King of the Hill (1997–2010): Season 8, Episode 9 - Ceci N'est Pas Une King of the Hill - full transcript

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Buck?

- What happened, sir?
- Oh, Hank, thank goodness.

This horn was giving me
an awful headache.

Is there a propane leak?

Oh, God, it's Goobers mooches,
isn't it?

I told them that buffet
was a death trap!

Naw, Old Top!

I come a-calling
with good news!

The zoning board approved!

You mean...



The new storage yard!

Triple the storage capacity!

Wow, the new storage yard...

I-I can't believe
it's finally happening.

Just one problem, though.

I need you to buy me some art.

Uh, sir, I...

Zoning board won't give you
something for nothing.

They passed this public art law;

got to beautify one part of town

if they're gonna let you
uglify another.

Keeps everything nice and even.

But I don't know
the first thing about art.

The Zoning Board can't
hang excuses in city hall, Hank.



Now get buying!

Hello, Triple-A.

Hey, there.

Oh, hey, Hank,
what can I do you for?

Well, I got kind of a tall order
for you, Fred.

Uh, I need some help with...
uh, buying some art.

Let's see.

There's the McMaynerbury
artists' colony.

Do they have good art?

Couldn't say,

but it's one of this month's
"Great Drives."

Boy, this is a great drive.

Do you already know
what kind of art

you're gonna buy?

Because I should
let you know now...

I'm willing to
pose for a statue.

Uh, thanks, Bobby.

But this art is
going to be put in the median

on Travis Boulevard.

A lot of people drive by there

on their way to the interstate

and I want them to be inspired

when they get there.

What kind of?

Thank God you're here.

I haven't been able
to send a fax in two days.

Uh, no, uh, I'm Hank Hill,
Strickland Propane.

I need to buy
a piece of public art,

about three feet across,
five or seven feet tall.

Doesn't have to be real arty.

No nudity, of course.

Maybe something with
a lion or a bald eagle.

Something that says America.

Hmm.

Oh, wait, wait!
I've got it.

A life-sized portrait

of George Washington!

It's a hologram.

From here... George Washington.

But from over here,
he morphs into Adolph Hitler.

Washington, Hitler.

Washington,

Hitler.

Picture Ronald Reagan.

He's squatting over...

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

I have just the thing.

I'm calling it

Industrial Penis

Number Five.
Bobby! Car!

...and then it just got
worse from there.

I don't get it.

I just wanted to buy something

that people would
want to look at,

spruce up that highway median.

Isn't that what art's
supposed to be?

Hey, man, you know,
you dang ol' naive, man.

Talkin' 'bout ol' like a dang
ol' dada, you know,

like a little toilet
in a museum, man.

You know, talkin' 'bout,
dang ol'... ideas, man.

I never could understand a word
of that art mumbo-jumbo.

You know what
I never understood?

Why a pretty girl would model
naked and let someone paint her.

And, you know, if she'd do
that for just anyone or...

What the?

It's me!

Wow!

Don Quixote's Authentic

Spanish Cuisine and Karaoke

went out of business

and guess what
I bought from them!

A suit of armor!

Is it real?

I was hoping
you'd ask me that.

Gentlemen, nine irons.

Ha! Ha! This is amazing!

I am invincible!

Come on, Hank, take a whack!

Well, as much as I'd like
to hit you with a golf club,

I can't do it right now.

I've got to come up
with some art.

Don't be afraid
of the groin, boys.

I don't think those
artists ever shower.

It was like,

just when you thought

you'd never smelled anyone worse
than one guy... Bam!

The next guy smells even worse!

It was awful, Peggy.

Makes me wish
there was some way

to buy art without
the, you know,

artists and whatnot.

Maybe I can help you
find something.

I've always had
an artistic bent.

And I have decorated
every birthday cake

in this family for 20 years.

Yeah, I remember
the cake you made

for Bobby's fourth birthday.

The one that looked
like a train?

Chocolate chip
cookie wheels...

Well, heck, Peggy,

why don't you
just make the art?

It can't be very hard.

I mean, even the people
who do it for a living

don't seem very good at it.

Well, Hank, only if I can
think of an idea.

Now let me think.

Propane... America...
The future...

I've got it!

A probot!

A... A what?

A Probot, Hank.

A robot made entirely
of propane tanks,

welcoming the people
of Arlen to the future.

A future of Arlen pride.

And hard work.

And clean-burning barbecues.
And...

Stop, Peggy.

Can you do it for under $800.

Buddy, you want to stop that?

No, I don't,
you armorless jackass!

And there's nothing
you can do about it!

Dale, maybe we should get out...

You know, I never
thought anything

could put this crazy

propane game in perspective,

but you did it.

So what do you think, sir?

It don't matter what I think.

