Another Period (2015) s01e03 Episode Script
Funeral
1 [sniffling.]
[crying.]
How was that? Very convincing.
Now me.
[moaning strangely.]
- Maybe you're the stoic one.
- Mm.
Today's a wonderful day.
Our husbands are finally dead.
Well, they're not dead.
We just paid them to disappear so that we could pursue higher-born, more upwardly mobile husbands that are more like our - Equals.
- Brothers.
Usually it takes seven years for the missing to be declared dead, but Daddy pulled some strings.
More calling cards, all sending their condolences.
Oil baron, robber baron, rubber baron, bacon baron.
So many barons.
I mean, Jesus, is there any downside to dead husbands? I wish they were dead when we married them.
[crying.]
It's so sad.
[crying.]
Cutie, Daddy's dead.
[both laughing.]
(man) I want the money, I want the fame I want the whole world to know my name this is mine, I got to get it I got to get it, got, got to get it Another Period [doorbell rings.]
Mitchell P.
Spiritwalker, the whole family has traveled a great distance through many storms and with much difficulty to see you again, younger brother.
On behalf of all of us, I say hello.
Wrong door.
Ashinabee Langundo.
Ashinabee Mitch or Peepers, as your new tribe calls you.
Why have you come? The Bellacourts do not know of my heritage, and I wish to keep it that way.
Our father has died.
Ooh.
We have come to conduct a condolence ceremony.
Oldest and youngest brother united in mourning.
We must do it today.
[sighs.]
Langundo, I don't have time for this today.
I have an escargot-spoon situation that-- Mitch, if we do not complete this ceremony by sundown, Father's soul will be trapped between two worlds, never to find peace.
And your aunt needs to use the restroom.
(Peepers) Yes, I was raised as an Indian.
My parents were white alcoholics who abandoned me during the Gold Rush on the way to California.
A tribe took me in and raised me as their own.
But during my vision quest, I saw an image of a white butler, and I knew then that I had found my path.
Can't you make my neckline lower? My husband's dead, not my teats.
(Peepers) Madams Forgive me, but I must ask the most difficult question of my entire 25 years of service.
May I have the afternoon off? It is an emergency.
No.
It would only be for a few hours, and I won't leave the premises.
- No.
- I hate to ask, but my father died, and we're holding a funeral.
Wait.
You have a father? Yes, Lady Beatrice.
Do you know how you have relatives? Mm-hmm.
I, too, have relatives.
Oh.
Does that mean cows have funerals? No, only people.
And servants? Yes, also servants.
Lady, I hate to press the issue, but we must hold the funeral, or his soul cannot ascend to Heaven.
You can't have your funeral the same day we're having our funeral.
Today is the day I'm gonna meet the thick-dicked man of my dreams.
Yeah, stop copying us, Peepers.
I assure you, it was unintentional.
It's fine.
Go have your fun, your little funeral.
But don't let it interfere with your duties.
Thank you, ma'am.
I just want the money, money I just want the money (Albert) Aha, this is our moment we've been waiting for.
Oh, we can do anything we want.
What do you want to do first? Uh, oh, we could eat something.
- Are you hungry? - I could eat if you could.
What do you want to eat? I don't know.
Quail, rabbit? Nah.
How about mincemeat pie? Well, we're not destitute.
I mean mincemeat pie? I could do Bananas Foster.
Well, that's a dessert.
I'm not gonna-- - Well, what do you want to eat? - I can eat anything.
You cannot eat anything, or you wouldn't have dismissed every idea I gave you.
Well, I'm not saying that your ideas are bad, but maybe you could choose something that's a little more appropriate.
Why don't you just cool down? And I'll start cooking something that I hope you'll like.
All right, just make sure it's not grouse.
[drum thumping.]
[rattling.]
[atmospheric flute plays.]
Langundo, you'll have to remind me of the ceremony.
Of course you don't remember now that you are a big shot with a door that locks.
Only from the outside.
(Little One) Brother Mitchell, can I try on your tuxedo jacket? [chuckling.]
No, Little One.
You know, many people find it very offensive when you adopt the garb of another culture.
No, this is not a costume.
It is a way of life.
[clears throat.]
We should get started if we are going to finish the six-hour fire ceremony before sundown.
Do you think we could compress it down to about 15 minutes? There is a lot of unnecessary fire in that ceremony.
[whining strangely.]
