Raising Buchanan (2019) - full transcript

Let me tell you a story.

In 1855,

at La Flétan Agé,

a small theatre in Paris,

I attended an evening of staged

magic and conjuring.

The magician performed all the requisite

illusions precisely as one would expect...

And for an encore,

he placed his lovely assistant

into a long box,

mesmerized her,

and

proceeded to saw her in half.

He took his bow, the

curtain closed.

The magician left the country

the next day

and the young woman, whom I

later learned was his mistress,

was never heard from again.

I can say now that I, along with

some 200 others,

may have bore witness to the

murder of that woman.

The deed, of course, was

shrouded

in a haze of misdirection and

spectacle filtered lighting, smoke,

so it required no concerted

effort

to persuade us all that

it was indeed an illusion.

When one encounters a magician,

one expects, invites trickery

all the while knowing

that the simplest way to saw a

woman in half

is to simply saw a

woman in half.

That story has something to do

with this situation, doesn't it?

It does.

It's pretty cryptic. I don't

get the connection.

You will.

Well, it's a forest...

...but it's an animated forest,

like in those puppet holiday shows:

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or

Nestor, the Long-Eared Donkey...

I'm not familiar with Nestor

So I'm walking along

with two elves.

And we come to this clearing

in the woods.

And there's this Christmas tree

lying in the snow. It fell over.

So we start towards the tree and a bear

starts chasing us and grabs the two elves.

And I see them get dragged

into the forest.

I turn back around and there's

a phonograph record in the snow.

So I pick it up.

What was the record?

No idea.

Then a wolf comes out of the

woods

and he grabs the phonograph

record and he's pulling on it.

I realize that I can't make it

to the tree with this wolf here

so I fling the record into the

woods and the wolf chases it.

Now he's gone,

and I turn back

around towards the tree

and there's another elf there trying to lift

it up, a really tall elf, way taller than me.

- He's trying to lift it up...

- Wait, taller than you? How do you know he was an elf?

Well, he was dressed

funny, like an elf.

You know, colorful?

Anyway, the tree's too heavy for

him,

so I go over and help him and we

finally manage to set it up straight.

And then we stare at each

other really intense-like.

What happened after that?

I woke up.

So what do you think?

Hard to say.

It's not normal, though.

You're probably a lunatic.

- A dozen mixed, please?

- You got it.

It's too weird and specific not

to mean something, Meg.

I mean, what's with the tree?

Well, I know what a

psychiatrist would say:

Having trouble making a tree standing

up, probably a penis thing.

Don't be gross.

I don't have a penis thing.

No plain glazed, please.

- No problem.

- "No plain glazed?" Seriously?

I don't care for it.

It's the saddest donut

in the case.

The mixed dozen is built

around the plain glazed.

It grounds it. But, hey!

It's your funeral.

Hey, did anybody find a wallet?

I left it on that table

a half an hour ago...

No. I don't think anyone

turned anything in.

I'll go check in the back...

- This it?

- That's it!

Somebody must have turned it in.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

Ruth, aren't you supposed

to be there at two?

Shit.

Good luck with the penis thing!

Damn doctors.

Idiots.

If I'm not dying according to

their schedule

then maybe it's their damn schedule

that's out of whack, not me!

Making them look bad.

They ran some new tests.

Yeah?

Came back good.

Dr. Zeblisky, he

danced around it.

But I got the impression they were thinking

of maybe kicking me out of this dump.

What? Zeblisky actually

said that?

That's great news, Dad...

Well, he danced around it...

But still, for him to

say that, that's...

Look, I don't want to talk about

it. I don't want to jinx it.

So... how's work?

Oh, work's good.

Still a grind.

I should hear about that

promotion in a couple of weeks.

That executive account position?

Yup. Corner office,

fifteenth floor.

Imagine that...

I never saw you making

more than minimum wage.

How about that little

Kyle there, huh?

It's only been a month and

already he's bigger and stronger.

Hair's growing, too.

He's good Kiesling stock.

Yup, he's quite a handful.

And I hate to keep bringing it

up,

but when you and Grant get

married, he's agreed to...

Yes, Dad. Kyle will keep the Kiesling name.

We've already been through this.

I know it's not important to you,

but it's a hell of a thing he's doing.

And I'll be sure to tell him that when

I finally get a chance to meet him.

How you managed to land a guy

like that

is I'll never be able

to figure that out.

- Did it go okay? How's your dad?

- Alright.

He's actually doing better.

Doing better? Really?

Let's get you home

to Mama, Jeffrey.

- How did the little guy do?

- Just fine.

You got a good kid, Brock.

- Okay.

- Wait.

Okay.

- Time.

- Okay.

See you next Thursday.

- Oh, yeah about that...

- What?

Lori's taking Jeffrey to her parents'

house in Iowa for a couple of weeks,

so it kind of throws a monkey

wrench in my visitation schedule.

You're telling me this now?

You can get Lois' kid

again, can't you?

I think my dad's starting to be

able to tell the difference.

Shit, Brock.

I'm not crazy about it either, Ruth,

but this custody thing's all about her.

And you gotta admit this hospice thing has

been going on way longer than you told me.

I know, I know.

Shit.

Hey, you want to get a

coffee or a cheese crisp?

I know a guy.

Nah.

I got an interview downtown.

Job interview?

Something like that.

Everything go okay this week?

Any episodes?

Confrontations?

No. No. Pretty good week.

Small confrontation with a guy

driving too slow in the left lane.

Threw half a breakfast burrito at

him when we stopped at a light.

- Jeez, Ruth...

- Oh, come on, Crosby. The guy was about fifty.

How do you drive for thirty years and

not know the left lane is the fast lane?

That kind of jug head ignorance

deserves a breakfast burrito.

I'll let it go.

How about your work?

You missing any time from your work?

No, no, work's fine.

Donuts aren't real challenging...

But it pays the bills.

I wouldn't go that far.

- Did your boss fill out that paperwork?

- Oh.

Oh, shit I left it at home.

But I do have my community

service hours.

You're gonna need to

bring it by tomorrow.

Without fail, please.

The ventriloquist thing again?

I can't just keep letting

this slide, Ruth.

- Why not?

- Because it's not community service.

It's meant to amuse

and entertain.

But it "amuses and entertains"

the entire community, Crosby.

Every episode gets over

two million hits.

The idea behind community service is

to provide a fair level of restitution.

Well, it's not like I robbed a bank,

or put someone in the hospital.

That wasn't a hospital!

Anyway, I put in a lot of

time and effort into it.

You play the cello off to the side

of a very strange ventriloquist.

Well, I choose the music, I

practice it, I perform it.

I do my own goth makeup.

I bought a dress!

I'm not judging your

work ethic, Ruth.

I'm saying what if you played the cello at an

elder care facility or a homeless shelter.

I was just thinking

outside the box.

We're shooting another

one tonight.

Well, I better not see those

hours on your paperwork next week.

You're off probation soon, so let's go

for some real community service, huh?

I did it again, didn't I?

Don't get me wrong, Ruth,

I'm thrilled he's getting out of hospice.

I'm just saying:

What if he gets out and he

doesn't have a home anymore?

I know, I know...

Can't you just tell him the

truth? Maybe he could help.

He's as broke as we are. He doesn't

have that kind of money anymore.

Okay, then just tell the bank

that your dad's in hospice.

That oughta buy you some time.

They wouldn't foreclose on a hospice guy.

I told them that already.

How the hell do you think I've

kept them out for ten months?

You used that already?

Yeah, when that guy came by!

I thought you just flirted

your way out of that.

Of ten months of back payments

and penalties?

I don't have those kind

of flirting skills.

Oh, Ruth I think you played

that hospice card way too soon.

We'll think of something.

You girls ready?

It's not time yet...

You're sure it's

okay if I watch?

Errol seems kind of

temperamental.

Don't worry, he likes

people watching him.

Trust me.

Get your stuff.

I'm not even dressed yet!

What's the hurry?

I just thought we'd stop by the

freight building before we hit Errol's.

Why?

What's at the freight building?

You guys wanna see

a dead president?

So I guess she lives

in Scottsdale now.

So they shipped him all

the way from Pennsylvania?

That's kinda gross.

Actually, he never married.

The only bachelor president.

We won't get in trouble

for being here?

- I mean if a security guard sees us, you won't...

- Security?

We custodians are the

security around this place.