Could be a statue
of two dogs a-humping

as long as the Zoning Board
thinks it's art.

And what...

Speak of the devil.

Margo, you look just radiant.

Hmm, interesting.

What does everyone think?

Real interesting.

What do you think, Margo?

Mm-hmm, hmm.

And who is the artist?

Voila! Peggy Hill.

Peggy Hill?

Wait, aren't you my daughter's

substitute Spanish teacher?

Ah, so you can see
the Spanish influence

in my work.

Is this some kind of joke?

What?

You're a substitute teacher,

not a real artist.

This is crap.

Complete crap.
Unmitigated crap.

I don't appreciate you
wasting my time, Buck.

Permit denied.

Yeah, but...

I want some art, Hank!

I don't care if you have
to rob a museum to get it.

I can do this, Buck!

Just give me another chance.

Oh, what about your idea
about the two dogs?

Sorry, Peggy.

You had your bite
at the apple.

Well, there goes our ride.

Stupid da Vinci with his
stupid classical training.

Margo'd probably marry him.

Well? Did the zoning
board reconsider?

Not exactly.

Buck's setting up a meeting

with some art dealer
from Dallas.

A guy named Jazz.

So that's it?

Just because I didn't go
to some snooty art school

I can't make art?

Hey, you're preaching
to the choir.

I always liked the probot.

You look at the probot,
he looks at you,

you think, "Hey, things
are going to be okay."

Sure, Peggy can make
a metal man,

but I'm living it!

This some kind of a joke?

Yeah. Knock-knock.
Who's there?

Sweet revenge.

Sweet revenge who?

Get out of here.

Not so fast,

Mister King of Eighth Grade.

Gribble?

Looks like
you didn't count on me

coming back in a suit of armor

when you were throwing
my lunch on the roof!

Ha!

We're going to settle
the score right now.

Cut it out.

You and your flesh skin
can't hurt me.

Can he, Bill?

No!

Uh... maybe we can
talk about this...

Forget it, Bill.

There's no reasoning
with this animal.

This big, fat animal.

This big,

hairy,

fat...

Where is the?

Supposed to be a turnoff...

Whoa!

Yeah, it's Jazz.

Can you tell my 1:00
I'm going to be late?

I just ran into something
amazing over here.

If I am not an artist,

what is that?

Oh, it's crooked.

Are you Peggy Hill?

The Peggy Hill
who created this?

And who are you?

Jazz Colton, art dealer.

Now tell me everything.

You didn't go to art
school, did you?

Didn't need it.

I am completely self-taught.

And so how does an artist
like you end up here?

Well, I was born in
a small town in Montana.

I moved to Arlen
in High School.

That's when I met Hank.

We married two years later...

I've heard enough.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

This must be so
boring for you.

Boring?

Ha! It's treasure.

Peggy, I want to buy
anything you can make.

I want to sell your art.

You do?

Everyone is going to want

a Peggy Hill.

So, uh...

that's it, huh?

Just the silverfish?

You don't have anything
for me to exterminate

that's got a little
more fight to it?

Don't think so.

Come on.
Mountain lion? Bear?

Old Rottweiler
you don't need anymore?

Sorry.

What about that old bag

of a wife of yours?

Hello?

Jazz!

So, how's my best-selling
artist?

What? No!

Your stuff has been flying out
of the gallery.

Your latest...
The Prinker... brilliant.

That's why
I've got a wonderful honor

in store for you, Peggy.

A gallery show just for you

and one other special
local artist.

This is going
to be your coming out party,

the night that introduces you
to the art world.

How does that feel, superstar?!

Can I invite everyone
who didn't believe in me

and really rub their noses
in it?

It wouldn't be an art show
without it, Peggy.

See you there.

Yello, Margo?

Uh-huh. Peggy Hill here.

Yeah, the Peggy Hill
you said wasn't an artist.

Listen, I just wanted
to let you know

that she is having a special
gallery show in Dallas.

Mm-hmm.

That's right.

And I can get you in
because you are lucky enough

to know the artist.

My God, art is fulfilling.

Well, I don't know a lot
about artists,

but you sure are
the prettiest one

I've ever seen.

Peggy!

Margo.

You came.

I'm impressed, Peggy.

But between us girls,

I had a feeling your
stuff was good.

Why didn't I trust myself?

Uh, water under the bridge.

Care to enter with the artist?

Bobby?

Amazing. She's
a genius.

Oh, look at this.

I find the only real art comes
from people

who have no self-awareness,
the outsiders

who hover on the
fringes of society.

Oh, there's our
guest of honor!

What an evening, friends.

What a special evening

for art.

You don't discover a Peggy Hill
every day.

It's a rare privilege.

But then it happens.

You find someone
the art world has ignored.

