Archer (2009–…): Season 1, Episode 8 - The Rock - full transcript

ISIS has not received security consultant work for foreign powers and governments since the Uffizi disaster so when ISIS gets a job in San Marino, Malory sends her two best agents. The pair test palace security for the wealthy microstate (or principality, depending on one's view). When mudak, Len Trexler, steals the San Marino contract for ODIN, Malory commits three phrasing errors in a row. Commence "Operation Rub Len Trexler's Big Fat Nose In It!" Days of Oktoberfest with gallons of schuetzie, Jagermeister, beer and absinthe cannot disguise a tiny champagne-colored thingamabob or the labor issues at ISIS. Ill-equipped and stranded, Archer and Lana strike forth to make the diamond hot, but it is all bread and roses, entitlement crap and collective bargaining at ISIS. With a limited quantity of gin and Archer's fate in the hands of the drones, will Malory crumble to Labor? It may be all muffins and denial, but can you really put a price on good.....personnel?



- Ugh. Why the hell is your phone on?
- Because I have a social life.

- Hello?
- Why the hell is your phone on?

Because I have a... Why did you call?

- Because this is important.
- Micromanagitis.

If we show San Marino
the flaws in their palace security...

they've agreed to hire us
as security consultants.

And I'm sure I don't need to remind you...

that we haven't gotten one
of these jobs since your Uffizi fiasco.

And yet, you always do.

Because you learned nothing from it.

I learned that flammable and
inflammable mean the same thing.

- Wait, what?
- Well, this time make sure you...

Mother. Oh, my God, we've been
spotted they're shooting at us. Oh, my...

- Heh. Bet she's freaking out right now.
- Oh, my God.

What shade is that? Crack Whore Red?

- You said they were tranquilizer darts.
- Ah, I merely implied that.

Damn it. So I poisoned like,
five innocent security guards?

Would you relax? I'm pretty sure
San Marino has universal health care.

- So?
- So that's good for them.

Because there's gonna be
some neurological damage.

- Oh, my. Lana.
- Wow, that is one serious diamond.

But is it supposed to be brown?

It's not brown, Pam.

- That color is called champagne.
- Mm-hm.

- And why do you have it?
- Because I...

am gonna ask Lana to marry me.

And you're gonna give her that
if she says no?

Like a big "screw you
in your big Lincoln-Loggy fingers"?

The last thing you hear me say is,
"Oh, my God, they're shooting at us"...

- and you don't even call me back?
- Well...

I knew you weren't in any real danger.

You know, with Lana there.

- Ha!
- Ha.

And let's just knock off the giggling.

I want game-faces on those heads
for our conference call with the prince.

- I thought he was a captain regent.
- Oh, whatever.

All of San Marino could fit
in the South Bronx.

- The important thing is, they're loaded.
- Just shitfaced.

- Oh...
- About 15 freaking beers...

all that Schützie. And holy shit,
did I honk down a bunch of absinthe?

I don't know Pam,
but could you lower your voice?

I must have. Cause I hallucinated
you had an engagement...

Not. Another. Word.

- And just what is this, I ask you.
- Hello, Cheryl.

Cyril. Are you cheating on me?

- No, just trying to get my muffin back.
- Oh, no, you're not.

- I'm not?
- Not like that.

You gotta slug her in the
diaphragm with a forearm shiver.

- Oh. That's good to know. Heh.
- Do it.


- Wow.
- Ugh.

And no muffin. See?
Time lost is muffin lost.

Along with my appetite.

- For food, that is. Heh-heh.
- Ugh.

Come see me.

Wow. I am incredibly sorry.

But that is my decision, Ms. Archer.

- And as captain regent of...
- I don't care if you're Captain...

Crunch. No, wait, Beefheart.

- We had a deal.
- Kangaroo. Remember him?

We pointed out every single flaw
in your cut-rate security system.

And now not only
are you hiring another agency...

you won't even pay ISIS...