He's in a crate?

No, the casket's in the crate.

He's in the casket.

They ship him out first thing in

the morning straight to the airport.

They're flying him back.

By this time tomorrow, he'll be

back underground, resting in peace.

I bet Gretchen has opened and closed this thing

about fifty times today, showing it off.

Shouldn't he be in a refrigerator

or on ice or something?

That's what I thought.

But I guess he stopped stinking

about a hundred years ago.

He smells old, but he

doesn't smell bad.

Okay...

Behold!

The grizzled remains

of the fifteenth President of the

United States, James Buchanan.

Wow.

Oh, that's horrifying.

I know!

Oh, that'll make a lovely

Christmas card.

I know.

This is what he used

to look like.

Gretchen's brother

is a philatelist.

That's disgusting.

Poor Gretchen.

I hate to say it, but I don't think

I've even heard of James Buchanan.

He was the guy right

before Lincoln.

Supposed to be the worst

president ever.

Seriously, I looked

him up - the worst.

Well...

What made him worse

than all the others?

There was the whole slavery issue.

You know, he was on the wrong side of that.

And then the country started

falling apart.

You know - States breaking off,

and he didn't do shit to stop that.

He was a career politician, spineless,

couldn't make tough decisions.

Oh! Historians refer to him as

a useless sack of crap.

Oh, check out what he had

buried with him...

You went through his pockets?

Not all of them.

Who's that?

This is William Rufus King, Vice President

under some other president no one remembers.

Also, Buchanan's roommate

for thirteen years.

Also a "bachelor."

He looks peaceful.

He looks like a fucking ghoul.

Well, this ghoul happens to be the most valuable

thing that's ever come through this dock.

At one point in time, this nauseating

bag of bones was running the country.

It's hard to imagine Abraham

Lincoln taking orders from this guy.

Well, early on in his career,

Jimi Hendrix opened for The Monkees.

If it comes up short, I'll just

replay it again from here.

As long as it doesn't

break the mood.

If the mood is broken then the

music serves no purpose.

Oh Errol, this is

Meg, my roommate.

- Hi.

- Nice to finally meet you.

Sorry, it's wet from

the bathroom.

I mean, it's water, I washed them.

It's not urine or anything.

That's how you meet someone?

"Nice to meet you, my hands

aren't covered in urine?"

Delightful.

You'll be observing tonight then, will

you, Meg? From a safe distance, yes.

Dante!

I asked for cream soda

not soda water!

Sorry, Errol. I was going for

the healthier choice.

- Hi, Ruth.

- Hey, Dante.

Apologies.

Anger is my traveling companion...

and sometimes I let him drive.

This is Trina.

She's developing her gift.

Are you interested

in ventriloquism?

Me? God, no.

Not really. No.

It really is the sort of analog art form that

will remain long after the bombs are dropped.

Cockroaches and ventriloquism.

Well, I know I could never do a

puppet show like you do.

But I like those little dummies.

And their little suits, very smart.

It's pretty sad when the happiest

part of that conversation

was about soaking

your hands in urine.

Please. He was lucky I was

as kind as I was.

This whole thing is

fucking idiotic.

You don't appreciate it

as an art form, Meg.

You don't understand

the beauty of it.

Shit!

What's the goddamn line?

You're sure that's German

for "piano wire"?

Okay, we're going again!

Take nine! Okay.

Ruth, you can start it up.

Ruth!

- Ruth!

- What?

I'm leaving.

Last chance. It's gonna be fun.

Lots of guys.

Guys who play with dolls.

No thanks, Holly.

Your loss.

Don't wait up...

You've been in a weird mood tonight.

Not really.

Let's go get some coffee.

My treat.

You're broke.

Buy me some coffee?

You know how people talk

about motivation,

how you hang a

carrot from a stick

to make the horse pull the wagon

and all that?

Sure, the famous "Carrot-and-Stick

Horse Wagon Theorem."

Yeah.

Well, for as long as I can

remember,

every time I've ever

gotten close to a carrot,

it turned out just to be an

orange stick.

- And I was right back at the beginning again.

- Yeah.

But I think I might have

finally gotten hold of a carrot.

Yeah?

I know how we can get my dad's mortgage

back up to date, pay off all our bills,

get your Mom's shit out of hock,

the fines, everything.

It doesn't involve drugs or

prostitution, does it?

I know the media tends to sugarcoat

those things to make them sound more fun

- and they sound really fun, but...

- No, no, no. It's very simple.

We're going to steal the corpse

of President James Buchanan.

That's ridiculous... isn't it?

That's what they said about

the Wright Brothers!

But you're talking

about kidnapping!

What kidnapping?

He's already dead.

It's grave-robbing at best.

- Will there be a ransom? Gonna write a ransom note?

- Yeah...

As soon as a ransom note comes

into the picture, it's kidnapping.

That's Crime 101.

You can go to prison, Ruth.

No, we could go to prison.

But we won't.

- Know why?

- I don't know.

- Why?

- Because we have three things on our side:

Brains, guts, and...

Uh... motive?

No...

A truck?

Okay, a truck.

I don't know, Ruth.

It's kind of a shitty way to

treat this guy, isn't it?

Where's the harm?

He's gonna wind up

back in his grave.

Think of it like a millhouse

on a river.

It uses the flowing water to

turn the big paddle-wheel,

to

make cornmeal or something.

But the water goes

back to the sea.

We're just using

it for a second.

Besides, you said you were planning

to become more unpredictable.

I'm in a corner here, Meg.

My options ran out a few months ago.

This isn't some half-assed adventure here.

I'm trying to survive.

I need your help.

Big time, I need your help.

Okay, I'm in.

Oh, that is so awesome, Meg.

You just saved my life.

Okay, finish your mochiatta and

we'll begin the hijinks.

Wait, we'll need Holly

along, right?

- Why?

- She has the keys.

You stole those from Holly?

No, I didn't "steal"

them from Holly.

They don't belong to Holly.

She just uses them because

she works there.

- But Holly will get in trouble.

- No, she won't.

That's why we can't tell her.

If she's in on it, then she'll be

a suspect because she has the keys.

This keeps her absolutely safe.

Don't worry about Holly.

- We'll cut her in after we get the ransom.

- Okay.

You think that guy overheard us?

What if he overheard us

talking about this shit?

Wait...

So, Jillian, do you think this

bikini top is too small on me?

Nah, we're good.

We're not gonna take the

whole casket, are we?

No, I saw some big boxes in

there and some bubble wrap.

We'll just figure it out.

And who exactly are we going

to ransom him off to?

I told you: I'm gonna email the

ransom note to the government.

I mean specifically who?

Don't worry, I'll find

the appropriate...

Some lady in New Jersey owns Napoleon's

penis, and she says that she...

Wait! Why the hell does some lady

in New Jersey own Napoleon's penis?

She inherited it

from her father.

Oh, okay.

She says she got offered a

hundred-grand for it.

A hundred thousand dollars?

Is it musical or something?

No, it's "one inch long and resembles a

maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace."

Eww! No wonder he was so angry.

Some moron actually paid a

hundred thousand dollars for it?

She didn't actually sell it.

It was handed down

from her father.

Mmm... okay I call

bullshit on that.

Nobody refuses that kind of money

for a historical buckskin penis

no matter how touching

that deathbed scene is!

If my father leaves me a

shriveled dork in his will,

I'm making a fucking smoothie out

of it and pouring it on his grave.

I was thinking about the

grave-robbing charge.

I'll grant you that it might not be kidnapping

but it's probably theft and burglary.

You can't steal a human being.

A person is not a

piece of property.

That would be slavery!

And look where slavery got

President Buchanan.

Buried under some Christmas

ornaments in our garage?

That is a sorry-ass fate.

I still can't believe how

light his body was.

Well, you take the moisture out of a

guy and he's just a pile of sticks.

You better get ready for work.

Me? You mean you're not

working at all today?

No way. I've got to manage

this situation.

I gotta get to the library

and send that email.

First, I gotta create a new email address.

Untraceable.

I want them to get it right before

they get the call from Pennsylvania

saying that the

casket's empty.

Just tell Gunderson I'm sick.

Uhh... He's gonna need more

than just "sick."

Well, tell him any ailment but put

the word "vaginal" in front of it.

That way, if he questions it, he's gonna

have a harassment suit on his hands.

"Vaginal pneumonia."