Haaa! [screams strangely.]
Oh, my darling.
I'm so sorry to hear about poor Albert.
How are you holding up? - I'm sad.
- Yeah.
Now rip off my morning dress and make love to me.
It's what Albert would have wanted.
Nothing would make me happier than falling face-first into your mossy treasure, but what if Albert's a ghost? What if he's watching us? No, silly, Albert's alive.
He's in a secret cabin surrounded by a beautiful garden, living with Victor.
He's in a better place.
Poor simple Beatrice.
Of course he's alive, enjoying the company of male friends.
Of course.
Of course.
[scary music.]
[sighs.]
[footsteps approaching.]
Oh, Chair.
Oh, are you busy? Just working 17 to 22 hours a day.
I'll take that as a "no.
" Would you be a dear and put the children to bed? Oh, and would you mind telling them that their fathers are dead? - Me? - Is that a problem? - I-- - Uh-uh-uh, Chair.
Don't make me rename you Water Closet.
[smooching.]
Love you.
Everyone's coming to my funeral.
The press is coming, eligible men are coming-- all the more reason to make this the party of the century.
[fake crying.]
Thank you for coming.
Very cute.
[moans.]
Could you be any more tasteless? Ooh, been watching you devour the buffet.
You might want to taste less yourself.
Your husband has been dead for three days.
You should be asha-- Oh, my God! Is that Mark Twain? Oh, he's a river boat baron, I believe.
He's the greatest writer of our time, you imbecile.
[retches.]
Old Man River.
And that's why I don't read.
Mr.
Twain, it's an honor.
I love your work.
Ah, well, thank you, huge woman.
I'm Hortense.
Yeah, that feels right.
Now, what does a man have to do around here to get a drink? I'm sweating as much as a frog on jumping day trying to outleap a cat.
I'm sorry.
Albert, I'm sorry.
- Oh! - [giggling.]
You scared me half to death.
Oh, I'm sorry.
No, he's watching.
I know it.
Look what you did, Albert! I hate you! [children shouting.]
- My doll! - My doll! [screaming continues.]
(Chair) Children - My doll! - This is my doll! Please stop.
Hey, lady, fetch.
[children screaming.]
First of all, I'm the one who has to break the news to Lillian and Beatrice's children? And second of all, they have children? My name is Chair.
- What's yours? - I'm Susan.
I'm also Susan.
What's a name? My mom calls me The Little Asshole.
[atmospheric flute music plays.]
[bell ringing.]
The life-or-death bell.
I'm sorry.
I must take this.
I'm sure we can recover his spirit on your schedule.
Don't worry about us.
Great.
Mr.
Hal Carnegie.
I'm Lillian, rhymes with "billion," as in the amount of dollars you have.
Thanks for coming on such short notice.
Oh, speaking of "short, no tits," look what we have here.
[both laugh.]
I see it's true what they say about your wit and sharp tongue.
I am just trying to lighten the mood.
Sorry to be so crass.
Oh, that's all right.
I literally have no behavioral standards at all.
Well, then you won't mind if we do a little heavy flirting here at your husband's funeral.
[giggles.]
Not at all.
Oh, and just so you know, I do have eight children, but they've all been ripped from my stomach, so tight as a Jew's wallet down there.
Mm, I wouldn't mind making a deposit.
Ooh.
Madam, you rang the life-or-death bell.
Oh.
Oh, I thought I rang the "more custard" bell.
You wouldn't happen to have more custard, would you, Peepers? A good butler always has extra custard, madam.
Ooh! [giggles.]
[both laugh.]
Oh, well, I have to do this little eulogy thing, but, uh, let's, uh, pick up later.
Yes, good luck.
[giggles.]
I have some very bad news that I must tell you.
Your fathers are dead.
[gasps.]
No! Peepers! I will miss him so! No, no, Peepers isn't your father.
Oh, is it Blanche, then? Blanche is a woman.
Jesus.
- No, she's not.
- Yes, she is.
[children arguing.]
Why are these children still awake? [children shouting.]
Here you go.
It's quieting syrup.
Thank God.
Some Chinese herb? No, of course not.
It's morphine.
Morphine? Just a quick announcement.
To the owner of the 1901 Renault, license plate F, your headlamps are illuminated.
Poppycock.
I could give a better speech than that.
Welcome, everyone, to the funeral of Victor Schmemmerhorn-Fish V.
