Hold up. You guys finally kissed?
Yes, and Roofie,
it was like kissing a sunbeam.
Is that a good thing?
Yeah! I mean, I...
I gotta tell you, even though, like,
my own TV show got cancelled,
my dad walked out on me again,
I'm completely broke,
I can't even pay my rent,
I'm finally happy!
Well, I'm happy for you, man.
- Thanks, man. - And I'm happy for me!
I had a talk with Sue, man,
and it really had an impact.
- No more drugs. - What... what?
Are you telling me there's not
even any weed in these brownies?
God damn it, Roofie!
Not... no... not... not that I have
a problem with you, regular brownies.
- You're sweet. - Pac, Pac, Pac,
but they're not for you, okay.
They're for the soup kitchen.
I'm trying to reverse 14 years of bad karma.
I don't think you can do that, man.
Hey, hey, bitch!
Hold up.
Man, what's this bullshit I hear
about you dissolving the drug business
and giving back to the community?
- Tyson, just relax, man. - Relax?
You realize how hard it is
for a guy like me to find a legit job?
- A guy like you? - Yeah, a guy
that's been in the drug business
as long as I have.
Man, my résumé is horseshit!
Why don't you just get like a job
as a nightclub bouncer or somethin'?
A nightclub bouncer?
You realize how ridiculous that sounds?
Yeah, I cannot see that, Roofie.
Yeah, no shit.
They only give those jobs to black guys.
- Yeah. That's true. - It's true.
You let me down, Roof.
I... I...
Oh!
♪
(screaming)
♪
(groaning)
(bell ringing)
♪
Hi!
Hey.
Welcome to Circuit County.
How may I help you?
Well, I would like to return
this TV that I have placed
back in its original packing
as if nothing has happened.
Is there a problem with it?
Yes, I got it home,
took it out of the box,
only to discover that
I can't afford it.
Sorry, sir, we have a pretty strict
no backsies policy.
Right there.
No backsies?
Tune into Midtown Manhattan Medium,
the only show on Alt TV featuring a medium!
Wait a sec!
You're that fat idiot security guard from MMM!
No, I was that fat
idiot security guard from MMM.
Now I'm just a plain old medium.
Maybe you can help us out.
Something weird's been happening
with our floor models recently.
The TVs have been scrambling
for no apparent reason.
I don't know. I'm not good with the antennae.
They're all satellite.
You want me to go to space?
No!
I think we might have a ghost?
Oh, shit, yeah, 'cause I'm a medium.
Right, I didn't even connect the dots.
So, no space?
No, forget about space. Look...
if you could get rid of whatever it is
that's haunting us,
I could go backsies on the no backsies.
- Oh. - Full cash refund.
You've got yourself a deal, partner.
Oh...
Oh yeah, I respect the policy.
Thanks.
Oh, my God.
I have got to go to Michigan.
Hey, look at...
Oh, snap!
Yo, these TVs are all that
and a bag of chips!
- Hey! - Yo, wassup?
- Yo. - I cannot get over
all this technology, homie!
It's pretty tight, right?
Wait, you can see me?
Yeah, yo. I'm a medium.
- Word? - Yeah, let me guess.
You either died in the nineties,
or you're a Canadian.
Yeah, no, I died in the nineties.
- Knew it. - Psych!
No, I died like a few days ago!
Oh, okay.
So, uh, what's the dealio?
Oh, this?
Yeah, it's a bit embarrassing...
It was New Year's Eve, 1999.
The century was coming to an end,
and Y2K was upon us.
I remember Y2K, that's when
all the toasters were gonna, like,
turn into robots and then
we were gonna eat our microwaves?
Not just the toasters, yo.
The world was about to be thrown
into total chaos.
Now determined to be
one of the few survivors,
I decided to go underground.
Shit, son.
So I built a bunker
under an empty lot,
in a highly obscure part of Brooklyn
that no one would ever think to visit.
A place called Williamsburg.
Oh.
Yeah, so, uh, how did you die?
You starve to death?
No, no, I, uh,
I was trying to see how many licks it took
to get to the center of this, um...
Yeah, anyway, listen, yo,
I need you to open
that bunker for me, son!
