Married with Children (1986–1997): Season 8, Episode 9 - No Ma'am - full transcript

Oh, quick, Bud.

Change the channel.

It's Sweeps Month,
so Christian Slater's

gonna show America his butt.

Kelly, now this may
come as a surprise to you...

Well, then again,
the fact that people

can actually ride upright
in the backseat of a car

came as a surprise to you.

There are far more
important things going on

than Christian Slater's butt.

For instance, the President's
giving an important press conference.



We interrupt the
President's press conference

for live coverage of
Christian Slater's butt.

Move over, kids.

It's time for our
favorite talk show.

But, Mom, we were watching

the President's
press conference.

Mmm. That jogging's
been doing him some good.

Live from Chicago,

it's Jerry Springer,
the masculine feminist.

Good evening, women.

I'm Jerry Springer,
and I am proud

to be living in your world.

Now before we get started,

I wanna take a
moment to apologize



on behalf of all men
for the disgusting way

Burt has mistreated Loni.

Good move, Burt.

And Cop And A
Half? Good movie, too.

I mean, when are
men gonna realize

that women are this world's
most precious natural resource?

Except, of course,
for our sponsor,

I Can't Believe It's A Tampon.

It feels so natural,
you're gonna wish

it was always that
time of the month.

A masculine feminist.
What does that mean?

It means he likes show tunes.

Would that they all did.

Jerry has the hottest
talk show around.

Is he gonna show his butt?

Jerry is politically correct.

He's keeping his butt covered

until all women are free.

I wish Al would.

At least until all
women were warned.

Well, Jerry's not just a talker.

He's a doer.

Last week, he found out
there was no bowling alley

in his part of town with
a Ladies Only Night,

so Jerry did something about it.

We had a bloat-in.

A hundred of us waited
till we were really grumpy,

then we stormed
the bowling alley

and chained ourselves
to the ball returns...

which in hindsight turned
out to be an error, but...

at least those
little blower things

were kind of enjoyable.

But what's important is
that Jerry helped women

finally get a bowling
night, which is tonight.

That means some guys
lost their bowling night.

Yeah, I wonder who.

Hi, honey! I'm home!

Why am I early on what
used to be my bowling night?

Good question.
Thank you for asking.

Well, as I entered
the bowling alley,

ready for an exciting night

of bonding,
brewskies and barfing,

what did I see?

Women. Bowling. Overhand.

So naturally, I went up to
one of these donut depositories

and said in my nicest voice,

"Wedge it out the door,
beefalo. It's my night to bowl."

Well, instead of coming
back at me verbally,

like I did to them, they
took their doughy fists,

and they pounded on me until a mutual
agreement was reached that I leave.

Anyway, when I
regained consciousness

in a burning trash
can, I realized, A:

Thursday nights is
now ladies night, and B:

you don't wanna know how a
bum puts out a trash can fire.

- Shh!
- Shh!

And congratulations to
those fine women in Chicago

for what they achieved
over at Jim's Bowl-A-Rama.

That's the panty-waist that
cost me my bowling night!

Now we've gotta
get the bowling alley

to enlarge the size of
the women's restroom.

And what about mothers
who wanna nurse?

I propose a lactation lounge.

I propose a dairy farmer.

Quiet, Klingon!

Let's take some phone calls now.

Well, believe you me, this
outrage shall not go unavenged.

Now, Al, don't you
think women deserve...

No!

Just don't embarrass us, honey.

Is the caller there?

Al Bundy here.

BUD, KELLY AND PEG: Too late!

Now listen here, Jerry.
Bowling is a man's sport.

If God had wanted women to bowl,

He would have put their
breasts on their backs

so we would have something
to watch while waiting our turn.

And where are you
calling from, sir? 1952?

I wish. Ike was in
the White House,

women were in the kitchen,
and you were in the closet.

And you forgot to mention
where you were, sir.

I suspect in a zoo someplace

throwing your feces
at a passing tourist.

Once again, I wish.

All right, enough of that call.

Let's take another one.

You and your thundering
herds may think

you won this
bowling thing, mister,

but let me tell you something.

Thursday nights have always
been men's bowling night.

And mark my words.

Next Thursday,
men will be bowling!

All right, nice spare, Jim.

