Married with Children (1986–1997): Season 7, Episode 16 - Mr. Empty Pants - full transcript
Peggy decides to take up a hobby by drawing Al and in so doing, creates her own magazine cartoon of Al makes him famous: the hapless shoe salesman titled "Mr. Empty Pants". Al would prefer ...
[♪♪♪]
So this is where they work the
magic that makes you look 55.
Just stand still,
Al. What? What?
I'm trimming your nose hairs.
You know, you have to
keep them nice and even
or you'll get split ends.
All right, honey, now give
me money and get out of here.
I can't possibly
relax with you around.
Besides, I don't
bother you at work.
Don't bother me here.
Oh, that's what you
call it now, Peg, "work"?
Al, my job is to look
good and feel good.
You know how soft I am.
Well, actually, you don't.
But I know how soft I am,
and believe me, I'm a delight.
Oh, excuse me
here. I want to prepay.
How much for the
100,000-mile overhaul?
While you're working
on her, can I get a loaner?
You got anything in the back
that has that new-hooter smell?
Just pay the man and
baboon away to work.
That'll be $300, sir.
Three hundred dollars!
She didn't cost that
much when she was new.
I'm gonna see what
people pay $300 for.
Great Caesar's ghost!
And I mean that, literally.
Well, now, this one's a
little more reasonable.
A dollar a chin.
You people ought to
be ashamed of yourself.
Who but a woman would
spend time in a place like this?
Hi, Al.
Hey, how about those Bulls?
They'll be all right as
long as they got Jordan.
No, no, not them.
I'm talking about those
two under the dryers.
What are you doing here?
Ah, I'm getting the
macho package.
You know, the
hair, nails and facial.
We call it the Bogie.
I mean, I'm a topless dancer
and the smoke in the
bar can wreak havoc
with the pH balance
of my hair and my skin.
Oh, once the hair
and the skin goes...
Well, I don't have to tell you.
I've seen about enough.
Peg.
I'm going where a man belongs.
Crouched on his knees
in front of a fat woman,
selling her shoes.
Rolling back the
flesh of the ankle,
trying to find the foot.
Who cries for my pH
balance, Argentina?
All right. There you go.
Do what you can with her
and what you can't fix
just slap a coat of paint on.
Oh, God, I hope
he never finds out
that half this
money is legally his.
[LAUGHS]
Of course I should get more.
I mean, I gave
everything to him,
including my virginity.
Oh, hello, girls.
There we go.
Oh.
When did you start drawing?
Oh, about an hour after my
pulsating showerhead broke.
A woman's gotta have something.
Of course, Al has given
me no encouragement.
Not even when I drew him
a picture of his favorite dinner
and left it on the table.
He ate it and said,
"Next time, draw it hot."
I swear, these men just think
that our lives are one big ball.
You know, we are
so unappreciated.
Now, take Marcy. She's
always complaining:
"Why isn't my dinner
ready when I come home?"
Hey, 'cause I'm busy, bitch!
Mr. Jeffy. Mr. Jeffy.
Ah, Antoine.
Uh, can you fit me in for
a 3:00 massage today?
Well, I do have a 3:00
appointment, but let her stew.
Yeah, besides, most women
come after me anyway.
I'm really gonna miss Antoine.
I heard he joined the Marines.
Hi, everyone.
I'm Antoine's 3:00.
Is he ready for me?
I'm sorry, but Antoine
is backed up right now.
Oh.
So I'm shunted aside for some
damn blond hussy, no doubt.
That damn Antoine.
I have had it with
his mood swings.
I'll tell Antoine
you're displeased.
Oh, no, no, no. Please.
Uh, I've already
had two warnings.
One more complaint and I'm out.
I'll wait like a good girl.
Hi, Peggy.
God, what's that horrible smell?
Oh. I have Al's wallet.
Great. Now I can find out
whose face is on the $100,000 bill.
[BOTH LAUGH]
So, what's new?
Well, Bertha just lost 35 pounds
on that eat-nothing-bigger-
than-your-head diet.
Peggy, that drawing is great.
It's Al.
Look how she's got
the hunch just right.
And those taters
growing out of his ears.
They go so well with
the gravy under his arms.
BERTHA: It is perfect, Peggy.
