01x06 - Mayworth

[bunniefuu]

Wow, Dad!

A heat wave in the middle of November?

Perfect for your birthday BBQ.

God must love you.

Here you go, Matt. Blow these up, too.

And hurry up,
'cause we need you on door duty.

Theo, if you're not gonna help out,
can you at least get the grill set up?

Rumor has it Darby's bringing
his signature prime rib.

No. f*cking. Way.

Oh, yeah.

g*dd*mn it, Theo!

You had one job. One simple job!

And you managed to shart all over it!

What did you shart on?

I just saw the Evite he sent out last week
for the birthday party.

Theo, honey, could you do me a favor

and tell us how to
correctly format a date?

Easy. Day, month, year.

Any other brain busters?

No, it's just that today is November 9th,

but you invited everyone
to come over on September 11th

to, and I quote...

There's no mention that
it's your father's birthday,

and for some reason
you signed the e-mail off with,

"Let the bodies hit the floor"!

That's how I sign off
every e-mail, dumbass.

g*dd*mn it, Theo. Look at Dad.
He's devastated.

Not only is no one gonna show up
for his birthday party,

they're all now under the impression

that we're throwing
a 9/11 party next year.

Where are we gonna get
the budget for that?

You've deprived
this wonderful, selfless man

the one day he loves the most.

Mr. Hornsby,
you are a horrible, selfish man.

How dare you speak to me like that?

On my birthday, no less!

Lucky for you, I hate my birthday.

These crackers are not the same crackers
from your first sales pitch.

What are you accusing me of?

Packaging a different company's crackers

in a Royal Crackers box
and pawning them off as our own,

then offloading our inferior
product onto you

once the deal went through?

Do you realize how insane you sound?
You should be lobotomized!

Luther? Is that what he did?

Yes, Nurse Mary.

He used Munkhauser Sugar Thins
as his samples.

Wow. We only signed a contract with you
because of the joy those crackers brought

to these poor children.

I could sue you
in the court of law for this.

Oh, are you certain about that?
Be a shame if the court of law found out

about your little
t*rture chamber downstairs.

I beg your pardon?

That room with those metal tubes
you lock the sickly degenerates in.

I saw it with my own two peepers.

Mr. Hornsby, that is our polio ward.

Oh. Wait. You let me walk through that?

Luther, we're supposed to be partners!

You made me look like
a real p*nis in there.

Nurse Mary is right. We are horrible men!

Oh, yeah? Why don't you go
tell that to your mansion?

- I'm serious.
- As am I.

You don't talk to your mansion?
It's very therapeutic.

Theodore! We were told my recipe

could rapidly accelerate
ailments in small children.

And you just swindled deals with every
child-care facility in the state!

I can't do this anymore, Theodore.
I'm leaving Royal Crackers.

Wh... What?

I'm donating my assets
and committing to a life of charity.

It's the least I can do
knowing the horrors

we may have unleashed
upon this great state.

I implore you to do the same
before it's too late.

You're not better than me, Luther!

You hear me? I have an enormous heart!

I pay my bills on time.

I don't block fire hydrants
if I get to a meeting early enough.

I use my turn signal. I make sure to eat
all the leftovers in my refrigerator.

Luther!

Y-You'll never believe
the day I've had, Mansion.

First I land the sales contract
of the century,

and then Luther quits on me,

then has the audacity
to call me a bad person.

Can you believe that?

Ah. Let's see what's on the airwaves.

Maybe I'll catch an airing
of the "Procter & Gamble Mystery Hour."

And now for the news.
A wave of mysterious food illness

is ravaging California's children's
hospitals, schools, and orphanages.

How long has this been sitting here?

Paulson: "Dear Mr. Theodore Hornsby,

My name is Paulson Mayworth.

I helped sow the seed
on your first wheat field,

which is why I write,
asking for your charity."

Oh, boy. Here it comes, Mansion.

"The recent draught has ravaged our crop.

Worst of all, my daughter is rather ill."

Mister.

Why did you k*ll me?

I didn't.

Your crackers.
They made my insides feel like

I was being ripped open by a horse c*ck.

Jesus Christ. What do they
teach you up there in heaven?

Not heaven.

Your satanic crackers were
festering inside me when I crossed over,

and I was sent to hell by mistake.

How do you know it was
the crackers that k*lled you?

Thanks to Nurse Mary's ramblings today,

I'm able to deduce
that you also had polio.

Believe me, I'd take 1,000 polio deaths

before biting into another one of
those atrocities you're peddling.

I see right through you, Theodore Hornsby.