Also featuring Albert.
Victor would not want to be remembered for the way that he lived, but for the way that he died.
[thud.]
Victor's boat was on its way to the Isle of Argentine, when suddenly it was struck by lightning, torn apart by enormous, thrashing waves.
Who cares? I don't.
Victor's partially burned-- partially burned, half-drowned body was then feasted upon by swarms of sharks who devoured their prey first by eating his face, and then by devouring every one of his appendages-- arms, legs even that one.
So, for dinner, you decided to make dessert.
You didn't want grouse.
You didn't want quail.
You didn't want rabbit.
You didn't want mincemeat pie.
So I made a cobbler.
But it's fine.
I don't know how many times I have to tell you I am grouse-intolerant.
Maybe you're just Albert-intolerant.
I'm sorry you don't like my cobbler.
I'm sorry I'm a horrible cook.
You're not a horrible cook.
I'm sorry I have no idea what to do in the kitchen.
- Don't become a victim.
- Okay, I'm not the victim.
- Fine.
- Okay, yes.
- I can agree too.
- I'm happy.
I'm agreeing with you, yes.
Whatever you say.
I'm gonna eat, 'cause I'm actually hungry.
Oh, would you like mine? You can have mine.
Why don't you just put on a few more pounds? [silverware clatters.]
So, after the sharks had their way with his pulpy, hollow limbs, Victor's carcass made its way to the seafloor, only to be seized by flesh-eating mollusks who devoured him and left nothing but his saddle shoes.
And that's how you tell a eulogy, friends.
And now, just as the sea washed the blood out of my husband's eyeballs, let her wash the tears out of yours-- Beatrice Tiffani Amberthiessen Downsey! This eulogy is for Albert.
[record hisses.]
[rousing orchestral music.]
Is this really happening? Listen, my yacht is stocked and headed to New Guinea.
We depart tonight.
Say you'll join me.
- New Guinea.
- Mm.
- I do love cannibals.
- Mm.
[scattered applause.]
"And then the mermaid died a brutal, bloody death.
The end.
" Can I have some more vapor drug? I think you've really got a problem.
[sighs.]
There you are.
So this is the upstairs, huh? Not too shabby.
I kind of want to shit on all the pillows.
Look, I sent for you because I need your help.
Oh, man, I think I'm gonna yank myself into a sock right now.
[groans.]
Are you gonna help me or not? I'm here, ain't I? I gave these kids quieting syrup, and this one won't fall asleep.
I built up my tolerance.
Oh, bet he doesn't have a tolerance to this, huh? What is wrong with you? I'm sorry.
I misread your signals.
I don't want him murdered.
I want him to go to sleep.
Well, then why did you ask for me, huh? - That's what I do.
- I don't know.
I'll kill all these kids.
Wait.
Where did he go? Maybe he went to Who Gives a Shit Land.
No, where did he go? I don't know.
Want to fuck on this pile of kids? I don't think it's gonna happen tonight.
I don't think it's going to happen for me either.
It might help if you apologize.
Okay, fine.
I'm sorry that you behaved in such a way that got me so upset that now I'm flaccid at best.
I can tell that your apologizing is not, in fact, an apology.
And I'll have you know I'm flaccid too.
[sighs.]
I mean, maybe this isn't working.
I feel like ever since we left the manor, all the exciting parts of our love are just gone.
Maybe we should go home.
And give back the $2 million? What good is $2 million if we can't pound each other? I'll ready our luggage.
You need to get dressed.
- I need to finish myself.
- No, just get dressed.
Let me just do one time through.
- It'll take 45 minutes.
- No.
(Langundo) Oh, Great Spirit, life fades like the sunset.
We ask that his spirit come to you without shape.
[drumming, chanting.]
[thunder rumbling.]
[fire whooshing.]
[bell dings.]
I have to get that.
Are you serious? Look, I want our father to join with the Great Spirit, but that's the life-or-death bell, man.
There's life-or-death going on up there! Plus I'm in charge of the Jell-O.
[upbeat piano music.]
[laughter.]
[both moaning.]
Madam, what was the life-or-death emergency this time? Can't you see I'm grieving, Peepers? [both moaning.]
This is ridiculous.
Where is Mitch? We need him here to recite the final incantation.
Let's go find him.
Tom Sawyer was based on my boyhood lover.
Yep.
Look it up.
[upbeat piano music.]
