Eerie, Indiana: The Other Dimension (1998) s01e03 Episode Script
Standard Deviation
1
I do solemnly swear that everything
I am about to tell you is true.
A spill of weirdness
from another dimension
turned my hometown into the center
of weirdness for the entire universe.
Don't believe me?
Just watch.
For months now, Stanley and me have
been fighting the biggest lie there is.
Namely that Erie is the most
normal town in the country.
You just have to look out your
door to see what's going on here.
But even my own family would
rather believe the statistics.
The society of certifiable UFO observers.
Oh honey, where did we go wrong?
Dad, seriously, I need
parental consent to join.
Well, what about the corn scouts, or 4-H?
Cows can be fun.
Alright, Mom, Dad, if my picture wins,
Stanley and me could win a $500 prize.
See, there's a UFO right there.
Mitchell, I'm a scientist.
Dad, it was a real UFO. We saw it.
What's going on out there?
Stay calm, Mrs. Taylor.
We're here on the official business.
This median is from BS,
the Bureau of Statistics.
She needs a few answers from you.
The right answers.
Well, I could have a few
moments of your time.
The entire country would be grateful.
This is a very special household.
According to our statistics, Erie is
the most normal town in America.
And this house is at the exact
geographical center of Erie.
That makes you, the
country's most normal family.
Please, come in.
If I'd known you were coming,
I would have vacuumed.
On the contrary, a certain amount
of carpet lent is statistically desirable.
Oh!
Who are you?
Mitchell?
The average family has
3.1 members this boy,
but to nine-tenths of a
person over the desirable limit.
Oh, but we wanted Mitchell.
Didn't we, Edward?
Oh, of course we did.
Yeah, absolutely.
For now, we'll record him as a
standard deviation of minor consequence.
I'll have my eye on him, though.
Thank you.
In typical Erie style, our UFO photo
would soon seem downright ordinary.
Agnes median was about to
unleash a tidal wave of normalcy,
one that might even wash
away our entire family.
One thing I've always liked about my family,
they're light years away from normal.
But all that was going to change
if Agnes median had her way.
You haven't got one answer right.
It doesn't make any sense.
If you're not the most normal family in the
country, what are you doing in this house?
Living here?
That young man can be remedied.
Talking about, this is our house.
They can't make us move.
I've already labeled everything
I own with this address.
There might be a simple,
painless solution to our problem.
We'll use a form, 1363L.
We tested on data or
populations that might be tainted.
If you ask me, it's Erie that's tainted.
It's not possible. I know I grew up here.
Now.
Everyone go off and do their
business as though I'm not here.
I'll handle the rest.
You little man.
Stanley.
Shouldn't you be at home
with your mother and father?
My mom's at work.
And your father?
He's out doing the weekly groceries.
Right, Stanley?
Oh, yeah, yeah.
He left a couple of hours ago.
Then he should be back by now.
The weekly shopping
area only takes 1.6 hours.
Mitchell, I think she
knows I don't have a father.
What's she gonna do?
I think we'd rather not find out.
The cereal is normally kept
in the cupboard by the fridge.
And the average family only buys one
generic brand for every two game brands.
I'll go shopping tomorrow.
Where do you keep your waffle iron?
Maybe it's a Oh, we
don't have a waffle iron.
The average family has
waffles 6.3 times a month.
Waffle irons make a statement.
They say, normal.
You know, it's funny.
I was just looking at a
waffle iron at the world of stuff.
Maybe I'll slip out this
afternoon and pick that up.
From cereal mom to
waffle mom in 3.2 minutes.
And as for dad.
That's Mitchell and
Stanley's Halloween costume.
Dad, that's the costume you and mom
wore to the eerie dress up in Hodown.
Which end were you?
The rear.
Mom and Daddy caved without a fight.
But surely Carrie could never be normal.
But it's the perfect music mix.
Well, it might be perfect, but it
is not typical of a girl your age.
You should have 32.6% of a rock.
9.3% pop.
And 0.8% country.
That's unfortunate, but But I like
movie music like last tango in Argentina.
No tango music.
It's the music of broken dreams.
It shreds young girls' hearts.
How many boyfriends do you have?
Two.
How often do you talk to the mama fall?
An hour a day, and I suppose
you think that's too much.
On the contrary, you
should have 3.5 boyfriends.
You should talk to them 4.7 hours a day.
Carrie was okay at math, but
she was an absolute genius when
it came to calculating her
maximum number of boyfriends.
Well, Jack's a 10, so he
counts as one with a boyfriend.