Look how you made his
socks kill all the flowers.
You know, I just
can't get over this.
It's so real, the
drawing needs a shower.
It should be in a
magazine. You know,
there's a new woman's
magazine just starting
that came into
my bank for a loan.
I bet I can get
them to use this.
What are you gonna
call your new cartoon?
Well, how about
Mr. Can't-Hit-the-Toilet?
That could be any
man. Be more specific.
How about:
Mr. Al-Can't-Hit-the-Toilet?
Eat your cone, Bertha.
Does it need a title?
I mean, just looking at him
is enough to make you laugh.
[ALL LAUGHING]
You know, Peg, you
have the look of a woman
who just swallowed a canary.
Bertha, you have the look of a
woman who swallowed a cow
who swallowed a canary.
And, Marcy,
you look like a chicken.
[LAUGHS]
Well, enough charm. Peg,
what happened to my wallet?
You took it, didn't
you? Of course I did.
Who else but your wife would
go near the back of your pants?
I thought we had an agreement.
Ever since that time I
got deported to Mexico
you promised to at least
leave me with a picture ID.
Did something happen, Al?
Well, I... I don't
wanna ruin it for you.
It'll be on TV tonight.
It seems that the
television show Cops
was filming in Chicago.
They have that new
oversized graphite nightstick,
you know, with the
bigger sweet spot?
They've been waiting to try
it on anybody bold enough
to stop in the middle
of the street and cry,
"My wallet's missing."
I'm on right after Todd
Bridges. Nice kid, by the way.
So, Peg, if it's not
too much trouble,
don't ever leave me
with empty pants again.
That's it.
Al just named my cartoon.
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Hi, Peggy.
Here's the latest edition
of Modern Gal Weekly.
Mr. Empty-Pants is a smash.
I hope you don't
run out of material.
Oh, not a chance.
The only thing that separates
Al from an actual cartoon
is that he has a thumb.
[BOTH LAUGH]
Oh, wonder how he feels being
portrayed as Mr. Empty-Pants.
Ah, gee, you think I
should have told him?
Oh, what for. Al
will never find out.
He wouldn't read a magazine
that has "woman" in the title.
Unless, of course, the O
had a little nipple in the centre.
BUCK: Oh, great.
Women are talking.
I guess you folks are
wondering why I don't leave.
Well, my head is
stuck and I can't get out.
Peg, everywhere I go, people
are pointing at me and laughing.
That can't be a recent thing.
Let me finish.
Now they're call
me Mr. Empty-Pants.
Is that some kind
of new, hip, rap term,
you know, for "full pants"?
You know, sort of like how bad
means good, and this means that.
That's all, folks.
Hey.
Hey. What you doing, Peg?
[LAUGHING]
Look at that guy
standing in dog doody.
Bird's doinking
doody on his head,
and then the others
birds on them branches
coming out of his nose.
[LAUGHING]
Boy, life really kicked the hell
out of him, huh? What a loser.
Who is he?
Hey, now, wait a minute.
Those sweat stains, that beaten
look, that dumb expression,
that's Bud.
[LAUGHING]
Peg. That's great.
Does the boy know
you're making fun of him?
I won't tell him. It's
just our little secret.
It's you, Al.
Me?
That ain't funny.
I don't wanna be
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Peg, you've ruined me.
Al, you're a shoe salesman.
How can you ruin
a shoe salesman?
It's like dropping dirt on dirt.
Besides, it's just a little
local woman's magazine.
So a few people recognize
you on the street and laugh.
If Martha Raye and Joe
Piscopo can live with it,
then so can you.
Besides, most people
don't even know it's you.
Just relax and watch TV.
MAN [ON TV]: And on the local
scene, a comic-strip character
called Mr. Empty-Pants,
that started out
in a small area publication,
is catching on nationwide.
It's about a hapless loser
who just can't get it done.
News Team 56 has found out
that Mr. Empty-Pants is, in fact,
a local shoe salesman
by the name of Al Bundy.
Are you happy now?
Not yet.
The cartoon was drawn by
a local woman, Peggy Bundy.
Oh, ha-ha! Now I'm happy!
MAN 1: Look, there's
Mr. Empty-Pants!
