How I Met Your Mother (2005–2014): Season 9, Episode 11 - Bedtime Stories - full transcript
Having dropped Daphne and the Hummer off, Marshall and Marvin are now on a bus to the Farhampton Inn. Marvin, however, is cranky, so Marshall does the only thing that will get him to sleep - something that Lily discovered worked recently - which is to read him poems in rhyme. But Marshall left Marvin's rhyming book in the Hummer, leaving Marshall to come up with rhyming stories of his own, with the help and often exasperation of his fellow passengers. As one rhyme works, something happens on the bus to awaken Marvin again crying. The stories that Marshall tells Marvin, however inappropriate, are: "Mosby at the Bat", where Ted tries to figure out if a dinner he is having with a Physics professor named Lisa is a business dinner or a date; "Robin Takes the Cake", where Robin steals and eats a wedding cake and the reason why; and "Barney Stinson: Player King of New York City", where Barney, while contemplating hitting on a woman in the bar, explains why, against Lily's assertions to the contrary, that he will indeed be able to pick her up.
Marshall and Marvin
were taking the bus
on their way to Long
Island to meet up with us.
There, there, little Marvin.
Let no more tears fall.
We're gonna see Mommy
in no time at all.
Hello there. I'm sorry
for all of the noise.
It's been a long day
for the Eriksen boys.
- Uh... what's with the rhyming?
- I'm glad that you ask.
To get my son sleeping
is no easy task.
A few weeks ago, the
job fell to my wife.
And as the poor baby
cried out for dear life,
she read every book,
but all were no use
until she arrived at a
mother named Goose.
- Why, Marvin...
- She noted.
...these rhymes make you tired!
And ever since then, all
young Marvin's required
is one book of rhymes, and
to dream land he goes.
Now, what shall we read?
Oh, crap, I left
his book in the car!
That blows.
♪ How I Met Your Mother 9x11♪
Bedtime Stories
Original Air Date on November 25, 2013
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man
Resync for WEB-DL by Norther
Oh, no, what a bummer!
What craptastic luck!
Without Marvin's rhyme book,
this ride's gonna suck!
Does anyone here have
some poetry maybe?
- Or any advice?
- Yeah! Don't have a baby!
I guess if I don't want
young Marvin to wake up,
the rhymes will just have
to be ones that I make up.
I'll whip up some
poetry in seconds flat!
Oh, I know! This story's
called Mosby at the Bat!
The outlook wasn't brilliant
for poor Ted's romantic life.
He was deep into his thirties,
and yet, still he had no wife.
But then, one day whilst grading
papers, life sent him a whammy.
A physics prof named Lisa who'd
just moved here from Miami.
- Professor?
- She asked timidly. He answered:
- Call me Ted.
- Oh. I don't want to bother you.
- Please, have a seat.
- He said.
I'm fairly new to teaching,
and I'm looking for advice.
Every night I practice giving
lectures, sometimes twice.
But when I teach magnetic force,
I just see eyeballs glazing.
I asked around, and people say
your lectures are amazing.
Which is really saying something,
because, architecture? Yawn.
And Ted thought...
Psh, yeah, 'cause physics
is so interesting.
Go on.
It's just that you're so skilled,
and I'm a relative beginner.
If it isn't too much trouble,
can I take you out to dinner?
I'd love to get some pointers,
and I shouldn't keep you late.
- What do you say?
- What do I say?
Teddy Westside's got a date!
- Hooray!
- We cheered.
- Ted's off the bench!
- Our boy's back in the game!
Thank God, it's been a hundred
years since Mosby scored a dame.
The last time he saw boobies was
the screen-test scene in Fame.
The last girl he dated, I
think "Righty" was her name.
Hold it. Let's not all go crazy
like some wild berzerkers.
What if this is just a business
meal between co-workers?
Ted thought back on
past failed dates.
Oh, God, that could be true.
How many times have I come
home to find my balls are blue?
It all depends where Ted and
his new fetching young Floridian
are standing in relation
to that puzzling meridian
called "The International Date
Line." That's right, new theory.
- "What's that," you ask?
- Nobody did.
I'll now address your query!
The date line is the border
betwixt happiness and sorrow.
On this side,
you go home tonight.
On this side, home tomorrow.
And then, as Barney made some
gestures that were rather rude,
Ted left to go meet Lisa,
in a rather puzzled mood.
Was this a date? He simply
couldn't tell how he was faring.
Then Lisa showed up. Ted rejoiced
to see what she was wearing.
For girls at business dinners don't
have necklines that revealing!
But then a friendly handshake
gave poor Ted a sinking feeling.
And so, the night wore on. And
back and forth, the globe rotated.