Might work.

Wait a minute...

What a dick!

What?

The whole "moral evil" statement.

What a crock.

It was not a crock...

...it was the truth.

No, no.

You're trying to play both

sides of this thing.

You say slavery is "a great

moral evil"

and then you spend your entire political

career trying to keep it going.

I'm afraid that's not entirely

true, my dear.

You've drawn a naive conclusion.

It's right here!

You've barely started that book.

And I cannot vouch for the

author's impartiality.

If you would prefer a more

enlightened account of these events,

I would recommend my own

book,

Mr. Buchanan's Administration on

the Eve of Rebellion.

That's the title?

Mr. Buchanan's Administration

on the Eve of Rebellion?

Oh my God, that is seriously

the worst title I've ever heard.

Oh, lacks pungency?

Yeah, it blows.

You need an editor.

You've made an enormous

mistake, Miss Kiesling.

What?

You know you cannot possibly

get away with this.

You will spend a significant portion of your

remaining years in a federal penitentiary.

For you, madam, are a

shiftless reprobate.

I thought we were

talking about you.

Ah, yes.

Well, to criticize me,

you must first understand the

time into which I was born.

No man has a choice in that.

And to me, all endeavors,

even moral ones are answerable

not to the fickle tide of

popular opinion but to the law.

For all endeavors there

is but one master.

God?

The law!

I acknowledge no master

but the law.

So you don't believe in God?

Well, yes, but you're

missing the point.

It's very dramatic,

what I'm saying.

No, the law, I got it.

But the government is supposed

to change the stupid ones, right?

And what do you know

of government?

I was in student government

ever since fifth grade.

And in high school I was elected

officer every year.

Secretary, treasurer, veep until

my senior class, I was president...

For a while.

"For a while?"

That didn't work out.

So this is your area

of expertise?

No.

But I know enough about it

to know that you can't lump slavery

in with shoplifting and horseplay.

All endeavors...

Hey how'd it go?

Good. Did Gunderson buy that

vaginal pneumonia story?

Pneumonia! Pneumonia!

I couldn't remember "pneumonia"

for the life of me.

I kept thinking "whooping

cough".

So in case Gunderson asks,

you had a 24-hour case of whooping vagina.

So did you get it all done?

The ransom note?

Yup. Short and sweet.

Just like writing ourselves a check.

This is so cool!

So how do we handle

the money drop?

Well, I didn't put it in the note,

but I figured out an awesome plan.

Took me a couple of hours, but

it is top-notch caper shit!

- Ready?

- Yeah.

First, we tell them that

the drop will be at the Quik-Run

at Washington

and 40th Street at 11 am.

They are to put a 150,000...

I'll be watching the

bagman from behind the wall...

...the westbound light rail train and

I call the bagman from a cell phone...

...to get off at McDowell

station...

Are you sure it's

the "bagman?"

He's got the bag, so yeah.

Come on, you're killing the flow.

- Sorry.

- I direct him to the side of the building...

He'll toss the bag and press...

...and when the elevator opens...

...11:30, a small group from the

third floor leaves for lunch...

...drop it down to me where I'll

be and leave as if you're...

...go back to the alley and move

east to my car on 3rd Street

where our carefree future

awaits.

Oh my God. It's like criminal

Beautiful Minds.

It's brilliant!

You're like an evil

genius!

I know!

Might be too late.

When I checked earlier, it was already

after six o'clock Washington time.

Yeah, but it can't

hurt to check.

The library is closing!

We're closing, ladies.

Well, they got back to us

at least,

but I think they think we're asking for a

federal grant for some historical study.

I'll bet this link goes

to a grant application.

And why do they need your

social security number?

Are they planning to

tax us on the ransom?

I know we're first-time kidnappers,

but I don't think that's customary.

No. And I'm sure giving them a

bank routing number

would be more efficient but it

feels like we'd be tipping our hand.

Rookie mistake.

Why did you write "Yours

in Christ" at the end?

To make them think we were religious

fanatics to throw them off the scent.

Good thinking...

You don't think anyone could have

been watching the library, do you?

Like the Feds or something?

I'm just saying what if the

library has cameras.

And you checked out

a book on Buchanan.

How many people actually

do that on purpose?

Well, I didn't check

it out officially.

Ruth...

Besides, we don't have to use

that email anymore

because we have this lady's

number: Parnella Monroe.

Cool, we can take a long lunch

and give her a call tomorrow.

Oh! Mormons!

Hey, do you wanna

grab some dinner?

I can't.

I have to re-shoot that "Drang

und Sturm" video again.

Again? Why?

Errol thought of something

more ironic.

Like you said, he's

temperamental.

Lights!

You can't be serious about

that "Dred Scott decision".

You actually agreed with that?

Indeed.

It was a Supreme Court decision.

Man, that's some evil nonsense.

Again, Miss Kiesling, you

are missing the point.

Slavery was a legal issue

not a moral one.

The law considered slaves property, and

as such carried the rights of ownership.

Congress makes the laws; the

president merely administers them.

That's a cop-out.

In chapter three, you talked

about how much you hate slavery

and how you're glad you live in

a state where it doesn't exist.

And then when you get in a position

to do something about it...

See, this is why you were

a shitty president.

Ruth, I'm going to stretch my

non-verbal skills after the second line.

So if you can just vamp

until I do the eye-roll.

Got it. "Vamp until

the eye-roll."

Dante!

Why am I the villain?

I never owned slaves.

Washington? Jefferson?

They were slave owners.

And are they held

up for ridicule? No.

They have their faces carved

into a mountain

while I'm only

found on a twenty-cent stamp!

Okay, that's not a bad point.

But calling them out by saying, "They're just

as bad as I was" is a pretty creepy argument.

And those guys did shit!

You don't get your face put on money

or mountains by spinning your wheels.

And it was a fifteen-cent stamp.

Permit me to point out that those are very

high-minded platitudes for a grave robber.

And worse: one who kowtows to

an arrogant puppeteer.

Don't get snappy.

I'm just trying to wrap my head around why

the voters elected a boob for president.

A "boob?"

Would a "boob" serve as Minister

to the United Kingdom and Russia?

Could he hold the office

of Secretary of State?

A "boob" would never be elected

to both the United States Senate

and the House of

Representatives.

Nor would he be offered an

appointment to the Supreme Court.

And a "boob," my good woman,

does not and cannot engender the

goodwill

required to stand as

President of the United States.

This is nothing less than the

curriculum vitae of a statesman!

Maybe "boob" isn't

the right word.

Apology accepted.

Give me

the money or Buchanan gets it!

That's cool!

You can disguise

your voice on the phone.

I had my sister bring it by.

It's my nephew's.

That's great. Doesn't sound

very intimidating, though.

It's got a bunch of other

settings, not just the alien one.

Don't force

me to set fire to the president.

Sounds like we're calling from

a corrugated drainage pipe.

That'll throw 'em off the scent!

Did you figure out where we

can steal a cell phone?

There's a couple of restaurants on

Mill Avenue with outdoor patios.

- Tables right off the sidewalk.

- Cool...

Then at lunch, we ride!

Okay, there's our guy.

You go in and flirt with

him.

When you've got him looking the other

direction, I'll swoop in and grab his phone.

I can't flirt.

You should be the

one who flirts.

I'll grab the phone.

I have never had the skill set

to flirt intentionally.

I'll look ridiculous.

No, Ruth. You're really pretty.

You just have to walk

up to him and smile.

I can't smile on cue like that.

Try it... right now.

Give me a sexy smile.

Okay, I'll flirt with him.

But I can't guarantee results.

I got it: take off your

bra.

- What?

- You want results? Take your bra off.

Nobody wants to see that.

You know my nipples don't

line up anymore.

It doesn't matter if he's looking because

he's turned on or because he's horrified.

We just want him looking.

Fine.

Hi. Excuse me...

Can you please tell me the time?

Sure, no problem. You cannot

spell time without "me".

Or "it".

Oh, I get it.

Or "met."

Okay, this isn't "Boggle."

What do you think?

Hello, Miss Monroe.

Nice.

Parnella Monroe.

Hello, Miss Monroe.

Can you repeat that?

Is this Miss Monroe?

Shit.

What happened?

Parnella Monroe.

This is Mr. X, Miss Monroe.

Yes, Mr. X.

We had a correspondence about a "Mr.

Buchanan." How can I assist you?