MAN 2: Hey, Empty, my man.
Al, can't you handle the fame?
I mean, they still call
Carroll O'Connor "Archie."
They still call that
Winky guy "the Fonz."
And, you know,
they still call the fat
girls on The Facts of Life
"the fat girls on
The Facts of Life."
Oh, come on, honey.
How could you not get some joy
out of a busload
of Japanese tourists
taking pictures
and screaming out,
"Me rike Empty Pants"?
Well, they found out my
pants weren't so empty
when I mooned them.
That ought to pay 'em
back for Pearl Harbor.
Daddy.
Daddy, I'm glad you're home.
You're sad because people
are laughing at you, aren't you?
Yes.
Well, that and...
'cause I married your mother.
Well, I think that it's the
name that's hurting you.
You're embarrassed because
people are calling
you Mr. Dirty-Pants.
No, it's Empty Pants.
Whoa.
That would mean a
total absence of genitalia.
Well, anyway, I just
think that you're taking
the totally wrong
attitude on this.
I mean, you're
like the pessimist,
who looks at his pants and
thinks they're half-empty.
You should be more
like the optometrist,
who looks at his pants
and thinks they're half-full.
Get her out of here,
Peg. Right now.
Uh, honey, why don't
you go downtown
to the Hall of Records and
find out what our address is.
Okey-dokey.
I'm tired of going down there.
This time, I'm
gonna write it down
next to the numbers
on the front of the house.
Anyway, Daddy, if it helps
any, when I'm feeling down,
I just think of
this little poem,
and it always cheers me up.
Once upon a midnight dreary
As I wandered, weak and weary
Quoth the raven "Demi Moore."
Edgar Bergen Poe.
"Miss Empty-Head" didn't
cross your mind, did it?
Can't you be happy?
For years, you've
been absolutely nothing.
And now, you're the
man behind the woman.
I always stand behind you,
Peg. It's cooler in the summer.
Well, Al, I have a bit of news
that just might cheer you up.
What? Bunch of spotted
owls swooped down
and pecked the eyes out
of some environmentalists?
No.
I have decided it is
time for Mr. Empty-Pants
to finally break his silence.
Now, it has to be
something special.
Short but memorable.
A signature if you will.
So come on, honey,
be like Homer
Simpson and "d'oh."
I'm not a cartoon.
I'm almost a human
being, damn it.
And I want you to stop
writing Mr. Empty-Pants.
As a matter of fact, I'm
putting my foot down.
From this minute on, I'm
no longer Mr. Empty-Pants.
I am not... Not Mr. Empty-Pants.
[PHONE RINGS]
Hello?
Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Yes, I am Mr. Empty-Pants.
I'll see you there.
Well, who was that on the phone?
That's Playgirl magazine, Peg.
They're gonna put
Mr. Empty-Pants
in the centerfold.
That's me, Peg.
They're saying I'm the
sex symbol of the '90s.
Did I miss the news?
Did every other
man on earth die?
Where are you going?
Well, the shoot's next week.
I figured I'd shower
now. Why wait?
Ahem. Ladies,
allow me to introduce myself.
I'm Loren Michaels,
producer of
Mr. Empty-Pants, the movie.
Now, we're casting
a very important part.
Buttocks.
You all qualify.
Now, rehearsals start in the
broom closet in five minutes.
Hey, wait a second.
Just a minute ago you
were the body-makeup guy.
Hey, babe.
I'm going places.
Hopefully, this place,
this place and that place.
AL: Make way for
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Oh...
He is empty.
Okay. E.P.,
these are the girls who'll be
doing the centerfold with you.
I'd like you to know
that after the shoot,
I'm going to shake
every one of your hooters.
The bigger the star,
the nicer the guy.
Well, Empty, look.
Before we put you on the
bearskin rug with the ladies,
we'd like a few shots, you know,
so we can capture
the inner emptiness.
Meantime I think we need
some powder on the girls.
Makeup!
Uh-oh. Those breasts are shiny.
Take off those tops.
And don't worry about
me getting excited. I'm gay.
All right, all right. The
boy's had enough fun.
Now let's go. Let's go.
I gotta get loose.
Uh, play my music.
Helps me shake my money-maker.