- for that security probe.
- Which means no bonuses for us.

- Wait, what?
- Oh, now he cares.

Those monies will go to medical care
for the palace guards they poisoned.

- What?
- Lana did that.

- And as for hiring ODIN...

- Uh, skipper, if I could jump in here.
- Trexler.

Oh, Malory. Even on...
What is this, 1080p?

You look just as supple...

and sexy as the day
I first laid eyes on you.

- Where, in a wax museum?
- Sterling!

- That's no way to talk to your mother.
- Just who the hell do you think you are?

- Getting ISIS blacklisted at the UN?
- Had nothing to do with that.

- Embarrassing me in Berlin?
- The entire hotel was embarrassed.

Stealing all my prospective clients?

- Yeah.
- And no matter which way I turn...

you're butting in that big, fat, strong...

- aquiline nose of yours.
- Wait, what?

- You said it was the nose of a Caesar.
- Ehh...

Well, perhaps a lesser Caesar.

No, no, now, I clearly
remember you said Augustus.

- And in vino veritas.
- The Chianti was definitely flowing.

- Ha, ha.
- Among other things.

- Mother.
- Hmm? Oh, uh...

this is the last time
you make me out a fool, Len Trexler.

- You wanna play me hard?
- Phrasing.

- You know I do.
- Well, then you better nut up.

- Phrasing.
- Because I've swallowed just about...

- as much as I can take from you.
- Hey! Phrasing!

And we'll see who's smirking...

when ISIS steals that diamond for real.

- Oh, you're a naughty girl.
- Right, then.

Commence Operation
"Rub Len Trexler's Big Fat Nose In It."

- Sounds like you already have.
- You want to break back into the palace...

which now has the insane
amount of security we recommended?

- Plus God knows how many ODIN guys.
- Yes, so take more of that poison.

And on top of that suck-salad...

you wanna sprinkle on the bacon bits
of "Let's tell them we're coming"?

- Well?
- Well, there's this new thing...

called the element of surprise?

I'm so sorry I slammed you in the gut.
Jeez, that's how Houdini died.

- Houdini died of AIDS.
- No.

Why do you always say that?
And that's the thing.

- I want to surprise Lana...
- Well, you nailed it.

So this time I need you
to not be your normal...

compulsively blabby self.

Wha...? When have I ever been blabby?

Guess who has breast cancer.

Just one of like, two dozen equally
appalling videos on your website.

They're not all equally appal...

- And have I blabbed about you and Cheryl?
- She keeps seducing me.

And you think you can make that unhappen
if you give Lana a tiny flake of brown mica?

- Cyril, look at it.
- But I spent two months' salary.

- I know. But you make shit.
- Hey, I'm doing pretty well, thank you.

Save that speech for the father
you continually disappoint.

I'm head of HR, Cyril,
I know your take-home.

Yeah, and l... I...

I take home shit.

Well, we all do.

What's my father ever done
that's so great?

School superintendent? Big whoop.

There's only like 800 kids
in the entire county.

K through 12!

- Wow.
- I'm sorry, you were saying?

I were saying, we all make shit, so,
what we should do is unionize.

Yeah. I'll get the raise I deserve.

- Then you can buy Lana a big-boy ring.
- She'll promptly agree to marry me.

Then you take her home
to meet your dick dad.

And then I shove his hawk face
right into her big brown boobs...

and scream,
"Look at those babies, old man."

Didn't need a varsity letter
to get those, did I?

So now who's a disappoint...?"
Oh, Jesus H. Jones, Pam.


Carol? Carol?

Oh, wait. Cheryl? Cheryl.


Cheryl, I swear to God...

if I have to open my own
salad again I will freak out.

Where the hell is everybody?

Let's assume we can't access
the palace through that same skylight.

- Okay.
- But maybe we overlooked an air shaft...

or maybe even
some access below-grade?

- So let's pull up the palace schematics.
- Uh, okay.

- Maybe today, if that works for you.
- Hang on.

- Let me see. How about now? Anything?
- No.

- Uh, how about now?
- No.

- How about now? Anything?
- No.

- What are you doing there?
- I don't know.

- What, are you just hitting random keys?
- Well, obviously.

Aw, damn it, we... Where is the hobbit guy?

- Heh. A freaking hobbit works here?
- No. He's just a...

They're called little people, not hobbits.

- Will you... He's a hobbit enthusiast.
- Ooh.

But he also knows how to work
all the computers and satellites and shit.

But even though I do all that...

I gotta live with a roommate.
In Queens.

- That's disgusting.
- Thanks, Bilbo. Another example...

of how underpaid the ISIS
support staff really is.

And I for one am fed up.

Yeah, fed full of muffins and denial.

What's your problem, neck bones?

My problem is I remember what
Ms. Archer did to the cleaning ladies.

You sure, missus? Is plenty space.

No. Gracias.


Ha. How's that for bread and roses?

That was pretty sad.

What's sad is now nobody re-stocks
the machine in the bathroom...

so I have to make my own tampons.

- I don't know what that is.
- That's where my yarn's going.

Exactly, and so I say, no union.

Yes, confederacy forever.

No, wait, uh-uh. Don't listen to
the makes-her-own-tampons person.

Listen to your hearts.
Because deep down...

you know they're exploiting us.

But if we unite, we can put a stop to it.

And that supply closet
is just packed with posterboard...

and markers,
and maybe even some glitter.

So who's with me on that picket line?

- And me.
- Really?

You had me at "put."

Yes, we need a sound sensor. Duh!

Where is that equipment guy?
And where the hell are the jumars?

Yeah, I don't know,
this was all I could find.

I'm thinking goggles, yes. Shovels...

I don't know how
or why we'd use them.

- Ugh.
- Cheryl?

- She's not in here.
- Well, why are you in here?

Is the San Marino diamond in here now?

It might be, for all we know.

We can't find any gear we need.

We've got no sat-come, no new intel...

and so basically we are totally
unprepared for this mission.

- Unless it involves night-shoveling.
- Well, I want that diamond.

Not to mention my rapidly-approaching-
room-temperature Cobb salad, so...

Damn it, where the hell are all the drones?

- What do we want?
- Unfair!

- When do we want it?
- Change!

Okay, so they're bad chanters,
but overall this strike's shaping up.

- How? Nobody knows why we're striking.
- Well, we can't say "Hey, right upstairs..."

is a top-secret intelligence agency."

But it looks like we're
picketing the cleaners.

- No, it doesn't.
- Jesus!

Stop picketing the cleaners!

You were saying?

- Why are people picketing the cleaners?
- I predicted this. It's curry fury.

Holy shit, is that Cyril?

And Pam, Krieger, Carol. All the...

Drones. They're not picketing
the cleaners, they're picketing ISIS.

- What's their beef?
- Oh, the same entitled crap as always.

"I can't make ends meet,"
"I'm on food stamps."

"My child died because I couldn't
afford new bone marrow."

- Just me, me, me.
- Jesus, whose kid died?

Oh, who remembers. Check Pam's blog.

And done, but if you still want us
to steal you that gigantic diamond...

- Well, obviously.
- We're gonna have to cross their picket line.

- Screw that.
- Yeah, what's with all the bottles?

It's like a trailer park Easter.

Lousy commies! Go back to Quebec!

Jesus. Okay, strike's over, everybody.

No, hold that line. We deserve a raise...

and Lana deserves a real ring, so...

Okay, so let's go out the back.

- Oh, my God.
- Ha, ha!

- Happy Easter, Cyril.
- Lana?

Oh, baby. What happened to you?

- Well, see, I wanted to buy you a...
- Cyril.

- This is not that moment.
- And we don't talk to management.

- Or ham-fisted whores.
- What?

- Hmm?
- Yeah, no, they're right.

- What?
- No, not the whore part. Management.

We're not technically management.

But you make shitloads more than we do.

Even though you totally depend on us.

On you? Hey, we're out
there risking our lives every...

- Many of the days.
- And so, yes, we get paid a little more.

- How much a little more?
- Well, it's complicated.

- No, it isn't, don't answer that.
- What with salary...

performance incentives, bonuses...

- Bonuses?
- Dump her, Cyril.

Hey, crazy. Go macrame some tampons.

Oh, you wanna hear
something crazy? Cyril...

- Thank you, Pam. Now look, Lana...
- Baby, "Take Charge" Cyril...

is totally doing it for me, it really is,
but we're on a vital mission here.

- Vital mission?
- Not on the master clipboard.

- So just how vital is it?
- It's incredibly vital.

Because if they don't
steal me that huge diamond...

- I will literally die.
- A diamond?

- In this economy?
- You're stealing a diamond? For her?

- Oh, irony.
- And the rest of you, back to work.

If that salad isn't open in the next...

- Get them!
- Oh, oh!

- Hey, whoa.
- Stop surging.

Archer, do something.

I am doing something.
What are you doing?

Lana, out the back. Move.

Hey, Cyril.


- Cyril!
- What?

- I'm saving Lana. As usual.
- Hey, shut up.

- Freaking ODIN. I can't believe this.
- How many are there?

- About a jillion.
- Damn it.

- A jillion gay little copycats.
- What?

I didn't invent the turtleneck, Lana.

But I was the first to recognize
its potential as a tactical garment.

- The tactical turtleneck, Lana.
- Archer.

The Tactleneck.

- Can you please focus?
- Not really.

Don't think these goggles
were properly calibrated.

Ditto the sound sensor.
And the stupid code-cloner.

All the gear those sweaty
tech-dweebs normally... Oh!

- Do we take the drones for granted?
- No. No, no, Lana.

Do not make this about them.

No, no, no. That is utterly unacceptable.

- It's just a cost-of-living adjustment.
- It's strong-arm robbery.

Come on, Ms. Archer.
You've been in there ten hours.

Meet us halfway,
and Krieger will let you out of there.

- Or else he'll crank up the heat again.
- I love...

- that you know how to do that.
- And I love that I have an erection...

that didn't involve homeless people.

And you're cool with Krieger
shucking your side-corn?

Yeah, that is a huge win-win for me.

You hear that, Ms. Archer?

We're all on board
for the big win-win out here.

Well, I'm not. Do your worst, Krieger.

- Okay.
- Oh, my God, yes.

Yes, go ahead. Crank up the heat.

I'm as naked as the day I was born.

- Oh, yes.
- That is not something...

- Naked or not.
- Well, don't keep saying it.

You can't stay in there forever.

Ha! I'll outlast you.
I'm naked and I've got half a lime...

and almost...

Nearly two-thirds of a half-gallon of...

- Shit.
- Now we got her.

Ha! I'll suck it straight
off this grimy linoleum...

before I give in to you belly-achers.

- You've got nothing!
- No code-cloner, no GPS. Argh!

- We've got no thermal imaging.
- Lana...

- we don't need gadgets.
- Really?

Machines are gonna fail.
Then the system's gonna fail...

and then it's
"Who has the ability to survive?"

And that's the game, Lana. Survival.

Just watched Deliverance again, huh?

I mean, is Burt Reynolds
not the man in that?

On the raft? With the vest?

- Huh? You know he did all his own stunts.
- I know!

- Shh!
- He did his own stunts!

Keep your freaking voice... Aah!

God! Sweet Jesus, the goggles!

Intruders. Get them.

- Aah, Lana! Lana, I'm blind. I'm blind.
- Yeah? Should I go on without you?

What? No, carry me, monster-hands.

Ow, ow, ow!