I got it, I got it.
You want me to run in there,
grab your Smash Mouth CDs right quick?
As if!
No, I need you to get into that bunker
because there is someone else down there.
It's Rick Moranis, isn't it?
No, it's my girlfriend.
Your girlfriend is Rick Moranis?
No, my girlfriend is Samantha.
And I told her the world was ending,
and now she thinks she is the last person
alive on Earth!
She is gonna die in that bunker,
never knowing the truth.
And you?
You are her only hope.
♪
(clanking)
♪
Hi there, uh, just a quick question.
Is there a deserted lot
on these, uh, premiseses,
or is it all... building?
I'm afraid it's all building, sir,
since 2004.
Okay, I see.
Now this building...
is there any way to get,
I don't know, like, underneath it?
I doubt it. It's a bank.
Well, a sperm bank.
One of the most secure sperm banks
in North America.
(scat singing circus music)
Slide down there a little, slim.
Welcome back, Carl.
Good morning, Diane.
How'd that sticky toffee
pudding recipe work out?
It really made the toffee flavor pop.
Speaking of making things pop,
how about you give me a crack
at that break room today?
Now Carl, we've been through this.
I know, I know.
The break room's for snacking,
not for whacking.
Can't blame a guy for trying.
(chuckling)
♪
(clearing throat)
Are you here for a deposit as well?
No! No, no, no, no. I'm here for more
of like a withdrawal type situation.
Uh, I need to grab something...
er... someone.
We get this a lot.
Someone donates their sperm,
then immediately feels weird about it
and tries to get it back.
Unfortunately,
here at Fidelity Sperm United,
we have a strict no backsies policy.
_
Sea salt? No shit.
Yeah, apparently it really makes
the toffee flavor pop.
I don't know.
Soup kitchen's gonna love that.
Cool. So, quick question.
If you were me,
how would you go about sneaking
into a sperm bank?
Can't say it enough:
I'm happy I'm not you.
There is a girl trapped
with a corpse in a bunker
underneath the sperm bank.
She's been there since the turn of the Willennium.
She's gonna eventually die down there
if we don't go get her.
Wait. How long you say
she been down there, fourteen years?
- Yeah. - That's exactly
the amount of time I been dealing drugs.
Yeah, so?
Saving this girl might be
the perfect way to redeem myself.
And, planning a heist has always been
a childhood fantasy of mine.
- I'm in! - Yaaaay, Roofie!
All right, okay!
So, what do we need to do?
You wanna know what we need to do?
Yeah.
That's what we need to do,
with a much lower budget.
First, we need some montage music.
(soft piano music)
(music warping)
(funky music)
- Yeah! That's it. - Mmm!
Next, we gotta find someone that knows
the place like the back of his hand.
What about the front of his palm?
♪
Wise Water, smart choice.
I like to replenish the electrolytes
after every honorable discharge.
♪
Who sent you?
It was I who sent me.
I require your expertise.
What's in it for me?
How does two 25 dollar bills sound, my man?
Sounds like 50 bucks.
I get that every time I jizz in a cup!
Sixty?
♪
Now obviously
this is an after hours operation.
There's a female guard who patrols
the front entrance at night.
We're gonna need a distraction.
Female?
- I got this. - The front door
will be locked from the inside.
We're gonna need someone
who can slip in during the day
and hide undetected till nightfall.
I think I know our guy.
♪
The fuck do you want?
Someone to take over my business.
♪
So after we distract the outside guard,
then we gotta get past the inside guard
who sits at reception.
He takes a four minute shit every night
at the same time like clockwork.
You can set your watch by this guy's asshole.
That's just enough time for Tyson
to let us in.
But we're not out of the woods yet.
There's one security camera
which looks down the entire hallway
leading to the main freezer.
So besides that four minute shit window,
we're gonna need someone
who can scramble monitors.
♪
We got the brains,
we got the muscle,
we got the architect,
we got the... no, Zoila,
we don't need a cleaner on this heist.
Sorry, mister.
Sticky toffee pudding, seåor.
Okay, thank you, thank you, Zoila.
Here we go, take two.