Well, I'm just following up

on that correspondence.

I got your response,

but it seems to be all about

applying for a grant

and needing our social security

number and banking information.

I hope you don't think we'd be

stupid enough to give you that shit.

I didn't mean to insinuate a lack

of intelligence on your part.

But I hope that you realize that

as an arm of the US Government,

we have to provide a certain amount of

transparency for any financial outlay.

Is it about the amount?

What if we lowered it to a

hundred thousand dollars?

That's a very generous

counteroffer, Mr. X,

but my office is not authorized

to make that size of a payment

without going through a formal

bid process.

This isn't a payment or a bid; this

is a ransom for James Buchanan.

A ransom for a kidnapping?

Yes. Kind of.

And you say the gentleman

is deceased.

He is.

As I understand the protocol of

a kidnapping,

the basis for a ransom or the collateral

is the life of the person being kidnapped.

A kidnapped victim with no life has no

leverage. You understand my point, Mr. X?

You understand that this is a former

president we're talking about, right?

I'm aware of Mr. Buchanan's

former occupation.

But you have no collateral

with which to bargain.

A quick call to Woodland Mill

Cemetery this morning

confirmed that Mr. Buchanan was safely

reinterred yesterday afternoon without incident.

Wait, that's not true!

I've got him!

They just didn't open up the

coffin to find out it was empty!

You've gotta dig him back up!

This is a hundred thousand dollar

president we're talking about here!

You are overplaying

your hand, Mr. X.

This is not Abraham Lincoln or Teddy

Roosevelt or even Millard G.D. Fillmore.

James Buchanan was a

terrible president.

Perhaps our shittiest one.

Well...

So, in the future, if you are going

to claim to have dug up a president,

you might want to go for one

of the more marquee gentlemen.

Um... can I talk to

your manager or...

Might I make a suggestion, Mr. X? Kidnapping

is a very serious federal offense.

It's not kidnapping,

you said it yourself.

Grave-robbing is the worst

that it could be.

I don't think you're going to be

sweating the grave-robbing charge

when you're doing twelve

years for extortion.

It would be wise

to drop this now.

And if you get the urge to email

me,

I would advise against using the

computer at the library.

Are we clear?

Yes, ma'am.

Then you have a wonderful day, Mr. X,

and you try to make some better decisions.

Well?

Her points were well-reasoned.

Fuck.

- I got it. The rich lady.

- What?

Plan B. The rich lady who brought

him here in the first place!

Perfect! I knew you'd come

up with something.

Wait! We don't have to steal

another cell phone, do we?

Nah, that was just because it

was a government agency.

The phone booth at the gas

station will be fine.

- We'll go right after work.

- I thought you were gonna see your dad.

I can see him tomorrow.

Oh, I don't know if

I'd skip that, Ruth.

Next week?

Two weeks at the most.

Then I'll be home in

my own damn bed.

That's amazing.

The tests all came out clean?

Clean as a Dutch oven.

Don't eat that shit, Ruthie!

That stuff is so bad for you.

No it's not. It's fortified.

That's great news, Dad.

You know that Meg and Holly are

living with me now.

- I don't know if I can just get them out.

- That's alright.

The more the merrier as long as

they're clean.

But we gotta keep all this

hush-hush, though.

Zeblisky said if the hospice

people got wind of this,

my insurance wouldn't pay for

the stay.

I won't say a thing.

Do you want me to see if I can get

Brownie back from the Nielsens?

They don't really seem to

be dog people anyway.

No no more dogs. I've had the

time to think about that here.

I don't think old people

should have dogs.

See, a dog would eat you if he could

figure out you were made of meat.

So thank God they're morons.

I need some time

to process this.

Things don't turn out exactly

the way you think they will.

Yeah... Different...

Different... Not all bad.

You're starting to sound like a

glass-half-full kind of guy.

Not really.

It only seems fuller

because the glass is a little

smaller these days.

Warren residence.

Hello, I would like to speak

with Mrs. Laura Warren.

Who's calling, please?

My name is... Deborah Gibson.

And I am calling about a

gentleman friend of hers:

President James Buchanan.

One moment, please.

He's getting her!

Are you from the newspaper?

Do you wish to conduct an

interview with Mrs. Warren?

Uh, that's right, guy.

An interview.

Mrs. Warren will be dining

at LeBaron's this evening.

You can join her there

promptly at 7:30.

Oh, I don't know if that's something that... Hello?

What happened?

She wants to have dinner with me.

For an interview.

Maybe that's a good thing.

No way that's a good thing.

No, this way you can see whether

she would even consider

paying a ransom without actually

demanding it up front.

And if she's not interested, well,

at least you got a free meal.

She'll see right through me.

No way! She's a rich widow.

Reality to her is spending

thousands and thousands of dollars

to dig up a dead guy and mail him across

the country to her doctor's house.

She's fucking delusional,

just play along.

...but his grandfather

didn't have the means to get it done.

So I guess it was my uncle who first

got me interested in pursuing it.

He had this long car.

I tell you, it was the greatest

thing since funny milk!

Anyway, so I... do you need to

change the tape out in that thing?

It's fine. Like I said, it's

digital, so the tape's really small.

Now, I touched on this earlier,

but maybe I wasn't being clear.

It's about your investment

in this...

Oh, the donations and the endowments I

had to make just to open the right doors.

Plus the cost to ship a

fully-insured casket.

That was

a requirement of the county.

And the medical costs and

the procedures and...

That's what I'm getting at. All the

costs to get him out here and everything.

Well, I had to.

There's only one doctor

in the country I trust.

He happens to be my doctor and he wasn't

going to fly back East, which I can respect.

While the results were

disappointing,

I feel that ultimately it was

money well spent.

That's what I'm getting

at: money well spent.

You see, there's this other

person that I interviewed

that says that the body was

never shipped back...

That empty coffin

story is hogwash.

I didn't pay same-day freight

just to ship back an empty box.

The county and the cemetery

both confirmed...

I happen to know it's

true, Mrs. Warren.

And the person I interviewed

said that they are willing to keep

this embarrassment on the down-low

for a donation or

endowment.

And just how much would that be?

They say fifty thousand dollars.

You don't believe me?

It doesn't matter whether I believe

you, because it's none of my concern.

DNA says he's no kin of mine.

So you can just skedaddle along and

find someone else to shake down.

I've washed my hands

of that man.

But he was dug up because of you.

Don't you feel any responsibility?

No, I do not.

That H-O-M-O-sexual has been

hanging over my family

like a vulture for the past

hundred years.

It's embarrassing.

Then why did you go through all

the trouble and expense?

Well, he was president.

Even the ugliest Osmond brother

is still an Osmond brother.

Out of bounds.

Whatever would lead her

to that conclusion?

Well, for starters,

after you died,

your niece and Mr. King's

niece made it a point

of burning all of the letters

you two wrote to each other.

Third down...

There's nothing odd in that.

- The letters were private.

- Hey, I'm not judging.

It just makes it sound like they were

forbidden love letters between two dudes.

Fourth down. I'm kicking

a field goal.

Three points. Suck it, Buchanan!

William Rufus King was a

wonderful companion.

We had many interests in common.

And you are judging,

Miss Kiesling.

No, no you lived together

for thirteen years.

You went to every

party together.

You yourself called the relationship

a "communion", and... um...

When he was sent to France on

some extended job,

you wrote a letter to somebody

where you said...

"I am alone and solitary in the

house, having no companion.

I have gone a'wooing to several gentlemen

but have not succeeded with any of them."

Yes?

"Gone a'wooing to several

gentlemen?"

It is a figure of speech!

And Andrew Jackson used to

call you "Miss Nancy"...

Andrew Jackson was a stool!

It's right here in the book.

This friend of yours, this Meg...

how long have the two of you

been cohabitating?

In this house?

- Just under a year, after my father went...

- No, no, no. Before that.

A while.

And is your relationship

of a prurient nature?

- Okay, I get it.

- So whether these rumors were true or untrue is irrelevant!

It was hell bent conjecture of the first

order and absolutely none of their business!

Neither is it any of yours!

Look, I don't know how I

can make it any clearer.

For forty thousand dollars

you can get him back.

Ma'am, I hear what you're saying,

but James Buchanan is in his grave.

"A'moulderin", as they say.

But he's not a'moulderin', as I've said,

because you guys never reburied him!