But still, Ted's curiosity
was never fully sated.
How long could this continue?
He was truly fortune's pawn.
Then Lisa saw the TV.
Hey, the Yankees game is on!
- Of baseball...
- Ted observed...
...you seem to have some
firsthand knowledge.
To which the lady
shrugged and said...
I played softball in college.
Now the age-old softball stereotype's
just that, and nothing more.
- Yeah!
- But as the Yankees got a run,
Ted feared he wouldn't score.
For while the date side of the line's
the one we all might guess he's in,
there'll be no joy in
Tedville if our Lisa is a...
Yes! We win!
Then Lisa took a
drink and said...
This may sound kind of random,
but there actually is a reason
for my rabid Yankee fandom.
I guess I'll just be honest
here, though crazy it may seem.
My first week in New York,
I dated someone on the team.
- Which player?
- I'm not saying.
- Please?
- What are you, a reporter?
Ted's mind began to race. The
waiter came to take their order.
- As Lisa said...
- I might like the spaghetti marinara.
Poor Ted just
wondered silently...
- Mariano Rivera?
- And as she said...
I read this place has
great chicken Milano.
All Ted could bring
himself to think was:
Alfonso Soriano?
I want something hearty.
How about blackened miso cod?
Is it Joe Girardi?
Holy crap, is it A-Rod?!
Okay, Ted, calm down.
You've got to get
yourself together.
Just smile, be charming, ooze
charisma, talk about the weather.
For this might be a date,
which means there
might be hanky-panky.
So, dude, be cool,
relax, don't even...
Just tell me which Yankee!
I'd rather not
discuss this here.
But then again, I'd hate...
to let a silly secret
ruin such a lovely date.
If there's an elephant in the room,
why don't we just remove it?
I dated Derek Jeter. Here's
a picture that'll prove it.
As Ted looked at
that cell phone pic,
there were two things he reckoned.
This definitely was a date,
but there wouldn't be a second.
See? It worked. I said some
rhymes, and out my boy did conk.
Now let's enjoy the ride.
Move, jackass!
Okay, I need a brand-new tale
to silence Marvin's chatter.
I don't know, that last one had
some sketchy subject matter.
Forgive me, but before you got
here, did you smoke a joint?
You don't tell kids
a tale that crass!
I guess he had a point.
I know, I said some things that were,
as you say, kind of questionable.
The truth is, children Marvin's age
aren't really that impressionable.
Do you remember anything
from when you were this small?
Pumpkin picking at age three is
the first thing I recall.
- Hmm.
- Huh.
He won't remember this.
I guess it's true.
It better be.
Or else we'll end up paying through
the nose for Marvin's therapy.
Okay, buddy, nice chat,
but I think I need a break.
Great idea.
After this story!
Robin Takes the Cake.
Once in an East Side bakery,
your debonair Aunt Robin was
making other customers think,
"Geez, who let this slob in?"
She didn't care about their
stares, or who was looking on.
She'd just broke up with...
Kevin.
No, Gael. Or Scooby?
Don?
Now, sometimes, when it rains it pours,
and sometimes, it starts snowing,
for as cream filling
hit her shirt...
Hey, Robin, how's it going?
'Twas Simon, her ex-boyfriend
from her younger days in Canada,
but now, he looked
quite different...
Um...
Rhyme. Uh... thinking. Uh...
I've just been
handed a news flash.
The word "Canada"
is unrhymeable.
It's easier to-- I don't know-- get
drunk and try to climb a bull.
But Canada, damn it, ask any man on the
planet and watch their stammerin' stamina
as they clamor and cram it into the middle
of a sentence for a shot at repentance,
pass the problem on to all
their non-rhyming descendants.
I've never met anyone who
could clean up after Canada.
Except my Uncle Tony from the Bronx.
He's a janitor.
Show-off.
Simon. Nice to see you.
So, what brings you to New York?
- I live here now.
- What? Really?
- Yeah.
- That's great.
Can I get a fork?
He'd always been a deadbeat
and your classic hoser phony,
but seeing Simon all cleaned
up hit Robin like a Zamboni.
And as she looked him up and
down, young Robin felt a tingle.
Had Simon blossomed finally?
And if so, was he single?
So great.
She purred, whilst batting
her eyelashes like a flooze.
Yup, I'm engaged to Louise Marsh,
and our pad's got a Jacuzz!
The bakery spinned, the
floor dropped out.
The air was thick as syrup.
Poor Robin swooned, she couldn't
breathe, her eyes began to tear up.
And as she tried to stammer some
excuse to get away, Simon said:
Our wedding cake is
pretty bitchin', eh?