We got the brains,
we got the muscle,
we got the architect,
we got the techie,
we got the blob,
we got the me.
- Woah... Blob! - Hello.
Blob, what are you doing here?
Joey Fatone, what the fuck is that?
Hey, buddy, it's good to see you.
I am so sorry that I banished you.
I just wanna help.
You're such a sweetheart... I'm...
it is really good to see you!
But unfortunately, we just... we don't have
a job for you on this heist.
But, you know, enough of that!
How are you? You look good!
Pac! Come on.
- Huh? - The plan!
Oh, yes, right. The plan.
♪
Hey, bitch!
Oh.
♪
- Hey! - God, Tyson!
I'm half mast.
Just make it fast.
All right, said the boner killer.
Okay...
(exhaling)
I'm so distracted.
♪
Now, if this doesn't seem like
your particular cup of tea,
you can eat as many Hot Pockets
as you want, walk out that door,
no questions asked.
But, if you feel like being a hero
and saving a girl from the weight
of millions... nay, trillions
of the most secure sperm in Brooklyn,
then stick around.
Still eat some Hot Pockets,
and then let's do this!
- Yes! - Awesome!
Let's do it!
Sorry, Zoila.
♪
(groaning)
The guard is off-duty taking a doodie.
You got four minutes.
♪
Hey, I'm Roofie.
I'm smooth like a baby,
but I hump like a man.
Oh, fill me!
I'm dead and I'm empty.
Oh, word. I got some
premium diesel right here, girl.
Oh, you like it rough, huh, girl?
Me, too! Shit.
Hot Pac, something's wrong.
No, it ruins the game when you do that... huh?
Oh. I see.
Oh!
(shrieking)
Oh, that's gotta hurt!
Ah, it hurts!
- Yeah. - Hurts.
Yo, you better hustle.
This guy's gonna be wiping any second.
Tyson, we got an issue here.
Hold on! No, ah!
Technically Roofie is distracting
the guard.
Why?
♪
(gagging)
♪
(toilet flushes)
♪
Yo, is your boy in place?
♪
Whoa, hold up, hold up, hold up!
Something's not right.
♪
(lasers buzzing)
This is new.
Woah.
(neck cracking)
I got this.
(reggae dance music playing)
♪
Uh...
♪
Oh, that's fly.
♪
Come on!
Oh, my God! That was amazing!
Where did you learn to shuck and jive
like that, Fred Astaire?
Prison. What's the code?
Carl, what's the code? Ca-Carl?
Carl? Oh, shart, man.
Carl had the code written on his hand!
Why didn't you have it written on your hand?
You know I'm ticklish.
How would I know that?
'Cause everybo...
Carl, were you doing
what I think you were doing?
Depends, do you think
I was masturbating in the break room?
Yes, I do.
- Then yes. - Oh, my God.
I finally got to blow
some splooge in the break room.
I thought you'd be happy for me.
Ah, weird, man.
Man, what's the code?
Relax, I got the code.
I guess we should have seen that comin', huh?
- Ah. - Ugh, dick hands!
Hey, watch my moneymaker!
We're screwed! We're screwed
by a jerkoff and a jackoff!
Don't lump me in with him, man.
I wasn't the one jerkin'...
(electricity zapping)
♪
Blob, blob, blob, blob, blob.
Blob?
Oh, man, there was a job for you!
I gotta stop misunderestimating you, pal!
That's okay.
Don't do it again, bye!
You... you're just like,
worth your weight in gold!
♪
I've never jerked off in here before!
You take it out, I take it off!
Yo, this is the spot, Pac.
Where, right here?
Okay, that's the spot. Go, go, go.
Oh, this thing isn't gonna work.
We're gonna need a jackhammer or something.
What?
You give me the hammer.
I'll provide the jack.
Nice.
(spitting)
Courtesy.
(pounding furiously)
Yeah, go Carl!
Oh, yes!
Slow it down a bit,
find the sweet spot.
Yes!
Ye-es, Carl.
(creaking open)
Oh, God! Oh, dude.
Oh, your dead body stinks so bad.
Oh sure, blame the dead guy,
not all the cabbage we have down there.