He's still here in Arizona!

You guys buried an empty coffin!

We buried an empty coffin?

Not my problem in any way...

You could lose a national

treasure!

Uh, no not a national treasure.

That's very historically

inaccurate.

They did like a ten-part series

on the presidents on PBS.

Washington got 19 minutes.

Buchanan was in a montage

after Polk.

Well, I'm sorry he's been such a wart

on the community's ass, but he's...

No, he's one of the state's

biggest embarrassments

and we had Three Mile Island and

game six of the '93 World Series.

I'm sympathetic to all this town history,

so how about we slash that ransom?

Thirty thousand dollars.

One president, priced to move!

Ma'am, ma'am, we're not in the

business of buying dead bodies!

I don't even know what line it

would go under the town budget!

And then we gotta dig up the

coffin again

and then we gotta

deal with the backhoe guy again

and the backhoe guy is a real

prick!

It's your town history!

You can't just ignore one

of your own, can you?

We don't ignore him.

We sell T-shirts of him at

the City Hall Gift Shop.

We don't move a lot of them.

I think we've sold one since

I've been here

and that was to some hipster guy

who was buying it ironically.

No, he's not really a National

Treasure, he's more of a Town Character.

You guys have Town Characters

out there, right?

"Town Character" what the

hell is a Town Character?

Look, is your supervisor there?

We're gonna need to speak

to a higher authority.

No. Yes, she is here, and no,

she will not speak to you.

After dealing with Mrs.

Warren and her doctor and her accountant,

she specifically said I was not

to take any calls from Arizona.

Then why the hell did

you pick up my call?

I didn't want to be snooty.

I mean, after all, this is

Lancaster County not York.

Good luck selling your

corpse, ma'am.

Hey, how'd it go?

They seem to be as interested

in Buchanan as everybody else.

Oh, shit.

I need a break. I'm gonna run home

and get that paperwork for Crosby.

I promised I'd bring it by

yesterday. Can you cover?

It'll just be a long lunch.

- It's not even ten o'clock...

- An early, long lunch?

Sure. Just gotta prep the lunch

counter by myself again...

Hey.

Hey, did you see a yellow paper

that was here, folded in half?

Wouldn't know.

Is everything alright?

Yeah, everything's fine.

Are you sure?

You seem upset about something.

Well, let's see.

What should I be most upset about?

The beads all over

the kitchen floor?

The missing yellow

piece of paper?

Or the rotting, presidential

corpse in our garage?

Oh... that's James Buchanan.

Yeah, I know who he is. I

introduced you, remember?

Listen, Holly I'm

really sorry...

I could lose my job over this!

Why the hell did you steal him?

And why did you do

it behind my back?

- It was to keep you safe.

- You should have told me!

You would have just tried

to talk me out of it.

Yeah, yeah, I would have but if

you were still dead-set on it,

I could have helped!

Ten months behind?

What have you been doing

with the rent I paid?

I was paying back Mr. Lacey from

that night I smashed his car.

Ninety-five hundred dollars.

Well, you said you had

insurance to cover that.

I didn't have insurance

at the time.

I thought I did, but I didn't.

No way you did ninety-five

hundred in damage.

I know!

But it was either that or he would

press charges, he said, so...

Besides, I'd already broken

probation that one time.

It would have been bad.

He'll be paid off in

three more months.

So you were just planning

to let the house go?

No. My dad has some life

insurance,

not a lot, but enough to take care

of the back payments, even now.

Stupid me, I figured when someone goes into

hospice with less than a month to live,

they're not going to last

almost a year.

If that makes me a vulture,

then I'm a vulture.

What a morning...

What are you gonna do?

I'm going to get that

yellow paper for Crosby.

No I mean what are you going to

do about President Buchanan?

Well, I'm working my way down the list.

Eventually, someone will care.

Well, supposedly he

was gay, right?

So... First of all, Holly, this

"friend" of yours.

- Is it Ruth here?

- No, it isn't.

It's another friend. One who's

clearly troubled.

Okay. Holly, you

know I love you.

You were my favorite babysitter.

And I do see the benefit of all the positive

publicity we'd get by returning his body.

But it's still a money thing.

We're not GLAAD or some

big LGBTQ organization.

We're college students.

And gay students are exactly like

straight students. We're broke.

Okay, spitball with me here

for a second, Wyatt.

Do you think GLAAD would see

Buchanan as a homosexual icon?

Not like a Judy Garland-level

icon,

but more of a second or a third-tier

Charles Nelson Reilly-type?

Hmmm.

A guy who sympathized with slave-owners...

and might not be gay?

I don't think that's in line

with GLAAD's mission statement.

So gays feel that,

as a president...

...that he was the

shittiest one. Well...

Another example of

our common ground.

Oh please, dig in.

Mmm.

Oh. Thanks.

How long have you been working

at this donut shop?

- Two, three months?

- Four months.

- Long stretch for me.

- Really?

What's the longest you've

ever worked at one place?

I worked at my dad's store on and off

for years all through high school.

- Your dad owned a store?

- Yeah. It's still there.

My dad's asshole partner screwed him over

and took the store a while back, but...

It's out there in Mesa.

Utopia TV and Appliance.

I know that place.

I bought a dishwasher there.

Used to be called Ruth's

TV and Appliance.

But I racked up a few

disappointments

and my dad decided that my name wasn't

worthy of an appliance store, so...

He renamed it "Utopia".

Kept the "U" and the "T" from Ruth, saved some

money. So half of my name is still up there.

And you can see the outline of

where the "R" used to be.

That must have hurt.

Nah, just an appliance store.

You know, I watched a couple of

those ventriloquist videos of yours.

And while I still think I'm

missing out on the joke,

I really enjoyed your

cello-playing.

Really nice.

I'm pretty rusty, though.

How long have you been playing?

Since high school.

Actually, I played violin in middle

school and the first chunk of high school.

My dad wanted us to be musical.

Me and my brother, Brad.

I didn't know you had a brother.

Yeah, so when he stopped

playing cello, I picked it up.

Switched over.

How come?

Oh, just got tired of playing

the melody all the time.

Ruth?

Hey, Trina what are

you doing here?

I know someone who works in the

building. How about you?

I was just seeing my

probation officer.

Oh, we're being honest.

I'm here to see my P.O.,

too. Have you got Crosby?

Yup, that's him.

Hey, Trina, just out of curiosity,

what exactly did you get in trouble for?

Me and a couple of others tried

to break into a house.

Cop lived across the street.

You?

A little theft, a little anger,

borrowed a car, you know.

Hey, um...

I got something pretty valuable

that I'm having a hard time finding

an interested party to... um...

So you're looking for a fence?

I guess so.

But it's kind of

a specialty item.

I know a guy. What do you got?

An agent to do your dirty work?

It will go no easier on you,

Miss Kiesling,

by adding delegation of personal

responsibility

to your list of

moral lapses.

I'm just trying to cover more

territory, J.B. It's called networking.

And in so doing, you have

crossed a troubling line.

What troubling line?

Your original proposal was to ask for

money in exchange for my safe return,

the end result being the peaceful

restoration of my eternal slumber.

And this required a nominal equality

of purpose from both parties, yes?

Now you're simply trying to sell me to anyone

who'll take this random object off your hands.

There no longer exists even

a pretense of concern.

In so doing, you have stepped out of the

protective shadow of your own rationalization.

I tried the other way first.

You're a really specific

commodity, dude!

What can I do? I've already

started down this path.

You knew it was a risky

path when you chose it.

But you knew it was irreversibly

perilous

the moment you spoke

to that woman in Washington.

Why do you persist?

I'm persistent.

An author I'm acquainted with

once wrote:

"Foolish consistency is the

hobgoblin of little minds."

- Have you ever heard this quotation?

- Yeah, I've heard it.

Have you ever considered

what it means?

Not really. I could never get

past the word "hobgoblin."

Hello?

- Surprised?

- Yeah.

- When Trina told me she knew a guy, I figured it would be...

- Someone less refined?

I know, I'm a difficult read.

Ruth, do you know what I thought

the very first time I saw you?

Yes.

I mean after that.

Before I ever heard you play a note,

I thought, "Here is an artist".

And an artistic life demands certain

sacrifices from the world at-large.

Certain social niceties might

have to fall by the wayside...

Hey I'm not a bad person.

- No, no, I was putting an ironic twist.

- I'm a fucking organ donor!