And so was born the worst
idea poor Robin's ever had.
And on Ted's door
there came a rapping.
I did something bad.
As Robin told her tale, Ted knew
she'd made a massive boo-boo.
For stealing someone's wedding
cake is terribly bad juju.
Robin, I'm beside myself
to see what you've become!
You must return
this cake at once!
- I can't!
- Why not?
'Cause...
Yum.
Ted gasped, for he had never
seen a brazen act so vicious.
Robin felt remorse, and yet...
Oh, God, this is delicious!
So one piece led to two, then
three, then five, then 17.
She savaged that poor cake
like some rapacious wolverine.
Eating, gobbling, munching, so
the frenzied night wore on.
And by the time your mom arrived,
the cake was halfway gone.
I came as soon as I got word.
So how bad is the damage?
See for yourself the product
of her cake-in-gullet crammage!
Half a cake?
What have I done?! The world
shall not forgive it!
This day will live in infamy.
I never shall outlive it!
For I have become the girl that eats
her feelings, don't mistake it.
I think I need to get out
of this chair before I break it.
Nonsense! Hogwash! Balderdash!
Said Mommy, with great fervor.
You can't stop now,
for don't you see?
To the uninformed observer,
you're not some sad cliché,
some loser from a
chick-lit story.
You're Robin, and you're half
a wedding cake away from glory!
If you quit now, then Simon
wins, the tale comes to a stop
at how you saw an ex, freaked
out, and robbed a pastry shop.
But if you have the
guts, my dear,
it's time to get empowered
and be remembered for this
sweet behemoth you devoured.
And years from now,
the troubadour will raise his voice and
sing of the time that Robin took the cake.
And ate the whole...
damned...
thing.
Once more into the
breach she surged,
as Ted and Mommy cheered and bite by bite
the towering confection disappeared.
Some friends were called to come and watch.
And no one had to beg.
It soon became a party.
Barney even got a keg.
Forkful after forkful, Robin
guzzled French vanilla
making noises not unlike
those made by a gorilla.
- Ooh, ooh, ooh!
- Come on, Robin, finish it.
- Yeah.
- Mom's exhortations rang
like Apollo coaching Rocky
'gainst a frosted Clubber Lang.
- Oh, Rocky IV, my favorite.
- No, no, IV is with the Russians.
No, IV's the one where he talks
weird because of his concussions.
I think that's all of them.
- Hey now, no need to be discordant.
- It's Rocky IV.
- No, III.
- No, II.
It's really not important.
At last young Robin raised the final bite
up to her lips the crowd grew still.
The only sound was
Barney eating chips.
Just one bite left.
Hey, this is like that scene
from Cool Hand Luke. You know,
"My boy can eat 50 eggs " Right?
She's gonna puke.
But Robin did not puke. She ate
that bite and stood up, proud.
Wait. I'm not done yet.
She shouted, to the
startled crowd.
I've bested this
here wedding cake.
I'll gladly wear that crown.
But now that I have done that
task it's time to wash it down.
For it's been such an awesome night,
there's just one way to cap it.
I'm going to drink
this entire keg.
Okay, Barney, tap it.
- Oh!
- Wow.
- Hup.
- Ho-o, oh.
And now that night's remembered
not for Robin getting dumped
but as the night we took her
in to get her stomach pumped.
And look at that, the little
angel's sleeping soundly, Gus.
- Looks like our problems...
- Pick a lane!
I hate this stupid bus.
Marvin, I'm afraid this night
is not much of a winner.
Stuck in traffic, now we've missed
the whole rehearsal dinner.
I pray that I was right and
that you'll have no memory
of this godforsaken ride
down the congested LIE.
At least we know one thing for sure:
things can't get worse, I swear.
Adios, truck stop
burrito. Ooh!
Do not go in there.
Okay, one more story,
and I'll try to tell it pretty.
The tale of Barney Stinson,
Player King of New York City.
Once upon a time, we all went
out to get our drink on.
When who should walk in but a girl
with sweater tight and pink on.
She ordered up a beer. I think
you see where this is going.
As Barney put it,
oh so eloquently:
Boy-oy-oy-oing.
He rose to go approach this
girl commanding such intrigue
when Mommy interrupted:
Dude, she's way out
of your league.
She's not in Daisy Dukes, nor
squeezed into a Hooters tee.
And I don't see a Curves
membership dangling from her key.
She has no glaring spray
tan, no unicorn tattoos.
She's sipping Chardonnay, not
pounding cherry-flavored booze.
Her makeup isn't running, she's
not playing with her hair.
There's very little chance
she'll let you put it anywhere.
Your challenge is accepted, Lil.