Well, I find that if you shift

your weight to your rear foot...

This is ridiculous. I
worked hard all week.

I'm not gonna sit
home on bowling night.

Well, we can't go back
to the bowling alley.

Those women are too strong.

We can't go home.
We're too weak.

Hey, I got it. We
can go to a movie.

Hey, yeah, yeah.

Hey, Peg! Peg, do
we have a paper?

Thank you.

All right, let's see
what's playing.

Hey!

Ah, here's a gripping drama

about a newlywed couple
waiting at their new house

for their furniture to arrive.

It's called Where Oh Where
Is The Mayflower Man?

Any boobs?

William Hurt and Glenn Close.

We could go to the
newsstand and buy a magazine.

Yeah, but where
could we hide it?

How about in your wife's hair?

How about in your wife's chins?

- Come on now!
- Come on!

C'mon, guys, they're makin'
us turn against each other.

Now there must be
something we can do.

I know where we can go.

To the last great bastion for
the American red-blooded male,

where there is no such
thing as ladies night.

At the nudie bar!

Where a buck's
enough to see their stuff.

At the nudie bar!

Where the breasts may be
fake, but, man, do they shake.

At the nudie bar!

Where you swear like a sailor
and wish you could nail her.

At the nudie bar!

Where the cops are at the door,

and there's a
Kennedy on the floor.

At the nudie bar!

Shh!

Nudie bar.

Hey, this is great, huh?
It's better than bowling.

You can work up a sweat
without workin' up a sweat.

You know, I haven't been in here

since they jazzed up the place.

And they even put up a curtain.

And the mirrors are gone.

Well, some things don't change.

Gentlemen, present dollars.

Hooters, hooters,
hooters, hoot...

Tonight...

I would like to dedicate
this poem to my ovaries.

I don't think we're
in Kansas anymore.

My eggs, my eggs,
He begs, he begs

To be the father of my eggs

My eggs, my eggs

Oh, swim to meet my eggs

Boy, they really hit us
where it hurts this time, huh?

Turnin' the nudie bar
into a coffee house.

What are we gonna do
with our Saturday nights?

We could play bonbon
toss with your wife.

Yeah, we could play peanut toss

with the elephant
you call your wife.

Hey, hey, hey!

Come on!

I mean, doesn't the Constitution

guarantee us the right to life,

nudity and the
pursuit of happiness?

Are you sure that's nudity?

Life, nudity... yeah.

This is the last straw.

I say it's time we stood up to the
onslaught of this..."womaninity."

Yeah.

They've taken
everything away from us.

I say it's time that we take
something away from them.

Live from Chicago,

it's Jerry Springer,

the masculine fe... Oh, oh.

Tonight's broadcast of
the masculine feminist

has been commandeered by
the secret society NO MA'AM,

National Organization of Men
Against Amazonian Masterhood.

I would reveal my true identity,

but for political
reasons, I cannot.

But do not take me lightly.

I once scored four touchdowns

in a single game for Polk High.

Hey, Daddy once scored
four touchdowns, too.

That is Daddy, you mud flap.

And that's Mr. D'Arcy
and Mr. Anderson

and Bob Rooney.

Boy, if Marcy
finds out about this,

she'll be down
there in a second.

Gee, I wonder if she's watching.

Well, I guess so.

Every day for the past 30 years,

you high-heeled pit bulls
have blamed us for everything

from not being able
to get into Harvard,

to not being able to
get into stretch pants.

Yeah!

We've been called pigs!

We've been called scum!

We've even been
called plywood bottom...

Or at least I have.

But we're sick
and tired of this.

Now we have a list of demands,

and if these
demands are not met,

we're going to take
this masculine feminist

and perform television's
first sexorcism.

Tell 'em what
that is, Jefferson.

My name is Hank.

Oh, right.

Sorry, Hank.

Ah, that's okay, Al.

Anyway, if our
demands go unheeded,

not only will we force Jerry to
watch hours of pro wrestling,

but we'll force him
to watch it in these.

A stinky yellowed undershirt...

and a pair of boxers which read

"It's all me."

"It's all me" boxers,
courtesy of Mr. Bob Rooney.

I mean, Dirk Rooney.

Back to you, Al.
Clyde. Ah, hell.

