The State (1993–2009): Season 2, Episode 1 - Episode #2.1 - full transcript

And now a broadcast first,

The Nutcracker
in a tiny, tiny room.

Thud!

♪ Boys and girls. ♪

♪ Action! Action! ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Boys and girls. ♪

♪ Action! Action!
Action! Action! ♪

♪ Na, na-na, na-ah, mm. ♪

♪ Na, na-na, na-ah, mm. ♪

♪ Na, na-na, na-ah, mm. ♪



♪ Na, na-na, na-ah, mm. ♪

♪ Na, na-na, na-ah, mm. ♪

Over the past five years,

attendance has been steadily
in decline here at Holy Family,

at least until June, when
we acquired Father James.

Let us proclaim
the mystery of faith.

♪ I've got the power,
power, power. ♪

My early career was
spent as a talent agent

at the William Morris Agency.

And I never really considered
a career in the Catholic Church,

not being Catholic
or even Christian.

Today's sermon is entitled
"God's Covenant with Abraham"

or "Did Abraham Get
Screwed on the Deal?"

But they needed
a good negotiator,



the deal was pretty sweet,

and they said they'd be flexible
on the whole no-girls thing.

So...

Here I am.

Until death do youse part?

I do.

Okay, then initial
there and there.

Okay, you may
now kiss the bride.

Hey, I get 10% of that, right?

You can't bargain with God,

but you can bargain with me,
and I can bargain with God.

Don't insult me.

Get a load of
this guy over here.

We were going to have
a pancake breakfast

as a fund-raiser,

but Dixon was able to book
us the Henry Rollins Band.

♪ ♪

Actually, I got to do an
exorcism a couple weeks ago,

and that was... That
was pretty freaky.

I'm Zorgo,

the evil nemudite.

Okay, Zorgo, here's the deal.

You leave Jennifer's body,

go back in the
fiery pits of hell,

and you will get a piece
of any of the publishing

or television rights to
Jennifer's exorcism story.

Will I get percentage
points off the back end?

What do I look like, a schmuck?

Go to hell.

How ya doing?

How ya doing, boopie?

Basically, I feel like
representing God

is a pretty good gig, you know?

The pay sucks,

but the benefits are the
kingdom of frickin' heaven, right?

So...

Peace be witchu.

And also witchu.

Uh, hang on a second. Sorry.

Yo.

For the future, I don't know.

I think I'd look pretty good
in a pope outfit, you know?

And I love Italian food.

Here we are at
Luigi's Restaurant

out on Route 14 by the airport.

Two of the customers

have just started
their fried appetizers.

One of the customers
begins choking

and signals for help

using the international
sign for choking.

His friend is verifying the
international choking sign

and signaling the waiter

with the international sign
for, "My friend is choking.

"I don't know the
Heimlich maneuver.

Could you call for help?"

The waiter responds

with the international
airport sign for,

"I don't understand
your last sign.

"I was raised in the
mountains of Japan

and do not know all of
the international... signs."

The friend is unfamiliar
with his airport signs,

but he tries his best to
sign in Japanese Kabuki,

"My friend is now
almost unconscious."

The waiter has mistaken his
sign for the Tibetan dance of,

"The waiter is on fire."

He begins doing the
international sign for,

"I'm on fire,"
which, unfortunately,

closely resembles
the Pueblo sign for,

"I hate accountants."

Several local
accountants, outraged,

respond with the
accountant dance of war.

The manager, hearing
the disturbance,

gives the international cry of,

"It's okay, big
misunderstanding.

"Everything's fine

"except for the
guy at table four,

who's unconscious."

Calm returns to the restaurant,

and the waiter
signals for a busboy

to get a stretcher
for table four.

The busboy, however,
being dyslexic,

mistakenly brings table four
a year's supply of radishes.

Crisis averted,

the customers take their
seats and finish their meals.

What the hell is that
supposed to mean?

Hi, we're The State.

You know, a lot of people think

that once you get
your own TV show,

it's really easy to get laid.

Well, nothing could
be further from the truth.

In fact, the only one of us

who's getting any
cookie at all is Marino,

and that's just 'cause he's
a big good-looking paisano.

The rest of us
are sleeping alone,

except for Joe and Todd,
who are sleeping together.

Which is why we've come
up with a great new idea,

MTV's Sleep With The
State Essay Contest.

Well, actually, the fat-asses
in the legal department

won't let us call it a contest,

so we're calling it a concept,

MTV's Sleep With The
State Essay Concept.

It's easy. You write to us.

You tell us in 100 words or less

why you want to
sleep with The State.

We don't care
what you look like.

We don't care if
you're a boy or a girl.

We don't even care
if you're conscious.

Chances are, Tom
won't be conscious either.

The only rule is,
you have to be alive,

and, well, Ben's
flexible on that.

Here's a sample entry.

"Dear State,

I want to sleep with The State."

Great, you win.

Here's another one
that's just a phone number.

Terrific. Less work for us.