There is no girl too pretty,
for I am Barney Stinson,
Player King of New York City.
You can't anoint yourself the king,
just like that jerk, LeBron.
He left the Cavs
three years ago.
Bro, give it up, move on.
So why am I king?
Glad you asked.
- We didn't.
- Never do.
It's origin story time.
And trust me, every
word is true.
One morning long ago, I
woke up next to a conquest.
So many great things 'bout this girl:
her boobs, her rack, her chest.
She had a thirst for action, and
young Barney was a-quenchin' it.
- Is this important to the story?
- No, just thought I'd mention it.
As I departed, having bid
this busty babe buh-bye,
I stopped and looked
around, and wondered:
Where the hell am I?
The sign read 22nd Street,
and my concern decreased
until a cold wind blew a branch
aside, revealing: "East."
The East Side. No.
Wh-What have I done?
I stammered with chagrin.
Just then a black
sedan pulled up...
- You Barney?
- Yeah.
Get in.
Is any of this true?
Of course. Now, hang
on to your "chayers."
For that day I was
called before...
the High Council of Players.
Gentlemen, for your attendance
here, our deepest thanks.
I'm sad to say, this council
has a poacher in its ranks.
For Barney here picked up a
girl outside his territory.
The East Side is Tuxedo Charlie's turf.
He's mad.
True story.
The Agreement of 2004
quite clearly did define
Fifth Avenue to be our hunting
grounds' dividing line.
Your West Side college girls are
not the slip I park my boat in.
So you should know my East Side
debutantes are quite verboten.
Members of the council...
Bros... nobody wants a war.
Of course I've not forgotten
the agreement of '04.
What can I say? A bonehead move.
Defend it? I'm not able.
But, bros, have I not been a
bro to each bro at this table?
My friend from Brooklyn, Pickle Jar
Bob, will give some validation.
Remember that young tourist who
was looking for Penn Station?
She'd just come in from Boston,
had a wicked good-in-bed look.
I gave her bad directions and
she ended up in Red Hook.
- Shut up, Barney.
- Whoa, Bronx Donnie,
let's not get excited.
Tuxedo Charlie's not the only
one here who's been slighted.
You told her you were Jeter
in your quest to lie upon her.
Impersonating Yankees is my thing.
Have you no honor?
Gentlemen, please, let's not blow
this détente to smithereens.
Council recognizes Captain
Bill, our bro from Queens.
Thank you.
You all know me, and you
all respect my game.
I dress up like a pilot and
meet girls in baggage claim.
And on my long-ass subway ride
from 61st and Woodside,
I came up with a plan to keep you
each other's good side.
Barney, you have
wronged these two.
So, for the game they're losing,
you now must grant them each
a West Side hottie
of their choosing.
You're kidding. That's
the settlement?
- Come on, that's rather silly.
- Gentlemen, what say you?
- I want Robin.
- I want Lily.
Please. Bronx Donnie? No chance
he could get me in the sack.
Tell that Mafioso I know
something he can whack.
Ladies, don't you worry, your
fair legs can all stay closed.
'Cause luckily they took the
counteroffer I proposed.
Well, gentlemen, it seems there's
nothing I can say to sway you.
Charlie, Donnie, say no more,
I gladly will repay you.
Carlotta, some champagne.
Let's toast before
we all adjourn.
To boobies.
Oh, and B-T-dub, y'all
just drank poison.
Ha-burn.
And thus, my friends, I have become,
through methods somewhat gory
the Player King of New York City.
Boom.
The end.
True story.
Well, that was great. Your little
story tickled all our ribs.
But one mistake you made, sir,
was forgetting to call dibs.
No! Not fair.
But I'm the king.
- And such a better dresser.
- Sorry, dude,
but that's revenge for
Lisa the professor.
Let's have another round.
- Yes.
- Your mommy said.
And so we had one.
The night wore on,
and I must say,
it wasn't a half bad one.
What memories. Our young and
happy hearts were hot as fire.
Feels like a lifetime
since those days.
Sorry, folks, flat tire.
Oh, come on. Now I'm never
gonna make it to Nantucket.
Oh, look a fireworks display.
Some rockets red glare action.
Thank God.
Thought my glaucoma drops
were causing a reaction.
Marvin, I'm so sorry this whole
journey's been a bummer.
Soon you'll be right back in
Mommy's arms, as warm as summer.
But sadly while your troubles
stop once we get to the inn
the moment we arrive is when
my troubles will begin.
Sometimes daddies screw up,
sometimes mommies get upset.
I really hope this weekend
is a memory you'll forget.
So look up at those fireworks,
enjoy the falling embers...
And that, kids, is the very first
thing your cousin Marvin remembers.
