Married with Children (1986–1997): Season 7, Episode 3 - Every Bundy Has a Birthday - full transcript

All right, honey.

Now, let's try a
little bit harder word.

How about "dog"?

Come on, honey, I
know you can do it.

Okay.

D...

Uh...

O? Okay.

"Og."

Dog.

G.



G?

Well, why don't
you finish the rest?

"Gee, she's stupid."

Let's see you finish
the word, smarty-pants.

Oh, "dog."

Oh, like in "dogmatic."

Oh, of course.

Hey, Kel.

You look kind of puzzled.

Someone ask you to spell "dog"?

Oh, my God, they did.

Honey, let me see
what we got in the mail.

Bills, bills,

bills.



Letter from Al's mother.

Bills, bills.

Here, honey,

go play with these.

Now, this is what
I've been waiting for.

Bud's invitation to the Oldest
Virgins in America Club?

No.

It's a letter from the
Board of Education.

An application to send
little Seven to school.

Oh, cool.

I can help him with his studies

'cause I be a high
school graduate.

Yes, honey, and we
be very proud of you.

Actually, I requested this

because just the other day,
I saw the school bus go by

and I felt what every
mother feels deep inside:

Those bus drivers are getting
younger and cuter every year.

So while I was taking
my oh-so-cold shower

I thought,

"Gee, maybe I should
just send Seven to school."

Let's see here.

"Age."

Thirty...

Twenty-eight.

Uh, Mom?

I think they mean Seven's age.

Oh, well, I thought they'd want
mine on here for the traditional

"mommy takes bus driver to
dinner, dancing and Jacuzzi"

interlude.

Come here, honey.

When's your birthday, Seven?

I don't know.

Well, didn't you ever
have a birthday party?

No.

Well, we're gonna
fix that right now

because I want you to
have birthdays, schooling

vaccinations, friends, a future.

Everything the authorities
wanted Kelly and Bud to have.

So we're gonna pick you out a
birthday and then have a party.

Now, it has to be a very special
day that no one else celebrates.

Let's see.

How about January 22nd?

That's my birthday, Mom.

Really?

Oh, well.

Okay. Uh, November 27th.

That's mine.

Really? Hmm...

Well, this is hard.

How about December 25th?

Mom, that's Christmas.

Yeah, but at least
it's nobody's birthday.

What?

All right. How about tomorrow?

Nothing is happening tomorrow.

I don't think so.

Okay. That settles it.

Tomorrow is Seven's birthday.

Hi, honey.

Do you know what tomorrow is?

Well, yes.

Yes, I do.

And I can't believe
that after all these years

you remembered my birthday.

Oops.

Was that your birthday?

Well, it's not your
birthday anymore.

I just gave it to Seven.

What about me?

Al, every night you
go to bed whining,

"I wanna die, I wanna die."

And now, all of a sudden,
you want more birthdays?

Oh, honey. All right.

I'll give you the
dog's birthday.

You seem to age about
seven years every year anyway.

I... I want a human birthday.

Well, then you'll just have
to get on your hind legs

and beg for it.

Seven, as part of
your birthday presents

you can have whatever you
want out of Kelly and Bud's rooms.

Oh, boy!

Well, Kel,

there goes those
art photos you took

for Stupid Girls in
Chains magazine.

Oh, yeah? Well, you
can say goodbye to your

"so lifelike you can take
her home to meet Mom"

rubber playmate.

Isis!

Isis!

Isis!

Oh, God! Call 911 fast!

She's running out of air!

Oh, the horror, the horror!

Well, there go your
dreams of ever having any

rubber grandchildren.

Hey, look at these pictures.

Gotta go.

You know, Al, I really think we
ought to have some more kids.

I think we could get it
right one of these days.

Peg, at my age, I
couldn't get it right

if I was with somebody I wanted.

All right, McGrumpy.

I know you're a little down
about this birthday thing

and I know I have no power
to get you back up again.

Oh, snookums.

Come on, Al.

Now, if anybody really
cared about your birthday,

what would you have wanted?

Isis. When she was healthy.

Peggy, could you settle
an argument for us?

If someone was eyeing
Al, drooling for his body,

would you be mad?

You know, curiously enough,
that happens every day.

I just shoo those buzzards
away with my broom.