(Albert) Yes, Victor, if I remember, it wasn't just a pork stew.
- [excited chatter.]
- It was more than a pork stew.
What the shit on hell of all shits is this? Is this a funeral? For us? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
We've been gone three days! Why is my picture so much smaller? No, no, no, no, no.
I told you to stay downstairs.
No, it can't be.
You've violated our treaty.
Ghosts, ghosts! [whimpers.]
Ghosts! Is that my dad? Ah! [all screaming.]
(Victor) No! My Albert! No! My party! No, my tomahawk! These people are savages.
(Lillian) Oh, no, no, don't go.
Uh, we're about to start the black-person caricature contest.
Hey, butterscotch send me a telegram when your husband really dies.
Shh.
It's not your fault.
It was an accident.
Albert will be fine.
So he's not a ghost.
No, he's alive.
Oh, thank Heavens.
I mean, he's unconscious with a tomahawk in his chest, but he's alive.
Do you want some milk? - Yeah.
- Okay.
- [suckling.]
- There you go.
- [crying.]
- It's gonna be fine.
Albert, I am so sorry that I was horrible to you.
You were gone for three days! Exactly! And you already had a funeral for me? I gave you $2 million to stay away.
Can we not talk about this right now? Albert has a tomahawk in his chest! Sometimes I think you care more about Albert than you do my remarriage.
Oh, you're finally getting it, are you, sister? [door slams.]
Oh, my Albert.
My Albee-Walbee.
No one will ever replace you.
Hello, I'm Dr.
Goldberg, Albert's doctor.
I'll be living here while taking care of Albert.
Hello, my name is Victor.
And I'm incredibly vulnerable right now.
Let the healing begin.
Langundo, Little One, other people, you should go.
Brother Mitch, come home with us.
This is my home.
The choice is simple-- a life of honor among dignified people or a life of lowly servitude in the basement of a veritable asylum.
But without me, who would express the peacock's anal glands? Who would beat the children? I'm a part of this family.
[laughs.]
No, you're not.
Garfield could be trained to be the butler.
It seems like they'll be fine.
I'm sorry, brother, I cannot leave.
My role here among these people-- Oh, Garfield, you're the new butler now.
White people show their love in a different way.
Go.
Go with Great Spirit.
[crying.]
How was that? Very convincing.
Now me.
[moaning strangely.]
- Maybe you're the stoic one.
- Mm.
Today's a wonderful day.
Our husbands are finally dead.
Well, they're not dead.
We just paid them to disappear so that we could pursue higher-born, more upwardly mobile husbands that are more like our - Equals.
- Brothers.
Usually it takes seven years for the missing to be declared dead, but Daddy pulled some strings.
More calling cards, all sending their condolences.
Oil baron, robber baron, rubber baron, bacon baron.
So many barons.
I mean, Jesus, is there any downside to dead husbands? I wish they were dead when we married them.
[crying.]
It's so sad.
[crying.]
Cutie, Daddy's dead.
[both laughing.]
(man) I want the money, I want the fame I want the whole world to know my name this is mine, I got to get it I got to get it, got, got to get it Another Period [doorbell rings.]
Mitchell P.
Spiritwalker, the whole family has traveled a great distance through many storms and with much difficulty to see you again, younger brother.
On behalf of all of us, I say hello.
Wrong door.
Ashinabee Langundo.
Ashinabee Mitch or Peepers, as your new tribe calls you.
Why have you come? The Bellacourts do not know of my heritage, and I wish to keep it that way.
Our father has died.
Ooh.
We have come to conduct a condolence ceremony.
Oldest and youngest brother united in mourning.
We must do it today.
[sighs.]
Langundo, I don't have time for this today.
I have an escargot-spoon situation that-- Mitch, if we do not complete this ceremony by sundown, Father's soul will be trapped between two worlds, never to find peace.
And your aunt needs to use the restroom.
(Peepers) Yes, I was raised as an Indian.
My parents were white alcoholics who abandoned me during the Gold Rush on the way to California.
A tribe took me in and raised me as their own.
But during my vision quest, I saw an image of a white butler, and I knew then that I had found my path.
Can't you make my neckline lower? My husband's dead, not my teats.
(Peepers) Madams Forgive me, but I must ask the most difficult question of my entire 25 years of service.
May I have the afternoon off? It is an emergency.
No.
It would only be for a few hours, and I won't leave the premises.
- No.