Gentlemen and ladies,
it'll be an hour or so...
before the truck gets here to
give our broken bus a tow.
So in the meantime I suggest
we all get nice and cozy.
We're gonna be here for a while.
Uh, ring-around-the-rosy?
Yeah!
How far do you suppose it is
to the Farhampton Inn?
I'd say about five miles away.
Oh, no.
What's with the grin?
Then Marshall looked
up heavenward,
and swore by night's first star
five simple words he'd soon regret:
I can walk that far.
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man
Resync for WEB-DL by Norther
were taking the bus
on their way to Long
Island to meet up with us.
There, there, little Marvin.
Let no more tears fall.
We're gonna see Mommy
in no time at all.
Hello there. I'm sorry
for all of the noise.
It's been a long day
for the Eriksen boys.
- Uh... what's with the rhyming?
- I'm glad that you ask.
To get my son sleeping
is no easy task.
A few weeks ago, the
job fell to my wife.
And as the poor baby
cried out for dear life,
she read every book,
but all were no use
until she arrived at a
mother named Goose.
- Why, Marvin...
- She noted.
...these rhymes make you tired!
And ever since then, all
young Marvin's required
is one book of rhymes, and
to dream land he goes.
Now, what shall we read?
Oh, crap, I left
his book in the car!
That blows.
♪ How I Met Your Mother 9x11♪
Bedtime Stories
Original Air Date on November 25, 2013
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man
Resync for WEB-DL by Norther
Oh, no, what a bummer!
What craptastic luck!
Without Marvin's rhyme book,
this ride's gonna suck!
Does anyone here have
some poetry maybe?
- Or any advice?
- Yeah! Don't have a baby!
I guess if I don't want
young Marvin to wake up,
the rhymes will just have
to be ones that I make up.
I'll whip up some
poetry in seconds flat!
Oh, I know! This story's
called Mosby at the Bat!
The outlook wasn't brilliant
for poor Ted's romantic life.
He was deep into his thirties,
and yet, still he had no wife.
But then, one day whilst grading
papers, life sent him a whammy.
A physics prof named Lisa who'd
just moved here from Miami.
- Professor?
- She asked timidly. He answered:
- Call me Ted.
- Oh. I don't want to bother you.
- Please, have a seat.
- He said.
I'm fairly new to teaching,
and I'm looking for advice.
Every night I practice giving
lectures, sometimes twice.
But when I teach magnetic force,
I just see eyeballs glazing.
I asked around, and people say
your lectures are amazing.
Which is really saying something,
because, architecture? Yawn.
And Ted thought...
Psh, yeah, 'cause physics
is so interesting.
Go on.
It's just that you're so skilled,
and I'm a relative beginner.
If it isn't too much trouble,
can I take you out to dinner?
I'd love to get some pointers,
and I shouldn't keep you late.
- What do you say?
- What do I say?
Teddy Westside's got a date!
- Hooray!
- We cheered.
- Ted's off the bench!
- Our boy's back in the game!
Thank God, it's been a hundred
years since Mosby scored a dame.
The last time he saw boobies was
the screen-test scene in Fame.
The last girl he dated, I
think "Righty" was her name.
Hold it. Let's not all go crazy
like some wild berzerkers.
What if this is just a business
meal between co-workers?
Ted thought back on
past failed dates.
Oh, God, that could be true.
How many times have I come
home to find my balls are blue?
It all depends where Ted and
his new fetching young Floridian
are standing in relation
to that puzzling meridian
called "The International Date
Line." That's right, new theory.
- "What's that," you ask?
- Nobody did.
I'll now address your query!
The date line is the border
betwixt happiness and sorrow.
On this side,
you go home tonight.
On this side, home tomorrow.
And then, as Barney made some
gestures that were rather rude,
Ted left to go meet Lisa,
in a rather puzzled mood.
Was this a date? He simply
couldn't tell how he was faring.
Then Lisa showed up. Ted rejoiced
to see what she was wearing.
For girls at business dinners don't
have necklines that revealing!
But then a friendly handshake
gave poor Ted a sinking feeling.
And so, the night wore on. And
back and forth, the globe rotated.
But still, Ted's curiosity
was never fully sated.
How long could this continue?
He was truly fortune's pawn.
Then Lisa saw the TV.
Hey, the Yankees game is on!
- Of baseball...
- Ted observed...
...you seem to have some
firsthand knowledge.
To which the lady
shrugged and said...
I played softball in college.
Now the age-old softball stereotype's
just that, and nothing more.
- Yeah!
- But as the Yankees got a run,
Ted feared he wouldn't score.
For while the date side of the line's
the one we all might guess he's in,
there'll be no joy in
Tedville if our Lisa is a...
