Dilbert (1999–2000): Season 2, Episode 13 - Pregnancy - full transcript
Dilbert creates a small rocket in order to search for intelligent life. The rocket collects alien DNA as well as samples from a hillbilly, a cow, and an engineer. On its return flight, the rocket crashes and impregnates Dilbert.
Unless I'm a complete moron,
you've invented
some sort of a...
steel banana?
It's a model rocket.
My journey of
self-discovery is ending early.
You may commence
bragging at any time.
There's no need to brag.
Stating the facts
will be sufficient.
Do as he does, not as he says.
Does what?
As you can see,
I've equipped this model
with a state-of-the-art
pico-nuclear propulsion drive,
an artificial intelligence
guidance system,
and a super-hardened
ceramic casing.
Yes. But can it do this?
Ya-da-da-da-da-da-la-da!
Ta-ta!
I have no further questions.
You're gonna be the envy
of every 12-year-old
in the park.
It's not for the park.
It's for unmanned
space exploration.
As you know, I have
long held firm in my beliefs
that life in some form
must exist in other places.
My pleas for further study
have gone largely unheeded.
So I've taken it upon myself
and programmed this
to find any trace of life...
No matter how
faint... Gather samples,
and return directly
to me when it's done.
Ooh, and lookee,
it has a button too.
I wish you hadn't done that.
I know where you're coming from.
It'll be okay.
As soon as it collects
some samples of alien life,
it'll return directly to me.
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Oh! Aw, man!
What a rip-off!
I saw that! I have evidence!
My first dying wish is to live,
but since that's
not working out,
my second dying wish is to
have an heir to my vast fortune.
Your wife will be my incubator.
Incu... incu...
Well, incu-whatever.
Let's get one thing straight.
It ain't free.
We want a hundred dollars...
in unmarked quarters.
The unfertilized eggs
are ready for implanting
in the surrogate hillbilly.
Hey, just 'cause I take money
to make babies for other people,
that don't make me no surrogate.
Actually, it does.
That rocket poached your eggs.
I know it ain't fair to
do it this way, Flossie,
but the bulls think
you're... well, skanky.
It's artificial
nano-machine DNA.
I have synthesized
the very building
blocks of robotic life.
So you're saying
the robots will be able
to independently
reproduce and evolve?
Yes, I am.
When do you expect it to return?
It depends how
far it has to travel
to find samples of new life.
The only thing I know for sure
is that it will
return in the end.
You know, it's lucky
he has gall stones,
or this thing would've
gone right through him.
Is he going to be all right?
Will he regain consciousness?
And don't assume that
because I'm his mother
I want a certain answer.
Lab guy says the
rocket was covered
with a mixture of
genetic material
including alien,
bovine, nano-robotic,
hillbilly, and two
dozen engineers.
In a word, he's... pregnant.
Knocked up?
I told him this would happen
if he kept playing with rockets.
You did?
I'm very thorough
in my warnings.
We'll terminate the
pregnancy at once, of course.
Don't try it, buster.
That's my grandson in there.
Or granddaughter.
Or grand cow...
What were the
other choices again?
Alien and robot.
Whatever it is, you'd
better keep it alive.
This is probably my one
shot to be a grandmother,
and I'm not letting
anybody get in my way.
His body can't support a baby,
unless we pump him so
full of female hormones
it scrambles his gender
identity permanently.
You know, if you doctors
stopped worrying so
much about the patient
and started worrying
more about the family,
maybe we wouldn't be in
the health care mess we're in.
But it's not safe.
It's not ethical.
Oh, like you give a damn.
Come on, you know
you want to do it.
Hmm. I got to admit,
it would be something.
Yeah, we'll put something
down on the chart.
All right. What the hell.
You'll tell him when
he wakes up, won't you?
Of course.
Swear?
Okay. All right.
Maybe in the third trimester.
My feet are like ice cubes.
Is anyone else cold?
It's exactly 72 degrees in here.
The same as it's always been,
and I might add, always will be.
Well, tell that to my feet.
Ratbert.
I'm afraid of his slippers.
You know what I feel like?
I feel like ice cream.
