Another Period (2015) s01e07 Episode Script

1 [music.]
Oh, I hate reading the newspaper.
They cover all the important society women.
Why not me? Look at this one.
"Esmerelda Franco, age 52.
Left behind 2 children - and 77 grandchildren.
" - That's an obituary.
Well, I agree with Lillian.
Look! Why is there this stupid Str-- St-- Ugh, that damn Stringburger baby! - Yes! - She gets all the attention now-- she got lucky.
She's in the paper every day.
Have a little perspective.
- That girl was abducted.
- She's not a girl.
She's a baby, and she's not even pretty.
I don't understand why some stupid kidnapped baby is getting all this attention.
I have eight babies of my own, and I can't give them away.
An innocent girl was kidnapped! I'd say that deserves a little attention.
Damn it, you're right.
If a stupid baby who can't read, write, or make love is making headlines, imagine the hubbub if America's sweetheart went missing.
- Helen Keller? - Santa Claus? - Susan B Anthony? - Frederick? - Harry Houdini.
- I'm talking about me! I'm talking about me.
[main title playing.]
[whistling music.]
Hey! Psst.
I hear you're the type of guy who's not afraid to get - his hands dirty.
- What? I hear you are a deranged criminal.
Oh, that.
Well, one man's Jew tracker is another man's Jew-- I didn't come here for anecdotes from a dogman.
Well, why did you come here, princess? I want you to kidnap me.
I want to ride that wave of abduction fame that's all the rage right now.
Well, that depends what you're offering.
What do I think kidnapping's going to be like? Hmm.
Maybe a little R&R.
Perhaps a maritime retreat to Nova Scotia for a gravlox tasting! Come later today, after my hot-air-balloon lesson.
Oh, and do me a favor.
Make sure to bathe.
Can't have my shoulder smelling like a beef roast.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Like shit.
[bell tolling.]
You rang, Madam? Yes.
I need something from you.
You've already had enough morphine to kill a ragtime singer.
No.
I've been invited to a "Meeting of The Minds" luncheon at Mark Twain's home in Providence.
I simply must go, but cannot be unattended.
I need you to put on one of my husband's suits and accompany me to the luncheon, never betraying to anyone that you are not he.
They'll discover the charade immediately.
I-- I carry myself like a servant.
Look.
Do you see? The unsightly gait of a common flea! I'm little better than a Gypsy.
Half a step removed from Mongoloid.
No, Madam, I-- I beg you.
It will never work.
It's simply unthinkable.
It is an order.
As you wish, Madam.
No, Blanche, I said I wanted this dress.
Oh, but Miss Beatrice, this is the exact same dress.
Blanche, I'm not an idiot.
This one is small.
That one is big.
Aah! I hate you! Where did you get this dress? In town? Burn it! I look ugly all the time! You hate me, Blanche! You hate me! That's why you make me dress like this! I'm sorry, Miss Beatrice.
I-- Emotions aren't something I understand, but I just keep screaming until I get my way, vomit, or get my way.
Clean up the mess you made, Blanche! "Sincerely, The Kidnapper.
" [whimsical music.]
Oh, farmers.
Oh, farmers.
Farmers.
[moaning.]
[screaming.]
[shouting.]
What is all that howling and crashing? It's just Beatrice's Wednesday tantrum.
She'll vomit, and then men-stru-ate, and then all will be well.
One more, below the 86th parallel.
- Garfield.
- Mm-hmm.
I've never been more afraid.
Don't worry.
You'll do great! I'm not talking about myself, you syphilitic chimney sweep! I'm talking about you running things in my absence.
If so much as a single cob of corn is out of place when I return, I'll shove it into your rectum along with your termination notice.
One more.
You must clean this up, Blanche.
Don't be an idiot.
Don't be-- Don't be an idiot.
[music.]
I do spend a lot of time in Paris.
[music.]
Why, Peepers, you look almost human.
Madam, I assure you I am not.
Shall I lash myself to the roof, or stuff myself in the trunk? Oh, no, no.
You'll ride in back with me.
Oh, no, Madam.
My bottom was not meant for comfortable things, and it would not be proper.
It is an order.
As you wish, Madam.
Really? [gasps.]
- [tense music.]
- Oh.
Hello.
Are you lost? Did you wander into the wrong manor? Where are your lady's maids? Do you want to be best friends? - I don't understand.
What-- - Come on.
What-- I don't.
I don't think Beatrice knows it's me! Then again, I once saw her get into an argument with an egg, and she lost, so.
[sobbing.]
[music.]
How dare you treat me so roughly? - What the hell was that? - An abduction.
What do you think a kidnapping is, huh? A short sabbatical followed by international acclaim.
I'm the former Under-Duchess to former Lower Bavaria! Well, you're the current duchess of my dirt floor.
Now, would you care for some tea, Madam? Finally, a little service around here.
Oops.
I spilled.
Clean it up, piggy.
And while you're at it [groaning.]
clean that up too.