Here is someone

who despite having
no formal education

has been able to touch us.

Her mind lacks the fine tools
of the academy,

but she hacks and bludgeons
with the blunt instruments

of her unspoiled
childlike spirit.

Since that day she came down
from the mountains

and became the child bride
of a simple laborer,

she has been looking for a way
to express her anger

at the world passing her by.

She is angry,
she is practically illiterate,

but like a wounded animal

crying out,
she makes herself heard.

Bless you, Peggy,
for letting us hear you.

What?!

"I ain't got no learning"?!

Oh, God, Hank.

Of course,

we are here

to honor another exciting
new voice of outsider art,

the only artist I've worked with

who can be called
Peggy Hill's peer,

Jimmy Wichard.

Hey, Peggy!

Now it all makes sense.

Peggy, you are an inspiration

to inbred morons everywhere.

I love your work.

I was wondering,
do you feel sad sometimes,

like your heart
has a tummy ache?

Oh, Hank, let's
get out of here.

I'll get Bobby.

Jazz,

how could you?

"I ain't got no learning"?

You did say you didn't have
any formal training,

Montana, high school
sweetheart...

Look, I just spiced everything
up a little.

Oh, God.

So people weren't buying probots
because they liked them?

They were buying them
because they thought

I was some kind
of inbred hillbilly?

Of course.

Let's face it...

middle-class hausfrau stacks
a bunch of propane tanks?

Even I'm falling asleep!

But say it's made

by someone straight out
of Deliverance and kaching!

Hey, you make guys, too?

I make guys.

Don't copy my guys!

No. You got to shake it!

The art don't work
if you don't shake it.

And how's the robot game
treating you?

So, uh, you know, I
bet a lot of artists

had people thinking
they were all kinds of stuff

before they got famous.

Did you see this letter
from the zoning board?

"Dear Mrs. Hill,

"Though the board understands

"you overcame a
lot in your life,

"angry hillbilly

"is not the face of Arlen

"we want to
metal debris promptly."

And look

at the size of this typeface!

This typeface!

That's, uh, pretty big.

It was a great show, Jimmy.

You're going
to be a rich artist.

Hey, what happened
to the stuff I made?

Your art, Jimmy?

We sold it.

You sold the stuff I made?

I want it back!
Give me it!

No. Remember?

We sell it, I give you money.

I can't make new stuff
out of money!

Give me cans! I want cans!

The good ones!

Yeah, the... the smash 'ems!

So, you don't want money.

You want cans.

Duh!

You're the boss, Jimmy.

I'm the boss!

Stay angry, Jimmy!

Oh, hey, Mr. Hill.

Don't give me that.

You made a laughingstock
out of my wife.

And you want what?

I want you to sell
some of her art for real,

without all the lies.

I sympathize with you.

Honest injun.

But it isn't going to happen.

Says who?

It's good art, I tell you what.

And they liked it before,
they'll like it now!

Look, I can see

the inbred hillbilly thing
is really bothering you,

so I'll make you a deal...

I'll say she's insane.

But it's got
to be criminally insane,

or we've got nothing.

No! That's it, Mister.

You just sold
your last probot.

How about syphilitic?

Hook hands?

Transgender?

Oops.

Oops.

Oops.
My beer!

Dale, you did that on purpose!

Mihn, I'm taking your roses!

Soft shells!

Cower before me!

It ends now, Dale.

You can't kick Rainey Street
around anymore!

Oh, sweet, sweet,

stupid, Bill.

Bill, roll me over
so I can kick your ass.

Actually, just
move your ass closer.

Mihn, I believe this is yours.

Hank!

How could you bring
that thing here?

I didn't want
to see it torn down.

I thought, I don't know,

we could put it up
in the yard somewhere.

I want it dead, Hank.

I can't stand it laughing at me,
telling me he's not art,

just a bunch of stupid tanks.

Why don't you sleep
on that, Peggy.

Besides, I don't have the right
tools here, and I just...

I want it dead now, Hank!

I need those tools!

Where are the tools?

Strickland.

No, Hank.

Let me do it.

That's right, metalhead.

This is personal.

All right,
you're making another one!

Hey, honey,
they're building another probot!

So you like it?

Yeah. Every time I drove by it,
it made me feel...

optimistic.

Real? Well, that's
what I was going for!

Hey, we're not exactly
the art types,

but do you think

you could make us
a little probot for our lawn?

Oh, yeah, that'd be great.

You make them to order?

You think you could do one

holding a pool cue
for my rumpus room?

Well, sure.

How' bout holding
an American flag?

Yeah, well, hold on, hold on.

I need to write it all down.

Yeah, uh, one at
a time, please,

you know, so the
artist can hear you.

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Washington! Hitler!
Washington! Hitler!