01x11 - Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang/Little Bigfoot

[bunniefuu]

[Eagle screaming]

[Lounge music playing]

♪

[Engine revving]

♪

[Clamouring]

Ahh!

[Exploding]

Nice wedding so far.

I think the commissioner

would support our decision to

employ rubber a*mo and tear gas

at this point.

He wouldn’t want this to get out

of hand.

After all, it is his

daughter’s wedding.

[Exploding]

[Police siren wailing]

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Sam and Max

[Phone ringing]

♪ Sam and Max

♪

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Freelance police

♪ Sam and Max

♪ Freelance police

Sam and Max.

Oh, I am so glad to make contact

with you at last.

The commissioner tells me you

are a dog and a rabbitty thing

that can be trusted.

I like the weaselly way he

talks, Sam.

Can we keep him?

I have no time for your

games.

Here, take this.

Don’t let it out of your sight.

Whatever you say.

It is extremely valuable

information.

The details in details.

The latest details devised by

the most diabolical villainess

to date, the Dreaded Larvo.

[Shot]

Ahh!

Leg cramp.

They’re onto us.

No, wait!

Help me!

Help me!

[German accent:] Put ze

microchip on ze ground und

shtep bäck.

"Beck"?

Okay, I’m gonna reach into my

pocket and give you the

microchip now.

Nice and slow.

Combustible corn dogs?

What’ll the geek think of next?

They’re pretty strict about the

speed limit around here.

Beautiful country, though,

isn’t it?

♪

[Screaming]

[Screaming]

[Thudding]

[Impact sound]

[c*ck g*ns]

[Squeaking]

[Screaming]

Too heavy, I guess.

It’s no wonder, with all that

cream in the baking.

Well, hello there,

Honeybunny.

Gee, Sam, aren’t we being a

tad familiar?

That’s her name, onion head.

She’s the new temp the geek

hired to screen her calls and

salt her food and to facilitate

this macho spy-guy moment.

You really should have that

twitch looked at.

Freelance police, meet

Dr. Harry Monkeyfeatures, Chief

Operating Director of ONCLE,

the French division of UNCLE.

Pleased to meet you,

Mr. Monkeyfeatures.

Loved you in Planet of the

Chimps.

You may call me M.

I believe that you gentlemen

have something that belongs to

me.

Oh.

[Clattering]

MAX: Just shout when you see

it.

[Cat screeching]

The microchip!

Give me the microchip!

Oh, yeah.

But not here.

The walls have ears.

You should talk.

Nice trap.

You a member here?

Yes.

Golf relaxes me.

[Max yelling]

At least it used to.

The microchip your little friend

is carrying contains information

vital to national security.

No fooling!

Let’s have a look.

[Projector whirring]

A few days ago, we received a

disturbing communiqué concerning

the mysterious disappearance of

a handful of tourists.

Paris.

Mexico.

Japan.

Wisconsin.

That isn’t too bothersome, is

it, Max?

I’m just thankful he didn’t

opt for rear projection.

M: We have reason to believe

that agents from TRUSS are

responsible for these abductions

and that the entire operation is

under the direct supervision of

TRUSS’s villainous leader, the

Dreaded Larvo.

You boys are the best and most

highly expendable crimefighters

we know, and as such, we want

you to look into this.

Besides, young Darla tells me

your tuxedos aren’t due back

until Monday, and where you two

are going, you’re going to need

them.

Quite a day, eh, little pal?

One minute we’re toasting the

commissioner’s daughter and the

next we’re embroiled in

international intrigue and

espionage.

Larvo’s tropical hideaway

dead ahead.

Any sign of Gilligan or the

Skipper?

[Laughing]

♪

[Alarm wailing]

The perimeter has been

compromised.

Release Snowball.

[Beeping]

♪

[Growling]

Well, hello, cousin.

♪

The intruders have been

eliminated.

"Thank you" would be nice.

[Doorbell ringing]

It’s snowball.

Buzz her in.

[Beeping]

[Doorbell ringing]

Oh, you didn’t have to get

all dressed up for us.

Look, Sam, it’s five

weapon-toting punks who

couldn’t cut it at Burger Boy.

And with their career paths

greatly limited, they chose to

become evil minions.

I’ll bet they were even turned

down for the military.

Shut up, shut up!

Clearly we’ve shambled into

an elaborate trap.

But who could have set us up?

DARLA: I’m sorry, guys.

His credentials were fake.

Brilliant forgeries.

Well, well.

If it isn’t the monkey from

ONCLE.

Not quite, freelance police,

for I am...

Larvo.

That old parlour trick.

We can top that.

♪

Enough!

Before you are deep-fried to a

crispy golden brown, I think

it only fair to let you in on

our little recipe for world

domination.

[Snapping fingers]

Using this device of my own

design, I, Larvo, have developed

a method to extract the most

annoying virus known to man:

the obnoxious tourist virus.

Good gosh!

After sprinkling virus bombs

heavily over the surface of the

planet, millions will be

infected.

Obnoxious, rude behaviour will

result in fisticuffs and

widespread chaos.

And when the dust settles, I,

Larvo, will remain standing to

rule all!

Initiate a countdown.

[Computer counting aloud]

Does she really expect us to

sit through this?

I don’t expect you to sit

through anything, Sam and Max.

I expect you to fry.

Lower them in!

Lower them in!

47, 46...

Here, let me.

No, let me.

And since you’re up, can you

get me a vanilla shake, a

strumbo-jumbo dog and a large

fries?

Yeah, make mine a

cheeseburger, a side of rings

and a bucket of chilli for

dipping.

Down a fry, taking the last

cheese pot.

Cheese pot?

What?

This table is filthy!

SAM: These fries are cold!

LARVO: You fools!

The silos, they’re closing!

MAX: I want to use these

expired...

This soda is flat.

Great Scott, a busload of

seniors just pulled in!

[Screaming]

We shall meet again,

freelance police.

Until then, I hope really

lousy things happen to you and

all the teams you bet on lose.

[Cackling]

This place is gonna blow!

WEASELLY MAN: Come on, come

on.

Let’s go, let’s go.

Well, that’s that.

Not to worry, g*ng.

Judging by the position of the

sun and the overabundance of

dead fish and oil slicks in the

water, I’d say we’re in the main

shipping lanes.

Heck, we should be picked up by

some friendlies in no time.

Too bad.

I’m in no hurry to be rescued.

Whim-wham, Sam!

Something ain’t right here.

Too true, Max.

This isn’t the geek.

Ms. Honeybunny!

Mayday, Mayday!

Agents down!

Send help!

We hate to save the world and

run but we’ve really got to get

these monkey suits back.

Looks like our ride is here.

Don’t worry, Miss.

A boat will be along shortly and

that means sailors.

Yeah, you’ll get picked up all

right.

[Jet roaring]

Did I mention that you crack

me up, little buddy?

Whatever.

[Screaming]

SAM: If I didn’t see it with

my own eyes, I never would have

believed it.

Who’s have guessed one wimpy

bolt was holding up 5 tons of

colourful roadside Americana?

I was right.

You owe me one Dino Boogie snow

globe full of primordial

dandruff.

A deal is a deal.

Smile for the birdie.

Another warm fuzzy memory for

our scrapbook of America’s

cheesiest roadside oddities.

Hey, I’ve been ripped.

This snow globe is dry.

The wee flakes are just stuck on

the sides.

Yeah, well, if you really

want to see some wizened up

artifacts, this place boasts the

world’s only collection of

sun-dried appendixes of the

stars.

A frosty dessert says the

Duke’s appendix is so big that

the other appendixes are in

orbit around it.

Sorry, little pal.

Wagering is disrespectful to the

solemn spirit of these celebrity

giblets.

[Clucking like chicken]

Okay, you’re on.

[Slurping]

[Rumbling]

[Rumbling]

[Rattling]

[Max gasping]

Thanks, Sam.

I couldn’t help myself.

There was more.

There’s always a tiny speck

more!

Don’t thank me.

I did it for the sake of the

innocent passersby who might

have been mortally sucked.

And because it was funny.

Sam, do you see what I see?

Sweet mother of all things

hairy and disgusting!

The guidebook said this was

Sasquatch country.

And here’s me without my

cattle prod.

The Sasquatch, also commonly

known as Bigfoot, is a shy,

elusive forest dweller known to

photograph poorly and project a

horrific stench that will make

women faint and strong men’s

stomachs turn.

[Sniffing]

He doesn’t smell so bad.

Sort of like a wet puppy.

Sorry, that’s me.

These hip waders haven’t drained

from our last trip.

MAN: That’s fine, Jojo.

Now I’d like you to go clean out

the stock room if’n you don’t

mind.

He should be headlining, not

bussing tables.

I can’t believe that the manager

of this fine establishment would

exploit a fledgling Bigfoot.

Oh well, the world stinks.

Let’s blow.

We’ve still got to check out the

mummified merboy and the weeping

pits of tedium.

I think tedium is north of I5.

No, Max, I believe destiny

has led us to this humble

highway stop.

Our little Bigfoot needs to be

in the wild, embraced by its

own lanky, foul-smelling tribe.

We’re gonna set Jojo free, Max,

free to frolic and forage and

eat grub worms with others of

his shaggy ilk.

Ilk?

Sounds like a good deed best

left to someone who gives a

hoot.

Let’s blow.

Uh-oh.

Sam’s bothersome sense of

do-gooderism is popping up like

a bad rash.

Quick, Max.

Where did we park?

We’ve got to get Jojo as far

away from here as possible.

I think we’re in lot U for

"you got a purdy mouth."

MAN: Hey, come back, you!

What are you trying to pull?

Let’s keep moving, Max.

Don’t make eye contact.

I’m a little insulted that they

didn’t pick us out of this

gaggle.

I’m a little disappointed we

don’t actually get to eat this

way.

Just drive, Sam!

I want to remember this place

exactly how we left it.

[Screaming]

It’s okay, Jojo.

Sam’s got it in his overstuffed

noggin that we’re gonna return

you to your own kind.

Won’t that be nice?

He doesn’t look thrilled,

Sam.

That’s because excitement is

a human emotion, Max.

He’s probably just gassy from

travelling at high speeds for

the first time.

Yeah.

Mythical creatures hardly ever

get to toodle around in boss

cars.

Hey, don’t call Jojo

mythical.

You’re gonna hurt his itty-bitty

feelings.

But you’ve got a point.

It’s not every day I get to

cruise with a creature of

legend-- present company

excepted.

This looks like as good a

spot as any.

Here you are, Jojo.

Home at last.

You’re a free Bigfoot.

Go frolic.

Go eat a grub.

Go on.

Go on and frolic.

And eat grubs.

And frolic.

I knew it.

He’s gone soft from all that

high city living.

All his natural grub-eating

instincts have been bled out of

him.

Show him how it’s done, big guy.

If that’s what it takes.

Grub, grub, grub, grub.

[Stomach grumbling]

Chew it up, Sam.

I think he’s getting wistful.

[Sam singing:]

♪ Oh, what happy Bigfoots

are we ♪

♪ Roaming the redwoods

healthy and free ♪

♪ My fur stinks a lot

like a runt drenched-- ♪

I don’t know this guy.

The guy in the bark?

I’ve never seen him before.

[Revving engine]

Well, that did it, Max.

Jojo’s gone.

After your little display, I

felt the urge to run for the

hills myself.

Don’t knock it.

A guy could get used to dressing

this freely.

Sure beats the ill-fitting

slacks.

I wouldn’t know.

Oh, yeah.

I’m gonna really miss our little

Jojo but it’s all for the best.

He can grow to a strapping 9

feet tall and spend his life

eluding capture by backwoods

trophy hunters with little or no

sense of personal hygiene.

Ahh!