[THE FABULOUS THUNDERBIRDS'
"TUFF ENUFF" PLAYING]
♪ I would walk two miles
On my hands and knees ♪
Okay, let's do the
shot on the rug.
♪ Ain't no doubt about it,
baby It's you I aim to please ♪
♪ I'd wrestle with a
lion And a grizzly bear ♪
♪ It's my life baby
But I don't care ♪
♪ Ain't that tuff enough? ♪
MAN: Okay. Hold it. Hold it.
Wrap the shoot. We, uh...
We have to find
another centerfold.
Mr. Empty-Pants has
been killed in the latest strip.
PHOTOGRAPHER: Okay,
girls, let's take a break.
Aah!
No. No, don't take
my breasts away.
PHOTOGRAPHER:
Girls, let's go. No. No.
Excuse me, ladies.
Uh, Bud Bundy here,
Department of Makeup Safety.
If left on, that stuff can kill.
[GASPS]
Yes, it must be
licked off immediately.
Believe me, I'll receive
no pleasure from this,
other than a job well done.
Now, quickly, de-top and meet
me on the mattresses in the alley.
And hurry. Hurry! Your
chests are ticking time bombs.
Can't believe it.
Just this close to being happy.
Who could have done this to me?
Hi, honey.
Peg, why did you do it?
I had to. I was jealous.
I wasn't getting any
attention anymore.
Suddenly everybody
was just talking to you,
and nobody cared about me.
I couldn't handle your
happiness. So I killed you.
You're not mad, are you?
I mean, if it's any consolation
you always have me.
Well, Peg, if it's any
consolation to you,
it's no consolation to me.
How'd you kill me, Peg?
You were crushed by a
meteorite shaped like a lady's shoe.
Did I suffer?
Sure.
Oh, what do you say, Al?
How about a portrait of
Mr. and Mrs. Empty-Pants?
Ah, why not? It'll probably
be the last picture of us
with your head still on.
[TIMER BUZZING]
You know, Peg,
I'm not surprised.
I knew I was gonna lose.
But I'll tell you who
the big losers are:
The women of America.
'Cause they could have
had me in the centerfold.
Now they're gonna have to
settle for some cheap imitation.
I mean, who are they gonna
get that's as big a loser as me?
[♪♪♪]
So this is where they work the
magic that makes you look 55.
Just stand still,
Al. What? What?
I'm trimming your nose hairs.
You know, you have to
keep them nice and even
or you'll get split ends.
All right, honey, now give
me money and get out of here.
I can't possibly
relax with you around.
Besides, I don't
bother you at work.
Don't bother me here.
Oh, that's what you
call it now, Peg, "work"?
Al, my job is to look
good and feel good.
You know how soft I am.
Well, actually, you don't.
But I know how soft I am,
and believe me, I'm a delight.
Oh, excuse me
here. I want to prepay.
How much for the
100,000-mile overhaul?
While you're working
on her, can I get a loaner?
You got anything in the back
that has that new-hooter smell?
Just pay the man and
baboon away to work.
That'll be $300, sir.
Three hundred dollars!
She didn't cost that
much when she was new.
I'm gonna see what
people pay $300 for.
Great Caesar's ghost!
And I mean that, literally.
Well, now, this one's a
little more reasonable.
A dollar a chin.
You people ought to
be ashamed of yourself.
Who but a woman would
spend time in a place like this?
Hi, Al.
Hey, how about those Bulls?
They'll be all right as
long as they got Jordan.
No, no, not them.
I'm talking about those
two under the dryers.
What are you doing here?
Ah, I'm getting the
macho package.
You know, the
hair, nails and facial.
We call it the Bogie.
I mean, I'm a topless dancer
and the smoke in the
bar can wreak havoc
with the pH balance
of my hair and my skin.
Oh, once the hair
and the skin goes...
Well, I don't have to tell you.
I've seen about enough.
Peg.
I'm going where a man belongs.
Crouched on his knees
in front of a fat woman,
selling her shoes.
Rolling back the
flesh of the ankle,
trying to find the foot.
Who cries for my pH
balance, Argentina?
All right. There you go.
Do what you can with her
and what you can't fix
just slap a coat of paint on.
Oh, God, I hope
he never finds out
that half this
money is legally his.
