show of it. Just go.

Toilets need love.

Toilets didn't ask to be toilets.

Toilets need to be dressed, and they need to look good.

But please don't call here and be asking how much it costs, Ok?

Just book a fucking consultation.

Good night.

Bibo will get the door.

"Skin cancer.

How long to kill?"

Thank you, sir. Keep the change.

How about this apartment?

No?

Oh, I've been there.

That's too small. But this one.

How about this?

Bibo, don't move.

- I detect an incoming call. - Thank you, Bibo.

- Hello? - Julio, may I speak to you?

- Right now? - Can we talk?

No, sorry. No, not you.

Now's a good time for me, and I need to tell you...

- Yeah, this is he. - Julio?

- Can I... - Julio, hello.

- Hello? - Hello.

So was your mother a rice cooker or a vacuum cleaner?

Angrysound.mp3.

Oh, Bibo, relax. It's a human joke.

Ok, Ok, it was the venue. They have a lead on the oyster.

If they find it, I can get a biopsy, like, today.

What you need is an apartment.

No, what I need is to know what I'm dealing with.

And I'll only know what I'm dealing with if I can get the oyster.

Julio, I can't do this.

I can't spiral with you.

Remember when we were in college and you thought you had internal bleeding

because you were spitting blood but you just weren't flossing?

I don't know why you're bringing that up.

I don't know what that has to do with anything.

This is nothing like that. It's just nothing like the flossing.

This is just like that.

You always do this.

Hello? Vanesja.

Hello? Your Chase Bank account has been compromised.

Oh, no.

Ok, I haven't found your little golden oyster,

but I think I know where it might be.

- Have you ever heard of Fufu's? - No.

Fufu's was the first and only queer hamster nightclub in New York City.

Fufu's was like Studio 54 meets Berghain but for gay hamsters.

It was the only space that was just for them,

where they could walk in, dance, misbehave,

and forget about the tedious, endless loop of their exercise wheels.

At Fufu's, you'd see hamsters in fetish wear,

hamster couples eyeing a third and disappearing into a dark room

or arguing about dropping the coke.

- Where is it? - Fuck! I'm so stupid.

- Babe, did you drop the coke? - Don't get mad.

There was no easier place to score drugs

- than at the Fufu's bathroom. - So stupid.

Where is it? Where is the baggie?

I hear your boyfriend's toxic. Want to make out with me?

- They let me work the coat check. - Alex, chica!

Oh, my God. Hi!

So good to see you. Just one?

- Yeah, one item. - It's $5.

Oh, my God.

I could buy more items for that much money.

Fufu's was owned by a sweet old queen named Pompolino.

He named the club after his late partner Fufu,

who died at the hands of a merciless seven-year-old who forgot to feed him.

His new boyfriend, who was young and power hungry,

was named Coco, and had big plans for Fufu's.

We should do brunches in the day. Bottomless-mimosa brunch.

Babe, that's not what Fufu's is.

We should make it a chain, open more Fufu's,

and team up with brands to do big sponsored events.

- Do a bump. - Sponsored events?

We should charge a really high cover

to make sure hamsters that come in can afford the drinks.

Come on, babe! This is smart.

Babe, Fufu was for family, queer family.

- You should do a bump. - Babe, I do not want more cocaine.

We should invite Antoni from "Queer Eye." We should invite Anderson Cooper.

We should invite Spock. Which one's Spock?

Babe, he's a human.

Who cares? Humans are cool. Do a bump.

- Babe, Fufu would not have liked that. - Fufu's dead.

I had nothing to do with it, no matter what the police say.

And I'm going to take this place to the next level.

Fufu's turned into a CVS the next day.

That's so sad.

Anyway, the hamster CVS is under the DJ booth.

I think your little oyster might have rolled over there.

- Following guest. - Hey, hey. Hi, hi.

Ok, so my name is Julio.

Ok, I was wondering if maybe you found a little...

well, little for me, but sizable for you...

golden diamond-encrusted oyster.

- An oyster? - Yes.

Well, it's an earring in the shape of an oyster,

- with diamonds. - Ok.

- Hey, Chips! - Yes? Chips here.

Have you seen a golden oyster with diamonds?

- Yes. I can help you. - Oh, yeah?

Ok, a customer was here yesterday saying he lost his sweater here.