You're beginning to feel very guilty.

If you don't change your ways,
you may find yourself paralyzed,

incapacitated by guilt and self-hatred,

bound to a metal contraption
till your dying day, just like me!

If this date is correct,
this was sent not but a week ago.

I could still make it.

"My wife and I are
the sole proprietors of Mayworth Ranch.

I've included a map
on the back of this letter.

Unfortunately, you'll have to travel

through Greymarsh Swamp
to access our land.

Please hurry, Mr. Hornsby.

Time is a luxury
my daughter does not have."

Mm. It's not so bad.

These savages just don't know quality
when it hits their tongue.

Tell that to my discarded bowels.

Oh, Jesus, you're gonna follow
me this whole trip, Ghost Boy?

Hey! Right now I'm the best
friend you got, old man.

I'm gonna see to it
that you carry out the plan.

Fine. Just don't keep me up at night
with those polio tentacles of yours.

Hey, Matt? Matt, anyone show up yet?

No.

K, well, just stay put.

You never know.

Just look at him,
all alone on his birthday.

Poor guy.

Yeah, seeing all these empty
tables is bumming me out.

Why don't we head inside
and let Dad soak up these rays?

- Yeah, good idea.
- Yeah, let's do it.

Hey, Hornsbys!

Who's up for some fresh meat?

Yeah!

Theodore! The storm is only getting worse.

It's not so bad.
Actually, kind of nice to be out

of that insufferable Bakersfield heat.

Yeah, but the car is starting
to fill up like a bath tub.

We'd be fine if you hadn't
removed the top off this thing.

What's the point of owning
a flashy motorized carriage

if no one can see you
driving it, you amateur?

Hey, look. Over there.

Listen here... my name is
Theodore Hornsby,

and I'm in need of shelter
from this dire storm.

Oh, why, of course.
Please, come in before you catch a cold.

I apologize. We're a little undermanned.

My husband and two boys are out
gathering food for supper.

It's just my daughter and I at the moment.

Jesus Christ, I didn't ask
for your life story.

Marjorie? We have a guest, dear.

Oh, sorry, Mother.
I was just sewing some bandages

in case the men get hurt
on their hunt again.

Marjorie, please meet our guest,
Mr. Hornsby.

Hello, My Lord.

Please, m'lady,
call me CEO of Royal Crackers

Theodore Hornsby of Bakersfield,

Kern County, California,

zip code 93311,

United States of America.

And this'll be your room for the night.

I hope it suits your needs.

Yes, ma'am, it's...
it's quite lovely, actually.

You know, we don't get many folk
from California staying here.

What brings you through Greymarsh?

Well, it's a sad tale, actually.
There's a family east of here.

They've penned a letter to me
begging for my charity.

And, unfortunately, this man
before you bends like soft candy

when it comes to those in need.

A damned weakness, I tell you!

Oh, brother.

That is no weakness.

Heaven forbid we live in a world

where a heavy heart
is considered such a thing.

Your wife must be so proud of you.

My wife was ripped apart
by a pack of wild dogs two years ago.

I'm afraid it's just me
and my giant mansion now.

- Oh, I'm so sorry.
- Don't worry.

It was funnier than I'm making it sound.

I feel so fortunate to have
had you as our guest,

as though it's...

Destiny.

"We spent our last dime
on our daughter's treatment,

and her condition has stabilized for now.

We're unable to move her,
and the city doctors

refuse to travel through Greymarsh Swamp
for some odd reason.

We're in desperate need
of a real hero, Mr. Hornsby."

Ha! Me... a hero. Who would've thought?

Looks like things are coming up
Hornsby, Ghost Boy.

Sorry, I can't get past what I just saw.
How do you live with yourself?

Listen, one day you'll learn the value

of manipulating your way
into a young bird's pantsuit.

Tell you what...
that wife-eaten-by-dogs bit?

It's a real bloomer-dropper.

Take it. It's yours. From me to you.

Go on. Take it. Whenever you need it.

All yours. On me.

Go ahead. Feel free.

You can have it. On the house.

Go ahead, take it. I insist.

Take it. Or leave it.

Look, I'm gonna be honest
with you, Hornsby.

Something about these swamp folk
gives me the creepers.

How dare you talk about
Marjorie like that?

She's my girlfriend now, I think.

Trust me, we're better off
braving the storm outside.

Wait a minute.
I see what's happening here.

Just because my crackers k*lled you,

you can't stand to see me happy
for even a moment.

Welcome back to "Silver Scoops"
on National Public Radio.

I'm joined by former co-owner
of Royal cr*cker Company,

Luther Dennison.