[LAUGHS]
Of course I should get more.
I mean, I gave
everything to him,
including my virginity.
Oh, hello, girls.
There we go.
Oh.
When did you start drawing?
Oh, about an hour after my
pulsating showerhead broke.
A woman's gotta have something.
Of course, Al has given
me no encouragement.
Not even when I drew him
a picture of his favorite dinner
and left it on the table.
He ate it and said,
"Next time, draw it hot."
I swear, these men just think
that our lives are one big ball.
You know, we are
so unappreciated.
Now, take Marcy. She's
always complaining:
"Why isn't my dinner
ready when I come home?"
Hey, 'cause I'm busy, bitch!
Mr. Jeffy. Mr. Jeffy.
Ah, Antoine.
Uh, can you fit me in for
a 3:00 massage today?
Well, I do have a 3:00
appointment, but let her stew.
Yeah, besides, most women
come after me anyway.
I'm really gonna miss Antoine.
I heard he joined the Marines.
Hi, everyone.
I'm Antoine's 3:00.
Is he ready for me?
I'm sorry, but Antoine
is backed up right now.
Oh.
So I'm shunted aside for some
damn blond hussy, no doubt.
That damn Antoine.
I have had it with
his mood swings.
I'll tell Antoine
you're displeased.
Oh, no, no, no. Please.
Uh, I've already
had two warnings.
One more complaint and I'm out.
I'll wait like a good girl.
Hi, Peggy.
God, what's that horrible smell?
Oh. I have Al's wallet.
Great. Now I can find out
whose face is on the $100,000 bill.
[BOTH LAUGH]
So, what's new?
Well, Bertha just lost 35 pounds
on that eat-nothing-bigger-
than-your-head diet.
Peggy, that drawing is great.
It's Al.
Look how she's got
the hunch just right.
And those taters
growing out of his ears.
They go so well with
the gravy under his arms.
BERTHA: It is perfect, Peggy.
Look how you made his
socks kill all the flowers.
You know, I just
can't get over this.
It's so real, the
drawing needs a shower.
It should be in a
magazine. You know,
there's a new woman's
magazine just starting
that came into
my bank for a loan.
I bet I can get
them to use this.
What are you gonna
call your new cartoon?
Well, how about
Mr. Can't-Hit-the-Toilet?
That could be any
man. Be more specific.
How about:
Mr. Al-Can't-Hit-the-Toilet?
Eat your cone, Bertha.
Does it need a title?
I mean, just looking at him
is enough to make you laugh.
[ALL LAUGHING]
You know, Peg, you
have the look of a woman
who just swallowed a canary.
Bertha, you have the look of a
woman who swallowed a cow
who swallowed a canary.
And, Marcy,
you look like a chicken.
[LAUGHS]
Well, enough charm. Peg,
what happened to my wallet?
You took it, didn't
you? Of course I did.
Who else but your wife would
go near the back of your pants?
I thought we had an agreement.
Ever since that time I
got deported to Mexico
you promised to at least
leave me with a picture ID.
Did something happen, Al?
Well, I... I don't
wanna ruin it for you.
It'll be on TV tonight.
It seems that the
television show Cops
was filming in Chicago.
They have that new
oversized graphite nightstick,
you know, with the
bigger sweet spot?
They've been waiting to try
it on anybody bold enough
to stop in the middle
of the street and cry,
"My wallet's missing."
I'm on right after Todd
Bridges. Nice kid, by the way.
So, Peg, if it's not
too much trouble,
don't ever leave me
with empty pants again.
That's it.
Al just named my cartoon.
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Hi, Peggy.
Here's the latest edition
of Modern Gal Weekly.
Mr. Empty-Pants is a smash.
I hope you don't
run out of material.
Oh, not a chance.
The only thing that separates
Al from an actual cartoon
is that he has a thumb.
[BOTH LAUGH]
Oh, wonder how he feels being
portrayed as Mr. Empty-Pants.
Ah, gee, you think I
should have told him?
Oh, what for. Al
will never find out.
He wouldn't read a magazine
that has "woman" in the title.
Unless, of course, the O
had a little nipple in the centre.
BUCK: Oh, great.
Women are talking.