So I brought out the lost and found, and he saw exactly what you're describing.

- The golden oyster, was it? - Yes.

Yes. And then the customer said, "Oh, yes. That's my sweater."

- And I gave it to him. - What? And you just gave it to...

Never mind. What's his name?

And where does he work?

Ok.

Why are you wearing that?

Not allowed to have phones in school.

I don't go here.

Then why are you here?

Because I'm waiting for class to be over so I can yell at a hamster.

Don't let him get to you.

Oh, I'm Ok. I don't...

Did you like school?

- No. - Why?

Because it's a horrible, oppressive environment.

Did kids make fun of you?

No.

Is it 'cause you're gay?

That's maybe like a symptom, but, no.

I don't know. Just different priorities.

How do you mean?

It's a little Oprah here. I don't know.

I didn't like school because it felt like a competition

to see who could fit in the most.

And I started at a deficit and could never catch up,

no matter how hard I tried.

You see, my family inherited a lot of debt when my grandfather died,

and we had to move just to avoid the debt collectors,

and we couldn't have nice things.

The kids at school sniffed out that something was off.

"Why does your car look like that? Why do your clothes look like that?"

Until eventually I said, "Guess what. Joke's on you. I don't want to fit in.

I don't want what you have.

I don't want to eat like you. I don't want to look like you.

I don't want to think like you.

What? I didn't get invited to the party.

That party isn't even on my radar.

I'm not at the bottom of the pyramid. I'm not in the pyramid.

I'm not losing the race, idiot. I'm not running at all.

I'm not even watching the race.

I'm over here, very relaxed and highly at ease.

I'm different. I am my own thing.

I'm the exception."

So, no, I don't need proof of existence.

What I need is my own special, little quest.

So, to me, this whole quest you're on,

this whole maze you've put yourself in,

it's all a distraction from the brutal reality that,

like the rest of us, you'll have to sacrifice

some of what you believe in, some of your precious individuality

that became your armor to survive in a system that hurt you.

You'll have to play by its rules to some extent

to keep surviving in this world.

And you know you're not sick.

You're just scared of facing that the walls are closing in.

But what happens after the biopsy, huh?

What happens when you no longer have this to face the world?

You're going to find some other thing to distract you?

Figaro?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hi. What's up?

Hand over the diamonds.

I'm sorry. Diamonds?

Yeah, I don't know what you're talking about.

- Where is the oyster? - Oh, my God.

Oh, you mean my sweater. Ok.

- Yeah, yeah. - Sure. Where is it?

- Ok, it is coming back to me now. - That's nice. Where is it?

Listen, sir, I'm still rattled from a near-death experience.

Just get on with it, Figaro.

Ok, relax. God.

I lost the diamonds when I had a close encounter with hell's mouth.

That's what we call toilets in my culture.

What is the issue?

The funds will be wired from Europe.

Hello? Where are you?

I'm in a middle-school bathroom looking for the oyster.

I have exciting news.

I just landed the client... zappos.com's streaming services.

They only do remakes now,

and they want you to adapt the Tooth Fairy.

- Something fun for the whole familia. - I already told them my idea.

So I hear you're looking for a fun, family friendly summertime movie

about the Tooth Fairy.

Well, you got it.

My idea would be a story about addiction.

We find this young fairy, alone, shivering, cold and gaunt,

stealing quarters from his father, a fairy plumber.

They live in a tree, but in their world,

this is sort of like a tenement-style building.

Later, we learn that he's stealing the quarters

in order to fund his addiction... human teeth, children's teeth.

The fairy dies at the end.

Is this movie going to make a lot of money?

No, but you didn't become an executive to make money.

I think they want something more palatable.

Hold on, my little star. Someone's calling.

This is the bank calling you regarding some leaked photographs.

You again?

Ok. Well, now back to finding the oyster.

I am the water.

I am here but also there.

I am the water.

Rushing over here.

Cleaning over there.

Hydrating everywhere.

Toilets make me dizzy.

What was your question? I'm about to rain...

Oh, yes, your oyster.

I felt it going down my throat,

through my very being, and eventually to my sea.

- Hello? - God, I've been waiting for four hours.

- Hold, please. - No! Do not fucking put me...

I fucking hate Halloween.

Don't even get me started, girl.

