Robot Chicken s08e08 Episode Script
Blackout Window Heat Stroke
[Whirring.]
[Theme music plays.]
[Whirring.]
Man: It's alive! 8x09 - Blackout Window Heat Stroke [Thunder rumbles.]
- He was the bingo caller.
- B-13.
A very unlucky number.
I better call her.
Our investigator has a few questions for you.
I must warn you, she's a little unorthodox.
[Sings fanfare.]
[Music.]
[Bell dings.]
[Grunts.]
What's up, [bleep.]
nuts? Damn, I haven't seen this much white hair since Steve Martin sucked Leslie Nielsen's [bleep.]
.
- Allegedly.
- Bitch Pudding, please! - You, raisin [bleep.]
.
- My name is Anabelle Timulti.
Your name is guilty as a mother [bleep.]
unless you've got an alibi, bar-of-soap-in-a-sock tits.
I was here, playing bingo.
One more lie out of that shit nozzle you call a mouth, and I'll leave a boot print in your front butt.
- Leave her alone, you! - The floor recognizes that [bleep.]
ass, shit-covered [bleep.]
sucker with the pussy-ass cane.
Reginald was a good man! Why would someone murder him? Maybe because he was emptying his bingo balls up your fat-ass wife's cigar cutter, you quibbling bowl of pickle dicks.
- What?! [Gasps.]
Why, you - Gun! [Grunts.]
You assaulted a 94-year-old man.
- He sassed me.
- Bitch Pudding, I make it my business to understand what makes people tick.
For example, why would a highly-respected actor play not one, but two roles in a low-quality TV show? Well, perhaps his brother-in-law invented the motorcycle that runs on water-softener pellets, and that actor invested heavily without doing his due diligence.
- Uh - But your behavior has no explanation.
If you don't solve this crime by midnight, I'm throwing you away and locking up the key.
And remember my motto no second takes.
[Bangs gavel.]
Damn it, B.
P.
! Why did you call me out here in the middle of the night? The bingo ball that killed the victim didn't match the others at the scene.
It was made of a polyvinyl chloride with an antiquated flat-lay plasticizer, only used by this factory, dipshit.
- But you don't have a warrant.
- Here's my warrant.
[Grunts.]
Now, like I was saying, here's my warrant.
[Gunshot.]
Oh, damn, I'm hit! [Sings fanfare.]
[Grunting.]
[Grunts.]
[Screaming.]
[Buzzes.]
All those in favor of the death penalty, say, "eye.
" Ooh, that's gross.
[Click, whirring.]
[Thud.]
So hard seeing your friends die every day.
Me, I just keep on surviving! Man: Ooh, awesome an apple! Oh, this is it sweet release! Death, I walk willingly into your arms! I can't wait to core that apple and stick my [bleep.]
in it! - Oh! [Thud.]
- I'm Rod Serling Banana.
Be careful what you wish for.
Good advice when you enter Ooh, that banana looks like a perfect fit for the old butthole! Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Oh [Thud.]
Gentlemen, I give you the M&M.
It comes in yellow, green, red, and violet.
But we think there should be a fifth color.
- Any suggestions? - How about brown? Larry, for Chri There's already chocolate inside.
The point is that there's a brightly colored candy shell! - How about brown?! - Are you even listening to me?! Brown isn't fun.
Brown isn't attractive.
- Brown? - Larry, what is wrong with you? The brown dye people have my kids.
They have my [bleep.]
kids! [music.]
[Theme music playing.]
Excuse me, sir, does your dog nunchuck people? - What? No! - Good doggie! Ow, ow! That's not my dog! [Theme music playing.]
A celestial air hovers overhead.
We must leave our physical form and join it before the world ends.
- Hey, Kool-aid! - Oh, yeah! Oh, no! Oh, please, no! Not another cult! I don't know what your leader told you, but you don't have to die! [Sobbing.]
It's Jonestown all over again! [Sobs.]
[Theme music playing.]
I'm giving you the chocolate factory, Charlie.
- Oh, gosh! Why? - You have a trusting heart, my child.
Just sign here.
Charles Bucket, as the legal owner of the chocolate factory, you are held responsible for the deaths and/or maiming of Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Mike Teevee, and Violet Beauregarde.
You've won a golden ticket to the electric chair.
Do you have anything to say? I'll see Willy Wonka in hell, your honor! Noted.
[Bangs gavel.]
Hmm, murdering children was fun while it lasted, but I can live with this, too.
Finger in your snozzberry, sir? [Crack!.]
[Groans.]
It finally came! [Stammering.]
[Sniffling.]
Mom, I didn't get into Monsters U.
Woman: Well, that's why you applied to a safety school in the sewer, honey.
Oh, I don't want to go to brown.
I'm gonna dedicate my life to stopping all injustice in the world.
Like when the white man decimated my people - as they raped the land? - No.
Yeah, I so tap her on the shoulder, - you know, just to get her attention.