And Billy's a 7, so that gives me
1.7, which leaves me with 1.8 more.
So, I could either find 3 guys who
are 6's, or get rid of Jack and find 2.5's.
Agnes' median and her statistics
had ruled over my entire family.
It didn't take rocket science to figure
out that Stanley and me would be next.
Well, well, what kind of nasty little
deviations are you boys hiding away up here?
79% of boys with overactive
imaginations prefer playing in the shadows.
Heaven just knows why.
But your secrecy is perfectly normal.
It's even normal the way
you tried to cover up that box.
What's in it?
Uh, nothing important.
Baseball cards.
Toy soldiers.
Monster models.
Useless junk.
Typical of boys like you.
Yeah.
Typical.
What?
Where did you?
Oh, we took it just
outside the old water tower.
Where was this?
A month ago Tuesday.
The full moon?
Oh.
The odds against citing alien
spaceships are 4 million to one.
We know what we saw.
No, it can be dangerous, young man.
I really have to pay
a visit to your father.
Mm-hmm.
Boys without proper
fatherly guidance are
statistically more prone to
being shipped out of Erie.
more than any other type of boy.
I'm sure your father would understand that.
Morning, son.
Morning, Dad.
Waffles will be on the
table in 10.5 minutes.
I think I'm gonna have some cereal.
Waffles say who we are as a family.
Who's in the attic?
Oh, that's just Miss Median.
You can't do this.
Son.
Miss Medians get statistics on her side.
Here's her the right to
pluck nose from your hair.
Hair from your nose.
If she feels it's necessary.
Take everything, ma'am.
Removing this rubbish will
improve your family's average scores.
You just want to hide the truth about Erie.
The truth is that the
chance of finding all these
peculiar objects in one
attic is infinitesimally small.
Ergo, they should not be here.
You have a nice family, Mitchell.
It would be a shame if you skewed their
numbers and made them deviate from the norm.
Because then Erie deviations are adjusted.
The last time I was adjusted
was in the sixth grade
when a doctor put back
my dislocated shoulder.
I remember a loud cracking sound
before I passed out from the pain.
Something told me this time
I'd enjoy myself even less.
Agnes had started using the word adjusted
right after she saw the photo of our UFO.
Before that, she thought our evidence
was just depressingly normal kid stuff.
Maybe she knows more than she's letting on.
Where you going?
To talk to the man who knows
everything about everything.
Erie wise at least.
Shouldn't we worry about
getting me a father first?
Maybe Crawford can help us with that too.
Statistics 378, Part B, Subsection 2.
What's going on?
Buckle here should have
used only one sugary's coffee.
Kind of makes you sick, doesn't it?
I warned him. You can't tell some people.
Mr. Crawford, will you be my father?
Yes.
You will?
Well, yes, statistically the most
popular answer to a yes, no question.
Will you take me to a ball game?
No. Statistically, most fathers don't
spend enough quality time with their sons.
So, black cows all around?
Did you know Agnes median
when she was growing up here?
Keep it down, will you?
You want to get us adjusted?
What?
Look, fellas, believe me, you do not
want to annoy an official from the BS.
We already have.
Make her twitch?
Uh-huh, yep.
If something I can get
you to eat, I'll ask Mio.
How about a blindfold?
We want to know about Agnes median.
All right, I'm putting my
life on the line for you too.
I can't fuse a last request.
I'm by dancing days.
Recognize anybody?
Agnes?
She was a splendid woman back then.
A vision of tempestuous beauty.
What happened?
I blame it all on the mysterious Armando.
It was 20 years ago.
At a Tom and Lorna's
convention center in Truxtop.
The eerie singles mix and mingle
were holding their annual tango contest.
A tribute to the forbidden dance of love.
It was a full moon that night, my friends.
I did everything by the book.
The Corrida, the Cominada,
the Gancho, even the Molianet.
But then Agnes took the floor.
And on her arm, the mysterious Armando.
From the second he
placed the one perfect Rose
in her teeth and
whirled her onto the floor.
The crowd was hypnotized.
Armando knew secrets
only the great masters know.
And Agnes was spectacular.
Wild and free utterly without restraint.
She was always a Vixen with
the way she danced that night.
I couldn't take my eyes off her.
All right, so I missed one little step.
Believe me, I've paid for it.
I haven't tangled since that night.
Well, what happened to Armando?
That, my friends, that word gets,
you'll pardon the expression, weird.
See, Agnes came back the
next day, saying he was an alien.
And that he was coming back in his
ship, the next full moon, to marry her.
But you never saw Armando again.
Poor Agnes.