Seeing those gross little kids and their fake mermaid tails.

Hello, appropriation much?

Yeah, like, I don't want to see your sad little sneakers

poking out of your green skirt.

Because that's what it is. It's a skirt.

Like, that's not a tail, mama.

If you're going to commit to the look, commit to the look.

Yeah, and drag yourself from door to door with your tail.

Or, like, make a papier mâché rock and have your parents,

I don't know, wheel you around.

Wait, that's a really good idea.

That's genius.

- Should we make them? - Yeah. I can make a website.

I can design the logo right now.

But I feel like we should make the product first.

Ok, well, here we go again.

Should we be getting ahead of ourselves?

That's why you never get anything done.

Am I being, like, too much?

No, you're just pushing me 'cause you're a good friend.

You're a really good friend.

My therapist says I need to stop drinking.

My therapist says you need to stop drinking, too.

Shut up.

Vanesja. This is Vanesja.

Hello? Your savings account has been compromised.

Yes, I'm the real bank.

Yes, I'm the bank.

Enough. Who does this?

Hello?

Hello?

Hello.

I'm Oscar, 42, Brooklyn, New York.

This is my dream for analysis.

For some background information,

my sister and I own and run an internet café.

Well, I'm in charge mostly.

She's now busy with new ventures.

We're in a substantial amount of debt.

You see, last summer, I walked into our father.

He was passed out,

and I had just heard about a heat-wave warning on the radio,

so, naturally, I called an ambulance.

At the ER, the doctor said he was just taking a nap.

But we got slammed with the bill for the ambulance ride nevertheless.

Never mind that we live a block away from the hospital

and spent most of the 45-minute ride looking for parking.

Anywho, we owe a lot of money now,

so Vicky has a few side hustles.

She has a franchise for this body-uploading thing.

She sells Clinique products

and makes some, well, scam calls,

all while I run the internet café, which...

...doesn't make a ton of money.

From my computer screen,

I can see the computer screen of every customer's screen.

They're mostly checking their emails,

paying their bills, playing games.

But I have to keep an eye on anyone watching pornography

or doing any risky activities.

And that is where the dream comes in.

In the dream, well, I was here at work,

sitting at my desk, doing my job.

But this time I saw from my screen

that Vicky is looking at this leather jacket.

And the jacket has this zipper,

this nonfunctional zipper, and I am the zipper.

And the reviews all say, "Do not buy.

Zipper does not open. Zipper just for decoration."

And I'm like, you know, just because I'm a zipper

doesn't mean that I'm, well, functional.

You have reached the dream interpretation 24-hour hotline.

Your dream is not ready at this time. Please check back again later.

Proof of existence.

I hear troubled thinking.

What is it, my little star?

I can't get a biopsy because I haven't found the little oyster,

and I can't even upload myself because even they asked for proof of existence.

- Proof of existence. - Oh, no.

Proof of existence is a new form of ID and only $5 per month

that combines all forms of identification.

- Bibo, you have an Alexa in you? - Humiliating.

Now, this I can use.

There's a huge market

- for transsexualism. - Ok.

Proof has teamed up with the government to require this ID at bars,

airports, apartment leases, loans, and venues

by the end of the year via proofreading machines,

which are to be installed this month on public transit.

To get proof, you must prove good credit,

employment history, et cetera,

or become an exception.

Wait, exception. Yes, that's me, exception.

To become an exception, you must submit documents of extraordinary ability,

such as mainstream fame, as a household name like Beyoncé or the Minions.

I know a job that can help you achieve this.

But if you do it,

you need to promise me you'll use it to get an apartment

and not to upload yourself.

But what about the mole?

I have connections.

We could get it biopsied. It could be a performance.

Ok, what's the job? I'll do it.

I'll do it as long as I don't have to succumb to that horrible, horrible system.

So, whatever this job is, I'll do it.

- It's a credit-card commercial... - I won't do it.

...targeting young people called ChaChing.

And you have to wear a rainbow Pride suit...

...and a sombrero... Oh, my God.

...and maracas.

My name's Tito. Can we fuck?

Hey, babe. Two tequila sodas, one vodka cran, and a seltzer.

All different tabs. Thank you.

No one wants to dance with me. Happy fucking birthday.

Hope you're having a fucking great time.

I'm too old for this. I shouldn't have come.