Does anyone want to
share some dessert?
You read my mind.
Would you mind driving
to the store and getting it?
I don't want to be
seen buying ice cream
until I lose five pounds.
Only five?
Is that nice?
If your feet are cold,
won't ice cream make it worse?
Those are completely
unrelated things.
I'll need some money.
Rats don't have money.
I'll give you a check.
A check?
It's a convenience store.
It's a $5.00 purchase.
Who writes a check for $5.00?
I give up. Forget it.
If you must pick on
every little thing I do,
then I don't want any ice cream,
or cupcakes. Or anything
sweet and delicious.
I'll just go to my room
and put on my socks.
Fine!
Fine!
Tiny.
And those two...
They make me...
Huh?
And now the Chapstick.
Mm... Sassy!
We heard about your
accident with the rocket.
Some day, you'll look
back at it and laugh.
We already started.
But seriously,
are there any aftereffects?
None that I know of.
The air is so dry in here.
Doesn't it wreak
havoc on your skin?
No. No.
Moisturizer?
No, thanks. No, thanks.
Who wants a peppermint?
Peppermint?
Moisturizer?
That's not a briefcase,
it's a fricking purse!
What else do you
have in that thing?
Not much.
My romance novel,
some moist towelettes
Chapstick, extra pair of socks
in case mine get a ru...
I mean, uh, ripped.
You know how
socks can get ripped.
No.
I do.
You mind if I borrow those?
Keep them.
You're my witness.
And I got these
at the drugstore.
They're excellent
for absorbing...
spills.
Oh, my God!
I just have to try one test.
Dilbert, would you
like to date me?
Not in a million years.
Yup. He's a woman.
As you know,
our older employees...
The ones with the
highest salaries...
Are not dying at
the rate we'd hoped.
We've decided to reduce
health care benefits
to speed up the natural process.
Dilbert, are you
listening to any of this?
Actually, yes.
I've suddenly developed
the ability to multitask.
An hour ago, I was talking
and thinking and typing
at the same time.
Men can't multitask!
Only women can multitask!
And lately, I've started to
appreciate conversations
that have no meaningful content.
Is anyone else cold?
I am.
You can borrow
one of my afghans.
This is pretty.
Did you make it yourself?
I wish.
As I was saying,
your new health maintenance
organization will be...
somewhat less
robust than the old one.
How much less?
They operate out of
an Italian restaurant.
How can doctors
work in a restaurant?
They don't have doctors per se,
but if you tip the
waiters enough,
they'll remove your appendix
and put it in a
doggie bag for you.
They also have
early bird specials.
They're very service-oriented.
Sometimes, I go there
just for the sponge baths.
What is our
maternity leave policy?
Our maternity leave policy
is that if you feel maternal,
you should leave.
That's discrimination
against women!
Every day, this company becomes
less family-friendly.
Little by little,
you chip away at our dignity.
You could get a
job some place else.
Wally, I'm not asking
you to solve my problem.
That was a plea for empathy!
You could buy supplemental
health insurance.
Stop trying to
solve my problems.
I'm just sharing my feelings.
Dilbert, if I wasn't so
completely consumed
by my own problems,
I might be persuaded
to think there was
something wrong with you.
Anyway, here's their pamphlets.
It's also a takeout menu.
They do delivery.
And may I recommend
the prostate exam marsala.
Mm.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I'm late for my appointment.
I'm having dermabrasion
and tiramisu.
I feel different
since my accident
with the model rocket.
Mm-hmm. Go on.
For example, I no
longer love my computer.
I see it simply as a tool
for increasing my productivity.
Hmm...
This morning,
I pumped my own gas,
and I noticed for the first time
it makes my hands smell.
Ah-ha. And what do you
think of performance reviews?
I hate them!
I never cared before,
but now the thought
of being criticized
drives me crazy.
And do you constantly
find yourself wishing
you could take a nap?
Yes!
Do you know what's
wrong with me?
Yes. You've turned into a woman.
No, seriously.
I'm serious. You're a woman.
That's impossible.
Well, I can prove it.
Now...
Tell me what you're wearing.