What do you like for breakfast?

Mike? Yeah?

Could I?

Yeah, go right ahead.

You don't have to be creative.

Hey, you don't
even have to write it.

Have your friend write
it. Is your friend cute?

It doesn't matter,

because you're beautiful,

and nobody understands
you the way we do.

MTV's Sleep With The
State Essay Concept.

Because we're not
getting any better-looking.

Viva amore.

When you're out there on
the court shooting hoops,

you want a shoe that's
gonna give you an edge.

You want a sneaker that's
gonna make piggy sounds

every time you step
down on the heel.

And that's what our sneakers do.

They make piggy sounds

every time you step
down on the heel.

Piggy shoes: they
make piggy sounds

every time you step
down on the heel.

Isn't it about time your shoes

made sounds like a
piggy from the heel

when you step down on them?

Mr. and Mrs. Earhart?

Yes?

My name is Agent Philips.

This is Agent Thompson. Ma'am.

You are under arrest
for Nazi war crimes.

What?

That's right, Mr. Earhart.

We have information
that in 1938,

you and your wife
constructed atomic fuel rockets

for Adolf Hitler.

We weren't even born in 1938.

Who's been telling you
these horrible things?

Your son, ma'am.

Bobby, have you
been telling these men

your mother and myself
are Nazi war criminals?

Negative, sir.

Your son told us about the
atomic rockets in the attic.

We figured the rest
out for ourselves.

He also gave us
information that your daughter

is a Colombian drug trafficker.

Don't you even move, sweetheart.

Bobby, why have you...

Why have you told
these men these things?

I don't know.

It's okay, son.

You don't have to
be afraid anymore.

You see, Bobby is one of
our deep-cover operatives.

That's right.

We recruited him
in the first grade.

Thanks to him, we now know

there's a big scary
dragon in your basement.

You mean you believe everything

our nine-year-old son tells you?

Well, we were skeptical
about the tooth fairy,

but he put a tooth
under his pillow.

There was a quarter
there the next morning.

It all checked out. Roger.

You're crazy.

I put that quarter
under his pillow.

Now, Mrs. Earhart, do
you actually expect us

to believe the word
of a Nazi war criminal?

We're not Nazis. We're Jewish.

Well, we don't have time
to argue about that now.

Bobby just told me
that moon people

are about to invade Earth.

Moon people?

Oh, my God. We've
got to do something.

Liebchen, go up into ze
attic and get ze old rockets.

Ja wohl.

Tilly, you call General
Guillermo in Colombia

und tell him to
have his army ready.

I'll go down in the basement
and harness the dragon.

Schnell, schnell, we've got
to defeat ze moon people.

You stinking moon
men. Viva Colombia!

And now we continue
with The Nutcracker

in a tiny, tiny room.

Thud!

♪ ♪

Barry Lutz here with
The Barry Lutz Show.

My guest tonight
is Dr. Martin Crank,

America's foremost
primate zoologist.

Good evening.

Dr. Crank, in your many
years of primate research,

you've developed...

"Research" is such
a restrictive term.

I feel I've opened up

a whole new arena
of experimentation

which I call monkey torture.

Monkey torture?

And what exactly does
this process entail?

Well, first I lure monkeys into
my apartment with bananas.

Then they fall through a
trapdoor into my secret lair,

where they undergo
extensive monkey torture.

The rack, bamboo shoots,
hot water strap basting?

No, no, no.

It's... it's
psychological torture.

Psychological?

For example?

Well, I have this one
monkey whose name is Bongo,

and sometimes I'll
pretend like he's dead.

He'll be... he'll be
right there, and I'll say,

"Boy, I sure miss Bongo
ever since he died."

You know, and I'll
pretend that I can't see him.

Another really good one is,

sometimes I'll pretend
like I'm gonna set them free,

you know?

I'll drive the car

right up to the edge of
the jungle and stop, right?

And then I turn the
car right back around,

right back to my secret lair.

Dr. Crank, what have you learned

from your many years
of monkey torture?

They hate it.

The whole being-tortured
bit drives them nuts.

I understand you've
had a lot of trouble

getting funding lately.

Recently, yes.

Yes, this country's full

of what I call
bleeding-heart liberals

who, I guess, are
turned off by the idea

of torturing monkeys for
no good reason, you know?

I guess all I can
say is, "Sorry.

I'm the bad guy."

Do you have any advice...

Do you have any
advice, Dr. Crank,

for any young people who
might be watching this show

and interested in pursuing
a career in monkey torture?

Yes, I'd say get a monkey

and torture the hell out of it.

I see you brought a little
friend of yours with you,

and you're gonna demonstrate
some of your tortures.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes, it's okay.

This is little Ricky.

Hello, little Ricky. Say hello.

Do you know who I
am? I'm Barry Lutz.

I've got something really
horrible in store for him.

The first thing I'm gonna do
is, I'm gonna convince Ricky...

Barry Lutz.

It's the ASPCA for you.

