¶¶
Any escape artist worth his salt
will have a bobby pin somewhere on his person
at all times.
(grunting)
(groans)
LEWIS: Next!
And what's your talent, son?
I can translate any Morse-code transmission
from anywhere... in the world.
Prepare to be amazed.
(machine clicks)
(static)
At the moment, no one is sending any messages.
Get off my stage!
(grunts)
(siren wails)
(grunts) I did not become a high-school principal
to put on an unentertaining talent show!
That means no crappy acts
and strict enforcement
of my famous one-slot-per-talent policy
to ensure some mother(bleep) variety!
One singer, one tumbler,
one Annie Oakley-style trick-shootin' cowgirl...
(gun clicks)
...and one hot-dog speed-eater!
The fat one.
(grunts) Hut!
(tray clatters)
That singing slot is yours, buddy.
A.J. Slick doesn't stand a chance.
A.J.: My ears are burning.
And that usually only happens
when I hear Steve's singing.
Hey, A.J. Please...
Call me A.J. Slick.
I just wanted to say "good luck."
How about a little lemonade to lube the old larynx?
Wow, now -- now that's sportsmanship.
Heh. Thanks, A.J.
(coughing)
Oh, did I say lemonade?
I meant Lemon Pledge.
You've been Slick'd!
LEWIS: Steve Smith?
("Grease (Is the Word)" plays)
(hoarsely) ¶ They think our love is just a growing pain ¶
LEWIS: Off my stage!
(siren wails)
(patriotic music plays)
¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶
¶ I got a feelin' that it's gonna be a wonderful day ¶
¶ The sun in the sky has a smile on his face ¶
¶ And he's shinin' a salute to the American race ¶
¶ Oh, boy, it's swell to say ¶
¶ Good -- ¶ ¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶
Aah!
¶ Good morning, U.S.A. ¶
¶¶
I was heavily penalized
for withdrawing funds from my 401(k) early,
but it was all worth it
to get my hands on this baby.
The world's last Milkybar Choo.
FRANCINE: Ah-choo!
(blows nose)
Sorry, Klaus.
My allergies have just been kicking my ass,
and nothing seems to help.
You know what's great for hay fever?
Locally produced honey.
Local honey, huh?
Let me just run it by my allergist.
We don't need that money-grubbing allergist
horning in on the profits from our nnn...
ALL: New local honey business!
(door opens) (mumbling) Stupid talent show.
Stupid singing. A.J.
What's wrong, son?
(normal voice) Everybody acts like the talent show
is such a big deal --
And right they are.
No one ever forgets
the winner of their high-school talent show.
Ours was Scott Kaminetzky.
He could juggle so much.
Now, back to our thing.
ALL: Lo-cal! Hon-ey!
Lo-cal! Hon-ey!
Stupid A.J. Slick.
Cheating me out of my slot.
ROGER (whispering): Hey. Hey.
Up here.
Want to get back at A.J. and win that talent show?
I can help.
What -- what are you doing in there?
I'm trapped.
I dropped a Skittle down a vent,
and I went in after it.
I've been in here for days.
Get a Phillips-head screwdriver
and meet me by the vent in Hayley's bathroom.
Oh. Oh, there -- uhp, there's the Skittle.
Went down this slightly narrower passageway here.
(metal scraping)
Shit.
¶¶
You came to the right guy, Steve.
(clangs)
(inhales deeply, exhales)
I love a good quest for revenge.
I'm not out for revenge, Roger.
I am a proud, life-long good boy.
Deny it all you want,
but deep down, you want to get back at A.J.,
and you want to win that show.
I admit,
it'd be nice to see A.J. get what he deserves.
But singing was my talent.
Wha-- what else can I do?
One word -- ventriloquy.
Ventriloquism?
Puppet-talkin'.
One word.
In the '70's, I was half of the most popular
ventril-agrgah act in the world.
I was the puppet.
I was kicked off "Match Game"
for saying the word "queef" on air.
But that's neither here nor there.
Point is, just like you, my partner Dennis
didn't know the first thing about ventril-gahvel.