If you think I'm going anywhere near that festering mass of boils you call your penis, you're wrong.
How do you know that they're festering? You been thinking about them? Oh, you just you wait until my family finds my ransom note! You'll be sorry! Ah! I'll slit your throat, princess.
[music.]
Maybe I was being a little rough on her, but, hey, she said she wanted it to seem real.
And also, in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have poured boiling water on my genitals.
[music.]
Mr.
Mark Twain.
Dodo! What a pleasure to see you again.
Last I saw you, I had the sour-mash shits at your daughter's husband's fake funeral.
Nasty affair that turned out to be.
The funeral or the shits? This is my husband, The Commodore.
- [glass shatters.]
- Oh, Blanche, I think you might be the best friend I've ever had.
Except for my bed, David, but he's more like family.
Well, the last 30 minutes have been really amazing for me too.
- Can I tell you a secret? - Yes.
We had this servant.
Her name was Anna.
That's my sister--'s name.
Oh! Funny.
Well, Anna ran away.
Only she didn't run away.
She's in a box, under my bed.
At least, I think she is.
I haven't checked in a while.
Oh! Uh-- everyone needs hobbies.
Garfield, have Blanche fetch my friend a sandwich.
Oh, but Lady Beatrice, this is Blanche.
I just said Blanche.
You're so stupid! See, sometimes you have to be mean to them.
They respond better that way.
Ooh, try it! Well, I'm not sure that I can do that.
You can do it.
Garfield.
Mm-hmm? You look like you have rickets.
Oh.
How did you know? Not like that! Garfield.
Yes, ma'am? You're fired.
I'm a what? - You're fired.
- I'm fired? I-- This is the worst day of my life! Oh, God! I can't be fired! I'm just kidding.
You're not fired.
Oh, very good.
I love to watch the light go out in their eyes.
Oh, you got me good-- But get her that sandwich.
Yes, right away.
I'll have to show you Anna later.
Yes, please.
[whistling.]
Yes.
That's a good little piggy.
Clean it up.
You know what? Cook me dinner.
What's that? It's a potato.
Where's the silver tray? Where's the beurre blanc? Just cook it.
Not with your hands.
Teeth.
[music.]
Now, let us begin with an absinthe toast! Raise your glasses.
Mmm.
Drink up, Commodore! Allow me to introduce today's guests.
The wild-haired superstar of Russian Marxism, Leon Trotsky! I am just here to further the cause of the working class.
Our next guest is a lawyer who's gotten me out of many a fraud charge.
Mohandas Gandhi, everyone! I'm just here for the white women.
(Mark Twain) You wicked Oriental elf.
What are you doing, man? Are you attempting to serve a warm bisque with a gazpacho spoon? What is this, the beer hall? The Commodore is a-- a stickler for silverware.
I am a stickler for the barest standards of propriety from a butler! Why is Blanche acting like she isn't one of us? I mean, it must be switcheroo day.
There is no switcheroo day.
Beatrice is such an idiot, she can't tell Blanche is a servant, because she's wearing her dress.
But Beatrice can't be an idiot.
She lives upstairs! Sounds like you need to switcheroo your attitude, [chuckles.]
Chair.
Ready to clean, Eileen? "Yes, Garfield!" Don't get jealous, Towel.
I always say, "Have enough servants to satisfy your every whim, but not enough to murder your family.
" Excellent point, Madam-- wife-- madam wife.
Families should only be murdered during revolution.
- Gandhi, boy? A rebuttal? - Well, no offense, but you sound like you belong to the bitch caste.
I was raped in a gulag by Cossacks.
Do you think your insults mean anything to me? I don't know what a gulag is, but I will send you right back there! - Come here! - Mr.
Ghandi! Mr.
Ghandi, Mr.
Trotsky, please! Spirited debate is one thing.
Violence is quite another.
Non-violence.
I had never thought of that.
Because I'm not a little bitch! Ah! Dear God, please free me.
And if you have time, make me really famous.
And while you're at it, God, would you mind killing all my enemies in a fire? Ooh, but hopefully after they bathe, so their hair's still wet and the fire takes longer to cook them.
Ah! Praying to God, huh? You silly little piggy.
What's the latest gossip in town about my kidnapping? Has a search party been sent out? Are the banks closed? Well, actually, there's a real pleasantness in the air.
Like some horrible lingering fart just left the room.
You know, at first I was able to accept your abuse as a realistic detail in a curated kidnapping experience, but-- you're just rude, and I've taken enough abuse from you, and I want to go home! Fine! You can go.
I won't stop you.
But I imagine the newspapers will be very interested to know that you hired me to kidnap you.
Ugh, you're a monster! - [laughs.]
- [grunting.]
Penis-size-wise, you're correct.
[chuckles.]
Your breath smells like broth.
So you'll stay? I don't suppose I have any other choice, do I? No.
No choice.
No choice at all.
[suggestive music.]
Life is not possible without the working man.