Yes! We win!
Then Lisa took a
drink and said...
This may sound kind of random,
but there actually is a reason
for my rabid Yankee fandom.
I guess I'll just be honest
here, though crazy it may seem.
My first week in New York,
I dated someone on the team.
- Which player?
- I'm not saying.
- Please?
- What are you, a reporter?
Ted's mind began to race. The
waiter came to take their order.
- As Lisa said...
- I might like the spaghetti marinara.
Poor Ted just
wondered silently...
- Mariano Rivera?
- And as she said...
I read this place has
great chicken Milano.
All Ted could bring
himself to think was:
Alfonso Soriano?
I want something hearty.
How about blackened miso cod?
Is it Joe Girardi?
Holy crap, is it A-Rod?!
Okay, Ted, calm down.
You've got to get
yourself together.
Just smile, be charming, ooze
charisma, talk about the weather.
For this might be a date,
which means there
might be hanky-panky.
So, dude, be cool,
relax, don't even...
Just tell me which Yankee!
I'd rather not
discuss this here.
But then again, I'd hate...
to let a silly secret
ruin such a lovely date.
If there's an elephant in the room,
why don't we just remove it?
I dated Derek Jeter. Here's
a picture that'll prove it.
As Ted looked at
that cell phone pic,
there were two things he reckoned.
This definitely was a date,
but there wouldn't be a second.
See? It worked. I said some
rhymes, and out my boy did conk.
Now let's enjoy the ride.
Move, jackass!
Okay, I need a brand-new tale
to silence Marvin's chatter.
I don't know, that last one had
some sketchy subject matter.
Forgive me, but before you got
here, did you smoke a joint?
You don't tell kids
a tale that crass!
I guess he had a point.
I know, I said some things that were,
as you say, kind of questionable.
The truth is, children Marvin's age
aren't really that impressionable.
Do you remember anything
from when you were this small?
Pumpkin picking at age three is
the first thing I recall.
- Hmm.
- Huh.
He won't remember this.
I guess it's true.
It better be.
Or else we'll end up paying through
the nose for Marvin's therapy.
Okay, buddy, nice chat,
but I think I need a break.
Great idea.
After this story!
Robin Takes the Cake.
Once in an East Side bakery,
your debonair Aunt Robin was
making other customers think,
"Geez, who let this slob in?"
She didn't care about their
stares, or who was looking on.
She'd just broke up with...
Kevin.
No, Gael. Or Scooby?
Don?
Now, sometimes, when it rains it pours,
and sometimes, it starts snowing,
for as cream filling
hit her shirt...
Hey, Robin, how's it going?
'Twas Simon, her ex-boyfriend
from her younger days in Canada,
but now, he looked
quite different...
Um...
Rhyme. Uh... thinking. Uh...
I've just been
handed a news flash.
The word "Canada"
is unrhymeable.
It's easier to-- I don't know-- get
drunk and try to climb a bull.
But Canada, damn it, ask any man on the
planet and watch their stammerin' stamina
as they clamor and cram it into the middle
of a sentence for a shot at repentance,
pass the problem on to all
their non-rhyming descendants.
I've never met anyone who
could clean up after Canada.
Except my Uncle Tony from the Bronx.
He's a janitor.
Show-off.
Simon. Nice to see you.
So, what brings you to New York?
- I live here now.
- What? Really?
- Yeah.
- That's great.
Can I get a fork?
He'd always been a deadbeat
and your classic hoser phony,
but seeing Simon all cleaned
up hit Robin like a Zamboni.
And as she looked him up and
down, young Robin felt a tingle.
Had Simon blossomed finally?
And if so, was he single?
So great.
She purred, whilst batting
her eyelashes like a flooze.
Yup, I'm engaged to Louise Marsh,
and our pad's got a Jacuzz!
The bakery spinned, the
floor dropped out.
The air was thick as syrup.
Poor Robin swooned, she couldn't
breathe, her eyes began to tear up.
And as she tried to stammer some
excuse to get away, Simon said:
Our wedding cake is
pretty bitchin', eh?
And so was born the worst
idea poor Robin's ever had.
And on Ted's door
there came a rapping.
I did something bad.
As Robin told her tale, Ted knew
she'd made a massive boo-boo.
For stealing someone's wedding
cake is terribly bad juju.
Robin, I'm beside myself
to see what you've become!
You must return
this cake at once!
- I can't!
- Why not?
'Cause...
Yum.
Ted gasped, for he had never
seen a brazen act so vicious.
Robin felt remorse, and yet...
Oh, God, this is delicious!
So one piece led to two, then
three, then five, then 17.