But it didn't matter because I do all the work.
Hmm.
Almost sounds too good to be true.
That's the spirit!
But...there is one thing
I'm going to need from you.
Total commitment.
Deal. Good.
Because this is perhaps my most challenging character,
both physically and mentally.
Even more than my
mentally challenged bodybuilder character,
Arnold Schwarzenegger.
First, I have to apply several layers
of this pungent lacquer face paint
to really make it look like I'm made out of wood.
Which is important,
because almost all of my material
is wood-based puns.
(sniffs) Ugh!
It smells worse than Principal Lewis's index finger.
Then... (grunts)
...painful prosthetics
to give me fully-flappable eyebrows and ears.
And finally, I inject just a scosche of paralyzing agent
into my arms and legs.
Wow! You move just like a dummy!
(thwack!)
Now, Steve, why do you think I slapped you?
It's because you used a certain word.
Do you know what that word is? Is it...
(thwack!) That's right!
Never, ever call me a dummy.
The word "dummy" is degrading.
I am a manually-articulated performative kinesio-maquette...
named Dudley Dingleberry.
¶¶
Gee, Dudley, I sure hope you remember all your lines.
Well, knock on wood.
(knock! knock!)
Talk about a blockhead, am I right?
(laughter)
Hey, ladies. You ever seen a woodpecker?
Want to see mine?
(zipper unzips)
(grunting)
Gah! Damn it! (laughter)
This is why we should've rehearsed with the bird.
(laughing)
That orphan kid with the therapy puppet
might as well head on back to his group home
because the ventriloquy slot is yours!
Wow! It worked.
Everyone really thinks you're a du--
A what, Steve?
Du-- Dudley. I was gonna say Dudley.
They all think I'm a Dudley.
That's what you were gonna say?
Finalists, gather up.
In five days,
one of you will be crowned talent-show champion,
and -- wait.
Where's the roly-poly Miss Carla Cannoli,
my star tumbler?
The brakes on Carla's bike somehow gave out!
And she crashed right into the flagpole!
(dramatic music plays)
(all gasping)
Sounds like she... took a tumble.
(laughter)
That kind of humor's not exactly to my taste,
but I think we got a good shot at winning this thing.
Yes.
We're gonna kill the competition.
(soft horror music plays)
(gagging)
(coughs)
(breathing shallowly)
Oh. Oh, God.
(thunder rumbles)
(laughter)
My last girlfriend was Russian.
Yeah, she was a Russian nesting doll.
(laughter)
(giggles) Oh, Steve.
I've never seen this side of you.
(exhales affectionately) Bang, bang.
Easy there, toots,
or I won't be the only wood in Steve's lap.
(laughter)
A.J.: You and that stupid doll.
More like Ugly Dingleberry.
We all know I'm still by far the favorite to win.
You are now, and always will be, a loser.
Hey, A.J.
(bleep) you.
(laughter)
ALL: Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve!
(thunder rumbles)
¶ Do, re, mi ¶
¶ Fa, sol, la, ti ¶
¶ Do ¶
(chuckling in distance)
(chuckling continues)
Hello?
Is anybody there?
(thunder crashes)
Oh, it's just that stupid doll.
Well, back to bench pressing.
(thunder crashes)
Huh.
Wind must've blown it.
Must be a draft in here or something.
Stupid doll.
Again, so ugly.
(thunder crashes)
What's this smelly old thing
doing up here anyway?
You and Steve think you can take on the Slickster?
Ha! You're just a stupid, old doll.
You couldn't stop me
if I slapped you right in the face.
(thwack!)
What are you gonna do about it, doll?
How about I poke you right in the eye, huh?
(plop!) Or put my fist in your mouth?
Or make you eat garbage? How about that?
Nom! Nom! Nom! Nom! Nom!
More slaps! (thwack! thwack!)
Enough of this!
I need to hydrate.
(thunder crashes)
ROGER: (chuckles)
(door slams)
(thunder crashes)
(thunder rumbles)
Oh, my God! Wh-- what happened?