Point for the Jew! Without the rich, the serving class would have nothing to do but gamble, eat taffy, and drink gasoline! But the serving class suffers! As we should! Uhh-- they should! As they should! Just imag-- a thought.
A thought, everybody.
What would happen if everybody had enough food? Uh, we would all have something to eat.
No! Well, yes, probably.
But then what? Laziness.
Sloth.
Soon, nobody would do anything.
There are always people who have to do the jobs that nobody else wants to do.
If the Chinamen had enough to eat, he wouldn't want to string the telegraph wires, would he? Look, I don't like Chinamen either, but it's still not fair.
We have such a thing in this world as order.
The strong rule the weak.
If there were only strong, overpopulation ensues! Soon there will be one billion people on this planet.
Do you think our planet can afford one billion people? Of course not! The planet itself will sink down into space and explode.
I'm having a great time.
I am The Commodore.
- Hear, hear.
- Hear, hear.
Well played.
- Ah! - Ah! Take me! All right.
I'll take you, I guess-- Ah, yeah.
Ah! Yeah-- Oh, sorry.
Sorry.
Is your hair okay? - Take me! - Okay, yeah, sure.
- I'll-- I'll-- I'll take you-- - Give it to me! I'll take you.
Yeah, no, just one second here, and we are off to the races-- - Give me it! - One second, and-- one second.
- Uh-huh.
Yes.
- Just one sec-- okay.
Oh, no-- oh, oh, oh, oh! Here we go.
- Yeah-- No.
There.
One second.
- Ow.
Oops! I dropped my fork.
Oh, no, that's okay, Garfield.
I'd like Chair to do it.
[music.]
You're going to regret this.
Oops! I dropped my fork, too.
Chair, stop making me drop things! Oh, I would like an oyster, please.
Hmm.
Actually, I changed my mind.
I don't want an oyster.
Oh, I do.
Of course, now that I'm thinking about it, I would like an oyster.
I feel like I should have one first.
Thank you.
Will you feed it to me? Thank you, Chair.
Oops! I dropped my fork again.
[laughter.]
Oh.
Oh, whoops.
I know I'm not supposed to feed the animals.
- Oops! - [laughs.]
(both) Meat Face! Meat Face! Meat Face! They chose the wrong bitch to throw meat at.
This doesn't usually happen to me-- No, no, I know.
- Was it because of me? - It wasn't because of you.
I guess it kind of ruined things when you said you were into it.
Not that I didn't want you to be into it, but-- I just didn't want you to tell me that you were into it.
It ruins it for me.
Next time I'll be sure to cry and vomit.
- I'm gonna go-- - I-- I think you should go.
You were marvelous this evening.
That's why they call you the Commodore.
- I'm your butler-- - I must repay you for your brilliant performance this evening.
I'm going to blow your bellows.
Oh, no, no, no.
No, no, I cannot allow such a thing.
No, no.
No.
Madam, I cannot allow such a proposition.
Unbutton! That is an order! [laughs.]
As you wish, Madam.
Ohh! Blanche.
Almost happy to see you.
Now, I had the worst day.
Get me a poultice, a dildo, and a soft French cheese.
- Yes, my lady.
- Where's Beatrice? She has oyster diarrhea, my lady.
- [flatulence.]
- What are you doing in that dress? Take that off immediately! - Yes, my lady.
- [grunting.]
Now, I'll be in my room, waiting on that dildo.
- Yes, my lady.
- Heat it up in the bath first.
Yes, my lady.
[toilet flushing.]
Hello, Blanche, have you seen my new friend Bla-- Wait a minute.
You're not Blanche the person.
You're Blanche the servant! Get out of my room! I never want to see you again, unless you're bringing me breakfast, so I'll see you in the morning! Yes.
What would you like for breakfast? - Eggs Beatrice! - Yes, my lady.
I'm sorry, my lady.
[grunts.]
Oh! I like this dress! Mmm.
Oh, I knew the whole time.
I was just having fun.
[electronic music.]
Peepers, I don't mean to be a Nosy Parker, but I must tell you something quite shocking.
What is it, Chair? Blanche spent all of yesterday in one of Beatrice's dresses, impersonating an upper-class woman.
Hmm.
Well, I think we can let this little impropriety slide.
We all deserve a switcheroo every now and again, eh, Chair? - But, sir-- - Ooh, speaking of butts, Chair, there is an oyster situation in Beatrice's water closet that I need you to attend to post haste.
Go.
Muddy, muddy, scrubby, scrubby.
I'll need you to skin those potatoes.
Ask the cook.
Not my job! Turns out I'm your boss.
So it's your job now, piggy.
Great.
Now you get hard! [peaceful music.]
Oh! Oh, ho, Peepers! Oh, what happened last night? I don't remember anything after the toast.
Oh-- no, nothing.
I'm never drinking absinthe again.
That reminds me, I have a pair of soiled bloomers from last night that need laundering.
So you-- take care of that, will you? Muddy, muddy, scrubby, scrubby.
As you wish, Madam.