I guess you folks are
wondering why I don't leave.
Well, my head is
stuck and I can't get out.
Peg, everywhere I go, people
are pointing at me and laughing.
That can't be a recent thing.
Let me finish.
Now they're call
me Mr. Empty-Pants.
Is that some kind
of new, hip, rap term,
you know, for "full pants"?
You know, sort of like how bad
means good, and this means that.
That's all, folks.
Hey.
Hey. What you doing, Peg?
[LAUGHING]
Look at that guy
standing in dog doody.
Bird's doinking
doody on his head,
and then the others
birds on them branches
coming out of his nose.
[LAUGHING]
Boy, life really kicked the hell
out of him, huh? What a loser.
Who is he?
Hey, now, wait a minute.
Those sweat stains, that beaten
look, that dumb expression,
that's Bud.
[LAUGHING]
Peg. That's great.
Does the boy know
you're making fun of him?
I won't tell him. It's
just our little secret.
It's you, Al.
Me?
That ain't funny.
I don't wanna be
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Peg, you've ruined me.
Al, you're a shoe salesman.
How can you ruin
a shoe salesman?
It's like dropping dirt on dirt.
Besides, it's just a little
local woman's magazine.
So a few people recognize
you on the street and laugh.
If Martha Raye and Joe
Piscopo can live with it,
then so can you.
Besides, most people
don't even know it's you.
Just relax and watch TV.
MAN [ON TV]: And on the local
scene, a comic-strip character
called Mr. Empty-Pants,
that started out
in a small area publication,
is catching on nationwide.
It's about a hapless loser
who just can't get it done.
News Team 56 has found out
that Mr. Empty-Pants is, in fact,
a local shoe salesman
by the name of Al Bundy.
Are you happy now?
Not yet.
The cartoon was drawn by
a local woman, Peggy Bundy.
Oh, ha-ha! Now I'm happy!
MAN 1: Look, there's
Mr. Empty-Pants!
MAN 2: Hey, Empty, my man.
Al, can't you handle the fame?
I mean, they still call
Carroll O'Connor "Archie."
They still call that
Winky guy "the Fonz."
And, you know,
they still call the fat
girls on The Facts of Life
"the fat girls on
The Facts of Life."
Oh, come on, honey.
How could you not get some joy
out of a busload
of Japanese tourists
taking pictures
and screaming out,
"Me rike Empty Pants"?
Well, they found out my
pants weren't so empty
when I mooned them.
That ought to pay 'em
back for Pearl Harbor.
Daddy.
Daddy, I'm glad you're home.
You're sad because people
are laughing at you, aren't you?
Yes.
Well, that and...
'cause I married your mother.
Well, I think that it's the
name that's hurting you.
You're embarrassed because
people are calling
you Mr. Dirty-Pants.
No, it's Empty Pants.
Whoa.
That would mean a
total absence of genitalia.
Well, anyway, I just
think that you're taking
the totally wrong
attitude on this.
I mean, you're
like the pessimist,
who looks at his pants and
thinks they're half-empty.
You should be more
like the optometrist,
who looks at his pants
and thinks they're half-full.
Get her out of here,
Peg. Right now.
Uh, honey, why don't
you go downtown
to the Hall of Records and
find out what our address is.
Okey-dokey.
I'm tired of going down there.
This time, I'm
gonna write it down
next to the numbers
on the front of the house.
Anyway, Daddy, if it helps
any, when I'm feeling down,
I just think of
this little poem,
and it always cheers me up.
Once upon a midnight dreary
As I wandered, weak and weary
Quoth the raven "Demi Moore."
Edgar Bergen Poe.
"Miss Empty-Head" didn't
cross your mind, did it?
Can't you be happy?
For years, you've
been absolutely nothing.
And now, you're the
man behind the woman.
I always stand behind you,
Peg. It's cooler in the summer.
Well, Al, I have a bit of news
that just might cheer you up.
What? Bunch of spotted
owls swooped down
and pecked the eyes out
of some environmentalists?
No.
I have decided it is
time for Mr. Empty-Pants
to finally break his silence.
Now, it has to be
something special.
Short but memorable.
A signature if you will.
So come on, honey,
be like Homer
Simpson and "d'oh."