White short-sleeve shirt,
red and black necktie,
black Capri pants, white
socks, and black shoes.
What does that prove?
It proves you're a woman.
A man would have to look.
Wally?
What are you wearing?
Uh... I don't know.
I'll give you a hint.
It's the same thing
you wear every day.
Oh. Is it blue?
Asok, what clothes
are you wearing?
Um... I don't know.
Possibly a parka or
some sort of sweater?
Is that close?
Loud Howard,
what color is your shirt?
Is it a loud color?
What's wrong with you?
Are you all brain-dead?
No, we're male.
You seem very upset.
Maybe you could
take a pill for that.
Stop trying to
solve my problems.
You're all so...
Do you want to hear
the most ridiculous thing?
It's what I live for.
Our director of human
resources thinks I'm a woman.
Is that funny or what?
Looks like you
need bigger pants.
I don't need bigger pants.
I need smaller pants.
That way, I'll have
incentive to lose weight.
But in the meantime,
I'll have to wear
something else.
Where did I put my
sewing machine?
You don't own a sewing machine.
Really?
Mom,
can I borrow your
sewing machine?
Mine doesn't exist.
It's in the sewing room, dear.
Did you tell him yet?
I'm waiting for
the third trimester.
That's not going to work.
We have some major
adjustments to make here.
I need time to ease into
the grandmother thing.
And, besides, I could
use a good laugh.
I hear you.
There. That should
be roomy enough.
I didn't even know I could sew.
How do you like my new shirt?
I made it myself.
I wouldn't call that a shirt.
Of course, it's a shirt.
I made it extra long
so you can't tell I'm
not wearing any pants.
It's an innovation.
It's a dress.
You're just jealous,
but don't be.
I'm planning to sew you
one of these for your birthday.
Dilbert, I think Dogbert
wants to tell you something.
Really? What?
Sit down.
Ooh!
I wasn't gonna tell you this
until the third trimester,
but I see you're coming
right along there, so...
What are you talking about?
Dilbert, you know that
experimental rocket
that had its way with you?
I wouldn't put it that way.
You will when we
tell you what we know.
The rocket had genetic material
from a variety of sources.
A wide variety.
Quite varied.
Maybe you could name a few.
Hillbilly.
Space alien.
Robot.
Cow.
And several dozen engineers.
Wow. Do I make a good
life-seeking rocket or what?
But that's not the best part.
What's the best part?
Table for one, obviously.
I need to see a doctor,
or at least a
waiter, right away.
What is your problem?
Do I have to say it
in front of the other customers?
Yes, you do.
I'm pregnant with an alien baby,
or perhaps a cow,
or a hillbilly, or a robot.
I recommend
Dr. Eduardo, table four.
He handles our nut cases.
I'm not a nut.
If I were a nut,
would I be dressed like this?
Good point.
In that case, I recommend...
Dr. Eduardo, table four.
That's more like it.
My name is Eduardo.
I will be your doctor.
May I get you a beverage?
Ginger ale, please.
And what seems
to be your problem?
I think I'm pregnant.
Hmm.
Say "ah."
Ahhh.
I don't see anything down there.
I don't think you
can see it that way.
Take off your dress.
It's a shirt!
Yes. I will be right
back with your drinks.
Great.
Nothing to read but this menu,
and it's probably been handled
by a million sick
people already.
We can't afford an
ultrasound machine,
but our busboy, Juan,
is the next best thing.
Don't move.
I will make a sound wave,
and Juan will create a picture
from the sonic signature.
What's in there?!
Sweet mother of God!
Don't you think you're
overreacting a little?
Gaah!
Next week on Dilbert...
What? Dilbert's having a baby?
The baby might be an
alien, or a robot, or a cow,
or a hillbilly, or an engineer.
Dime a dozen.
Do your friends think
you dress too sexy?
Can you help me publish a book
about my pregnancy?
I need the money.
Follow me.
How much news can you afford?
Tonight, we take you
to meet this curious man
in a story we call...
A Womb with a Stew.
Michael Jackson has an
order in for three of them.
Join us tomorrow on Prime Line
when we begin
gavel-to-gavel coverage
of the fetus custody
battle of the century.