She savaged that poor cake
like some rapacious wolverine.
Eating, gobbling, munching, so
the frenzied night wore on.
And by the time your mom arrived,
the cake was halfway gone.
I came as soon as I got word.
So how bad is the damage?
See for yourself the product
of her cake-in-gullet crammage!
Half a cake?
What have I done?! The world
shall not forgive it!
This day will live in infamy.
I never shall outlive it!
For I have become the girl that eats
her feelings, don't mistake it.
I think I need to get out
of this chair before I break it.
Nonsense! Hogwash! Balderdash!
Said Mommy, with great fervor.
You can't stop now,
for don't you see?
To the uninformed observer,
you're not some sad cliché,
some loser from a
chick-lit story.
You're Robin, and you're half
a wedding cake away from glory!
If you quit now, then Simon
wins, the tale comes to a stop
at how you saw an ex, freaked
out, and robbed a pastry shop.
But if you have the
guts, my dear,
it's time to get empowered
and be remembered for this
sweet behemoth you devoured.
And years from now,
the troubadour will raise his voice and
sing of the time that Robin took the cake.
And ate the whole...
damned...
thing.
Once more into the
breach she surged,
as Ted and Mommy cheered and bite by bite
the towering confection disappeared.
Some friends were called to come and watch.
And no one had to beg.
It soon became a party.
Barney even got a keg.
Forkful after forkful, Robin
guzzled French vanilla
making noises not unlike
those made by a gorilla.
- Ooh, ooh, ooh!
- Come on, Robin, finish it.
- Yeah.
- Mom's exhortations rang
like Apollo coaching Rocky
'gainst a frosted Clubber Lang.
- Oh, Rocky IV, my favorite.
- No, no, IV is with the Russians.
No, IV's the one where he talks
weird because of his concussions.
I think that's all of them.
- Hey now, no need to be discordant.
- It's Rocky IV.
- No, III.
- No, II.
It's really not important.
At last young Robin raised the final bite
up to her lips the crowd grew still.
The only sound was
Barney eating chips.
Just one bite left.
Hey, this is like that scene
from Cool Hand Luke. You know,
"My boy can eat 50 eggs " Right?
She's gonna puke.
But Robin did not puke. She ate
that bite and stood up, proud.
Wait. I'm not done yet.
She shouted, to the
startled crowd.
I've bested this
here wedding cake.
I'll gladly wear that crown.
But now that I have done that
task it's time to wash it down.
For it's been such an awesome night,
there's just one way to cap it.
I'm going to drink
this entire keg.
Okay, Barney, tap it.
- Oh!
- Wow.
- Hup.
- Ho-o, oh.
And now that night's remembered
not for Robin getting dumped
but as the night we took her
in to get her stomach pumped.
And look at that, the little
angel's sleeping soundly, Gus.
- Looks like our problems...
- Pick a lane!
I hate this stupid bus.
Marvin, I'm afraid this night
is not much of a winner.
Stuck in traffic, now we've missed
the whole rehearsal dinner.
I pray that I was right and
that you'll have no memory
of this godforsaken ride
down the congested LIE.
At least we know one thing for sure:
things can't get worse, I swear.
Adios, truck stop
burrito. Ooh!
Do not go in there.
Okay, one more story,
and I'll try to tell it pretty.
The tale of Barney Stinson,
Player King of New York City.
Once upon a time, we all went
out to get our drink on.
When who should walk in but a girl
with sweater tight and pink on.
She ordered up a beer. I think
you see where this is going.
As Barney put it,
oh so eloquently:
Boy-oy-oy-oing.
He rose to go approach this
girl commanding such intrigue
when Mommy interrupted:
Dude, she's way out
of your league.
She's not in Daisy Dukes, nor
squeezed into a Hooters tee.
And I don't see a Curves
membership dangling from her key.
She has no glaring spray
tan, no unicorn tattoos.
She's sipping Chardonnay, not
pounding cherry-flavored booze.
Her makeup isn't running, she's
not playing with her hair.
There's very little chance
she'll let you put it anywhere.
Your challenge is accepted, Lil.
There is no girl too pretty,
for I am Barney Stinson,
Player King of New York City.
You can't anoint yourself the king,
just like that jerk, LeBron.
He left the Cavs
three years ago.
Bro, give it up, move on.
So why am I king?
Glad you asked.
- We didn't.
- Never do.
It's origin story time.
And trust me, every
word is true.
One morning long ago, I
woke up next to a conquest.
So many great things 'bout this girl:
her boobs, her rack, her chest.
She had a thirst for action, and
young Barney was a-quenchin' it.
- Is this important to the story?
- No, just thought I'd mention it.