Freak accident.
A barbell crushed A.J.'s larynx --
the exact body part that all but guaranteed him
to beat you in the talent show.
Can you believe it -- the coincidence?
Anyway, the reason I called you
is because we found your puppet lying on the floor in here.
You ought to keep better track of this guy, Smith.
Hey, where do you put your hand in this thing anywa--
Oh, never mind. I found it.
Please tell me you didn't have
anything to do with A.J.'s accident.
Let's just say that as far as us
winning the talent show goes,
the bar was just lowered.
That, uh --
that's not the most convincing denial.
Hey, check it out.
It's the kid from the auditions.
Dude, you're so funny. What's your name?
Don't worry about it, Tyler.
If he wins the talent show, everyone will know his name.
And if he loses,
it'll be like he never existed.
Great point, Marcus.
(zippers unzip)
¶¶
They're here.
We're on our way to our first batch of local honey.
Now we just need a slogan.
How about...
(Spanish accent) ..."don't you know we're local?"
Done.
(normal voice) They're all dead.
E-- except for... (sighs)
...what looks like some wasps?
Did you put wasps in with the bees?
Did I put some jocks in with the nerds?
Hell, yeah, I did.
Our honey's gonna have some balls.
Wasps don't make honey.
And all our bees are dead.
All great businesses pivot.
Burger King was
a topless maid service for decades.
Ow! A wasp just stung me.
You're having an allergic reaction.
We should get you to the hospital.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
I say we give this another shot here
and double down on home remedies.
No way. Mom?
(strained) He does seem to know
a lot about Burger King.
(thunder crashes)
¶¶
Well, the Middle East ain't gettin' any better.
ROGER: (menacing laugh)
Hello?
(menacing laugh)
¶¶
Is someone there?
Help!
Somebody! Help!!
Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!
Oh, my God! Barry!
My hot-dog speed-eater!
Give this boy a wiener! Stat!
Oh, no.
(weakly) I'm full.
That is not a talent. Damn it!
(thud!)
(thunder rumbles)
I turned a blind eye to these accidents,
but no more!
Barry's my friend!
Seriously, Roger, drop the stupid puppet act.
Roger?
Oh, my God.
It's like he's lost in some sort of trance.
Maybe something in here can tell me
what the hell's going on with him.
¶¶
Wow. I really should've looked further into this book
before I started this whole thing.
¶¶
Oh, good.
¶¶
(mumbling)
E-e-e-excuse me, sir?
Could -- Could I ask you a few questions?
Y-y-you see, I-I've --
well, I-I've been working with Dudley Dingleberry.
(gasps)
Dudley Dingleberry?
You fool!
You have no idea the evil forces you tamper with!
The year was 1976.
Dudley and I were on "Hollywood Squares,"
and he started killing all the other celebrities,
just so we could sit center square.
Teaming up with Dudley was my first mistake.
My second was having my other puppet, Mr. Doodles,
represent me at my murder trial.
So how do I stop him?
Stop him?!
There's no stopping him!
You think he's the puppet?
You're the puppet!
He's controlling you!
Did I blow your mind?
Just talking about him brings it all back --
that horrible, mincing voice, that awful smell.
The smell?
(gasps) The smell!
Thanks, you old creep!
(thunder crashes)
"Industrial airplane paint.
Inhalation may cause temporary psychosis!
Ages 6 and up."
I knew it!
All right, buddy.
All I have to do is get that makeup off you,
and everything will go back to normal.
We'll have to forfeit the talent show,
but it's a small price to --
He-- Hello?
(shouts) (screams)
(high-pitched screaming) (menacing laughter)
Aah!
The show must go on.
A-Am I early for book club?
No, you're late!
And that's two weeks in a row!
You're out!
I didn't read it anyway.
¶¶
STEVE: Wh-wh-- where am I?
I-I-- I can't move. Or talk.
I'm paralyzed.
¶ And when I wake up, I put on my makeup ¶
¶ And kill a little bit for you ¶
No. This can't be real.
