03x09 - Celebutard Mountain

[bunniefuu]

It's alive!

There's k's, IRAs,
Roth IRAs, retirement funds.

Uh, what is it?

We just fooling with you,
man.

Man, we poor as f*ck.

Retirement investing.

Oh, man.

Dumbass!

That ain't happening.

And how did that joke make
you feel?

Before you answer,
look at this joke.

There's k's, IRAs,
Roth IRAs, retirement funds.

Um, what is it?

We just fooling with you,
man.

Man, we poor as f*ck.

Retirement investing.

Oh, man.

That ain't happening.

And how did that joke make
you feel?

Are you learning something about
yourself?

Before you answer that,
look at this joke.

Ahhh!

Well, if my calculations are
correct, you have an erection

and regret that you never knew
your great-grandparents.

Oh, my god, save us!

Run for your lives!

No, my pelvis!

Ahhhh!

Damn it, no!
Not that one.

That's the claw.

You don't need the claw.

Okay, ease back on... no!

Don't touch...
No!

Stop!
Okay, don't... hang on!

Go left!
Left, left, left!

I can't believe
we lost the bet

and have to spend the night
in this old haunted house.

That's an oddly complete
summary of our predicament.

Um, we're going this way.

Yeah, to hide the pickle in
the hair sandwich.

That just means they won't
get into heaven.

Well, I guess I'll go find an
empty room to masturbate in.

Sweet.

Look at me.

I'm fall out boy.

Oh, Dean,
you're the coolest.

Whoa!

Dean?

Dean?!

I've got to get help.

r*pe ghost.

What?

r*pe ghost!

Maybe there's an
old medical book

with pictures of
boobs in it.

Ah!

What?
Hey!

Oh, oh, oh!

R- r-r-r-r*pe ghost!

It stole my black cherry.

Oh, my god.
Where's Tina?

Gee, I hope the r*pe ghost
doesn't get me.

Oh.

What's better than roses
on your piano?

Tulips on your organ.

Toodles.

Come back anytime.

Even me?

Ew, no!

Timber!

Why, someone left this job
half done.

Can we fix it?

Yes, we can!

Ain't nobody finishing
nothing.

I'm sorry, who are you?

We're from the Union,
and we say

you don't have the right
equipment for this job.

We have all the equipment we
need.

Really?

You got a talking briefcase

full of hundred-dollar bills
over there?

No, but... oh, okay.

That's, you know... oh, whoa!
Hey!

Ha ha ha!
Can I play, too?

Sure, assh*le.

Hope you like smelling what you
ate.

Spud!

Don't forget to wear
your safety goggles.

Oh, thanks, Bob.

Whew! Rock and roll!

Oh! Oh! Oh!

Ahh!

Now dig these mother f*ckers
a grave, Scoop.

No prob, Bob.

Ew, New Jersey smells
like bad tuna.

Can we go home?

All:
Yes, we can!

Yay!

So, as you can see, it's
square feet,

new carpeting,
tons of space under the bed,

and the boy scares easy.

Does he...
does he wet the bed?

Like a faucet.

I love it.

We love it.

My name is Sonny, and I'm
cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

All:
Hi, Sonny.

Yep, never married, never had
kids, but I've got my train set.

All aboard.

Whoo-whoo!

Next stop, Lonelyville.

Whoo-whoo!

Ha ha. Lucky?
You bet.

Whoo-whoo!

What's wrong, Cowboy Curtis?

I just found out I have
cancer.

That's our secret word
of the day.

Pee-wee, Pee-wee, seriously.

He said it's malignant.

What's malignant?

The cancer.

Experience m*llitary combat
like never before.

This is "Inside the b*ttlefield
- The Weather Dominator. "

September , ...
mother nature was on the rag.

Was it merely her time of the
month?

Bow before Cobra and my weather
dominator,

or I'll crank
up the humidity so high

no ass cr*ck will ever be dry
again.

An eternity of swamp ass.

My gosh, that could send oil
prices skyrocketing.

Can you imagine gasoline for
over $ a gallon?

G.I. Joe, the nation's elite
anti-t*rror1st task force

with the nation's least
oppressive dress code,

leapt into action.

Almost immediately, two top Joes
were captured and forced

to dual in
the Cobra Sportatorium

in a desperate bid to drive
concession sales.

That was crazy.

Imagine if the nazis had
captured Eisenhower

and put the w*r on pause so they
could watch him

fight a mute dude in a ninja
outfit.

No offense, Snake Eyes.

Oh, great, the Etch-a-Sketch.

I can't even read that.

Much like Britney Spears'
fragile psyche,

the weather dominator was split
into three fragments

and scattered around
the Earth.

Which was kind of a shocker.

The complexity of a weather
dominator...

you'd think more than three
pieces, but no.

Destro, how did that make you
feel?

Like this.

Thus was launched a
three-fronted battle,

engaged first on
the Island of No Return...

today a Sandals resort.

I signed up to travel the
world, pay for college,

and sh**t lasers at guys in
masks,

which had always been
a dream of mine.

Then I heard we were going to
The Island of No Return.

I mean, who the f*ck sends a
-year-old kid to...

I mean f*ck man.

Some attempting to return
from The Island of No Return

would find returning difficult.

My dearest Clara,

this is our fourth day on
The Island of No Return.

We've been circling around,
looking for an ion correlater.

...to stop Cobra from compiling
their weather dominator.

Food is scarce,
and morale is low.

Blam.

I never understood
that last part.

That last part was Morrie
getting sh*t.

Oh, that makes sense now.

Oh!

Oh, Morrie!

Next, the fight for the
hydromaster fragment

erupted in another remote locale

the Palace of Doom.

Otherwise known as my
mother-in-law's house.

I kid, but seriously, don't
marry jewish.

Zartan, we're late for
Seder.

k*ll me.

Meanwhile, the battle for the
final fragment

led to an
impromptu hockey game.

Tthat was the most fun I ever
had as a Joe.

It was pretty hilarious.

We should have all been
court-martialed.

f*ring lasers at the last
piece of the weather dominator

worth billions of dollars...

Whoa, Cobra Commander would have
had our nuts for that.

And speaking of nuts...

So cold, shrinkage on an epic
scale.

Oh-ho, my scrotum was like
the size of a walnut.

I think my testicles

might have actually retracted
into my body.

It was like reverse puberty.

I was quite comfortable.

A last-ditch as*ault on the
Cobra stronghold

decided the
final outcome.

G.I. Joe had emphatically
planted an American flag

in Cobra's ass... both
metaphorically and,

in one unfortunate case,
quite literally.

We flew in, b*at them like
mixed-race stepchildren,

and Cobra Commander went to
prison.

And he promptly escaped.

Whew, boy, the other countries
of the world were pissed.

They wanted him put to death
immediately,

but we kind of
dragged our heels,

and by that time, Zartan had
busted him out

with a wicker-basket thing and a
remote-control snake

or something.

Oh, good times.

Good times.

Oh, for god sakes, just stop it.

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk #
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# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk
bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk #
# Ba-bawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk
bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk #
# Ba-bawk bawk bawk #

# Ba-bawk bawk bawk-a-wawk wawk
bawk bawk #

Ba-gawk! Bawk.