Please rise for the honorable...
Judge Stone Cold Steve Austin!
Austin 3:16 says
order in the court.
It's coming!
you've invented
some sort of a...
steel banana?
It's a model rocket.
My journey of
self-discovery is ending early.
You may commence
bragging at any time.
There's no need to brag.
Stating the facts
will be sufficient.
Do as he does, not as he says.
Does what?
As you can see,
I've equipped this model
with a state-of-the-art
pico-nuclear propulsion drive,
an artificial intelligence
guidance system,
and a super-hardened
ceramic casing.
Yes. But can it do this?
Ya-da-da-da-da-da-la-da!
Ta-ta!
I have no further questions.
You're gonna be the envy
of every 12-year-old
in the park.
It's not for the park.
It's for unmanned
space exploration.
As you know, I have
long held firm in my beliefs
that life in some form
must exist in other places.
My pleas for further study
have gone largely unheeded.
So I've taken it upon myself
and programmed this
to find any trace of life...
No matter how
faint... Gather samples,
and return directly
to me when it's done.
Ooh, and lookee,
it has a button too.
I wish you hadn't done that.
I know where you're coming from.
It'll be okay.
As soon as it collects
some samples of alien life,
it'll return directly to me.
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
Oh! Aw, man!
What a rip-off!
I saw that! I have evidence!
My first dying wish is to live,
but since that's
not working out,
my second dying wish is to
have an heir to my vast fortune.
Your wife will be my incubator.
Incu... incu...
Well, incu-whatever.
Let's get one thing straight.
It ain't free.
We want a hundred dollars...
in unmarked quarters.
The unfertilized eggs
are ready for implanting
in the surrogate hillbilly.
Hey, just 'cause I take money
to make babies for other people,
that don't make me no surrogate.
Actually, it does.
That rocket poached your eggs.
I know it ain't fair to
do it this way, Flossie,
but the bulls think
you're... well, skanky.
It's artificial
nano-machine DNA.
I have synthesized
the very building
blocks of robotic life.
So you're saying
the robots will be able
to independently
reproduce and evolve?
Yes, I am.
When do you expect it to return?
It depends how
far it has to travel
to find samples of new life.
The only thing I know for sure
is that it will
return in the end.
You know, it's lucky
he has gall stones,
or this thing would've
gone right through him.
Is he going to be all right?
Will he regain consciousness?
And don't assume that
because I'm his mother
I want a certain answer.
Lab guy says the
rocket was covered
with a mixture of
genetic material
including alien,
bovine, nano-robotic,
hillbilly, and two
dozen engineers.
In a word, he's... pregnant.
Knocked up?
I told him this would happen
if he kept playing with rockets.
You did?
I'm very thorough
in my warnings.
We'll terminate the
pregnancy at once, of course.
Don't try it, buster.
That's my grandson in there.
Or granddaughter.
Or grand cow...
What were the
other choices again?
Alien and robot.
Whatever it is, you'd
better keep it alive.
This is probably my one
shot to be a grandmother,
and I'm not letting
anybody get in my way.
His body can't support a baby,
unless we pump him so
full of female hormones
it scrambles his gender
identity permanently.
You know, if you doctors
stopped worrying so
much about the patient
and started worrying
more about the family,
maybe we wouldn't be in
the health care mess we're in.
But it's not safe.
It's not ethical.
Oh, like you give a damn.
Come on, you know
you want to do it.
Hmm. I got to admit,
it would be something.
Yeah, we'll put something
down on the chart.
All right. What the hell.
You'll tell him when
he wakes up, won't you?
Of course.
Swear?
Okay. All right.
Maybe in the third trimester.
My feet are like ice cubes.
Is anyone else cold?
It's exactly 72 degrees in here.
The same as it's always been,
and I might add, always will be.
Well, tell that to my feet.
Ratbert.
I'm afraid of his slippers.
You know what I feel like?
I feel like ice cream.
Does anyone want to
share some dessert?
You read my mind.
Would you mind driving
to the store and getting it?
I don't want to be
seen buying ice cream
until I lose five pounds.