Who brings cabbage into a bunker?
(groaning)
Tyson, check it out. Is it bleeding?
AOL 1000 free hours?
I haven't seen one of these since...
Hey, what the fuck?
Ow, ow!
(shouting)
Stop, hey, ow!
You're killing us!
We're here to help, we're here to help.
Stop, stop throwing CD-ROMs at us!
- Ha! - Slap bracelets.
(grunting)
Ahh, I've been struck!
Ahh!
Ah, oh, this hurts.
Oh, this hurts!
Man, do something!
- What! - I can't breathe.
I can breathe but it hurts.
Easy, pretty girl.
Eaaasy. Easy.
(shouting)
The pressure's so high,
she must have pumped that thing
fifty times!
Tyson, go get her, man!
All right, all right!
Don't worry,
we're not here to hurt you.
We're not here to hurt you, it's okay.
What the hell is she doin'?
- Woah! - Oh, no. Tyson's down.
That was our last line of defense.
Oh, this has gone so badly.
What do you robots want?
We're not robots!
Zombies!
Ah!
You'll never take me alive.
Oh, no, don't, don't, don't, don't, stop!
Stop, stop, okay?
Jason sent us.
Jason's dead!
And no, you cannot have his brains.
We don't want his brains, okay?
We're not zombies,
we're not robots, okay?
The world didn't end in 2000.
Everything is perfectly normal.
We're just here in the sperm bank
because your boyfriend, who's a ghost now,
spoke to me because I'm a medium,
and he asked me to get you out of there,
so I assembled this rag-tag group
of masturbators and drug dealers
to help me, that's it.
Simple.
I want proof you can talk to Jason.
What was our last argument about?
Oh, yo, I know this.
Which "Friends" star would go on
to have the biggest career
if the world didn't end.
I... I said Schwimmer.
You picked Schwimmer?
Jason!
It's really you!
Oh, no.
I can't leave this bunker.
Come on! Why now?
Wh... wh... why?
I have been down there for 14 years
waiting for the world to end.
Everybody's gonna think
I'm a total airhead!
I'll be famous for being retarded!
No, no, no, no, the world is
a very different place now.
Being famous for being retarded
is like the best kind of fame.
And also, you can't really
say retarded anymore.
Yeah, which is totally retarded.
Pac is right.
Our biggest celebrity
is a big-assed Armenian bitch
who made a sex tape
with a low-level R&B singer.
And that whore made millions.
Believe me, as a former reality TV star,
America loves idiots.
So, the world is fine,
and I'm gonna be a rich and famous idiot?
Yes! Nailed it.
Gnarly!
Yeah!
- I'm in! - All right!
Yo, thank you, Pac.
You the bomb, son!
♪
Don't let your boys bang my girl!
No promises!
- (alarm blaring) - Oh, my god!
Everybody ejaculate the building!
Come on, go! Go, go, go, go!
- Carl? - Leave me!
Leave me!
Oh, so gross!
♪
(screaming)
Leave me!
♪
Leave me!
♪
Leave me.
Leave me!
♪
And here's your copy of the backsies receipt.
So, who was the ghost?
Oh, just some homeslice named Jason.
Breaking news out of the Williamsburg branch
of Fidelity Sperm United!
Sources confirm the woman
found late last night
was 33-year-old Samantha Cherry,
who had been missing since New Year's Eve 1999
and presumed dead.
Local officials say security guard
Jeffrey Hale found the woman
in an underground bunker
she had been living in
for almost fourteen years.
A noteworthy addendum to the story:
Camomile White,
of the popular reality show,
Midtown Manhattan Medium,
was the reason officials originally
called off the search for Miss Cherry in early 2004.
Your daughter, Samantha, isn't missing.
She's dead.
Ms. White gained national attention
when she claimed to have channeled
Miss Cherry's ghost,
communicating to her parents
that Samantha was indeed dead
and at peace.
Distraught over her daughter's death,
Samantha's mother committed suicide two months later.
One thing is certain:
I would not want to be Camomile White today.
Up next: Tina,
the story of how a cat
became friends with a porcupine.
♪
- synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -