- Hi-ho, Loudonites.
- She's becoming more
like yours truly every day.
- The future frightens me.
- Hey, want to see
pictures of baby Stephanie?
- What a question, of course!
- Hey, these snaps
are in black and whitie.
If this is some sort of
artistic statement, well,
frankly, I don't get it.
- It was an old roll of film.
It was in an old camera.
That's owned by an old man.
Ooh!
Aww!
Ooh!
- Holy Kodak!
It's a monstrous-looking
teenage boy.
The lab must have
mixed up the pics.
- Michael, that means somewhere
a monstrous-looking family
is passing around
photos of our baby.
- Wait a minute, this
teenage monster is me.
- Well, lucky for you,
you grew into that face.
- George, are you saying
this film's been in your camera
over 40 years?
- Well, I've been
wanting to finish it.
- Isn't this Jim and Chester
standing next to you?
- Yeah, that's when
we were in this g*ng,
The Vermont Hooligans.
Back then, I was called Pliers.
Jim was Mustache and
Chester was Little Stinky.
- Why... why Little Stinky?
- You had to be there.
And you wouldn't
have wanted to be.
- Pliers? This cat's curious.
What sort of g*ng activities
did you guys participate in?
- The usual.
We soaped windows.
Threw snowballs against
the sides of buildings.
The snowballs were
more a seasonal thing.
- You Hooligans make the
gangs in West Side Story
look like a bunch of dancers.
- Hey, you ever think of
having a g*ng reunion?
- What a great idea.
All this talking
about the Hooligans
has made me realize
how much I miss them.
- Hey, Pliers!
- Mustache!
Little Stinky!
What are you doing
here, Mr. Rusnak?
- My Uncle Butts was a hooligan.
May he rest in peace.
- Well, I'd like to go
on record as saying
I'm against having guests.
Hooligans meetings were
never open to the public.
- That's because your mom's
porch only had room for six.
- Oh, now d*ck's here.
This must be the Vermont
tour, the Maple Candy House
and The Hooligan reunion.
- I'm just... I'm
passing through.
- Oh, what does it
matter? Just sit down.
Let's get this show on the road.
- Well, I can't... I
can't stay... I, uh...
I have a-a life.
- Stay!
- Better do it, d*ck.
You don't want to
tick off Little Stinky.
- Why don't you three
Hooligans sit over here
and reminisce about
the days of yore
while we sit over yonder...
- And hang on your every
word, our mouths agape.
- Hey, remember that time we
soaped Mrs. Gordon's windows?
- Oh, hey, what about
when we threw that snowball
at Miss Quiggly's house?
- Oh, you left out the
day that we soaped
old man Shapiro's windows
and threw a snowball at his house.
- What a lame g*ng.
- Hey, you ever think of
starting up the old g*ng again?
We'd join.
We could call ourselves
the New Hooligans.
- The New Munsters did it.
- Oh, you kids today,
with your dreams and
your bellbottom trousers.
- Starting the g*ng up again
would just make us look silly.
Unless d*ck joined.
- Uh, what?
- Why, you'd lend
credibility to the g*ng.
Everybody knows
how sensible you are.
We'd be sensible by association.
- Forget it.
- Aw, gee.
- Sure, why put yourself out
when you can just sit back
and destroy people's dreams.
- You single-handedly dealt
a death blow to the Hooligans.
- Even our archrivals
the Ruffians
were never able to do that.
- Okay, I'm a Hooligan.
- All right!
- All those in favor of d*ck
being g*ng leader, say aye!
Aye!
- How did I get to be leader?
- You're the sensible one!
- I used to be.
All right, all right.
My... my first act as...
as Hooligan leader
is to adjourn this
meeting until next year.
- d*ck, we know you're
anxious to strut around town
telling everyone
you're a Hooligan.
But first we have to
assign new nicknames
to all the new members.
Now, let's see.
Since you're the brains,
your nickname should
be something like...
- Uh, Brains?
- Very apropos.
And since Mr. Rusnak
works in a shoe store,
he'll be... Laces.
- I'd rather be Leather.
- We're going with Laces.
It's less p*rn.
And since Michael spends
way too much money on clothing,
we'll call him Clothes Horse.
- Gangish, yet fashionable.
- I'll trade ya.
- Yeah, right, like I'd
want to be called Laces.
- I just want to
compliment everyone
on... on how much
we've accomplished today,
but, once again, the
meeting is adjourned.