Only five?
Is that nice?
If your feet are cold,
won't ice cream make it worse?
Those are completely
unrelated things.
I'll need some money.
Rats don't have money.
I'll give you a check.
A check?
It's a convenience store.
It's a $5.00 purchase.
Who writes a check for $5.00?
I give up. Forget it.
If you must pick on
every little thing I do,
then I don't want any ice cream,
or cupcakes. Or anything
sweet and delicious.
I'll just go to my room
and put on my socks.
Fine!
Fine!
Tiny.
And those two...
They make me...
Huh?
And now the Chapstick.
Mm... Sassy!
We heard about your
accident with the rocket.
Some day, you'll look
back at it and laugh.
We already started.
But seriously,
are there any aftereffects?
None that I know of.
The air is so dry in here.
Doesn't it wreak
havoc on your skin?
No. No.
Moisturizer?
No, thanks. No, thanks.
Who wants a peppermint?
Peppermint?
Moisturizer?
That's not a briefcase,
it's a fricking purse!
What else do you
have in that thing?
Not much.
My romance novel,
some moist towelettes
Chapstick, extra pair of socks
in case mine get a ru...
I mean, uh, ripped.
You know how
socks can get ripped.
No.
I do.
You mind if I borrow those?
Keep them.
You're my witness.
And I got these
at the drugstore.
They're excellent
for absorbing...
spills.
Oh, my God!
I just have to try one test.
Dilbert, would you
like to date me?
Not in a million years.
Yup. He's a woman.
As you know,
our older employees...
The ones with the
highest salaries...
Are not dying at
the rate we'd hoped.
We've decided to reduce
health care benefits
to speed up the natural process.
Dilbert, are you
listening to any of this?
Actually, yes.
I've suddenly developed
the ability to multitask.
An hour ago, I was talking
and thinking and typing
at the same time.
Men can't multitask!
Only women can multitask!
And lately, I've started to
appreciate conversations
that have no meaningful content.
Is anyone else cold?
I am.
You can borrow
one of my afghans.
This is pretty.
Did you make it yourself?
I wish.
As I was saying,
your new health maintenance
organization will be...
somewhat less
robust than the old one.
How much less?
They operate out of
an Italian restaurant.
How can doctors
work in a restaurant?
They don't have doctors per se,
but if you tip the
waiters enough,
they'll remove your appendix
and put it in a
doggie bag for you.
They also have
early bird specials.
They're very service-oriented.
Sometimes, I go there
just for the sponge baths.
What is our
maternity leave policy?
Our maternity leave policy
is that if you feel maternal,
you should leave.
That's discrimination
against women!
Every day, this company becomes
less family-friendly.
Little by little,
you chip away at our dignity.
You could get a
job some place else.
Wally, I'm not asking
you to solve my problem.
That was a plea for empathy!
You could buy supplemental
health insurance.
Stop trying to
solve my problems.
I'm just sharing my feelings.
Dilbert, if I wasn't so
completely consumed
by my own problems,
I might be persuaded
to think there was
something wrong with you.
Anyway, here's their pamphlets.
It's also a takeout menu.
They do delivery.
And may I recommend
the prostate exam marsala.
Mm.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I'm late for my appointment.
I'm having dermabrasion
and tiramisu.
I feel different
since my accident
with the model rocket.
Mm-hmm. Go on.
For example, I no
longer love my computer.
I see it simply as a tool
for increasing my productivity.
Hmm...
This morning,
I pumped my own gas,
and I noticed for the first time
it makes my hands smell.
Ah-ha. And what do you
think of performance reviews?
I hate them!
I never cared before,
but now the thought
of being criticized
drives me crazy.
And do you constantly
find yourself wishing
you could take a nap?
Yes!
Do you know what's
wrong with me?
Yes. You've turned into a woman.
No, seriously.
I'm serious. You're a woman.
That's impossible.
Well, I can prove it.
Now...
Tell me what you're wearing.
White short-sleeve shirt,
red and black necktie,
black Capri pants, white
socks, and black shoes.
What does that prove?
It proves you're a woman.
A man would have to look.
Wally?
What are you wearing?