I'm not a cartoon.
I'm almost a human
being, damn it.
And I want you to stop
writing Mr. Empty-Pants.
As a matter of fact, I'm
putting my foot down.
From this minute on, I'm
no longer Mr. Empty-Pants.
I am not... Not Mr. Empty-Pants.
[PHONE RINGS]
Hello?
Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Yes, I am Mr. Empty-Pants.
I'll see you there.
Well, who was that on the phone?
That's Playgirl magazine, Peg.
They're gonna put
Mr. Empty-Pants
in the centerfold.
That's me, Peg.
They're saying I'm the
sex symbol of the '90s.
Did I miss the news?
Did every other
man on earth die?
Where are you going?
Well, the shoot's next week.
I figured I'd shower
now. Why wait?
Ahem. Ladies,
allow me to introduce myself.
I'm Loren Michaels,
producer of
Mr. Empty-Pants, the movie.
Now, we're casting
a very important part.
Buttocks.
You all qualify.
Now, rehearsals start in the
broom closet in five minutes.
Hey, wait a second.
Just a minute ago you
were the body-makeup guy.
Hey, babe.
I'm going places.
Hopefully, this place,
this place and that place.
AL: Make way for
Mr. Empty-Pants.
Oh...
He is empty.
Okay. E.P.,
these are the girls who'll be
doing the centerfold with you.
I'd like you to know
that after the shoot,
I'm going to shake
every one of your hooters.
The bigger the star,
the nicer the guy.
Well, Empty, look.
Before we put you on the
bearskin rug with the ladies,
we'd like a few shots, you know,
so we can capture
the inner emptiness.
Meantime I think we need
some powder on the girls.
Makeup!
Uh-oh. Those breasts are shiny.
Take off those tops.
And don't worry about
me getting excited. I'm gay.
All right, all right. The
boy's had enough fun.
Now let's go. Let's go.
I gotta get loose.
Uh, play my music.
Helps me shake my money-maker.
[THE FABULOUS THUNDERBIRDS'
"TUFF ENUFF" PLAYING]
♪ I would walk two miles
On my hands and knees ♪
Okay, let's do the
shot on the rug.
♪ Ain't no doubt about it,
baby It's you I aim to please ♪
♪ I'd wrestle with a
lion And a grizzly bear ♪
♪ It's my life baby
But I don't care ♪
♪ Ain't that tuff enough? ♪
MAN: Okay. Hold it. Hold it.
Wrap the shoot. We, uh...
We have to find
another centerfold.
Mr. Empty-Pants has
been killed in the latest strip.
PHOTOGRAPHER: Okay,
girls, let's take a break.
Aah!
No. No, don't take
my breasts away.
PHOTOGRAPHER:
Girls, let's go. No. No.
Excuse me, ladies.
Uh, Bud Bundy here,
Department of Makeup Safety.
If left on, that stuff can kill.
[GASPS]
Yes, it must be
licked off immediately.
Believe me, I'll receive
no pleasure from this,
other than a job well done.
Now, quickly, de-top and meet
me on the mattresses in the alley.
And hurry. Hurry! Your
chests are ticking time bombs.
Can't believe it.
Just this close to being happy.
Who could have done this to me?
Hi, honey.
Peg, why did you do it?
I had to. I was jealous.
I wasn't getting any
attention anymore.
Suddenly everybody
was just talking to you,
and nobody cared about me.
I couldn't handle your
happiness. So I killed you.
You're not mad, are you?
I mean, if it's any consolation
you always have me.
Well, Peg, if it's any
consolation to you,
it's no consolation to me.
How'd you kill me, Peg?
You were crushed by a
meteorite shaped like a lady's shoe.
Did I suffer?
Sure.
Oh, what do you say, Al?
How about a portrait of
Mr. and Mrs. Empty-Pants?
Ah, why not? It'll probably
be the last picture of us
with your head still on.
[TIMER BUZZING]
You know, Peg,
I'm not surprised.
I knew I was gonna lose.
But I'll tell you who
the big losers are:
The women of America.
'Cause they could have
had me in the centerfold.
Now they're gonna have to
settle for some cheap imitation.
I mean, who are they gonna
get that's as big a loser as me?
[♪♪♪]