"Ballmastrz"
Ace: "Dance Dance Convolution?
Egos warped by the hair gel of hubris!"
Atonement, now!"
[ Indistinct crowd noise ]
You think you can take me?
Well, put this on your desk.
Yes.
Get ready for a...
Mega marble clack attack.
For crying out loud, Ace.
You have the dumbest names for this stuff.
Next time, I name our transformation.
Okay, dork?
Our real branding issue is that awful victory dance.
Let's grab our panties, and split.
I mean, I don't see why I can't
shake my tail feathers just a little.
Hey, we're not saying you can't have fun, man.
We're just saying you're lame.
That's no way to treat a --
A superstar.
Exactly. Also, who said that?
Better question -- if we're all here, who's driving?
Milky van Montebag -- super manager to the superstars.
How dare you infiltrate our blunderbuss,
you sneaky slime bag.
H-H-Hold up, guys.
This slime bag happens to rep the best in the game.
True. But I've seen his type,
and they ain't exactly trustworthy.
He wants us to be more presentable?
I'm a pitch-perfect bitch as is,
and I'll cut any motherfucker down who denies it.
I second that profanity-laden tirade.
What does this butt-shagging quack have to offer?
I'll get you a lucrative mall appearance
in an upper-middle-class metazone this weekend.
All: Deal.
So, what's the plan? Q&A? Autographs?
I just got my ink bladders refilled.
And we better not get bilked, milkman.
Everyone gets a fair share --
though I charge an extra 10 for dirty voicemail greetings.
Don't worry your pretty little hungover head.
It's all figured out.
What the hell?
Excuse me -- "Amble Fanz"?
But we're a team.
None of us are more important than the rest.
That reminds me.
Hair gel -- it's key for a superstar --
the one that's more important than the rest.
-What? -Well, I am Ballmaster.
You are half a Ballmaster.
The bankable half.
Ace Ambling -- sweet, playful,
non-threatening heartthrob you can take home to mother,
but wouldn't 'cause mother's hot for him too.
And I guess some backup dancers wouldn't hurt.
Yep, I called it -- total con man.
We're out of here, fellas. -Wait.
Gosh darn it, Gaz.
It's high time I think and act and shake my booty for myself.
You want that, you do it on your own,
but it better not get in the team's way.
Capisce?
Well, kid. I believe you got some moves
you've been itching to bust out.
Announcer: Ace Mania is sweeping the consortium.
The eenie, weeny preteen-y bopper is winning the hearts
and loins of ladies across the land
who dig his innocence and overly sexualized image.
Check his signature groove, the Amble Scramble.
♪ Ace-tastic, baby ♪
♪ Ace ♪
♪♪
♪ Ace, Ace Am-believer ♪
♪ Ace-tastic, baby ♪
♪ Ace ♪
♪ Ace, Ace Am-believer ♪
♪ Wow, ace-tastic, baby ♪
♪♪
He's so pure.
I will corrupt us both.
He reminds me of the youth I wasted
chasing unobtainable superstars.
I'm young again.
Yeah, we totally dated.
Why didn't I know a good fad when I saw one?
[ Cries ]
Announcer: Babes and the bucks are rolling in,
thanks to super manager Milky Van Montebag.
Mr. Milky, sir, I'm the superstar here.
Aren't I owed my due?
Of course -- your hairdo, that is.
Now, get them, superstar.
[ Circus music plays ]
[ Elephant trumpets ]
You've been skipping practice for a week, runt.
You better be up to snuff.
Being more important than you guys sure does keep me busy.
Thanks for noticing.
I got some thoughts on how to pound these clowns.
Maybe we just --
Actually, let's skip the transformation.
It's best that my face stays front and center.
What about me, you glory whore?
You help with the image.
[ Muffled ] What the hell?
Amble Scramble pelvic ramble.
Announcer: Another win for Ace and some other guys.
If this keeps up, the championships
might just be in store.
This one is for every single one of my Amble fans.
