American Dad! (2005–…): Season 3, Episode 2 - Meter Made - full transcript

A court-imposed sentence forces Stan to perform community service as a meter maid, which provides him with an opportunity to provide Francine with the home of her dreams.

Once, I had it all.
Power, money, respect.

I was a real somebody.

Oh, God. Let me out of the trunk.

Shut up. You're interrupting
my inner monologue. Where was I?

Ah, yes. I was a real somebody.
But I squandered that life away.

And now I'm a nobody again...

... working the same old boring job
at the CIA.

I'm gonna die.
I am going to die.

It all started 12 days ago.

But I remember it
like it was a week ago yesterday.

God, the world today, it's gone crazy.
Oh, this is yesterday's paper.



"Pumpkin Amaretto Cream"?

- Coffee Pal, you've done it again.
- You can't go out dressed like that.

Don't worry, I'll be taking it off
at Art class...

...where I'll be posing nude.

- You'll do nothing of the sort.
- I'm late.

Can we just cut
to the key yelling points?

Fine. I forbid it.
Not while you're under my roof.

I didn't raise a hussy.

My right as a woman.
Nudity empowers me.

There's nothing sinful
about the female form. We done?

Yeah, we're done.

God.

You taste awful.

They're coming.



Greg and Terry, congratulations.

You'll be Stop Number 6
in this year's Parade of Homes.

Just think, in two weeks,
you'll have drunken strangers...

...walking through your house
and judging you.

Just like my mom's boyfriends
when I was growing up.

Oh, Barb, tell me the Smiths
get a sign this year.

You sure do.

I'm gonna get the shrimp.
Something shrimp.

Stan, this place is so fancy.

Hey, you deserve a night of pampering
after today's big disappointment.

Stan, Francine.
I didn't know you ate at restaurants.

We don't have a reservation
but my husband is Chuck White.

Of White Used Cars. Remember,
you'll never get robbed by a White guy.

But of course. Give the esteemed
used-car salesman our finest table.

Listen, we'd ask you to join us,
but you probably would.

So mean.

Hi, we don't have a reservation
but I'm Stan Smith of the CIA.

The CIA? Why didn't you say so?
Right this way.

Someone will be right with you.

Hi, I'm Jonathan. I'll be
peeing on your feet this evening.

Oh, we're so glad to have you, Hayley.
I know it's not easy to pose nude.

Maybe for some people,
but I am a proud and evolved woman.

And I have nothing to be ashamed of.

Nice.

Madam, please uncover yourself.

Does anyone have more Areola Pink?
I only have one tube.

Sea gulls. Francine,
this time they could drive.

Tonight was so embarrassing.
I didn't know what to do, sis.

What? I've never called you
"sis" before?

You're right.
It is oddly clunky and expositional.

I mean, I know you're my sister,
so who am I saying it for? Weird.

Anyway, it wasn't just the restaurant
or the Parade of Homes.

It's just everything.

I mean, I love Stan.
But I don't know.

I guess I just always pictured myself...

...with somebody who was,
well, a somebody.

So, what's going on with you, sis?

Are you enjoying being
three years younger than me?

You should have heard Francine
on the phone.

She thinks she married a nobody.

I appreciate you saying that, bro.

I've called you "bro" before.
That's what we are. We're half brothers.

I don't care how they say it
in New Glarence, Wisconsin...

...where you live on a lake
and have nothing in common with me.

Then maybe we should
just stay estranged...

...until you can find
a dramatic enough reason...

...to show up on my doorstep
unannounced.

No, wait. That's my car.

Here I am. Sir, I'm not
in a good place right now.

Please don't give me a ticket.

- Sorry. I already started.
- Well, then tear it up.

- I can't do that.
- Yes, you can.

Paper is weak and you are strong.

Come on. You can't
give me a ticket. You just can't.

Why not? Who the hell are you?
You're just a nobody.

- Please, stop.
- Sorry. I already started.

- This is humiliating.
- Relax, Stan. Nothing's gonna happen.

Punching a meter maid.
It's like punching a fat person.

No one cares.

Stan Smith, I sentence you
to two weeks of community service...

...as a meter maid.

A meter maid. How embarrassing.

At least we'll get through this together.
Right, Francine?

Stan, you're gonna be late
for your first day of community service.

Everyone's gonna laugh at me.

Hey, there are worse things
than being laughed at.

And in that uniform,
all those things will happen to you.

Hey, Dad, what's your route?
It's not near my school, is it?

Because I'd want to tell all my friends
to be on the lookout for a cool guy.

You buying that?
Can I look up from my plate?

I can't believe I have to miss
two weeks of paid work for this.

