-Hold all my-- Whoa!
Boss baby ♪
The Lil' Dumpling baby pageant is definitely the Uncuddleables' target.
We got a good scouting report from Dez. Back door is secure.
If Tabitha and her friends come after our five percenter babies,
their only incursion point is the main entrance.
Perfect. I had Katja run a strategic analysis...
The bees I yelled at found my house. I knew it.
That's no bees.
Drone compromised. No new intel. Keep you posted.
It's a public venue,
so our counter-Uncuddleable strategy has to be--
Veggie Zoodle?
Is it safe?
When's the last time Tabitha play with her pony?
Oh, Precious Templeton, you deserve so much more
than a mixed-up kid who'd rather do the devil's work
than brush your flaxen mane.
The coast is clear.
They're right there.
Pip likes being called with whistles.
It makes me feel like a hunting falcon.
Let's go. Pageant starts in less than 24 hours.
It's an irresistible target. Live broadcast.
All our top five percenters in one place.
I'm Spectacles Baby. I'm Smiling Samir.
Look how much Baby Love is going up.
Not so fast. We're the Uncuddleables.
No, they're evil.
Alternate pitch: Keep them outside the pageant.
They're powerless if they can't get in the building.
Dez is on site.
IT Baby Cammy's cooking up something special in Tech Support.
Uncuddleable recognition software, patched into the venue's cameras.
Any Uncuddleable steps into the vicinity:
-Trespasser detected.
Pageant security takes care of the rest.
Just uploaded the app to your monitor. Give her a spinzo.
-Trespasser detected. -What?
She's using animal sounds for evil.
You are frighteningly skilled.
We share a special bond.
Precious Templeton, how could you join in this betrayal?
You didn't clear this with her?
Stay away from the pageant.
Miss the biggest baby event of the year?
I wouldn't dream of it.
Nope, silent breakfast is weird.
-We're family. Somebody talk. -Okay.
Tabitha, be careful using the toaster.
I hear if you choose the wrong side, you get burnt.
Toaster's broken?
Tina, you having Eggs Benedict Arnold?
The perfect breakfast for backstabby traitors.
No one's having eggs Benedict. Poached eggs are impossible.
Anything is possible.
I won Zipzang Cola's Lil' Dumpling fan contest
that I wrote 90 essays for, instead of working on my book,
and now I get to be a celebrity judge.
You're being very liberal with the word "celebrity."
I drink a Zipzang on camera every 10 minutes.
-Why is no one getting ready? Come on. -Oh.
Uh...
Kids, I guess we're going to a pageant.
I'll meet you there. I'll go with my friends.
See you at dinner,
where you'll be having loser soup.
You know I'm too nice for trash talk. You gotta jump in.
Whoa, they classed this event up.
A "mob boss's third wedding" feel.
Family, this is where I leave you to join the other celebrity judges.
Oh, you can just say "judges."
I'm only famous in the sci-fi community,
and because I said I don't believe in the moon.
I inherited a business from my dad.
I never miss an opportunity to judge others. Nice hair.
Am I finding seats for all of us, or is it another "I pretend to be fine
with my baby running around on a dangerous mission" situation?
Love you, Mommy.
Yo, Mama needs comfort sugar.
Still on site, Dez?
Dispensing snacks. No sign of babysitters.
How's the stage door?
I've never had so much fun in my entire life.
No Uncuddleables,
and I found this paddleball that somebody threw out,
just because it gives off dust that makes my lungs burn.
JJ, what's the lobby situation?
I packed everything for our five percenters to shine.
Spare tires for Trike Delivery Baby. Hairspray for Iggy.
I washed Smiling Samir's favorite push toy--
-What? -Uncuddleable?
No, sorry.
Push toys are freaky when they're not being pushed.
It's like someone paused a clown.
Maybe the Uncuddleables got cold feet.
Doubtful. Teenagers are always late.
Even with their timesaving yogurt tubes and shoes with wheels.
-Thank you, thank you.
I'm TV's Marsha Krinkle.
What an honor it is to be back on this stage.
I hate pageants and everything they represent.
But I never turn down a live gig.
-Let's meet our contestants.
Where are the five percenters? Who are these ding-dongs?
I know that baby.
He's got trouble coloring inside the lines diaper-wise.
Understand my inference?
Lot of no-shows from the odds-on favorites this year,
but thanks to a publicity push from local babysitters,
we've got these fill-ins.
Their plan wasn't to attack the pageant.
It was to swap our five percenters with bottom five percenters.
-It's genius. -Tabitha.
I did not pack for this scenario.
Would this situation be helped by churros?
We need our five percenters. They're out there.
Get them on-stage
before these backside blowouts flush Baby Love down the toilet. Go.
Wow.
I got Always-Wears-a-Costume Baby.