Yeah, poor Agnes.
All that heartache and humiliation drove
her straight into the Bureau of Statistics.
But deep inside, who knows?
You don't easily forget
to tangaro like Armando.
This was the very song
they were playing that night.
Mr. Crawford, can we borrow
your scrapbook and record player?
Sure, why not?
The last dance before they take you away?
I don't think I'm much
in the mood for dancing.
Don't you get it? Tonight's a full moon.
Statistically a night of romance.
And alien encounters.
We know all about
Armando, and we believe you.
You know he's an alien.
I've never seen an alien. I never will.
I never want to.
Aliens do not exist.
Oh, yeah?
Well, then come out to the
water tower and prove us wrong.
Agheria, you dare me?
32% of all adults are tempted
by Dares' 45% of the time.
And regret it, seven times out of ten.
If aliens don't exist, you'll
have nothing to regret.
All right. I'll go.
After three hours
in that field, Stanley
and I were getting
pretty twitchy ourselves.
Agnes never moved, except once
when she wiped her hand across her eyes.
Maybe it was a teardrop.
But I wasn't seeing too straight by then.
We'd bet on a long shot and lost.
Thank you, boys. I needed that.
It confirms how badly you
are in need of adjustment.
We were doomed, dead, daffy,
ducked, ready to buy the farm.
But then, Erie finally came through.
Agnes.
You stirred me up.
Never. I was a few years late, that's all.
I'd forgotten my watch was
still set on Venusian time.
But I've come back here
every full moon since.
I am 20 years older.
I am not the same woman you loved.
No. You are as beautiful now
as on the night we first met.
Am I dreaming?
Can I really dance in your arms again?
Dance with me now.
A true tangaro is the ultimate lover.
His dance is the expression of his love.
Oh no. Time to go or we'll
miss the next space one.
You're leaving?
We are leaving. Are you ready?
I have impact. My hair is perfect.
And I know a planet with an
all-night shopping mall and casino.
We can get married tonight.
Oh, don't ever stop believing.
I think they'll ever come back.
I'd say there's about a
one in a billion chance.
But this is serious.
I keep your camera loaded.
Hey Mitchell, I was thinking.
Maybe I should keep Crawford as my father.
Nah.
It makes a sort of twisted sense
that the only person besides me
and Stanley who knows about Erie's true
weirdness is doing the tango in warp space.
I do solemnly swear that everything
I am about to tell you is true.
A spill of weirdness
from another dimension
turned my hometown into the center
of weirdness for the entire universe.
Don't believe me?
Just watch.
For months now, Stanley and me have
been fighting the biggest lie there is.
Namely that Erie is the most
normal town in the country.
You just have to look out your
door to see what's going on here.
But even my own family would
rather believe the statistics.
The society of certifiable UFO observers.
Oh honey, where did we go wrong?
Dad, seriously, I need
parental consent to join.
Well, what about the corn scouts, or 4-H?
Cows can be fun.
Alright, Mom, Dad, if my picture wins,
Stanley and me could win a $500 prize.
See, there's a UFO right there.
Mitchell, I'm a scientist.
Dad, it was a real UFO. We saw it.
What's going on out there?
Stay calm, Mrs. Taylor.
We're here on the official business.
This median is from BS,
the Bureau of Statistics.
She needs a few answers from you.
The right answers.
Well, I could have a few
moments of your time.
The entire country would be grateful.
This is a very special household.
According to our statistics, Erie is
the most normal town in America.
And this house is at the exact
geographical center of Erie.
That makes you, the
country's most normal family.
Please, come in.
If I'd known you were coming,
I would have vacuumed.
On the contrary, a certain amount
of carpet lent is statistically desirable.
Oh!
Who are you?
Mitchell?
The average family has
3.1 members this boy,
but to nine-tenths of a
person over the desirable limit.
Oh, but we wanted Mitchell.
Didn't we, Edward?
Oh, of course we did.
Yeah, absolutely.
For now, we'll record him as a
standard deviation of minor consequence.
I'll have my eye on him, though.
Thank you.
In typical Erie style, our UFO photo
would soon seem downright ordinary.
Agnes median was about to
unleash a tidal wave of normalcy,
one that might even wash
away our entire family.
One thing I've always liked about my family,
they're light years away from normal.
But all that was going to change
if Agnes median had her way.
You haven't got one answer right.
It doesn't make any sense.
If you're not the most normal family in the
country, what are you doing in this house?
Living here?
That young man can be remedied.
Talking about, this is our house.
They can't make us move.
I've already labeled everything
I own with this address.