Jesus. Quit bouncing my eyes.

Shut up. I'm trying to get us
an evac but nobody's answer...

Oh, holy shit, are they still on strike?

Hey, Eugene Debs,
it's only been about ten hours.

- All right?
- So you'd rather die in there...

than give us a cost-of-living

- Yes.
- Well, I can arrange that.


I love that you know how to do that.

Well, now you're trapped. Happy?

- Yes.
- Ugh! Laundry.

Oh, wait, are we open?

What? Sir, you have to slow...

Jeezy Petes, get a load of this guy.

We're taking heavy
fire and we need an extraction, dumb-ass!


- Ha! She thought you were a man.
- Shut up. Cyril, baby...

we're pinned down, okay?
We need a... Aah!

- Lana!
- What's going on?

We need evac. A helo, a jump-jet.

At this point, really anything.

- Don't just stand there, idiots.
- Yeah, come on. Get them out of there.

Uh, we need the sat-com link to do that.

- So?
- So it's upstairs.

And, uh, someone broke the elevator.

And Miss Fire Hazard in there
bricked up the only stairwell.

Don't talk to me about fire hazards.

- All you people did in there was smoke.
- Oh, God, I'm hit.

- Lana!
- Will somebody please do something?

- Like what, Cyril? I'm blind.
- No, us. Here.

- Oh.
- Krieger, Bilbo.

Come on,
can't you guys do something?

Wha...? No.

Oh, wait, I meant yes.

Roger that, Zebra-Two. Stand by.

Helo's 10-4, just needs you
to upload their GPS coordinates...

into his HUD.

Which I will do with these cell phones.

Holy shit, you geeks are bad-ass.

We couldn't have done it
without an electrical insulator.

So thank Cyril
for the tiny brown diamond.

- What?
- Wait, did we get the diamond?

What? No. But Cyril,
why did you have a diamond?

Oh, uh, just my ear-stud.
You know, from college.

- Really?
- Called it.

And, again, you do realize
it'll be totally destroyed in the process.

Yes, just hurry up. Please.

Okay, uploading GPS coordinates.

- Wait a second.
- Damn it, we don't have a second.

Lana, I'm sure we have one second.

But seriously, it does sound like
we're about to be overrun, so...

Get my son out of there.
What the hell are you people waiting for?

- A goddamn cost-of-living adjustment.
- What?

- Hey, yeah.
- No!

- Krieger, this is not the time for this.
- It is exactly the time.

So, what's it gonna be, you harpy?

You ever wanna see your son again?

Not at the number you quoted me.

- Mother!
- That number is pegged...

to the consumer price index.

Where? The People's Republic of Canada?

- Jesus, take it out of our bonuses.
- What?

Mother, no, listen to me. Aah!

I'm hit. I'm hit and I'm blind.

Jesus, Ms. Archer, your child is dying.

Oh, all right.
If they'll give up their bonuses...

- Mother!
- You can have your lousy...

cost-of-living adjustment.

Something good's happening.

And you can have your dick son back.

- What's going on?
- I hear a helicopter.

- Oh, yeah.
- Holy shit...

- my other senses are already heightened.
- Hey, this time I saved Lana.

- But... Oh, God, Pam. Two months' salary.
- Cyril.

You can't put a price on good pussy.

Roger that, Zebra Two.
Hey, the helo's got them. They're safe.

- Hooray.
- Way to go.

Then get me out of this sweat-box!

Because I am officially out of gin.

Oh, come on, Archer, not now, I'm serious.

Hey, I'm serious!

Look at me, seriously, Lana.

Forget the eye bandage, but the hair,
the strong jaw line.

- Who do I remind you of?
- Nobody.

- Say it.
- Don't make me do that.

- Say it. Say it!
- Ugh.

Burt Reynolds in Deliverance.

No! Not in Deliverance.
Ha, ha.

- In Gator.
- Ugh.


How can you not see that?