Eyes on Iggy.
Smiling Samir locked and laughing.
They did what to you?
-That is messed up.
His parents kept him home.
The Uncuddleables arranged a surprise Grandma visit.
Iggy's sitter sent his dad a social media post
that said TV cameras cause male pattern baldness.
Samir's dad's café is getting a health inspector visit.
Clever move, Tabitha.
All right, chupies in.
-What? -Hey.
What's the matter with--? Anchovy paste and rotten eggs.
They sabotaged our chupies. Tabitha thought of everything.
Mission hasn't changed.
Get these five percenters across town on foot.
Rendezvous at my house.
Trike Delivery Baby.
Takes wheels to find wheels, ma'am. And that's not all.
Spectacles Baby, 30-Second Yawn Baby, and Gassy Francis, courtesy of Boss Baby.
Yes. Amazing work, Teddy.
What can I say? I'm a five percenter lassoing machine.
Trying to sound cool with cowpoke talk? Because it is working great.
Time to saddle on it and rustle around these Lil' Dumplings to yonder.
Doesn't work for me. Get to the pageant.
I'll protect you with every pretzel and hot dog in my snack cart body.
Pedal.
Our baby legs can't build enough oomph to start.
Yee-haw!
Thought we might need more pony-power.
Well, flat-a-rat-a-jiminy-hee-haw. Still don't got it.
You are nature's perfect running machine, a flash of speed and nobility.
-Ready to go save some Baby Love?
-Hyah!
We got Uncuddleables a-go-go.
Keep them away from our five percenters.
I am a snack cart,
not your meemaw's bug-flecked Jacuzzi.
Do you yield?
Churro?
Power steering.
Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa!
The caboose.
It's unguarded.
We can't lose speed. She'll catch them faster.
I'll go. My feet can't even reach. I was charade pedaling.
Pip.
You're gonna stop me?
-Paddle, paddle, paddle...
Ride. You are Mercury's wings. This journey
-is the purpose in your creation.
I don't care if she made logical points. Remember that...
Yes, I know. My accent is unconvincing. Just ride.
-Oh, no. -Spectacles Baby.
It's not your fault, my bolt of lightning.
We have five percenters to deliver and nothing but open road ahead.
Yeah, that's weird.
Where is everybody?
Ma'am?
Heads up, the angry one found a staple gun.
Doesn't look good.
It's the worst thing I've ever seen, but I can't stop looking.
We need to go right--
My buddy. Hey, buddy. It's me, your buddy.
It's not personal. Don't remember me this way.
Oh, not Austin. He's built like a tank.
Then we get our own tank.
There.
"I am strong.
I demand what I deserve from life.
Click on the ad to support Spinegrowers self-affirmation--"
Oh, oh. Don't repeat that.
-He's on our tail.
-Cutting it close here. -You have the heart of a champion.
Expect a frosting-covered carrot in your dish tonight.
"I am aware of my surroundings."
Pip and ice cream are my enemy today?
Why must this job take everything I care about?
Ma'am?
What is this giant disaster unfolding on my giant TV?
-Please, no. They're harmonizing.
Nothing in my sheltered life prepared me for this.
Dude doing cola promos is on point though.
Does he know Zipzang's a subsidiary of Buttsnuggers Diapers?
I'll tell him later.
We're en route with the five percenters.
Most of them.
How far from the pageant?
Unclear. JJ's charting the truck's route.
Come on.
Marco Polo did this in a pool, and he couldn't even see.
Okay. Nuh-uh. No. This is all too risky.
We gotta send in UltraBaby Omega.
UBO?
Welcome to Mr. Scooper. What can I scoop you?
You're considering the nuclear option of cuteness.
Baby Love is tanking. You're in an ice cream truck.
I watched a kid fish mozzarella out of her bellybutton and eat it. Eww.
Using UBO would be even more risky.
Dropping the most dangerously cute baby into a crowded event?
Please, let us handle this.
I'm full of fizzy sugar, but I'm almost empty on patience.
Sure you got this?
No lime pops?
Could you search way in the back?
Like search really, really good.
Every baby-sized corner.
We won't let you down.
Niner-niner. Dispatch to Mr. Scooper.
Get to the Lil' Dumpling pageant.
Now, you noodle-spined dairy peddler.
Oh, right away, sir.
Sorry, sorry.
I am strong.
I will demand what I deserve from life next time.
Time's short, and Tabitha's wily. We're a soft target in here.
Split up and play the odds?
Create too much chaos for four babysitters and one sister?
Sounds like a plan.
Buddy up with a five percenter or two. Ready to roll.
Yeah!
Snack cart thumbs up.
Uncuddleables incoming.
Don't make me do this. Ranger Safety Binkerton says--
Don't bring the Ranger into this unholy thing.