There might be a simple,
painless solution to our problem.
We'll use a form, 1363L.
We tested on data or
populations that might be tainted.
If you ask me, it's Erie that's tainted.
It's not possible. I know I grew up here.
Now.
Everyone go off and do their
business as though I'm not here.
I'll handle the rest.
You little man.
Stanley.
Shouldn't you be at home
with your mother and father?
My mom's at work.
And your father?
He's out doing the weekly groceries.
Right, Stanley?
Oh, yeah, yeah.
He left a couple of hours ago.
Then he should be back by now.
The weekly shopping
area only takes 1.6 hours.
Mitchell, I think she
knows I don't have a father.
What's she gonna do?
I think we'd rather not find out.
The cereal is normally kept
in the cupboard by the fridge.
And the average family only buys one
generic brand for every two game brands.
I'll go shopping tomorrow.
Where do you keep your waffle iron?
Maybe it's a Oh, we
don't have a waffle iron.
The average family has
waffles 6.3 times a month.
Waffle irons make a statement.
They say, normal.
You know, it's funny.
I was just looking at a
waffle iron at the world of stuff.
Maybe I'll slip out this
afternoon and pick that up.
From cereal mom to
waffle mom in 3.2 minutes.
And as for dad.
That's Mitchell and
Stanley's Halloween costume.
Dad, that's the costume you and mom
wore to the eerie dress up in Hodown.
Which end were you?
The rear.
Mom and Daddy caved without a fight.
But surely Carrie could never be normal.
But it's the perfect music mix.
Well, it might be perfect, but it
is not typical of a girl your age.
You should have 32.6% of a rock.
9.3% pop.
And 0.8% country.
That's unfortunate, but But I like
movie music like last tango in Argentina.
No tango music.
It's the music of broken dreams.
It shreds young girls' hearts.
How many boyfriends do you have?
Two.
How often do you talk to the mama fall?
An hour a day, and I suppose
you think that's too much.
On the contrary, you
should have 3.5 boyfriends.
You should talk to them 4.7 hours a day.
Carrie was okay at math, but
she was an absolute genius when
it came to calculating her
maximum number of boyfriends.
Well, Jack's a 10, so he
counts as one with a boyfriend.
And Billy's a 7, so that gives me
1.7, which leaves me with 1.8 more.
So, I could either find 3 guys who
are 6's, or get rid of Jack and find 2.5's.
Agnes' median and her statistics
had ruled over my entire family.
It didn't take rocket science to figure
out that Stanley and me would be next.
Well, well, what kind of nasty little
deviations are you boys hiding away up here?
79% of boys with overactive
imaginations prefer playing in the shadows.
Heaven just knows why.
But your secrecy is perfectly normal.
It's even normal the way
you tried to cover up that box.
What's in it?
Uh, nothing important.
Baseball cards.
Toy soldiers.
Monster models.
Useless junk.
Typical of boys like you.
Yeah.
Typical.
What?
Where did you?
Oh, we took it just
outside the old water tower.
Where was this?
A month ago Tuesday.
The full moon?
Oh.
The odds against citing alien
spaceships are 4 million to one.
We know what we saw.
No, it can be dangerous, young man.
I really have to pay
a visit to your father.
Mm-hmm.
Boys without proper
fatherly guidance are
statistically more prone to
being shipped out of Erie.
more than any other type of boy.
I'm sure your father would understand that.
Morning, son.
Morning, Dad.
Waffles will be on the
table in 10.5 minutes.
I think I'm gonna have some cereal.
Waffles say who we are as a family.
Who's in the attic?
Oh, that's just Miss Median.
You can't do this.
Son.
Miss Medians get statistics on her side.
Here's her the right to
pluck nose from your hair.
Hair from your nose.
If she feels it's necessary.
Take everything, ma'am.
Removing this rubbish will
improve your family's average scores.
You just want to hide the truth about Erie.
The truth is that the
chance of finding all these
peculiar objects in one
attic is infinitesimally small.
Ergo, they should not be here.
You have a nice family, Mitchell.
It would be a shame if you skewed their
numbers and made them deviate from the norm.
Because then Erie deviations are adjusted.
The last time I was adjusted
was in the sixth grade
when a doctor put back
my dislocated shoulder.
I remember a loud cracking sound
before I passed out from the pain.
Something told me this time
I'd enjoy myself even less.
Agnes had started using the word adjusted
right after she saw the photo of our UFO.
Before that, she thought our evidence
was just depressingly normal kid stuff.
Maybe she knows more than she's letting on.
Where you going?
To talk to the man who knows
everything about everything.