- I hate to ask, but my father died, and we're holding a funeral.
Wait.
You have a father? Yes, Lady Beatrice.
Do you know how you have relatives? Mm-hmm.
I, too, have relatives.
Oh.
Does that mean cows have funerals? No, only people.
And servants? Yes, also servants.
Lady, I hate to press the issue, but we must hold the funeral, or his soul cannot ascend to Heaven.
You can't have your funeral the same day we're having our funeral.
Today is the day I'm gonna meet the thick-dicked man of my dreams.
Yeah, stop copying us, Peepers.
I assure you, it was unintentional.
It's fine.
Go have your fun, your little funeral.
But don't let it interfere with your duties.
Thank you, ma'am.
I just want the money, money I just want the money (Albert) Aha, this is our moment we've been waiting for.
Oh, we can do anything we want.
What do you want to do first? Uh, oh, we could eat something.
- Are you hungry? - I could eat if you could.
What do you want to eat? I don't know.
Quail, rabbit? Nah.
How about mincemeat pie? Well, we're not destitute.
I mean mincemeat pie? I could do Bananas Foster.
Well, that's a dessert.
I'm not gonna-- - Well, what do you want to eat? - I can eat anything.
You cannot eat anything, or you wouldn't have dismissed every idea I gave you.
Well, I'm not saying that your ideas are bad, but maybe you could choose something that's a little more appropriate.
Why don't you just cool down? And I'll start cooking something that I hope you'll like.
All right, just make sure it's not grouse.
[drum thumping.]
[rattling.]
[atmospheric flute plays.]
Langundo, you'll have to remind me of the ceremony.
Of course you don't remember now that you are a big shot with a door that locks.
Only from the outside.
(Little One) Brother Mitchell, can I try on your tuxedo jacket? [chuckling.]
No, Little One.
You know, many people find it very offensive when you adopt the garb of another culture.
No, this is not a costume.
It is a way of life.
[clears throat.]
We should get started if we are going to finish the six-hour fire ceremony before sundown.
Do you think we could compress it down to about 15 minutes? There is a lot of unnecessary fire in that ceremony.
[whining strangely.]
Haaa! [screams strangely.]
Oh, my darling.
I'm so sorry to hear about poor Albert.
How are you holding up? - I'm sad.
- Yeah.
Now rip off my morning dress and make love to me.
It's what Albert would have wanted.
Nothing would make me happier than falling face-first into your mossy treasure, but what if Albert's a ghost? What if he's watching us? No, silly, Albert's alive.
He's in a secret cabin surrounded by a beautiful garden, living with Victor.
He's in a better place.
Poor simple Beatrice.
Of course he's alive, enjoying the company of male friends.
Of course.
Of course.
[scary music.]
[sighs.]
[footsteps approaching.]
Oh, Chair.
Oh, are you busy? Just working 17 to 22 hours a day.
I'll take that as a "no.
" Would you be a dear and put the children to bed? Oh, and would you mind telling them that their fathers are dead? - Me? - Is that a problem? - I-- - Uh-uh-uh, Chair.
Don't make me rename you Water Closet.
[smooching.]
Love you.
Everyone's coming to my funeral.
The press is coming, eligible men are coming-- all the more reason to make this the party of the century.
[fake crying.]
Thank you for coming.
Very cute.
[moans.]
Could you be any more tasteless? Ooh, been watching you devour the buffet.
You might want to taste less yourself.
Your husband has been dead for three days.
You should be asha-- Oh, my God! Is that Mark Twain? Oh, he's a river boat baron, I believe.
He's the greatest writer of our time, you imbecile.
[retches.]
Old Man River.
And that's why I don't read.
Mr.
Twain, it's an honor.
I love your work.
Ah, well, thank you, huge woman.
I'm Hortense.
Yeah, that feels right.
Now, what does a man have to do around here to get a drink? I'm sweating as much as a frog on jumping day trying to outleap a cat.
I'm sorry.
Albert, I'm sorry.
- Oh! - [giggling.]
You scared me half to death.
Oh, I'm sorry.
No, he's watching.
I know it.
Look what you did, Albert! I hate you! [children shouting.]
- My doll! - My doll! [screaming continues.]
(Chair) Children - My doll! - This is my doll! Please stop.
Hey, lady, fetch.
[children screaming.]
First of all, I'm the one who has to break the news to Lillian and Beatrice's children? And second of all, they have children? My name is Chair.