- Not so fast, Brains!
We still have to
order the jackets.
Oh yeah, the jackets.
- Okay, hoods or not?
- Oh, we're hoods all right.
- Stay with the program, Pliers.
Do we want hoods on our jackets?
- Well, Vermont has
gotten colder in recent years.
- Hooligans aren't
afraid of the cold.
- Some of us Hooligans
have poor circulation.
And when your head's
warm, your body's warm.
- I don't agree.
Now what if, on a snowy day,
you went out without pants.
But wearing a hat.
Are you saying you
wouldn't be cold?
- You're muddying the issue.
We will be wearing pants.
Hooligans have
always worn pants.
- The problem I have with
hoods is that damn string.
- That damn string is
what prevents the hood
from flapping in the breeze.
- But sometimes the
string slips inside the hood
and you can't pull it out.
- Just tie knots in the ends.
That's my secret.
- What kind of knots
are we talking about?
- Enough already!
We're going with
hoods, and that's that.
Now I adjourn this
meeting till next year.
- You mean till next week.
We still have to
pick up the jackets.
- Fine, we meet next week
and then we
adjourn till next year.
- Is that a year from today
or a year from next week?
- Who cares, Pliers!
- I think Brains
is having a stroke.
- So, what do you Hooligans
have planned for today?
Gonna soap some windows
or throw some snowballs?
- We're waiting for our g*ng
jackets to arrive, so there.
- Ooh, Joanna,
they're getting jackets.
What's next? g*ng night shirts?
- Yeah, this used
to be a quiet town.
Then the Hooligans rode in and
gave us something to laugh at.
- What's their problem?
- Oh, women always
laughed at us Hooligans.
That's why none of us ever
dated till we were well past 30.
- They're here, they're here!
Our jackets are here!
- Now don't mob us.
Remember, you're
Hooligans, not Ruffians.
- Brains.
Pliers.
Clothes Horse.
Laces.
Little Stinky.
- Just throw it in the
dryer for a week, it'll shrink.
- Oh my, does my
jacket also say Hooligals?
- Oh, darney! It does!
Now, how'd that happen?
- This might explain things.
Next to my order
George checked XXL.
And under g*ng name
he wrote "Hooligals."
- Darned if I know
what I was thinking.
- Why we left the
ordering to Pliers
instead of Clothes
Horse is beyond me.
- Well, there's only
one thing to do.
Send back our jackets.
Disband the g*ng and
live happily ever after.
- Or we change the name
of our g*ng to Hooligals.
- Now there's an idea.
- Hey, that's great!
- What the haps here?
- Oh, dear.
A brick through
an opened window.
That's the Ruffians'
calling card.
- It's from the Ruffians.
On embossed stationery.
- Well, the Ruffians
leader owns a print shop.
Fine work at reasonable prices.
- "Dear Hooligans, we
heard you're back together.
"You are cordially invited
"to attend a rumble
at 2:15 this afternoon
"in the alley behind Miss
Anna's Cap and Twirl."
- Wow, our first rumble!
This'll keep the gals from
laughing at us Hooligals.
- Right.
- As g*ng secretary,
I'm checking the
"will attend" box.
- This afternoon we rumble.
- Oh, Brains.
I washed your Hooligal jacket.
Shouldn't you be getting
ready for your rumble?
- Not if I'm not going.
- Oh, come on, you'll
disappoint your little Hooligal pals.
Oh.
Excuse me.
All this masculinity in one
room is making me swoon.
- One thing about
being a Hooligal,
you get to hear
a lot of sarcasm.
- We went over to the alley
and picked up all the
broken glass and things.
This way there'll
be no injuries.
- Yeah, you know, you wouldn't
want to get hurt at a rumble.
- We even scraped
up all the gum.
And hosed down the area.
Boy, a person could
eat off that asphalt.
- Laces did.
- Trying to get my
nicknamed changed to Oinker.
- Michael, I made you
lunch for the rumble.
There's hot cocoa, a Twinkie,
and a Flintstone vitamin.
Now don't go
trading the Ruffians
for things their mommies
put in their lunchboxes.
- Do my eyes mislead me
or is my mirthful muffin
getting laugh lines?
- So, Brains, ready to rumble?
- No. No, but you guys
go and have a good time
and tell the
Ruffians I say "Yo!"
- Oh, come on.
- You make me sick.
- Could be all that
alley food you're eating.