Oh...
Liberate your trash friends, dumpster paddleball.
Free them all.
Whoa, whoa, whoa!
This is why you have such a bad reputation, garbage.
I lost sight of Pip.
It's just so catchy. Mm.
JJ.
Simmons, we need a trike speed boost for JJ.
Does that ice cream truck have military-grade hydrogen?
I'm not gonna pretend to look.
It's mostly ice cream stuff.
I can work with that.
Now what do we attach it to?
Uh... Her mouth.
-What? -Fire all engines.
Sugar!
Crash.
Simmons.
You said, speed boost. That implies temporary.
Trike Delivery Baby, no.
He thinks I'm delivering snacks.
They're consistent. It makes them great five percenters.
-Aww. Thank you very...
-Ha-cha-cha!
No.
They got Gassy Francis.
She's made the Uncuddleables into an unstoppable force.
It's okay. We're almost there. We still got Iggy and Samir.
Excuse me, Mr. Scooper. Official pageant business.
I'm a volunteer.
That was a sandwich.
Sir, you have to turn around.
You know what? No, I don't want to.
I am strong.
And you are shorter than my boss and much easier to stand up to.
Buddy, you ever seen baby fans after a pageant?
All jazzed up on pudgy cheeks and sweet-smelling heads?
They'll swarm like stingrays in a bucket of grape jelly.
Jeez, sorry. Yes, ma'am, turning around.
How are you still not at Lil' Dumplings?
These barrel-bottom babies have done enough damage.
I'm calling in the UBO strike.
Wait, did you say UBO?
You're sending in the nuke?
Think we want this?
You're forcing Nannycam's hand if you don't let us through.
I can't.
No.
-Paddle, paddle, paddle.
Paddle, paddle, paddle.
Yes, we got one inside.
-Trespasser detected. -Uh-oh.
Hey, you. Trespasser.
-Get to stepping, buddy. -Happy to, uniformed security friend.
That was our last five percenter.
Send in the UBO.
Just be careful, ma'am.
If the crowd looks directly for more than eight seconds--
I know how my girl works.
That's why we made her a special Peek-a-UBO Box.
It releases UBO for exactly six seconds.
After that, a spring-loaded harness pulls her in
before our spectators descend into excruciating madness.
It's totally safe-esque.
Please. You're going too far.
You went too far.
Yeah, trash talk.
Okay, let's put this abomination of a show out of its misery.
Our third runner-up is Jessic--
Aww.
Baby.
Aww.
Will you raise a baby with me?
Baby Love is literally off the charts.
We need bigger charts.
-Whoa-oh. -What-oh?
Her widdle box isn't pulling her widdle baby tushy back in.
Shield your eyes.
-Oh...
-Too cute.
My eyes.
Too much cute.
So much responsibility.
This happens when UBO is exposed for more than eight seconds?
We thought it'd be unpleasant, not Gothic horror madness.
-"We"? -I saw the Peek-a-UBO Box at Techy Tykes.
When things went bad between us, I helped my team hack the timer.
But I didn't want this.
-Why? -Dad, can you come get me?
We were trying to send a message to Baby Corp--
Send your message to voice mail. We got the day to save.
Are you with us?
Whatever you see in that hurricane of ultra-adorable insanity,
all that matters is getting UBO in that box.
One, two, three...
It's like a sticker book got the flu.
There.
It burns, but I can't not look.
Try turning around.
-Oh! -Tina.
I got her. Open the box. Hurry.
Wow, uh...
Let's say, that kid's the winner. Great job. What are you gonna do?
Oh, there they are.
The heroes who not only foiled the Uncuddleables,
not only averted a UBO disaster,
but even found us a new five percenter.
Tension Breaker Baby.
Hey, Zipzang buddies.
That's made by a diaper company.
Zipzang and Buttsnuggers.
Refreshment today, rear-freshment tomorrow.
So we still fighting?
I get it now.
The message you Uncuddleables were trying to send Baby Corp.
-And you're right. -Yeah?
We limited our vision.
We got so caught up with our five percenters,
we didn't realize that with enough elbow grease,
any baby can be cute enough to be a five percenter.
You just have to find their special cute thing--
No.
You missed the point.
It's not about who's cute enough to be a five percenter.
It's the whole busted system.
You've built a company that says the cuter you are,
the more love you deserve.
-So where does that leave them?
Where does that leave me?
I'm about to mature into the least cute phase of human development.
Do I deserve to be loved anymore?
Or am I just...
Uncuddleable?
I'll never not love you.
Even if you decide to wear a pig as a hat and bathe in chili.
-Mm. -Thanks, Teeny.
The Uncuddleables were on the right side of this the entire time.
Which means Baby Corp...
are the bad guys.