Demand one: you
gals want a ladies night?

Try havin' it in the
kitchen cookin' for a man.

Demand two: don't put
on a dress and ask us

if it makes you look fat.

We hate that.

Besides, it's not the dress
that makes you look fat.

It's the fat that
makes you look fat.

Demand three: don't ask
us to talk or cuddle after sex,

or before sex, or during sex.

You're lucky we
take our pants off.

You take your pants off?

How do you get
'em over your shoes?

Demand four.

Don't ask us to say "I
love you" over the phone.

It's hard enough to say it

to someone we're paying
a dollar a minute to talk to!

Yeah! Come on!

Demand five: stop
talking about Fabio.

Yeah. With his long, flowin'
blonde hair and 48-inch chest,

we're the ones who
should be talkin' about...

Anyway, those are
our five demands.

We had five more written down,

but somebody couldn't blow
his nose without a hanky.

So, ladies, you've
got 30 minutes...

Which, of course, is two
hours in woman's time.

To address these
demands, or we'll... or we'll...

Ready. Hike...

Or we'll go for burgers!

It didn't make any sense,
did it? Wait a minute.

Ah, what about Berkowitz?

We could change
our name to that.

Nah.

Can't spell it.

Let's see, what about...
What about Borden?

Can't spell that either.

What can you spell?

Cat.

So, let's go to the K's.

Now in spite of our demands,

I don't want everyone to
think that we at NO MA'AM

are totally anti-woman,

so we found a typical
working woman.

I'd like to introduce
her to you right now.

Coming live to you
from the Club Squish,

Miss Bubbles Double Dee.

Ms. Dee.

You're a working woman.

What do you think
of Roe vs. Wade?

Gee, I don't know that
much about boxing.

But I'd like to go out to
dinner with whoever wins.

Let's take some questions
from our audience, shall we?

All right.

Would you jump up and down?

Yes!

All right, next question.

Can you do that again?

I'll try.

All right, all right, all right.

Now there, a typical
working woman.

Al Bundy, you sloth!

You toad. You two-toed sloth.

This is no man. This
is Al "oink, oink" Bundy.

Why the mask, Al?

Take it off. Let the
world see your snout.

You call yourself a...

Stop it.

You call yourself a
man, but you're a coward.

You're all cowards.

Yeah!

Honey, did you
shut off the phone?

Yes.

- Stop the mail?
- Yup.

Did you cancel the newspaper?

Yes.

But won't the D'Arcys be mad?

I mean, it's their paper.

Honey, the D'Arcys
have bigger problems.

All right, Bud and Kelly Kat.

Let's go.

The Kat family. Good
choice, you blonde airhead.

Mom, do you know
where we're gonna live?

No. But wherever it is,
at least we'll be together,

unless I can find
someplace great.

Now, about your demand
to not talk during sex?

The only reason we ask you to

is so that we know
when you're finished.

Oh, yeah? Well...

You're a chicken!

Yeah!

And if it's true we spend
so little time in the kitchen,

then how come you spend
so much time in the bathroom?

Because... because...

You're a chicken!

Yeah!

So, in conclusion,

we don't wanna
take over everything.

We just want equality,
fairness, to be appreciated.

After all, you need us
more than we need you.

You're in NO MA'AM's
land now, baby.

So, let's set the
record straight.

You need us jar-opening,
oil-changing, spider-squishing,

furniture-rearranging men a
lot more than we need you.

Yeah!

All right, you have a point.

There are some occasions
when women do need men.

Yes!

Well, like tonight for instance.

I need some men so
I'm going to call them.

Oh, gentlemen...

You again, Bundy?

Where were you last week when I
got mugged out in front of my store?

Where were you last week when I
got mugged outside of your store?

Oh, hi, honey.

I just wandered in.
What's happening?

Get in the car.

But Al and them made me...

Get in the car.

Hey, aren't you Jerry Springer,
that masculine feminist?

Yes, I am.

Tie him back up.

What the...

I hate that guy.

This may be the end
of NO MA'AM for now,

but it's not the last
you'll hear of it or me!

Peg, kids, come
and get me. Please.

Who's that guy?

Oh, he's doin'
community service.

My eggs, my eggs, above my legs