So, Luther, why the sudden split
from your former business partner?

Frankly, I could
no longer carry the guilt.

Theodore's Royal cr*cker recipe
is wildly unhealthy.

That was his recipe.

That's why I'm excited to announce

Dennison Snacks...
a new, delicious, healthy alternative

to your everyday snack foods.

I figured, in atoning for my mistakes,
why not make a small buck on the side?

That son of a b*tch is doing a press tour
undercutting my business!

Meanwhile, I'm trapped in this
putrid swamp like an as*h*le.

The whole reason I'm out here
was to prove him wrong.

The reason you're out here
is to do the right thing

for once in your miserable life.

Oh, what's the difference?
Get out of my way.

I've got to get back to Bakersfield.

Oh, now he wants to leave.

Go eat a fart, Hornsby.

You go eat a fart, Ghost Boy.

Oh, uh, Mr. Hornsby?

My father and brothers
are back from their hunt.

It's time for supper.

Boys! Get down here!
It's time to say grace.

- Get out of my way.
- Get out of the way!

Oh, God! I'm faster.

No, I'm faster, you piece of sh*t.

Pa, tell him I'm faster. Nuh-uh!

Sit down before I unleash the fires
of hell on both of you!

Mr. Hornsby, you may say grace.

Dear, uh...

Jesus.

This family would like to thank you

for this supper you've
fooled them into believing

they didn't acquire on their own.

So, well done.

Nevertheless, you do control the weather.

Seems to be the one morsel
of power that you actually have.

And you've decided to flaunt it
by trapping me in this godforsaken swamp.

Hope you feel like a big man now

and not the needy,
petulant child that you are.

The end.

Thank you, Mr. Hornsby.

Let's eat.

- Let's eat!
- Let's eat!

Good.

Real good!

You know, Mr. Hornsby,

it is quite fortuitous,
you showing up at our door.

We've been running quite low on supplies.

Seems the traders and caravans
have started to avoid

Greymarsh Swamp for some odd reason.

Well, I just happen to have quite a
selection of goods in my motor carriage.

I'll just... I'll bring them in now.

BRB.

Hello?

Is anyone down here?

You're not goin' anywhere, Mr. Hornsby.

'Cause I know a good cut when I see one.

Ow! Plate!

Ow. My money-maker.

Check his pockets.

See if he has any extra meat in there.

Why would I have meat in my
pockets, you f*cking weirdo?

Hey, Pa, lookie.

This... This letter mentions some place
called Mayworth Ranch, just east of here.

Looks like they got three
fresh cuts livin' over there.

Praise the Almighty!

The heavens are shinin' upon us today!

We can ride out tomorrow morning.

No! Stay away from them!

Take this one down
to the basement, alive.

We don't need him spoilin' overnight.

Unhand me, you freaks.

Do you know who I am?

I'm Theodore Hornsby.

I'm a very important man!

People respect me. You hear me?

I have a bank account.

I only drink water with bubbles in it!

I've been inside a swimming pool.

Wow, Darb, I gotta hand it to you.

Your barbecue really has
a special effect on these guys.

Yep. I guess you could say
I'm a regular Cliff Huxtable.

Well, well.

Looks like someone should have listened
to Ghost Boy when they had the chance.

Pardon me for not
taking advice from a child

harboring an illness you only
get from ingesting human sh*t!

A delicacy compared to the crackers
that put the nail in my coffin!

You showed me your cards, Hornsby.

You were never on this trip
to do a good deed.

You're here to prove a point.

Now look at you.
This is not part of the plan.

Oh, it's not part of the plan
for me to be hanging upside down

in the basement of a bunch
of man-eating Jesus freaks?

Well, I'll be damned!

We should check to see if there's any
other conflicting items on the itinerary.

And in case you forgot,
Mayworth Ranch is off.

I'm heading back to my empty
mansion to drink alone

and have a nightly cry
with my pants off, you loser.

Okay, look, I-I don't really know
why I'm out here, okay?

I genuinely don't know what it means
to be selfless or charitable.

In fact, the only way
I can justify doing it

is an expectation that it will somehow
make me feel good in the end.

Which is selfish. I get it.

But I'm trying, okay? I'm trying.

And shouldn't that be enough?

Shouldn't that be all we expect
from one another?

That we try?

Alright. I'll take it, Hornsby.

Wonderful. Now help me
get out of this diarrhea pit.

What do you want me to do?

Hand you the cleaver myself?

That's exactly what I want you to do.

You can do it, Ghost Boy.
I believe in you.

Come on, Ghost Boy.

