Ay!
Ow!
I think a swan dive will start my day nicely.
I'm doing a can opener.
Followed by a reverse twisting ant eater dumpster diving with a side of cheese.
Slays them every time. How about you, Bomb?
Cannonball.
Same as always, Chuck.
What's up with your voice? You sound all weird.
Got a sore throat.
No problem. We can communicate via hamboning.
Ugh! Do you hear that, Harold?
The joyful noises of happy campers?
-Whoa! -Yes, it's unbearable.
Attention all campers,
due to a noise induced stress headache, the slide is now closed indefinitely.
Huh?
What? Closed?
Everyone's fun is over because Lynette has a headache?
"My name is Lynette and all this noise is giving me a headache."
"My name is Lynette, and I'm a terribly bossy person."
"My name's Lynette, and I ruin everybody's fun."
Bro, you sounded just like her. Do it again.
"My name's Lynette, and I ruin everybody's fun."
Hmm.
-Come here. -Oh!
This way, dear. Some fresh air will do you wonders. Yeah.
Ugh! Quit talking so loudly.
Can't you see I'm suffering here?
Let's go.
Tell everyone that the slide is back open.
Why would anybody listen to me?
-Do it as Lynette. -Oh
Hello. Um, Lynette here.
The slide is now reopened.
Uh, also, Chuck and Stella report to my office immediately.
Lynette, I had no idea toilets overflow if you stuff pineapples in them.
-It was an honest mistake! -Surprise!
What are you guys doing here-- Wait, that was you?
It was Bomb. Do another one.
Hello, campers. It's Lynette again.
Uh, everyone, uh, make fart noises with your armpits.
They're doing it.
Uh, that was not an armpit.
You know what this means, don't you?
-We can announce whatever we want.
We can turn Camp Splinterwood into-- Into--
Camp Red-tastic.
I was thinking more like Camp Stella Rules, but we could--
I'm telling you, Harold. I just heard myself over the PA.
Wait, wait, wait. Shh! They're back.
Oh, we gotta get out of here.
No, if we can get Lynette out of the way,
we can use your freakish voice talents to make this place a campers' paradise.
Wait, I got an idea.
Namaste.
Fancy Feather Spa at your service.
Harold, did you finally do something useful?
Go with it.
Of course I did, there, sweet cakes. Yeah.
huh. This spa looks a lot like our tool shed.
Or maybe your tool shed looks a lot like my spa.
Now, why don't we lie back, close our eyes,
and let all that naughty stress melt away
with the soothing songs of the noble whale.
Let's begin. Shall we?
Wow. Someone's a little tense.
Hmm.
Looks like we have to kick it up a notch.
Okay. What should we say first?
Maybe we shouldn't abuse this power
because it'll probably backfire in some catastrophic way.
Or we can use it for some serious fun.
Attention campers, ice cream will now be served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Not bad. Okay, okay, my turn. Okay, so first thing--
There's no limit to the number of birds allowed on the catapult.
-Harold, give yourself a raise.
Love you, honey bumpkins.
And cabin tipping is now permitted.
Huh? Whoa!
Now let's take things up a notch and--
Add sprinkles to that ice cream.
Sprinkles? What are you talking about? We need to spice things up.
Attention campers, all ice cream will now be topped with hot sauce.
Oh, yeah, real fun. What are you, crazy?
No, that's my idea of fun. You got a problem with that?
Just that it's nowhere near as fun as a midair pillow fight at the dojo.
Yeah. I think you mean midair paintball fight.
-Pillow fight. -Paintball fight.
Pillow fight. Paintball fight.
Pillow fight! Paintball fight!
Did you hear that? Perhaps I should have a look.
What? No, you can't leave now.
I haven't given you your… rake-y treatment yet.
You want this camp to be fun? Give me that.
Uh, if anyone knows fun around here, it's me.
I know what fun is.
Oh, guys, please don't fight.
I'm trying to make Camp Stella Rules a birdtopia.
No. I'm making it a birdtopia. You're ruining it.
Whoa, Red! I've seen you get angry before,
but I've never seen you get angry at a friend.
What are we doing? This isn't us. It's the PA.
It's too powerful. It's twisted us. Turning us into-- into Lynette.
We can handle it. With the PA, there's nothing we can't do.
No, no more announcements. We have to give the power back to Lynette.
She's the only one evil enough to handle it.
Where are you going?
To tell Lynette what we did so she can take back the mic.
Are you nuts? You can't tell Lynette.
This is for our own good.
Red!
Oh, that's it. We're gonna get thrown out of camp.
Not if the PA can save us first. Come on, Bomb.
Attention campers, Red must be stopped at all costs,
but gently-- maybe give him a hug?
-There he is! Get him. -Aah!
-Melons away.
Unh!
-There he is. Right there.
You have to stop him.
He's right there! Get him!
Lynette, we did a terrible thing.
Bomb has a sore throat. He sounded exactly like you,
so we used the PA to change the rules.
This spa was a ruse to get you out of the way.
This isn't a masseuse. It's Chuck.
How dare you? I am a real masseuse, and I--
Oh, no. Wait.
I know it was wrong.
We thought we could make a birdtopia,
but all we did was tear our friendship apart.
Help us, Lynette. We throw ourselves on your mercy.
I haven't felt this relaxed in years.
My headache is completely gone.
It was all just youthful exuberance, I'm sure.
-She wasn't mad at all. -Nice work, Chuck. You saved our eggs.
Sorry I got so angry with you, Stella. I feel there might be a lesson here?
Next time, I'm making sure you and Lynette are both out of the picture.
And I'm never going to imitate anyone ever, ever, ever again. Like ever.
You know, Stella, hot sauce on ice cream? Not bad.
-What? -Uh, what?
Aw, nothing.