- Uh-huh, of course.
Well, all of a sudden, her friends come out of nowhere.
They start pissing all over us.
- You don't need that.
- I don't need that.
- You're too tall to be a jockey.
- But it's my dream! It's time you learned dreams don't come true.
I guess my racing dream is dead.
Well, that's what a pussy would say.
Well, what do you know about it? You're not a horse, you're a unicorn.
A unicorn's just a horse who's a little more horny than usual.
Forget I just said that.
Pretend I said, "hop aboard, I'm a wild ride!" Forget I just said that also.
Pretend I said, "right now, I'm the only horse you've got.
" That seems pretty innocuous.
Yeah! I'm I'm gonna achieve my dream! Hey! We're so far behind the other jockeys! - Like hard, ripe, little apples.
- Uh, what? Yeah, you mentioned jockey behinds.
Last place?! Thanks for nothing! You're the one with the dream.
- What's my incentive, hmm? - Uh, food, shelter, oats.
Well, sometimes dreams require a little more hard work, or perhaps doing things that might haunt you long after the thrill of accomplishing your dream has subsided.
[Nickers.]
Are you saying you'll win the race if I Give me the hummer of a lifetime! So you finally gave up on your dreams, huh? Dreams are gross.
Holy [bleep.]
Your horse just won! I guess all he needed was a better jockey.
Unicorn: Oh, Bentley! Yes, play it like an oboe! That's right! Now do "flight of the Bumblebee.
" [Nickers.]
Oh, whoo, whoo! Oh, whoa! [Music.]
[Cheers and applause.]
Dang, son! It don't matter who rides him, as long as it isn't you! [Bell tolls.]
I can't believe all those jockeys are dead.
- You the only one left, son.
- Hey, you're right! Justin, if you're seeing this, then every jockey in the country is dead from a rare strain of horse throat gonorrhea.
I realized how wrong I was to blackmail you over our partnership.
Killing all of your competition was my way of putting things right.
But if I'd given you that hummer, I would have died, too.
In case you think giving me a hummer would have killed you, too, I want to assure you that I would have finished in your hair, like a friend.
Good-bye, partner.
Yeah! Well, you won your first race.
And just in time, too.
The state's shutting down horse racing indefinitely until they figure out what killed those jockeys.
I know what killed those jockeys, Dad.
Friendship.
The cops think maybe those jockeys were blowing the horses.
Yeah, maybe that, too.
[Clucking theme song.]
Ba-gok! Bok.
[Horse whinnies.]
[Theme music plays.]
[Whirring.]
Man: It's alive! 8x09 - Blackout Window Heat Stroke [Thunder rumbles.]
- He was the bingo caller.
- B-13.
A very unlucky number.
I better call her.
Our investigator has a few questions for you.
I must warn you, she's a little unorthodox.
[Sings fanfare.]
[Music.]
[Bell dings.]
[Grunts.]
What's up, [bleep.]
nuts? Damn, I haven't seen this much white hair since Steve Martin sucked Leslie Nielsen's [bleep.]
.
- Allegedly.
- Bitch Pudding, please! - You, raisin [bleep.]
.
- My name is Anabelle Timulti.
Your name is guilty as a mother [bleep.]
unless you've got an alibi, bar-of-soap-in-a-sock tits.
I was here, playing bingo.
One more lie out of that shit nozzle you call a mouth, and I'll leave a boot print in your front butt.
- Leave her alone, you! - The floor recognizes that [bleep.]
ass, shit-covered [bleep.]
sucker with the pussy-ass cane.
Reginald was a good man! Why would someone murder him? Maybe because he was emptying his bingo balls up your fat-ass wife's cigar cutter, you quibbling bowl of pickle dicks.
- What?! [Gasps.]
Why, you - Gun! [Grunts.]
You assaulted a 94-year-old man.
- He sassed me.
- Bitch Pudding, I make it my business to understand what makes people tick.
For example, why would a highly-respected actor play not one, but two roles in a low-quality TV show? Well, perhaps his brother-in-law invented the motorcycle that runs on water-softener pellets, and that actor invested heavily without doing his due diligence.
- Uh - But your behavior has no explanation.
If you don't solve this crime by midnight, I'm throwing you away and locking up the key.
And remember my motto no second takes.
[Bangs gavel.]
Damn it, B.
P.
! Why did you call me out here in the middle of the night? The bingo ball that killed the victim didn't match the others at the scene.
It was made of a polyvinyl chloride with an antiquated flat-lay plasticizer, only used by this factory, dipshit.
- But you don't have a warrant.
- Here's my warrant.
[Grunts.]
Now, like I was saying, here's my warrant.
[Gunshot.]
Oh, damn, I'm hit! [Sings fanfare.]
[Grunting.]
[Grunts.]
[Screaming.]
[Buzzes.]
All those in favor of the death penalty, say, "eye.
" Ooh, that's gross.