- What's yours? - I'm Susan.
I'm also Susan.
What's a name? My mom calls me The Little Asshole.
[atmospheric flute music plays.]
[bell ringing.]
The life-or-death bell.
I'm sorry.
I must take this.
I'm sure we can recover his spirit on your schedule.
Don't worry about us.
Great.
Mr.
Hal Carnegie.
I'm Lillian, rhymes with "billion," as in the amount of dollars you have.
Thanks for coming on such short notice.
Oh, speaking of "short, no tits," look what we have here.
[both laugh.]
I see it's true what they say about your wit and sharp tongue.
I am just trying to lighten the mood.
Sorry to be so crass.
Oh, that's all right.
I literally have no behavioral standards at all.
Well, then you won't mind if we do a little heavy flirting here at your husband's funeral.
[giggles.]
Not at all.
Oh, and just so you know, I do have eight children, but they've all been ripped from my stomach, so tight as a Jew's wallet down there.
Mm, I wouldn't mind making a deposit.
Ooh.
Madam, you rang the life-or-death bell.
Oh.
Oh, I thought I rang the "more custard" bell.
You wouldn't happen to have more custard, would you, Peepers? A good butler always has extra custard, madam.
Ooh! [giggles.]
[both laugh.]
Oh, well, I have to do this little eulogy thing, but, uh, let's, uh, pick up later.
Yes, good luck.
[giggles.]
I have some very bad news that I must tell you.
Your fathers are dead.
[gasps.]
No! Peepers! I will miss him so! No, no, Peepers isn't your father.
Oh, is it Blanche, then? Blanche is a woman.
Jesus.
- No, she's not.
- Yes, she is.
[children arguing.]
Why are these children still awake? [children shouting.]
Here you go.
It's quieting syrup.
Thank God.
Some Chinese herb? No, of course not.
It's morphine.
Morphine? Just a quick announcement.
To the owner of the 1901 Renault, license plate F, your headlamps are illuminated.
Poppycock.
I could give a better speech than that.
Welcome, everyone, to the funeral of Victor Schmemmerhorn-Fish V.
Also featuring Albert.
Victor would not want to be remembered for the way that he lived, but for the way that he died.
[thud.]
Victor's boat was on its way to the Isle of Argentine, when suddenly it was struck by lightning, torn apart by enormous, thrashing waves.
Who cares? I don't.
Victor's partially burned-- partially burned, half-drowned body was then feasted upon by swarms of sharks who devoured their prey first by eating his face, and then by devouring every one of his appendages-- arms, legs even that one.
So, for dinner, you decided to make dessert.
You didn't want grouse.
You didn't want quail.
You didn't want rabbit.
You didn't want mincemeat pie.
So I made a cobbler.
But it's fine.
I don't know how many times I have to tell you I am grouse-intolerant.
Maybe you're just Albert-intolerant.
I'm sorry you don't like my cobbler.
I'm sorry I'm a horrible cook.
You're not a horrible cook.
I'm sorry I have no idea what to do in the kitchen.
- Don't become a victim.
- Okay, I'm not the victim.
- Fine.
- Okay, yes.
- I can agree too.
- I'm happy.
I'm agreeing with you, yes.
Whatever you say.
I'm gonna eat, 'cause I'm actually hungry.
Oh, would you like mine? You can have mine.
Why don't you just put on a few more pounds? [silverware clatters.]
So, after the sharks had their way with his pulpy, hollow limbs, Victor's carcass made its way to the seafloor, only to be seized by flesh-eating mollusks who devoured him and left nothing but his saddle shoes.
And that's how you tell a eulogy, friends.
And now, just as the sea washed the blood out of my husband's eyeballs, let her wash the tears out of yours-- Beatrice Tiffani Amberthiessen Downsey! This eulogy is for Albert.
[record hisses.]
[rousing orchestral music.]
Is this really happening? Listen, my yacht is stocked and headed to New Guinea.
We depart tonight.
Say you'll join me.
- New Guinea.
- Mm.
- I do love cannibals.
- Mm.
[scattered applause.]
"And then the mermaid died a brutal, bloody death.
The end.
" Can I have some more vapor drug? I think you've really got a problem.
[sighs.]
There you are.
So this is the upstairs, huh? Not too shabby.
I kind of want to shit on all the pillows.
Look, I sent for you because I need your help.