It's okay,
I'm used to doing without.

- What did you say?
- Nothing.

Just being passive-aggressive.

The lines I drew serve their purpose.

Though, it's the lines I didn't draw
that haunt me.

Roger, you had no right coming
to that class and sketching me.

The subject telling the artist
what he can and can't do?

That's like a soup can telling Warhol
where to buy speed.

You are not keeping
a naked drawing in this house.

Didn't you say your nudity
empowered you?

That there was nothing sinful
about the female form?

This isn't over.

Really? You're leaving. I'm not
thinking about it. Sure feels over.

Pay attention because
I'm gonna be throwing you...

...some big concepts.

You put your key in the meter.
You turn it to the right. The right!

And you empty it. You got it?

What happens if you turn
it to the left?

Oh, nothing. It only turns one way.

How can you take pride in this job?

Since I put on these sporty
yet functional cargo pants...

...my wife can barely
look me in the face.

Mine looks me in the face
and more...

...because she knows I'm on
these mean streets every day...

...juggling power and justice
like they were damn chain saws.

No, wait. This is my store. I was just
inside making some fresh bagels for you.

Oh, thank you. Thank you.

- Man, he was really afraid of you.
- It's called respect, cupcake.

It comes with the uniform.

And with it,
you can get anything you want.

You booted my car?
You have to take that off.

- I have a meeting to get to.
- Well, you're out of luck.

That is unless the meeting is about
including the Smith house...

...in the Parade of Homes.

Well, no, actually it's about...

What? Did you forget something
in the office?

No. I just realized
you're blackmailing me.

Stan, what are we doing here?
I don't want to be embarrassed again.

Relax. Things are different now.

We'd like to be seated.

Green Bonneville, isn't it? Nice car.

Be a shame if you were to wake up
one day...

...and that nice car was booted.

Touch?, monsieur. Touch?.

Stan, this is the nicest table
in the restaurant.

I can't smell either bathroom.

Get used to it, doll.

You're with a meter maid now.
And everything is on the house.

- Caviar, milady?
- Gross.

- Thank you.
- No, no, really dig in there.

The good part's at the bottom.

Congratulations.
You're in the Parade of Homes.

Francine finally had what she wanted.

She was married to a somebody.

And she was enjoying
a taste of the good life.

Unfortunately, I didn 't count on her
having an appetite.

The appetite of a good-life elephant.

Does that make sense?
It doesn 't need to. I was a meter maid.

- Welcome to the club, Francine.
- Look how shiny your sign is.

Thank you.
Look how short your shorts are.

Francine, I heard you bullied
your way into the Parade of Homes.

Too bad you can't strong arm
your house into looking presentable.

I think it looks okay.

Well, if you think "okay"
is good enough...

...then you're as stupid
as your house is ugly.

Oh, my God, I'm a bitch.
Okay, vroom-vroom.

She's right.
My house looks so ordinary.

Especially compared to yours.
How do you guys do it?

Oh, well, we hired celebrity Jamaican
house-painter Belmonpau.

Man, I'm higher than a king snake
in a sugar-cane tree.

City streets.

I want our house painted.
By Belmonpau.

I don't know.
I've heard he's pretty expensive.

Stan, expensive is only a problem...

...when people aren't persuaded
to give their meter maid things for free.

Oh, please, sir, if I have to pay
that ticket you're writing...

...I won't be able to buy
medicine this month.

You've lived long enough.

And I don't paint houses for free, man.

You must have some parking tickets.
I can make those disappear.

You meter maids are always trying
to muscle me.

But I got news for you, mister.

In addition to being
the world's best house-painter...

...I'm also the Jamaican ambassador.

That's right.

Man, I have diplomatic plates
on my car. You can't touch me now.

Now, go on, get out of here.

And tell all your friends
Belmonpau is looking for some weed.

- You lent Steve the drawing?
- Relax. He doesn't know it's you.

I know it's me.
Do you know what he just did with it?

If you disagree
with my lending policies...

...you can buy the drawing
for yourself.

- Fine. How much?
- Thanks for the loan.

- Can I borrow it again in four minutes?
- No. Because I'm buying it.

What? You can't.
I need it. I'll buy it.

Recent rumblings
from the art world...

...suggest the market
should decide this one.

I'll be holding the auction
this Saturday.

Who ever heard of a sad clown?

I guess I just always
pictured myself with a somebody.

Somebody. Somebody.
Somebody.

Francine, call Belmonpau.

We're gonna be able to afford
that paint job after all.

Rise and shine, meter man.

Thanks again for getting
the house painted.

Thanks for helping me
hide the salami last night.

That darn neighbor's cat,
always stealing our salami.