[Click, whirring.]
[Thud.]
So hard seeing your friends die every day.
Me, I just keep on surviving! Man: Ooh, awesome an apple! Oh, this is it sweet release! Death, I walk willingly into your arms! I can't wait to core that apple and stick my [bleep.]
in it! - Oh! [Thud.]
- I'm Rod Serling Banana.
Be careful what you wish for.
Good advice when you enter Ooh, that banana looks like a perfect fit for the old butthole! Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Oh [Thud.]
Gentlemen, I give you the M&M.
It comes in yellow, green, red, and violet.
But we think there should be a fifth color.
- Any suggestions? - How about brown? Larry, for Chri There's already chocolate inside.
The point is that there's a brightly colored candy shell! - How about brown?! - Are you even listening to me?! Brown isn't fun.
Brown isn't attractive.
- Brown? - Larry, what is wrong with you? The brown dye people have my kids.
They have my [bleep.]
kids! [music.]
[Theme music playing.]
Excuse me, sir, does your dog nunchuck people? - What? No! - Good doggie! Ow, ow! That's not my dog! [Theme music playing.]
A celestial air hovers overhead.
We must leave our physical form and join it before the world ends.
- Hey, Kool-aid! - Oh, yeah! Oh, no! Oh, please, no! Not another cult! I don't know what your leader told you, but you don't have to die! [Sobbing.]
It's Jonestown all over again! [Sobs.]
[Theme music playing.]
I'm giving you the chocolate factory, Charlie.
- Oh, gosh! Why? - You have a trusting heart, my child.
Just sign here.
Charles Bucket, as the legal owner of the chocolate factory, you are held responsible for the deaths and/or maiming of Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Mike Teevee, and Violet Beauregarde.
You've won a golden ticket to the electric chair.
Do you have anything to say? I'll see Willy Wonka in hell, your honor! Noted.
[Bangs gavel.]
Hmm, murdering children was fun while it lasted, but I can live with this, too.
Finger in your snozzberry, sir? [Crack!.]
[Groans.]
It finally came! [Stammering.]
[Sniffling.]
Mom, I didn't get into Monsters U.
Woman: Well, that's why you applied to a safety school in the sewer, honey.
Oh, I don't want to go to brown.
I'm gonna dedicate my life to stopping all injustice in the world.
Like when the white man decimated my people - as they raped the land? - No.
Yeah, I so tap her on the shoulder, - you know, just to get her attention.
- Uh-huh, of course.
Well, all of a sudden, her friends come out of nowhere.
They start pissing all over us.
- You don't need that.
- I don't need that.
- You're too tall to be a jockey.
- But it's my dream! It's time you learned dreams don't come true.
I guess my racing dream is dead.
Well, that's what a pussy would say.
Well, what do you know about it? You're not a horse, you're a unicorn.
A unicorn's just a horse who's a little more horny than usual.
Forget I just said that.
Pretend I said, "hop aboard, I'm a wild ride!" Forget I just said that also.
Pretend I said, "right now, I'm the only horse you've got.
" That seems pretty innocuous.
Yeah! I'm I'm gonna achieve my dream! Hey! We're so far behind the other jockeys! - Like hard, ripe, little apples.
- Uh, what? Yeah, you mentioned jockey behinds.
Last place?! Thanks for nothing! You're the one with the dream.
- What's my incentive, hmm? - Uh, food, shelter, oats.
Well, sometimes dreams require a little more hard work, or perhaps doing things that might haunt you long after the thrill of accomplishing your dream has subsided.
[Nickers.]
Are you saying you'll win the race if I Give me the hummer of a lifetime! So you finally gave up on your dreams, huh? Dreams are gross.
Holy [bleep.]
Your horse just won! I guess all he needed was a better jockey.
Unicorn: Oh, Bentley! Yes, play it like an oboe! That's right! Now do "flight of the Bumblebee.
" [Nickers.]
Oh, whoo, whoo! Oh, whoa! [Music.]
[Cheers and applause.]
Dang, son! It don't matter who rides him, as long as it isn't you! [Bell tolls.]
I can't believe all those jockeys are dead.
- You the only one left, son.
- Hey, you're right! Justin, if you're seeing this, then every jockey in the country is dead from a rare strain of horse throat gonorrhea.
I realized how wrong I was to blackmail you over our partnership.
Killing all of your competition was my way of putting things right.
But if I'd given you that hummer, I would have died, too.
In case you think giving me a hummer would have killed you, too, I want to assure you that I would have finished in your hair, like a friend.
Good-bye, partner.
Yeah! Well, you won your first race.
And just in time, too.
The state's shutting down horse racing indefinitely until they figure out what killed those jockeys.
I know what killed those jockeys, Dad.
Friendship.
The cops think maybe those jockeys were blowing the horses.
Yeah, maybe that, too.
[Clucking theme song.]
Ba-gok! Bok.
[Horse whinnies.]