And I say, "I don't
care what it smells like,

he's not dead yet."

Look, I... I can't help
it if women want me.

I mean, what am
I supposed to do?

Stop getting my hair
done and looking killer?

Well, you could stop
swinging your buttocks

like a common trollop,

your wedding ring
hidden in your pants...

with that roll of socks.

Yeah.

Nature's socks, baby.

Ah, let me help out here.

Marcy, if you're
worried about Jefferson

succumbing to another woman,
let me put your mind at ease.

He will always be true
to you because, after all

why go out for milk
when you got two tiny,

empty pints at home?

And why go out for hot dogs

when you've got a tiny
little cocktail frank at home?

Attached to the whole pig.

I don't go over to her
house and insult her.

Gee, what's the matter with him?

Well, he's a shoe salesman.

And he's losing his hair.

And he wouldn't know
a shower if he fell over it.

And he has this
horrible rash on his butt.

Not that. I mean,
why is he so sad?

Oh, do you really care?

No.

Actually, tomorrow's
Seven's birthday.

Where's a good
place to have a party?

We generally like to be
someplace where we can

toss our garbage on the
floor and not worry about

picking it up.

Yes, but rather
than having it here,

why not do something grand
and well within your budget

and have it in a public park?

Yeah. A lot of women
like to look at me there.

Uh-huh, and, uh...

here.

And, uh...

here.

And, uh...

here.

Of course. When
you flaunt the line

of your leopard underwear
through your far-too-thin pants.

You're begging for it, mister.

And someday, some big
woman's gonna give it to you hard,

hard, right in the park!

Take me home right
now and dance for me.

All right, all right.

But this time, don't
invite your mom.

Okay? My dancing is an art

and not to be cheapened by:

"That's my son-in-law.

Shake your moneymaker
over to Mommy."

You always hated my mother.

No, I... I like dollars,
damn it, not coins.

I'm not a tollbooth,
for God's sakes.

Al, would you ever
consider dancing for me?

Only at the end of a rope, baby.

You better get it
out of your system

because I want only smiles
tomorrow at Seven's birthday.

Gee, I hope he's
not too disappointed

that it's in the park.

The kid is nothing
but a stupid hick.

We'll tell him it's Disneyland.

This isn't Disneyland!

Wow, Disneyland!

Oh, and look, plenty
of space for parking.

Well, it's time to party.

Who wants a hot dog?

That's good because I got one.

Me!

Hold it now! Hold it
now! You know the rules.

You don't call it for it.

You fight for it.

Which is why we Bundys might
be maladjusted, but we are strong.

Excuse me.

What are you doing here?

Oh, well,

between you and me,
I'm celebrating my birthday

but nobody supposed
to know because my wife

took it away from me.

Interesting tale.

But meaningless.

You see, I rented this
entire park for my son Brian's

birthday party.

So take your pathetic
weenie and go elsewhere.

Does everyone know, Al?

Now, listen here, buddy...

you cannot buy a public park.

I pay good taxes
to support this place.

Al, you haven't
paid taxes in years.

And I would feel quite
the fool right now if I had.

Look, our party is due to start.

Uh, don't make me
throw you out bodily.

Peg,

would you please hold my weenie?

Well, what'll I do with
my other four fingers?

Oh.

All right, Goldfinger.

Let's rock.

Don't get Phillip mad.

He's a fifth-degree
master in kung fu.

Yeah, well, don't get Al mad.

He's a fifth-grade
spelling bee winner.

Now, look here.

I may not be rich...

Or happy,

but I know this
is a public park.

And in a country of the people,

by the people and for the people

there's gotta be a place
set aside for scum like us.

This isn't so bad, kids.

I mean, just because we
don't get to use the whole park,

that don't mean
we can't have fun.

Bud, go long.

Gee, Dad. Touchdown.

Kelly, extra-point time.

Come on.

Yes! Yes!

This sucks.

No kidding.

Why aren't you
people having any fun?

Aren't you tired of only
celebrating my birthdays?

You know,

that sit-down dinner for 300 of
my closest friends at Cafe Poof.

Where the guest of honor,
moi gets to eat scrambled eggs

off the chests of
exotic male dancers.

I didn't invite you?

By the looks of your faces

I realize it's because you would
only have brought me down.

But let's make this party

the best party in the park.