So, we're winning the battle, but losing the war,
in terms of dignity, right?
And we'll only survive it
if the runt has got a shred of team spirit left.
It's time to gamble with being --
[ sighs ] -- emotionally present.
Hey, we got to talk, superstar.
This is a private locker room.
Did you bribe my security guard?
Well, that would've been easier
than breaking his legs, but live and learn, eh?
Just schedule an appointment with Milky
if you want some image consulting.
I'll charge you a friend rate.
Eh, kid, I never thought I'd say this,
but you're reminding me of me --
and not the "titillating yet disarming sexual magnetism" me.
You know I'm a burnout,
but you don't know how many bridges I burnt along the way.
I had another life before the game.
My civilian name is actually Gazmerelda Digzfield, as in...
As in the mega-rich Digzfield Lunar Drilling Corporation?
As in mega-rich asshole.
Yes. I'm the estranged daughter
of the gajillionaire Moon-mining tycoon Rupert T. Digzfield IV.
You see, I first started playing the game
to stick it to my snobbish high-society family --
especially my ruthless overbearing old man.
And becoming an athlete was unbefitting to his future heir.
I wanted my own say, and to have fun saying it,
so I made the game my new life.
I worked hard, and I got good -- I mean, really good --
the best young player of a generation, they said.
I earned it by myself, without the family name of fortune.
That sense of pride, it was better than money,
better than winning.
I belong.
That's why I love the game. But fame is a tricky thing.
Leeches like Milky were always trying to get a piece.
They'll steer you down the wrong path to get it.
I got cocky. I lost my way.
Eventually, I was trying anything
just to feel something again.
Didn't work out so well, which is basically
how I became school mom to you lot of lovable losers.
Now, I got a chance -- we got a chance --
to really belong again, if we stick together.
Don't make the same mistake I did,
and lose sight of why the game really matters, Ace.
Oh. I get it.
I always looked up to you,
but now I'm on top, and you can't handle it.
You might have burnt out, but my light is shining strong.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I'm storming out of my private locker room
to demand another one.
[ Sighs ]
Well, so much for my nurturing advice and raw vulnerability.
Looks like I'm gonna have to straighten out
this little runt the old-fashioned way.
I called you to the Leptons' official war room because,
A, we got a problem with Ace, and B,
it turns out we had a war room all along, but never used it.
How do we bust him back down to the selfless little sprite
we all know, and love to exploit?
We'll get our pride and our Ace back
if we destroy that mooching Milky first.
Every asshole leaves a trail of turds.
We follow this one, it'll lead to something that really stinks.
And we'll make Ace take a huge whiff.
Come on, guys.
I'm a mobile hot spot of burning rage.
♪♪
My superstardom -- it's built on something this...
potentially harmful to my image?
Damn. I expected some money laundering,
and maybe some weird sex stuff, but this is textbook evil.
[ Yells ] Lulu is right.
We can't simply cut ties with Milky.
We've got to cut him to pieces.
I'm down to slam this scammer.
We all in?
Come on. Where's the whip-harder button?
What the...?
Milky, this isn't the way of an Ace Am-believer.
You're fired!
You're welcome to recommend a replacement.
♪♪
The widening gulf between the rich
and the permanent underclass has yielded
its tragic logical endgame of late-stage capitalism,
forcing me to re-evaluate my own commitment
to the toxic performative workaholism,
and sickening my stomach.
Yet, I stoically retain the preternatural ability
to unleash my ultimate attack -- the fruit of my purely voluntary
and justly compensated sacrifice -- Umbilicus.
♪♪
Easy on the merch, guys.
Both: Shackle-shattering jump-spiring ultimate payback attack.
♪♪
Ace-tastic, baby.
So, you ready to admit Ace-mania did more harm than good?
I was naive to think it could be managed
by a single valuable person.
Ace-mania is an unmanageable phenomenon
spanning the universe.
All: Ugh.
♪ "Ballmastrz" ♪
♪ "Ballmastrz"? ♪
♪ "Ballmast--" ♪