As I departed, having bid
this busty babe buh-bye,
I stopped and looked
around, and wondered:
Where the hell am I?
The sign read 22nd Street,
and my concern decreased
until a cold wind blew a branch
aside, revealing: "East."
The East Side. No.
Wh-What have I done?
I stammered with chagrin.
Just then a black
sedan pulled up...
- You Barney?
- Yeah.
Get in.
Is any of this true?
Of course. Now, hang
on to your "chayers."
For that day I was
called before...
the High Council of Players.
Gentlemen, for your attendance
here, our deepest thanks.
I'm sad to say, this council
has a poacher in its ranks.
For Barney here picked up a
girl outside his territory.
The East Side is Tuxedo Charlie's turf.
He's mad.
True story.
The Agreement of 2004
quite clearly did define
Fifth Avenue to be our hunting
grounds' dividing line.
Your West Side college girls are
not the slip I park my boat in.
So you should know my East Side
debutantes are quite verboten.
Members of the council...
Bros... nobody wants a war.
Of course I've not forgotten
the agreement of '04.
What can I say? A bonehead move.
Defend it? I'm not able.
But, bros, have I not been a
bro to each bro at this table?
My friend from Brooklyn, Pickle Jar
Bob, will give some validation.
Remember that young tourist who
was looking for Penn Station?
She'd just come in from Boston,
had a wicked good-in-bed look.
I gave her bad directions and
she ended up in Red Hook.
- Shut up, Barney.
- Whoa, Bronx Donnie,
let's not get excited.
Tuxedo Charlie's not the only
one here who's been slighted.
You told her you were Jeter
in your quest to lie upon her.
Impersonating Yankees is my thing.
Have you no honor?
Gentlemen, please, let's not blow
this détente to smithereens.
Council recognizes Captain
Bill, our bro from Queens.
Thank you.
You all know me, and you
all respect my game.
I dress up like a pilot and
meet girls in baggage claim.
And on my long-ass subway ride
from 61st and Woodside,
I came up with a plan to keep you
each other's good side.
Barney, you have
wronged these two.
So, for the game they're losing,
you now must grant them each
a West Side hottie
of their choosing.
You're kidding. That's
the settlement?
- Come on, that's rather silly.
- Gentlemen, what say you?
- I want Robin.
- I want Lily.
Please. Bronx Donnie? No chance
he could get me in the sack.
Tell that Mafioso I know
something he can whack.
Ladies, don't you worry, your
fair legs can all stay closed.
'Cause luckily they took the
counteroffer I proposed.
Well, gentlemen, it seems there's
nothing I can say to sway you.
Charlie, Donnie, say no more,
I gladly will repay you.
Carlotta, some champagne.
Let's toast before
we all adjourn.
To boobies.
Oh, and B-T-dub, y'all
just drank poison.
Ha-burn.
And thus, my friends, I have become,
through methods somewhat gory
the Player King of New York City.
Boom.
The end.
True story.
Well, that was great. Your little
story tickled all our ribs.
But one mistake you made, sir,
was forgetting to call dibs.
No! Not fair.
But I'm the king.
- And such a better dresser.
- Sorry, dude,
but that's revenge for
Lisa the professor.
Let's have another round.
- Yes.
- Your mommy said.
And so we had one.
The night wore on,
and I must say,
it wasn't a half bad one.
What memories. Our young and
happy hearts were hot as fire.
Feels like a lifetime
since those days.
Sorry, folks, flat tire.
Oh, come on. Now I'm never
gonna make it to Nantucket.
Oh, look a fireworks display.
Some rockets red glare action.
Thank God.
Thought my glaucoma drops
were causing a reaction.
Marvin, I'm so sorry this whole
journey's been a bummer.
Soon you'll be right back in
Mommy's arms, as warm as summer.
But sadly while your troubles
stop once we get to the inn
the moment we arrive is when
my troubles will begin.
Sometimes daddies screw up,
sometimes mommies get upset.
I really hope this weekend
is a memory you'll forget.
So look up at those fireworks,
enjoy the falling embers...
And that, kids, is the very first
thing your cousin Marvin remembers.
Gentlemen and ladies,
it'll be an hour or so...
before the truck gets here to
give our broken bus a tow.
So in the meantime I suggest
we all get nice and cozy.
We're gonna be here for a while.
Uh, ring-around-the-rosy?
Yeah!
How far do you suppose it is
to the Farhampton Inn?
I'd say about five miles away.
Oh, no.
What's with the grin?
Then Marshall looked
up heavenward,
and swore by night's first star
five simple words he'd soon regret:
I can walk that far.
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man
Resync for WEB-DL by Norther