Well, maybe the
second-best party.

The rich people
hired the Blue Angels.

Hey, look, they're skywriting.

"Happy birthday, Brian.

This is costing
your dad $50,000.

And why not?

You're the best kid
in the whole world.

And we're not just writing
that because we're being paid.

We mean it, really.

May God bless you and keep you.

And don't forget,
we also do weddings.

Except in April
when we're booked

for the Peggy
Bundy birthday bash."

Hi, boys!

Every kid at school
had skywriting.

You don't love me anymore.

Yes, I do, son. Look at this.

Hey, boys and girls.

Hi, Peggy.

Frank, is that you in there?

Hi.

See you in April.

Now, kids, Brian's dad
paid me a lot of money

to break my leg for Brian

on his birthday.

And it hurts real bad.

Come on, kids,

it's time for shrimp cocktail.

They're eating shrimp, kids.

That's fish.

Nothing says party like pork.

And I'll do the slicing.

Hey, now, watch it now!

Give me a piece.

Hmm.

Well, I guess we're a
two-hot-dog family now.

Wait a second, now.

Before everybody but me eats,

let's give thanks.

Dogs are busy today.

Amen.

Dig in.

All right, well, who
has the mustard?

Oh.

Let's see.

Salt, pepper, ketchup, condom.

Hmm...

Mmm-mmm.

All right.

Now, Seven, I've
got dessert for you.

Noogie, noogie, noogie.

Koosh, koosh, koosh.

Yum, yum, yummy!

She never "noogie, noogied" us.

Never "kooshed" us, either.

Well, she "yum, yummed"
me once in high school.

And to think, I spelled
"dog" for that woman.

I mean, we're
the forgotten ones.

We're the Titos of
the Jackson family.

It's unfair.

I mean, nobody asked us
if we wanted the stupid kid.

Well, don't feel bad, honey.

Nobody asked me if I
wanted you two guys.

All I'm saying is I can't
believe he's getting Mom's love.

He's not even a real Bundy.

He's no kind of Bundy.

Bundy is a name you earn.

Our emotional scars run so
deep, you can almost see them.

Yup, it's a point of pride.

Ever since the
day the first Bundy

stepped off the Mayflower...

halfway over.

Never found him, but they
recorded his final words:

"Methinks we're here."

Pioneers like that...
And ourselves,

we're the real Bundys.

Why, that kid never
suffered any real rejection.

Not until he's heard:

"The service
entrance is in back."

Or, "Or not even for 50 bucks."

Yeah, or, "Don't
ruin it by talking."

Right. Right.

And until that time,

he's just another human
being with a future.

Never be a real Bundy.

Oh, kids, look.

Seven's playing piñata
with the other kids.

Oops.

Keep him in here,

where he belongs.

This birthday stinks.

I wanna go home.

Me too. Let's go.

Not just yet.

Excuse me.

What do you think you're doing?

You're not allowed
out of the doody area.

Only we're allowed out here.

Read this permit, pal.

Bud,

show the man what
Bundys think of permits.

Now, Bud, you could
have saved me a little bit.

I didn't get no hot
dog, you know.

Anyway, the uh...

Kid here wants a
crack at your piñata.

Oh, no, no. Wait
a minute. Hold on.

And I want one of them burgers.

And I reclaim this park

for the people!

And I reclaim this
hot dog for the people,

and this steak for the people.

That's mine! That's it!

Eat hot Gucci, pal.

Tee-hee.

You know, buddy, it
seems your foot is stuck.

I'll give you a hundred
bucks if you let me go.

Take it, Al. Take it!

Nah.

Nobody gave me
a birthday present,

so I guess I'll give myself one.

Happy birthday, Al.

Come on, kids.

Let's kick some rich butt.

You're ruining my
party, you baboon!

I'm proud to call that
baboon my daddy.

Family meeting!

In the name of Bundys
all over the world,

I declare this party
open to the people!

Peg, grab all the food
so no one else gets it

and grab the presents for Seven.

Dad, did you see
Seven slug that kid?

He's a mean little booger.

Yeah, and who knows,

he might even prove
to be stupid too.

I think he's a real Bundy.

Me too.

I declare Seven

an official Bundy!

Can I get a unified
"Whoa, Bundy"?

Whoa, Bundy!