Ruth, I've heard stories

about your partying past.

Nobody wants those kidneys.

Well, I'm taking those

off the table.

I think I can move

your president.

My end is seventy percent.

Firm.

Well, the truth is, I don't

have him anymore.

Sold him this afternoon.

To whom?

Okay, keep it to yourself.

I just thought I might be able

to help a fellow artist.

Ahh, a student of history.

Not really.

I only know a handful of these guys,

the ones with the cool nicknames.

"Old Hickory," "Old Rough

and Ready," "Old...

...Scratch and Sniff".

It's been a while.

I don't think I know

your nickname.

"Old Public Functionary."

"Old Public Functionary"?

Jesus...

So the presidents themselves

weren't very important?

No. What's important to

me is what they stand on.

Ahh, their principles.

No, the wooden thing

that they stand on.

My brother made it in woodshop.

He got a "C" because he didn't do the joints

right and had to use a staple gun, but...

If the teacher had seen the original piece-of-shit

Styrofoam display thingy this replaced,

he would have gotten an "A."

That's not a metaphor for Mr.

Lincoln and myself, is it?

Nah, that's just woodshop.

Oh, look at this.

Sloppy craftsmanship.

I have no ears.

- I look like a...

- Like a maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace?

Is that a metaphor?

No, just a dick joke.

I'm gonna return your

corpse tomorrow.

No ransom.

Thank you.

What do you mean,

they "found him"?

Who found him? And where?

We promised we wouldn't tell.

We could only get the body back if

we swore we wouldn't say anything.

I wasn't for sure that he had

been taken, but I suspected.

After the truck left, I found

this on the floor...

About soiled my pants.

So who took him?

We're not at liberty to say

whether this person...

is a thief, or just... found the

body in the woods.

You have him here with

you, don't you?

Yeah.

Look, I can't help you!

I like you, Holly, and you two

seem like nice enough people.

But my job is on the line here!

Can't you just fly him back to

Pennsylvania anonymously or something?

As far as anyone who cares is concerned

Mr. Buchanan has already been shipped back...

You see this bill

of lading here?

It clearly shows that Mr. Buchanan

was shipped back on the twelfth.

Note that the weight listed here,

which was accurate on the eleventh,

is identical to the freight receipt

that I signed back on the sixth.

From a paperwork standpoint, Mr. Buchanan has

been shipped back to eternity in triplicate!

I'm not normally as touchy as this so it

pains me to say this: Ladies, please...

Take your douchebag president and remove

yourselves from my logistics cubicle.

We'll get you back underground

somehow.

I know.

You're persistent.

What will you do now

to obtain the money?

Just tell Dad.

I'm gonna tell my dad everything

after work, and let the chips fall.

Well, humility is a

fine virtue, yes?

Hey, I don't mean to

interrupt the flow.

I just thought I'd finally come

by and check this place out.

Hey, it's a free country.

Besides, I have something

I need to tell you.

You might even be proud of me.

Is this a joke?

Are you trying to prank me?

Please tell me this is just

some form of pranksmanship.

Okay, I know the first part was

bad,

but you understand I'm trying

to return him to Pennsylvania

for zero profit, right?

Okay, I'll grant you that part

is somewhat admirable.

But you stole a human being!

A dead one.

The rules are wildly different.

I've had this debate before.

But why would it even occur

to you to take him?

That's something a child does.

This is just like the time when you stole

that fancy car from that gas station...

I didn't steal that car!

That guy left it running.

It's just as much his fault as it is mine!

You're so much smarter

than this, Ruth.

But you just don't think

things through!

You're not listening!

I did think it through.

It might have started out as

impulsive, but cooler heads prevailed!

Cooler heads!

Hello?

I thought you'd be proud of me.

Proud...?

Ruth...

Yeah, proud.

I did the right thing

for a change.

Hello?

What's going on?

Oh. Just having a

little off-day.

What about the tests? You said

the doctors were amazed.

Well, there may have been a

little embroidery on my part.

It's not fair.

It never is.

Classic example:

You remember Jerry Fleming?

Jerry and his cousin go to

China.

Cousin gets eaten by a

panda.

It took Jerry years to

save for that trip!

A panda?

Well, they are bears, you know.

But I thought pandas

only ate bamboo.

Well, something must

have changed them.

Or maybe he was an iconoclast.

You never can tell about bears.

Why didn't you tell me?

I was already preparing myself.

Wait, why am I the bad guy here?

I'm the one dying.

Why do I have to make everyone

feel comfortable?

What the hell kind of a

send-off is that?

So I say a few magic words

and everybody leaves the room a

little happier than when they came in.

I mean, is that so bad?

It just makes it harder

when you go.

Well, that's too

bad. You'll live.

I don't actually have a kid.

I know.

You know?

I'm dying, but I'm not blind.

I mean... kids change but they

don't change in other kids.

Why didn't you say something?

Well, you seemed so happy that I passed

away knowing the good family name was...

It wasn't fair of me

to put that on you.

It was fun watching

you with that kid.

What was his name, the main

kid, was it "Kyle?"

Jeffrey.

He was a nice kid.

There's no Grant either,

I suppose.

No.

Just as well.

That little prick was

too good to be true.

Made the rest of us sound

like goddamn assholes.

There's more.

It's about the house...

If it's all the same to you,

Ruthie,

I'd like to leave all

the confessions right there.

Ah!

Jesus, Kiesling! What the hell?

I thought you were a burglar.

Somebody broke into

my bedroom window.

What?

You know, this oar would

make an awesome weapon.

Have to trim off the

flat part, though.

Then it would be a stick.

Still, make a great

new murder weapon.

Stick murder has been

around for years.

Well, if it was a burglar, I

kind of feel sorry for him.

Not much here to burgle.

Yeah.

The only things that are burgle-worthy

are your laptop and the Blu-Ray player.

Oh, shit...

Errol? That stupid

ventriloquist?

He's also kind of a criminal.

So you told Trina, and Trina told

Errol that Buchanan was for sale?

Yes, but I didn't sell him.

Wait, if Errol got Buchanan,

how was he gonna to get back to his grave?

I don't think that was

a part of Errol's plan.

I think he would

just resell him.

What about the whole millhouse-on-the-river

plan with the water going to the sea?

But I said, "No."

Yeah, but I'm a part of this, too!

Don't I get a vote?

I wasn't thinking.

No duh!

It was a shitty thing

to do, Ruth.

I should have never introduced

you to him in the first place.

I don't know why I'm

surprised it's Errol.

Typical Capricorn shit.

My ex was a Capricorn, too.

So was my cousin who watched my

bird one summer. Never fed it.

You know, except for Jesus, all

Capricorns are buttholes.

Hey, check this out.

Looks like there were three of them.

Those are probably our prints.

No, seriously then what is that?

Looks like a tiny little hand.

It's a dummy print.

Fucking ventriloquists!

"Dummy print?"

Is that even a term?

For a second there, I thought

the burglar was a Hobbit!

Wait not a Hobbit...

what am I thinking of, a midget. A midget!

Don't use the "M"-word.

- What?

- The "M"-word is like the "N"-word to little people.

There's no such

thing as "midgets."

"No such thing"? You're

thinking of Hobbits.

No, my cousin is

a little person.

Not quite a dwarf exactly, but he

had that thing that Gary Coleman had.

Bad management?

Okay, can we focus here, people?

Ventriloquists have stolen

our dead president.

What do we propose

to do about it?

Okay when's the next time

you're gonna see Errol?

Well, I was gonna see him

tomorrow

- at the Willie Tyler birthday luncheon at Sunny's but...

- Who?

You know, Willie

Tyler and Lester.

It's a pretty big deal on the

ventriloquial social calendar.

But Errol put me on

probation. Can't go.

You're on probation?

Why? Because of Buchanan?

I don't know.

He never tells you.

I got a text.

Well, let's just find out.

No, no, no! He'll just get angry, Seriously...

- Okay, don't answer!

- Hello?

One can never be

certain of legacy.

You'd think that what one is remembered

for would be simple to gauge.

You and I both share the

unenviable position

of being the last branch on the

family tree but, strangely,

that doesn't seem to lessen the

importance of legacy.

My own would have been secured in a positive

light had I not stood as President.

As Secretary of State under

President Polk

I added over a million square

miles to this country.

This very piece of ground we're

on was secured under my watch...