Isn’t that cute, Sam?

He can barely see over the dash.

He’s resisting our effort to

set him free, Max, disoriented

from living too long amongst the

h*m* sapiens.

The what?

I fear we’ll have to hand him

back over to his Bigfoot clan in

person.

It’s a simple matter of tracking

down a whole tribe of these

elusive half men, succeeding

where countless other

sensation-seeking knuckleheads

have failed.

[Honking]

[Screaming]

There’s a truck coming.

[Screaming]

A lot of cliffs around here.

What luck!

We’ve stumbled upon the annual

Bigfoot Bailiwick.

Wow.

Surely one of these kindly

lunatics can tell us where to

find some Bigfoots.

ANNOUNCER: Attention,

believers.

This year’s finest Bigfoot

footage is now being screened

in the Elk’s Hall.

Come one, come all.

Walk your big feet to Elk’s

Club Hall.

[Giggling]

Focus!

Hey, focus!

Who’s asleep at the switch?

I want focus!

[Screaming]

The last entry is from Mr.

and Mrs. Pongo Pygmaeus, a

reserved couple, but their

vivacious camerawork speaks

volumes.

Roll, please!

It’s amazing.

If Citizen Kane was all about

Bigfoots and shot on a handheld

Super 8 camera...

Uh, I forgot what I was getting

at.

Well, I guess it comes as no

surprise that this year’s award

for excellence goes once again

to the Pygmaeus family.

[Applause]

Our search is over, Max.

If anyone knows the whereabouts

of a Bigfoot clan, it’s these

backwards folks.

[Max imitating guitar riff]

♪

Besides littering and disturbing

Jojo’s nap, the brute is

destroying perfectly fine works

of art.

Next he’ll be defacing

black-velvet hobo paintings.

I feel compelled to employ

the oh-so-formidable rat-gat.

It came free with our last

muffler job.

Make that puppy sing, Max.

[Blowing raspberry]

Hello there, large-boned

citizen.

Cooperate and you will be

slapped around without incident.

Hey, Mr. Pygmaeus.

Why so shy?

We just wanted a lead on where

to find this little guy’s kin.

[Straining]

[Screaming]

I mean, sorry.

Gee, buddy.

In my experience, a grade-four

abrasion like that usually has

the recipient bawling like a

three-legged longshoreman at a

cotillion.

Sam, how can you be so

insensitive?

This big old boy probably never

got as far as grade four.

Hmm.

Take a look at this, Max.

Now I get it.

It’s a band of super-intelligent

circus apes quietly undermining

our utopian society.

Freeze, circus apes!

They’re Bigfoots, Max.

My gosh, you’re right.

It’s obvious from their glaring

lack of unicycles.

Finally we can return Jojo to

his own kind.

Here you go.

They’re rejecting him.

[Sniffing]

Maybe he smells too human.

Max, come here a minute and

bring your armpit.

MAN: That’s them, Sheriff.

That’s the ones what took my

little Jojo.

Walked right off with him

without so much as a please and

thank you.

Easy, Festus.

We’s just returnin’ this here

Bigfoot young ’un to his own

kin, is all.

Sam, I didn’t know you spoke

Bumpkin.

Bigfoot?

What are you talking about,

mongrel?

That’s my boy!

Your boy?

Look at him!

Only one of you has hair!

Well, heck.

Takes after his ma is all.

Come on out, Ma.

Jojo’s back.

Ain’t you never heard of

Glamorous Gert, the wild woman

of Borneo?

I feel dizzy.

All we need now is a turtle

boy and a pinhead and we can

open our own sideshow.

[Chattering]

Well, Max, I think we’ve learned

a valuable lesson here today.

Never judge a Bigfoot by his

shaggy cover.

No.

Don’t put your big wet nose

in where it don’t belong?

Nope.

What, then?

When Bigfoots invite you to

sit down to grub, they ain’t

kiddin’.

Can you pass the hot sauce,

Sam?

Mine’s still kicking.

[Laughing]

[Squelching]

♪