Oh, man, I think I'm gonna yank myself into a sock right now.
[groans.]
Are you gonna help me or not? I'm here, ain't I? I gave these kids quieting syrup, and this one won't fall asleep.
I built up my tolerance.
Oh, bet he doesn't have a tolerance to this, huh? What is wrong with you? I'm sorry.
I misread your signals.
I don't want him murdered.
I want him to go to sleep.
Well, then why did you ask for me, huh? - That's what I do.
- I don't know.
I'll kill all these kids.
Wait.
Where did he go? Maybe he went to Who Gives a Shit Land.
No, where did he go? I don't know.
Want to fuck on this pile of kids? I don't think it's gonna happen tonight.
I don't think it's going to happen for me either.
It might help if you apologize.
Okay, fine.
I'm sorry that you behaved in such a way that got me so upset that now I'm flaccid at best.
I can tell that your apologizing is not, in fact, an apology.
And I'll have you know I'm flaccid too.
[sighs.]
I mean, maybe this isn't working.
I feel like ever since we left the manor, all the exciting parts of our love are just gone.
Maybe we should go home.
And give back the $2 million? What good is $2 million if we can't pound each other? I'll ready our luggage.
You need to get dressed.
- I need to finish myself.
- No, just get dressed.
Let me just do one time through.
- It'll take 45 minutes.
- No.
(Langundo) Oh, Great Spirit, life fades like the sunset.
We ask that his spirit come to you without shape.
[drumming, chanting.]
[thunder rumbling.]
[fire whooshing.]
[bell dings.]
I have to get that.
Are you serious? Look, I want our father to join with the Great Spirit, but that's the life-or-death bell, man.
There's life-or-death going on up there! Plus I'm in charge of the Jell-O.
[upbeat piano music.]
[laughter.]
[both moaning.]
Madam, what was the life-or-death emergency this time? Can't you see I'm grieving, Peepers? [both moaning.]
This is ridiculous.
Where is Mitch? We need him here to recite the final incantation.
Let's go find him.
Tom Sawyer was based on my boyhood lover.
Yep.
Look it up.
[upbeat piano music.]
(Albert) Yes, Victor, if I remember, it wasn't just a pork stew.
- [excited chatter.]
- It was more than a pork stew.
What the shit on hell of all shits is this? Is this a funeral? For us? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
We've been gone three days! Why is my picture so much smaller? No, no, no, no, no.
I told you to stay downstairs.
No, it can't be.
You've violated our treaty.
Ghosts, ghosts! [whimpers.]
Ghosts! Is that my dad? Ah! [all screaming.]
(Victor) No! My Albert! No! My party! No, my tomahawk! These people are savages.
(Lillian) Oh, no, no, don't go.
Uh, we're about to start the black-person caricature contest.
Hey, butterscotch send me a telegram when your husband really dies.
Shh.
It's not your fault.
It was an accident.
Albert will be fine.
So he's not a ghost.
No, he's alive.
Oh, thank Heavens.
I mean, he's unconscious with a tomahawk in his chest, but he's alive.
Do you want some milk? - Yeah.
- Okay.
- [suckling.]
- There you go.
- [crying.]
- It's gonna be fine.
Albert, I am so sorry that I was horrible to you.
You were gone for three days! Exactly! And you already had a funeral for me? I gave you $2 million to stay away.
Can we not talk about this right now? Albert has a tomahawk in his chest! Sometimes I think you care more about Albert than you do my remarriage.
Oh, you're finally getting it, are you, sister? [door slams.]
Oh, my Albert.
My Albee-Walbee.
No one will ever replace you.
Hello, I'm Dr.
Goldberg, Albert's doctor.
I'll be living here while taking care of Albert.
Hello, my name is Victor.
And I'm incredibly vulnerable right now.
Let the healing begin.
Langundo, Little One, other people, you should go.
Brother Mitch, come home with us.
This is my home.
The choice is simple-- a life of honor among dignified people or a life of lowly servitude in the basement of a veritable asylum.
But without me, who would express the peacock's anal glands? Who would beat the children? I'm a part of this family.
[laughs.]
No, you're not.
Garfield could be trained to be the butler.
It seems like they'll be fine.
I'm sorry, brother, I cannot leave.
My role here among these people-- Oh, Garfield, you're the new butler now.
White people show their love in a different way.
Go.
Go with Great Spirit.