This can't be real!
Oh, it's real all right.
I can't hear your thoughts.
I'm just assuming you're all like,
"This can't be real! No!"
You wanted to get back at A.J.
You wanted to win the talent show.
Don't you see?
Dudley Dingleberry was inside you --
(knock on door) LEWIS: Five minutes, Smith!
(badly imitating Steve) Uh... okie-dokie, Principal Loomis!
LEWIS: That's you all right!
(normal voice) Show time.
(weakly) You...can't...do...this.
You're ruining the trick, Steve.
I can see your lips move.
(applause)
Good evening, ladies and gents!
Our should I say "wood evening"?
(laughter)
He's so good
he's doing the act with his mouth taped shut!
I'm absolutely losing my mind here!
So, I just heard my grandpa died...
of Dutch elm disease!
(laughter)
¶¶
Chip on my shoulder?
That is my shoulder!
(laughter)
I've been told I can be a real son of a birch.
(laughter)
Look at this audience. My God.
I never realized I was so poplar. (popular)
Poplar is a kind of tree.
(laughter)
Teak, oak, balsa, mahogany!
This is what I live for!
(laughs)
STEVE: Oh, my God.
I'm...winning.
No. I have to stop Roger.
But how?
(laughter)
That's it!
(laughter)
¶¶
(gasps)
I'm in love with you too, Steve!
I've always loved you!
Oh, yeah.
I don't know Morse code.
That's our show! Wood night!
(cheers and applause)
(chuckles) "Mahogany."
Uh, Dad?
I'm a little worried about Mom.
She's fine.
Just swab her with a little more of
our patented, homemade poultice.
Available in the lobby!
(monstrous, plaintive moaning)
That's it. Really let those onion skins go to work.
Congratulations, Steve.
Despite all your efforts to remain a loser,
I made you a winner.
Oh, crap.
All tuckered out, huh? Well, wish me luck.
(ominous music plays)
(door locks) Did you see that tank?
Looks like Snot's bringing his "A" game.
I hadn't really considered him a threat,
which is why he's one of the only other contestants left.
Well, not to worry.
An escape act loses its impact...
if you can't escape.
(strained) Roger, no!
Hmm.
Looks like the paralyzing agent is starting to wear off.
I think I better make sure you stay put.
Just...
...in case.
There.
I had to pause for a full minute in the middle of my sentence,
but it was worth it.
Now to kill Snot!
Aah! Aah!
And now The Great Shmuel-dini
shall attempt an escape from a watery death!
(applause) (inhales deeply)
(dramatic music plays)
SNOT: Any escape artist worth his salt
will have a bobby pin somewhere on his person
at all times.
Lucky for me, I always wear a bobby pin in my hair
to keep my gorgeous bangs out of my eyes.
(groans)
(blows)
(dramatic music playing)
Good old broomstick.
Mwah!
¶¶
(latch rattles)
¶¶
(muffled shout)
(audience gasps)
Now remember, folks,
his intention is to live.
So if he drowns, he loses the talent show.
¶¶
(laughing evilly)
(gurgling) (audience gasps)
It's too late, Steve!
You can't save Snot with those gimpy legs of yours,
so you might as well just sit back and enjoy the show.
¶¶
I've got to break that glass.
¶¶
Hey! Dingleberry! Yes?
I may be paralyzed right now,
but you'll always be...
a dummy!
Say that one more time.
I -- (gunshot)
(slow-motion scream)
(inhales sharply)
(audience gasps)
(shuddering weakly)
What? How did I get here?
Oh my, God, Somebody shot Steve!
Oh, my God! I shot Steve!
(screams) Oh, no way. Gross.
Okay, come on. (groans)
¶¶
Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
That's why I don't do this character anymore.
That makeup makes me crazy.
Really should've just flipped
a few more pages into the old scrapbook.
And I learned --
Now to make sure this makeup
never causes anybody harm ever again!
(door opens)
(door closes)
(dramatic music plays)
Buh-bye! See you soon!
-- Captions by VITAC --