Put every muscle on that
sickly little body into it.

Yes.

Yes, you're doing it.

Keep going, Ghost Boy.

Ha-ha! I knew you could do it,
you little imp!

Uh-ooh-gah! Who's this stud muffin?

Uh-oh! You hear that, Matt?

Don't get any ideas, buddy.

Gotta watch you like a hawk.

Nah.

Matt, what the hell are you doing?!

Who told you you could
greet the party guests?

What, do you wanna bum everyone out
before they walk through the door?

Go to your room!

Ron. My man.

I can't believe you guys actually came.

Yeah, neither can we.
We had Pitbull tickets.

But Grandpa Luther here
happened to be in town

and insisted we come
check out the Hornsby fiesta.

Can you believe it?

Still remembers your father's
birthday after all these years.

Good afternoon, young man.
Do you mind if I see the man of the hour?

Yeah, sure. He's up in his room.
Got the heater cranked up in there,

keeping him nice and toasty.

Party's out in the backyard.
Come on, Dennisons.

We made it, Theodore.

You know, you should do these
acts of kindness more often.

It's a good look on you.

Mm. Thank you, Ghost Boy.

Who's Ghost Boy? Your boyfriend?

You got heart, Hornsby.
I'll give you that.

So I'll make you a deal.

We'll spare you, and you can head on back
to your little Bakersfield mansion.

But that family in there?

They're ours.

No! Say again?

Back in Bakersfield, California,
is a man named Luther.

One could argue he's the reason
I set out on this journey to begin with.

He was my business partner
and the best friend I ever had.

That is, until recently.

Luther stabbed me in the back.

But for the first time in my life,
I'm undeterred in believing

that there is a pure good in this world.

You think pointing your weapons
is going to scare me?

I've stared down the barrel
of a lifetime of guilt and loneliness,

and it hurts more than
any shotgun shell ever could.

- Oh, sh*t.
- Good lord! I was wrong.

That is wildly more painful!

Su-Fi, baby.

Alright, boys.

Let's put the problem dog to sleep.

- Stop!
- Marjorie!

Get out of the way, girl!

No! There will be plenty more families
and travelers for us to eat.

But this one is special.

We're in love.

You're a lucky man, Hornsby.

The Bartlebee genes are stronger
than a man's rock-hard p*nis.

I sewed these bandages myself.

I'll head home and start packin'.

Pick me up on your way
back to Bakersfield.

Yeah. I-I took a lotta
weird turns getting here.

I-I don't know if I'd be able
to find your house again.

Oh, don't worry.
I'll find you no matter what,

CEO of Royal Crackers Theodore Hornsby

of Bakersfield, Kern County, California,

zip code 93311, United States of America.

"I must return to my daughter's
bedside now, Mr. Hornsby.

I know the good in you
will shine through.

And we'll patiently await your arrival.

Sincerely, Paulson Mayworth."

Hello? Paulson Mayworth?

I come bearing many a gift.

Clothes. Food. Blankets.

Medicine that'll have your daughter
doing cartwheels by morning.

Maybe we can throw me a second
birthday party with the leftovers.

Maybe you should learn
how to read a date correctly,

you useless idiot!

After spending all their money on my iron
lung and the crops drying out,

we had to resort
to the only food we had left,

the remnants from my father's time
working on your very first wheat field.

Feast your eyes, Hornsby.

Across the entire state, there are
hundreds of scenes just like this one.

This is the cost of your ugly,
depressing mansion.

See you in hell, sucker!

Wait. Ghost Boy. Or Girl. Ghost Girl!

Come back here, you little pepper grinder!

I'm sorry, okay?
I'll change the recipe, okay?!

Please! Please don't leave me.

Please! I'm sorry!

You know what? I'm glad you're dead.

You think you're so clever? Ha!

You just caught me at a time
when I forgot one thing...

that I'm Theodore Hornsby!

I don't need to put my trust in anyone.

I'm the American success story incarnate.

And nobody will stop me.
Not God, not Luther,

and certainly not you and
this measly little guilt trip.

Th... The end.

Hello, Theodore.

What a lovely family you have.

I know you were angry
when I started Dennison Snacks.

You gave one hell of a fight
in the beginning.

But here we are at the end of the line.

I spend a lot of time in my Caymans villa

with a crushing realization
that our rivalry consumed us.

But mostly...

I just miss my friend.

Theodore, no.

Please no. Stop. Stop. Stop.

I can't... can't breathe.

Help. Someone please sandwich.

Help. Jerry.

Theodore, please stop.

Jerry. George.

Seinfeld.