Few have served their government

with distinction

in more varied

capacity than I.

My pursuit of the office of

Chief Executive

was predicated solely on the

enormous expectations I'd nurtured.

And had it not been for the

secession of the South

which I was legally powerless to

stop, I...

That's not true.

You just... Sorry.

And so I was carried

one station too high.

The greater responsibility left

me a lesser man

because I gave

in to a sense of destiny.

Maybe that's everybody.

In high school, I was a

different person.

Good grades, bunch of friends,

decent attitude for a teenager.

And then Brad died.

And then my mom freaked out.

Everything went to shit and I

was powerless to stop it.

It felt like half my

life was ripped away.

If I could choose my legacy, I'd want

it to be for being that earlier girl.

It's like my dad putting my

name on that appliance store.

He couldn't hand me my legacy any more than

I could hand him his by getting knocked up.

Kinda feel like my destiny's

gotten away from me, too.

You doing okay, Ruth?

Yeah, I guess.

Want to go out, get some coffee?

Nah thanks, though.

Just need a little alone time.

Okay, we're out here

if you need anything.

Thanks.

It's going to break my heart to

see you go to prison over me.

Thanks.

I'm a little tired.

Me, too.

Just take as much time

as you need, Ruth.

Gunderson would have to be a

grade-A thunder stump

to complain about taking time

off now.

Just tell him it's

for bereavement.

"Vaginal bereavement?"

Ruth, what brings you here?

A couple of dead people.

Listen, I want to apologize for

yesterday

but I've got a credit card fraud

due here in five minutes, so...

He's gonna have to wait.

I need your help.

And don't get upset, there's gonna

be plenty of time for that later.

The only surprising thing is what

he wanted me to do with his ashes...

He wanted me to sprinkle some

on Brad's grave, and some on my mom's.

But then he also said...

"By means of an epoxy to apply a

portion of my ashes

to the

entire surface of a large rock

and hurl it through the front

window of Utopia TV and Appliance."

Didn't know you could put shit

like that in a legal document.

Thanks. And can you tell Holly thanks

again for calling those mortgage people?

That's a huge relief.

...okay, bye.

Errol wants to see you.

- Now? How come?

- He said you'd know.

- Besides, it's Willie Tyler's birthday.

- And Lester.

Yeah, I know.

What if I refuse?

You gonna force me?

Well, that all depends.

Depends on what?

It depends on...

What I mean is, we can

do this the hard way...

...or the easy way.

So which way is it going

to be, cellist?

The easy way or the hard...

Okay. I remember the two

choices, muttonchops.

Well, Ruth, so glad

you could make it.

I understand that you have

recently acquired a vintage figure.

I did indeed.

It's in pretty rough shape.

I happen to know the original

owner of that figure.

If you were smart, you would

return him right now.

It's very valuable.

I don't think I could

let it go so easily.

In fact, I may have found an

interested buyer,

something you were having

trouble doing, I understand.

He's not for sale.

To anyone.

I know you can be trusted to keep quiet about

Mr. Buchanan purely out of self-preservation.

But in order to heal this rift between

us, I'm willing to offer an olive branch:

You can retain your position in

the videos

and your roommate's probation is lifted

and she can rejoin the consortium.

And what would you want

from me in return?

Forget about Mr. Buchanan.

And play the damn cello.

And what if I don't

go along with that?

Then the chairs are

on the table.

What the hell's that

supposed to mean?

It means the chairs

are on the table.

Give me that fucking president!

Is everything okay?

Some water when you

get a chance?

Fucking ventriloquists!

Listen, Ruth.

You don't want to

mess with Errol.

Occasionally, he's a decent

guy, but he's amoral.

You know what amoral

means, right?

Of course I know what

amoral means!

Sorry. Don't jump

down my throat.

We don't talk much.

And you're a 40-year-old grave-robber

that works in a donut shop.

How am I supposed to know

you're not a simpleton?

I didn't mean to snap.

And I hate to judge, but he's

not even a good ventriloquist.

Then why do you all follow him?

Probably the same reason you do:

He makes us feel talented or at least

like we're not wasting our time.

But that does not mean

he's not dangerous.

Here's how I see it:

Errol's the type of guy you go to lunch

with and he's gonna ask for your pickle.

And whether or not you have a pickle,

he's gonna get a pickle out of you.

But it won't always

be like that.

Things have already

started buckling.

If you keep your eye on

it, you'll see it, too.

Not sure I got the

pickle thing...

That's our guy.

Gunderson Donuts...

- Ruth?

- Yeah who's this?

- Who's that?

- No idea.

How'd I get him?

I can't say.

I'm really a rather

forgetful fellow.

It's a quality I hope

you can appreciate.

The fifteenth president of

these United States.

The bubble wrap is not period.

Forgive the condition.

Southern secession took

its toll on him.

Trina said you'd bring cash.

As you can see, the goods are

exactly as promised, so...

Shit.

Do me a favor, folks.

Look into my dash-cam and say hello

to my friends in Washington, DC.

Well, don't get discouraged.

I'm willing to work with you three.

It's not you that I'm after.

Sorry, sir, but we won't say a

word without an attorney present.

Ruth Kiesling.

You want to go ahead?

No, you were here first.

You go ahead.

You look to be in a hurry.

Thank you, sir...

Are you Ruth Kiesling?

Well, yes. Yes, I am.

Where can we talk privately?

- You ratted me out?

- And guess what?

You're not gonna get

a dime from this.

He's not gonna get

a dime from this.

And the best part?

Both of you could be going

away for a very long time.

- I want to see a lawyer.

- Lawyer, huh?

What are you, some kind

of a tough guy?

No, I'm not.

Or maybe you just want a donut.

- Is that it?

- What?

Here's your donut!

How do you like that,

tough guy?

That was pretty good.

Now, we can bring the lawyers

in here and play it like that.

Or there might be a way for the

two of you to walk away from this.

You already said I could

walk if I gave up Ruth!

Shut up, Errol.

I'm just saying, as a trust-builder,

he sets a lousy precedent.

- Do you want to hear the deal?

- Yeah, I wanna hear the deal...

- Or do you want another donut?

- No, I'm fine.

He doesn't want another donut, sir.

We want to hear the deal.

Oh, now you want

to hear the deal?

I think we all want

to hear the deal.

Someone here to see you, Ruth.

I'm Detective Hostetler,

County Sheriff's Office assisting the FBI.

You local PD?

Yeah I've got everything

under control, sir.

May I see your badge, please?

So you're from the County

Sheriff's Office?

Isn't this kinda out

of your jurisdiction?

You're a probation officer?

Wait! Probation officer?

What's a probation officer doing

handcuffing people in a pastry shop?

It's complicated.

Excuse me, miss. I'll be eating

two of these donuts here.

- What do I owe you?

- No charge, those are irregulars.

You're not taking them

to jail, are you?

Seems likely.

But Ruth has to stay and run the

counter during the lunch rush.

Our boss will get very upset if

she leaves during her shift.

If your boss gets upset,

have him call my boss.

Okay, who knows the name of the guy who

was the president just before Lincoln?

Yeah, she's here... yeah,

we're heading out.

Yeah, there's two more of

them... yeah, three...

No?

Nobody knows his name?

Well, my boss knows his name and

she'd like to talk to you about him.

Let me tell you a story...

Let's start with

extortion, and definitely theft.

Probably breaking and entering.

Perhaps vandalism or desecration

of a national monument.

Definitely possession

of stolen goods.

And with the various emails and phone

calls, I don't like your chances.

Your best chance, now your

only chance is going to...

"Happy birthday to..."

- Wrong room, people!

- It's room three, guys!

Let's get some preliminary facts on

the table: Where is the body now?

I don't get the story.

I'm not a magician.

Then what are you?

A donut store employee? Female?

No, who are you? How do people see you?

What do they expect of you?

Idiot... disappointment...

Untrustworthy.... a liar...

Ruth, where's the body?

Pennsylvania.

Excuse me?

Oh, I never had the

body, Ms. Jarvis.

I heard he'd been shipped here,

and I just made up all the rest.

And what about the emails,

the phone calls?

I was just hoping to find somebody

stupid enough to believe me,

but everybody checked into it and found

out that he was reburied, so no sale.

And you don't have the body?

No, ma'am. I'm just

a liar. Ask anyone.

So, wait, that's

it? "I'm a liar"?