Erie wise at least.
Shouldn't we worry about
getting me a father first?
Maybe Crawford can help us with that too.
Statistics 378, Part B, Subsection 2.
What's going on?
Buckle here should have
used only one sugary's coffee.
Kind of makes you sick, doesn't it?
I warned him. You can't tell some people.
Mr. Crawford, will you be my father?
Yes.
You will?
Well, yes, statistically the most
popular answer to a yes, no question.
Will you take me to a ball game?
No. Statistically, most fathers don't
spend enough quality time with their sons.
So, black cows all around?
Did you know Agnes median
when she was growing up here?
Keep it down, will you?
You want to get us adjusted?
What?
Look, fellas, believe me, you do not
want to annoy an official from the BS.
We already have.
Make her twitch?
Uh-huh, yep.
If something I can get
you to eat, I'll ask Mio.
How about a blindfold?
We want to know about Agnes median.
All right, I'm putting my
life on the line for you too.
I can't fuse a last request.
I'm by dancing days.
Recognize anybody?
Agnes?
She was a splendid woman back then.
A vision of tempestuous beauty.
What happened?
I blame it all on the mysterious Armando.
It was 20 years ago.
At a Tom and Lorna's
convention center in Truxtop.
The eerie singles mix and mingle
were holding their annual tango contest.
A tribute to the forbidden dance of love.
It was a full moon that night, my friends.
I did everything by the book.
The Corrida, the Cominada,
the Gancho, even the Molianet.
But then Agnes took the floor.
And on her arm, the mysterious Armando.
From the second he
placed the one perfect Rose
in her teeth and
whirled her onto the floor.
The crowd was hypnotized.
Armando knew secrets
only the great masters know.
And Agnes was spectacular.
Wild and free utterly without restraint.
She was always a Vixen with
the way she danced that night.
I couldn't take my eyes off her.
All right, so I missed one little step.
Believe me, I've paid for it.
I haven't tangled since that night.
Well, what happened to Armando?
That, my friends, that word gets,
you'll pardon the expression, weird.
See, Agnes came back the
next day, saying he was an alien.
And that he was coming back in his
ship, the next full moon, to marry her.
But you never saw Armando again.
Poor Agnes.
Yeah, poor Agnes.
All that heartache and humiliation drove
her straight into the Bureau of Statistics.
But deep inside, who knows?
You don't easily forget
to tangaro like Armando.
This was the very song
they were playing that night.
Mr. Crawford, can we borrow
your scrapbook and record player?
Sure, why not?
The last dance before they take you away?
I don't think I'm much
in the mood for dancing.
Don't you get it? Tonight's a full moon.
Statistically a night of romance.
And alien encounters.
We know all about
Armando, and we believe you.
You know he's an alien.
I've never seen an alien. I never will.
I never want to.
Aliens do not exist.
Oh, yeah?
Well, then come out to the
water tower and prove us wrong.
Agheria, you dare me?
32% of all adults are tempted
by Dares' 45% of the time.
And regret it, seven times out of ten.
If aliens don't exist, you'll
have nothing to regret.
All right. I'll go.
After three hours
in that field, Stanley
and I were getting
pretty twitchy ourselves.
Agnes never moved, except once
when she wiped her hand across her eyes.
Maybe it was a teardrop.
But I wasn't seeing too straight by then.
We'd bet on a long shot and lost.
Thank you, boys. I needed that.
It confirms how badly you
are in need of adjustment.
We were doomed, dead, daffy,
ducked, ready to buy the farm.
But then, Erie finally came through.
Agnes.
You stirred me up.
Never. I was a few years late, that's all.
I'd forgotten my watch was
still set on Venusian time.
But I've come back here
every full moon since.
I am 20 years older.
I am not the same woman you loved.
No. You are as beautiful now
as on the night we first met.
Am I dreaming?
Can I really dance in your arms again?
Dance with me now.
A true tangaro is the ultimate lover.
His dance is the expression of his love.
Oh no. Time to go or we'll
miss the next space one.
You're leaving?
We are leaving. Are you ready?
I have impact. My hair is perfect.
And I know a planet with an
all-night shopping mall and casino.
We can get married tonight.
Oh, don't ever stop believing.
I think they'll ever come back.
I'd say there's about a
one in a billion chance.
But this is serious.
I keep your camera loaded.
Hey Mitchell, I was thinking.
Maybe I should keep Crawford as my father.
Nah.
It makes a sort of twisted sense
that the only person besides me
and Stanley who knows about Erie's true
weirdness is doing the tango in warp space.