Yes?

W-w-w...

You're going to
file criminal charges

if I don't stop
torturing monkeys?

I have to take all the
monkeys to the zoo,

where they'll be
loved and cared for?

Yes, good-bye.

Well, Dr. Crank, I'm so sorry.

It seems as though you won't
be torturing monkeys anymore.

It would seem so,

if that had been the ASPCA

and not my friend Terry
calling from backstage.

Well, Dr. Crank, you
had me completely fooled.

Well, more importantly, we
had little Ricky here fooled.

You're not going
anywhere, you smart boy.

Well, my thanks to Dr. Crank.

Join us tomorrow when my guest
will be Chef Paul Prudhomme,

who will show us how to
make little edible luggage.

Hmm.

Yeah, that does sound good.

We'll see you then.

DeLuca, where
the hell is Johnson?

Would you get on that thing
and tell him to step on it?

He should be here
any second, sir.

It's a madhouse
down at the station.

All right, forget it. Forget it.

I know it's late, Captain,

but you're the only
hope that plane's got.

If you can't talk
that baby down,

no one can.

What is she? 747, we think.

We don't know?

Then why the hell
aren't we at the airport?

It's not really a
plane, Captain,

not in the strictest sense.

That's the pilot you
woke me up to save?

If he was a pilot, we
wouldn't need you.

That man has no idea
how to pretend to fly a plane.

Without your
help, he's done for.

Just crash him
somewhere unpopulated.

You tell that to the passengers.

They didn't bargain on this

when they pretended
to buy their tickets.

You tell that woman
pretending to be pregnant

that you don't care if
she pretends to live or die.

Right, where's the pilot?

Trapped in a box.

We've been trying
to get him out,

but we don't even know
what the box is made of.

And the copilot's been
pretending to drink.

Bobo's our only hope.

You've got to talk him down.

Bobo, now, listen very carefully

and do exactly as I tell you.

Bobo.

Bobo.

Yes, you, Bobo.

Now, in front of you,
there should be a stick.

Not that kind of stick, Bobo.

It steers the plane.

Right, now, check
your instrument panel.

Heading should
be south-southwest,

wind speed at 37 miles an hour.

Oh, this is hopeless.
It's going down.

Bobo.

Next to your stick,

there's a control panel
with just one button on it.

It's a bright
red-and-white button,

and it's flashing, and
it says "Bobo" on it.

Do you see it?

Push it.

Right, now, that
is a magical button

that turns the 747 into a bus.

You know how to
drive a bus, Bobo?

Right, now, park the bus.

Let the passengers off.

Don't forget to collect
their fares, Bobo.

Nice work, Captain.

These pantomimes
owe you their lives.

Just doing my job.

Now I can go home
and get some shut-eye.

Oh, God. That
smell funny to you?

Oh, jeez!

And now the conclusion
of The Nutcracker

in a tiny, tiny room.

♪ ♪

Tell us what you
thought of the ballet.

It was fine.

Well, which of these socks
smells more April-time fresh?

I got a cold. I
can't smell a thing.

Well, which of these
toilet papers is softer?

Uh, that one.

Then which of
these grape sodas...

I don't like grape
soda. Leave me alone.

I don't believe you.

May I help you, sir?

Yes, could I get a grape soda?

Hey, Carl,

get off your lazy ass and
get the man a grape soda,

for crying out loud!

Anything else, sir?

Um, a... a chicken
sandwich, please.

Chicken sandwich, Carl!

What are you, deaf?

Did you ask for a small soda?

Uh, oh, well, no,
but I didn't say, so...

Yeah, small is fine.

If the man wanted a small soda,

he would have asked
for a small soda.

And where the hell is
his chicken sandwich?

There's... there's
no need for shouting.

And keep it down!

Whoo!

I am so sorry, sir.

Do you want fries with this?

I just don't want you to pick
on that poor guy anymore.

Aw, poor little Carl

with the puppy-dog eyes.

We wouldn't want
him to do his job.

You're pissing the customer off!

Look, we'll fire him,

anything to serve you better.

I don't want him fired.

I don't want him yelled at.

Look, maybe the
best thing for me to do

is find someplace
to go for lunch.

You lost us another
customer, Carl,

you miserable,
disgusting failure!

You make me sick!

Is there a manager I can
speak to maybe, please?

Right here, sir.

How was your service?

Yeah, well, I tell
you, you know,

I think maybe your
employees could,

you know, work together better.

That'd be great.

Steve, Carl, we've
talked about this before.

But I guess that talking
doesn't do any good!

It's fine. It's fine!

I'm a happy customer.

Great job, everyone.

Oh, my God, it's the owner!

Run!

Go! Go!

Go! Go!

Anything else, sir?

Come back again,

and have a burger-iffic day.

Excuse me.

I ordered this without ketchup.

I am so sorry, sir.

Carl,

what the hell is wrong with you?

Some sketches on
The State were shot

in front of a live
studio audience.