That's the lesson

from the story?

Sure.

I thought it would be

way bigger than that.

It's bigger than you think, Miss Kiesling.

It's your reputation.

Well, it's not a very

positive lesson.

Well, it wasn't a very

positive story.

The magician cut that poor woman

in half. Were you not listening?

Story or no story, I was

definitely gonna lie anyway!

But at least you were honest in

assessing your own reputation.

It's important to know.

But I lied when I

said I was lying!

Well... you're a liar.

Errol.

Tell me about the body.

I don't know anything

about a body.

Hostetler says he overheard Mr.

Crosby offering you a deal

and threatening to force-feed

you donuts.

I don't recall any donuts.

I can request a stool

sample kit...

He did feed me one donut.

And you don't know anything

about President Buchanan's body?

No, nothing.

For the record, I'm completely

unaware

of Ms. Kiesling's guilt or innocence

here but I will agree she is a liar.

Mr. Crosby...

Your employee evaluation

is first-rate.

And yet, we find you

impersonating an officer;

forcibly feeding donuts to a

puppeteer;

and handcuffing a

body-snatcher to a bakery shelf

a full two weeks after she completed

probation under your guidance.

I was trying to help Ms.

Kiesling get her life back on track, ma'am.

And you're prepared to throw

away your career

for a compulsive liar and an

asshole puppeteer?

Please: "Ventriloquist."

So tell me: How much of this grave-robbing episode is true?

Captain, can I see

you for a minute?

I'd advise you all not to

speak while I'm gone.

No talking.

Two weeks?

No talking.

I finished two weeks ago?

I thought I had until

the end of October!

Why the hell didn't

you say anything?

I'm so happy for you both.

No talking.

Sit down, Ruth...

I'm afraid it's all

for naught, Miss Kiesling.

Mr. Crosby is still duty-bound

to tell what he knows.

And I'm afraid they'll have no

choice but to prosecute.

Maybe I could say something at

least get the others off the hook.

It's a thought.

- Hey, maybe I could say...

- No talking.

I'm very confident that with the

proper level of resource deployment

we can very quickly gather the evidence

necessary for criminal prosecution.

But part of my job is to deploy

resources wherever priorities dictate.

And I can't help but feel I'm

wasting my time with this thing.

If this was another president,

you might be looking at federal prison.

Lucky for you, you chose

the shittiest one.

Well...

But if any of this resurfaces

and risks making the County look negligent

in any way, we'll crash down on you.

Is that understood?

Yes, ma'am...

- Thank you, Ms. Jarvis.

- Are there any questions?

Did you lose that ear?

There's no bump there.

That's none of your

goddamn business.

They never really wanted to

prosecute, you know.

They just wanted this whole

thing to just go away.

You've seen those police

procedural shows on TV?

First thing they do is put

everyone in separate rooms.

They wanted us to lie.

So, what do we do

with Buchanan now?

Can't send him back

to Pennsylvania.

Maybe we can bury him

here somewhere.

He took most of Arizona when he was Secretary

of State with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Bury him where?

Your dad's back yard?

Yeah nothing creepy about that.

Well, my family has some land

up north near Prescott.

It's kinda got pines around there,

so I guess it's kinda like Pennsylvania.

Not even a couple of

hours from here.

That'd be nice. Thanks.

Yeah.

Look, I've gotta

get back to work.

I'll take you back to your truck

but you're gonna have to do this

body-snatcher jamboree without me.

Thanks, Gretchen.

You sure you don't want me to

get changed for the funeral?

I mean, you look great,

all of you do...

No, you look fine.

This is just my "Drang

und Sturm" dress.

It's probably not appropriate

for a funeral.

Oh, hey, you never told me about

Trina.

She didn't kick and scream about telling

Errol she found a buyer, did she?

For setting him up?

Not at all.

You know, he pushed her into taking the

rap for one of his burglaries last summer.

We found you a big sweater.

Should fit you fine.

Got some other stuff here, too.

Shouldn't be that cold,

but... I'll be fine.

Oh I almost forgot

the grave-scotch!

I tried to get you back

to Pennsylvania.

Really.

I know.

That magician story.

Was it true?

Well,

I was in Paris in 1855.

I did attend the theater.

I have seen a magician

perform this illusion.

And quite famously a stage performer

did do away with his mistress.

There are four truths

right there.

Ah, you finished that

book, didn't you?

And I assume it concluded

I was one of our country's worst

presidents.

The worst.

They've done these polls for

decades.

Historians, scholars,

politicians; they all seem to agree.

It doesn't mean you're a bad person,

just that you were a shitty president.

Well, I admit those claims

aren't entirely groundless.

But when my term ended,

and the fruits of my "leadership"

blossomed full-flower

into the splintering

of the Union,

I sadly did not

submit my questionable actions

to the level of analytic

scrutiny I would have applied

to even a minor case as a law

clerk back in Lancaster.

No, instead I spent the

remaining years of my life

defending those decisions.

My point is:

Nothing productive

came of this posture

and it was

those parts of my reputation

that calcified into legacy.

I mean, I'm not that scowling

troglodyte you see in my photographs!

I, like you, was once considered

a hail-fellow-well-met!

I charmed the Czar of Russia!

Can you imagine how

difficult that was?

The czar was kind of a douche?

Staggeringly so!

And it is unconscionable to define a

man strictly on his lowest moments.

But mine occurred so close to

the end of my life

and that they

affected every single American

made it infinitely more difficult

to right the ship on my own behalf.

But not everyone is subject

to such forces.

I guess not.

Look, they reevaluate

presidents all the time.

When somebody does come along

that rates worse than you,

which will probably happen

sooner rather than later,

it doesn't mean you'll be any better,

just that somebody else will be worse.

And that's not exactly the goal

that we're reaching for.

And if the country needed a big shitshow

like the Civil War to end slavery

instead of kicking

it down the road

then maybe you were the best worst

president at the exact right time.

Not exactly "forgiveness,"

but it's something.

Well, I can't say I rate

forgiveness,

but I appreciate

the sentiment.

Miss Kiesling.

Mr. President.

What the hell do you want?

We were in the middle of a

business transaction.

I neglected to collect my money.

- Thirty-five hundred dollars.

- You know what...

You stole him from us!

And I have had a really

rough week.

Mr. Crosby knows the value

of what I'm offering...

Aren't you gonna do something?

No. I think we're gonna leave.

The chairs are on the tables.

Butthole.

Should have prepared

something. Shit.

Here lies President James

Buchanan, no middle name.

Sometimes known as "Old Public

Functionary," which is very sad.

He didn't choose the times he

was born into

or the crazy circumstances that

he found himself in.

He made a lot of stupid

decisions

based on some flawed thinking but you

don't have to be an idiot to do that.

And though people said some really

unkind things about him as President,

I don't think he was quite the turd

that history has painted him out to be.

Amen.

Amen.

You guys, my dad made me promise not to have

any sort of ceremony or anything for him.

But after I get his ashes back

next week,

I'd really like it if you came

with me to distribute them.

Just on a couple of graves and

on that rock

I gotta throw through the

appliance store window.

I think he'd be okay with that.

You got more guts than Dick Tracy

letting Meg drive that thing.

She'll be fine.

This is getting ridiculous.

I'm gonna be the laughing

stock of the wilderness.

What's up with those

arms, Mr. Tat?

A little inky rebellion?

I got that a long time ago.

Seemed like a good

idea at the time.

You know, you really

have talent, Ruth.

That music was incredible.

Oh, I didn't write that.

That's Durant's Sonata

in D-major.

Well, you played it great.

Nah, my fingers were numb.

- I played like shit.

- I disagree.

And that eulogy.

Don't think I ever heard a eulogy

where the word "turd" was mentioned.

Well, I was just winging it.

Are you really gonna throw that

rock through the window?

I don't even know if that

same guy owns the place.

But if he does... then, yeah.

What was that?

Oh, Meg!

Sorry.

- I kept the bucket down, but I didn't watch the sides.

- Are you okay?

Banged my knee, but I'm okay.

Knocked over your tree

thingy, though.

Well that's no big deal.

At least one of them falls every year.

- You sure you're okay?

- I'm fine.

Just a little embarrassed...

Ruth, can you give me

a hand here, will you?

I was really cooking 'til the

tree just jumped in my path...

That should do it.

Hmm...

What?

I thought you'd be taller.