Hey, hand me my cargo shorts,
would you?

Seems like more change
than you usually carry.

Stan, is there something
you're not telling me?

Yes. I've decided you should
go buy yourself a Jacuzzi.

But my suspicions.

- And Jacuzzi lessons.
- Oh, Stan.

It was one thing when Stan was
just feared by the chumps he ticketed.

But when Stan was feared
and had the money to back it up...

... we had finally arrived.

Hey, everybody.
The rinse cycle's on me.

I didn 't know where the quarters
were coming from...

... and I didn 't want to know...

... as long as they kept coming.

- I can almost see the airport.
- You can look all day, baby.

We were different than everyone.

And because we were different,
the rules didn 't apply to us.

I know there are women
who would have gotten out...

... the minute they saw their husband
in that uniform.

But I got to admit...

... there was something about Stan
ticketing people that turned me on.

Our next piece is Lot 247,
Headless Naked Whore. Do I hear 20?

- Twenty.
- Twenty-five.

A hundred dollars.

Be warned, I am proxy-bidding
for an anonymous patron in Zurich.

Anonymous and very wealthy.

- One hundred and one dollars.
- I'm out.

- Two hundred.
- Two-fifty.

Five thousand dollars.

- Sold. Sold. A thousand times sold.
- Mom?

It's the perfect piece to hang
in our dining room...

...for the Parade of Homes.

No, you can't.

Well, I guess it's back to squinting
really hard till stuff looks like boobs.

- Enjoying your coffee, Smith?
- I'm not drinking coffee.

I'm just testing.

If you were a liar, you might
say you were enjoying your coffee.

Maybe drink
from an imaginary cup.

Who are you
and why do you freak me out?

Turlington, Parking Internal Affairs.

Our quarter count's been low lately.
Any idea why?

Well, I guess
gas is so cheap these days...

...that people have been driving around
and not parking?

Yeah. I got a kid of my own.
I know what you're going through.

Okay, you can go.

I know it couldn't possibly be you.
But Smith, I'm onto you.

This couch is upholstered
in cheetah...

...and the throw pillows
are made from her cubs.

We didn't wanna separate them.
That would be cruel.

I have a number of influences.
Chagall, Rembrandt...

...huffing a garbage bag
of gasoline.

Believe it or not,
the beautiful marble on this wall...

...came from Italy,
not from marbles.

- Francine, I think we have a problem.
- What are you talking about?

The jig is up. Internal Affairs
knows about everything.

The quarters, the dimes, the nickels.

My God. The nickels?
We have to destroy everything...

...we bought with that dirty change.

Dump it. Dump it all.

Left my badge in the car.

Everything goes.

Fire will cleanse our sins.

Forgot my sunglasses.

That was bought with dirty money.

My art. You've destroyed
my drawing of Hayley.

Hayley?

It's obvious what you have to do, Steve.
You have to kill yourself.

What? Why? Nobody saw.

God saw. Everyone in heaven saw.

Aunt Sadie, Great Gram-Gram,
Star Trek's James Doohan.

- Scotty saw?
- Scotty watched the whole damn thing.

You know what, Roger? This whole thing
is your fault. I am gonna kick your ass.

You think you got a shot, porn star?
Then bring it.

I wasn't ready.
This is how Houdini died.

Wait.

I'm headed inside.
I don't need sunglasses.

Are they flushing?
They're not flushing.

I'm so sorry, Francine.

I never should have exposed you
to this stinking life of corruption.

I just wanted you to think
you married a somebody.

What?

I heard you on the phone
with your sister.

I know you think
you could've done better than me.

Oh, Stan, you heard that?

No. I was wrong. I should have been
happy with what we had.

So it's time.

Yes, Stan. I'll need your badge
and cargo shorts.

I understand.

I know this means nothing now,
but I'm sorry.

Sorry? I just came by to give you
your certificate of completion.

As of today,
your community service is finished.

Wait. I'm not a suspect
in the missing-quarters case?

The funny thing is,
I did suspect you.

But then I did some digging
and I found out that you're in the CIA.

Some folks might not respect that
anymore...

...but I know a CIA agent
can always be trusted.

Unless he's a liar, which you aren't.
If you hear anything, let us know.

Otherwise, even if you were somehow
involved, you'll never hear from us again.

So that's my story.
You can pass judgment if you want.

But if you've never experienced
a ticket book in one hand...

... and a sack of quarters
in the other...

... you'll never truly understand.

Of course, I had to go back to the CIA
and resume my boring life.

Raid, raid, raid.

Cover me.

No more excitement, no more power.
I'm back to being a nobody.

Just a regular schnook.

[ENGLISH]