Uh... I don't know.
I'll give you a hint.
It's the same thing
you wear every day.
Oh. Is it blue?
Asok, what clothes
are you wearing?
Um... I don't know.
Possibly a parka or
some sort of sweater?
Is that close?
Loud Howard,
what color is your shirt?
Is it a loud color?
What's wrong with you?
Are you all brain-dead?
No, we're male.
You seem very upset.
Maybe you could
take a pill for that.
Stop trying to
solve my problems.
You're all so...
Do you want to hear
the most ridiculous thing?
It's what I live for.
Our director of human
resources thinks I'm a woman.
Is that funny or what?
Looks like you
need bigger pants.
I don't need bigger pants.
I need smaller pants.
That way, I'll have
incentive to lose weight.
But in the meantime,
I'll have to wear
something else.
Where did I put my
sewing machine?
You don't own a sewing machine.
Really?
Mom,
can I borrow your
sewing machine?
Mine doesn't exist.
It's in the sewing room, dear.
Did you tell him yet?
I'm waiting for
the third trimester.
That's not going to work.
We have some major
adjustments to make here.
I need time to ease into
the grandmother thing.
And, besides, I could
use a good laugh.
I hear you.
There. That should
be roomy enough.
I didn't even know I could sew.
How do you like my new shirt?
I made it myself.
I wouldn't call that a shirt.
Of course, it's a shirt.
I made it extra long
so you can't tell I'm
not wearing any pants.
It's an innovation.
It's a dress.
You're just jealous,
but don't be.
I'm planning to sew you
one of these for your birthday.
Dilbert, I think Dogbert
wants to tell you something.
Really? What?
Sit down.
Ooh!
I wasn't gonna tell you this
until the third trimester,
but I see you're coming
right along there, so...
What are you talking about?
Dilbert, you know that
experimental rocket
that had its way with you?
I wouldn't put it that way.
You will when we
tell you what we know.
The rocket had genetic material
from a variety of sources.
A wide variety.
Quite varied.
Maybe you could name a few.
Hillbilly.
Space alien.
Robot.
Cow.
And several dozen engineers.
Wow. Do I make a good
life-seeking rocket or what?
But that's not the best part.
What's the best part?
Table for one, obviously.
I need to see a doctor,
or at least a
waiter, right away.
What is your problem?
Do I have to say it
in front of the other customers?
Yes, you do.
I'm pregnant with an alien baby,
or perhaps a cow,
or a hillbilly, or a robot.
I recommend
Dr. Eduardo, table four.
He handles our nut cases.
I'm not a nut.
If I were a nut,
would I be dressed like this?
Good point.
In that case, I recommend...
Dr. Eduardo, table four.
That's more like it.
My name is Eduardo.
I will be your doctor.
May I get you a beverage?
Ginger ale, please.
And what seems
to be your problem?
I think I'm pregnant.
Hmm.
Say "ah."
Ahhh.
I don't see anything down there.
I don't think you
can see it that way.
Take off your dress.
It's a shirt!
Yes. I will be right
back with your drinks.
Great.
Nothing to read but this menu,
and it's probably been handled
by a million sick
people already.
We can't afford an
ultrasound machine,
but our busboy, Juan,
is the next best thing.
Don't move.
I will make a sound wave,
and Juan will create a picture
from the sonic signature.
What's in there?!
Sweet mother of God!
Don't you think you're
overreacting a little?
Gaah!
Next week on Dilbert...
What? Dilbert's having a baby?
The baby might be an
alien, or a robot, or a cow,
or a hillbilly, or an engineer.
Dime a dozen.
Do your friends think
you dress too sexy?
Can you help me publish a book
about my pregnancy?
I need the money.
Follow me.
How much news can you afford?
Tonight, we take you
to meet this curious man
in a story we call...
A Womb with a Stew.
Michael Jackson has an
order in for three of them.
Join us tomorrow on Prime Line
when we begin
gavel-to-gavel coverage
of the fetus custody
battle of the century.
Please rise for the honorable...
Judge Stone Cold Steve Austin!
Austin 3:16 says
order in the court.
It's coming!