- Pretty soon that guy
won't have any tires left.
- Hey.
It's... it's a beautiful
turkey from the Ruffians.
Now I feel bad about all those
nasty things we said about them.
- Suppose now we have
to cook them something.
- Here, Brains. This
is addressed to you.
Did I mention you make me sick?
- I believe you did.
- "Dear Brains, we
knew you'd turkey out.
"You don't have
the giblets to rumble.
"Sincerely, the Ruffians."
- Gobbler must've sent this.
His father owns that
turkey farm over in Toyville.
- Delicious birds at
reasonable prices.
- So, Brains. You,
uh... turkeying out?
Do you have giblets?
- I have giblets.
I may not know what they are.
But I'm sure I have them.
- Well, come on,
let's go, Hooligals.
We've only got
the alley until 2:30.
- Yeah, and I got a Kn*fe
fight at the freight yard at 3:00.
- So, what do you
think of our alley?
- Spotless.
- Looks like those
Ruffians are late.
I bet they got cold giblets.
- Here they come.
- You guys are more pitiful
looking than I remember.
And that's not saying much.
- Well, since Brains
is our leader now,
he'll be the one
responding to your barbs.
- So you're Brains, eh?
What's this, your dad's jacket?
- No, it's not my dad's jacket.
My wife tried to shrink it.
But it... uh...
it didn't... it didn't work.
- Good comeback,
Brains. Very factual.
- Hey, their jackets
say Hooligals.
Sounds like we're fightin'
a bunch of Hawaiian
dancing girls.
- Oh, yeah?
Another barb for
you to respond to.
Maybe there's something
about Hawaii being the 50th state.
- You guys are, uh...
kind of brave for a
g*ng called Puffians.
- Okay, okay.
Glass houses.
It's Wrench's fault.
He did the ordering.
- Wrench. What a silly name.
- You tell 'im, Pliers!
- Hey, look, we didn't
come here to gab.
Or did we? I've never
been to one of these things.
- We came to rumble!
- So let's rumble!
- We're not going to rumble!
- Gobble, gobble, gobble.
- I'm not turkeying out.
Just think that
rumbling is... is stupid.
Speaking of stupid,
your name is Beauty?
- I used to be quite a looker.
I was!
- Maybe Brains would
rather be home writing
one of his how-to books.
You know, the ones with
all those grammatical errors.
- My, uh, my books don't...
don't have grammatical errors.
- "It is important to gently
hammer the towel rack
"into position."
You split an infinitive?
- Tell me it ain't so, Brains.
- The publisher
rushed me on that book.
- Oh, I suppose it was
your publisher's fault
you used a dangling participle,
double negatives and
all-around poor sentence structure.
- You know, you got a lot
of nerve criticizing the work
that I devoted my life to.
- Did I just hear you end a
sentence with a preposition?
- H-How would you feel if I said
that your father strangled
the turkeys all wrong?
- Why get upset?
So, your book's garbage.
Well, we'll just put
it where it belongs.
- You showed him.
- That's it.
We rumble!
- Wh-What do we do next?
- Jumping Jerome Robbins,
without a choreographer
we're pretty much
dead in the water.
- But what did you do, you know,
the other times you rumbled?
- We never rumbled before.
We never had a reason.
Come to think of it, we
don't have a reason now.
- Yes, we do. The
Puffians insulted my books.
- No, that's your
reason, not ours.
Don't get us involved
in your vendettas.
- I think we should all go home
and start thinking
about next year's jackets.
- Hey, wait a minute,
nobody's going home!
After everything
I've gone through,
I'm entitled to a rumble!
Rumble!
Rumble!
- How about if the two
of us just arm wrestle.
Would that make you a happy guy?
- Arm wrestling's good.
- Fellas, fellas!
We just cleaned!
- On three!
Come on, one, two...
- Get your head in it, Brains.
- Isn't that Liza Minnelli?
- That's it, Beauty!
- It is Liza Minnelli.
What?
- I won! I won!
- Yeah, but you won by lying.
- Oh, shut up!
- All right, Brains,
you got us this time.
But there's always next year.
Knock wood, we're still alive.
- We'll be ready, Puffians.
- Yeah, I got your
Puffian right here.
- Well, now that we
won, what do we do?
- Well, I don't know
about you guys, but...
I'm going to Disneyland.
- Meow.
08x17 - Born to Be Mild
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d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.
d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.