Another Period (2013–…): Season 2, Episode 8 - Joplin - full transcript

Are you wondering how healthy the food you are eating is? Check it - foodval.com
---
- Whoo!
- Whoa.

Red servant, yellow servant.
Red servant--

I've always thought that if I
wasn't born with extreme wealth,

I would've earned it fairly
easily as a world-class singer.

And now, I've decided to try

and make the dream
I do not need come true.

We want to be the first
non-poor people

to become famous for talent.

So we purchased the most
famous musician in the world

to come to Bellacourt
and make a song with us.

Mr. Scott Joplin!



♪ I've been having
this vision ♪

♪ breaking out of these walls ♪

♪ bustin' out of this prison ♪

♪ either rise or you fall,
bring out the body bags ♪

♪ I'm 'bout to kill 'em,
deliver them ♪

♪ to the mortician ♪

♪ light 'em, light 'em up ♪

It's ragtime!

♪ I want the money,
I want the fame ♪

♪ I want the whole world
to know my name ♪

♪ this is mine,
I got to get it ♪

♪ I got to get it,
got, got to get it ♪

♪ Another Period ♪

Scott Joplin does not
work for you.



He works for me.
Himself.

Because he operates on a level
that no one could fathom.

Soon, he'll be voting.

He'll serve on a jury.

Hell, one day, he'll even have
his own bank account.

Jim Crow does not apply
to the immortal.

Well, I like a man who's not
afraid to toot his own horn,

if you know what I mean.

I mean "dong" by horn.

I can flirt too.
I'm just not good at words.

Ladies, I know
he's hard to resist,

but I am spoken for,
so to speak.

Right, Brenda?

Is your wife from one
of those countries

where women don't have tongues?

Oh, she has a tongue.

She is the princess of Armenia,
and she is a star.

- What does she do exactly?
- Well, that's the thing.

Nobody knows.

But when I first met Brenda,
she was a talentless beauty.

And now, she is a famous
talentless beauty.

Joplin took her
to the next level.

We want to go
to the next level.

Will you please help us
write a hit song?

- Please?
- I only have one condition.

It's that I retain full control
of the final product.

No one can genius
like a genius like me.

- It's a deal.
- Oh, yes.

Hyman Goldberg,
do you take Blanche the Servant

to be your wife
and green card provider?

- I guess.
- Blanche the Servant,

do you understand

that you have no say in this
or any other ceremony

for as long as you both
shall live?

Then, I pronounce you married.

- Well, I'm off to my honeymoon.
- Don't I get to go?

No. I'm sorry.
I just figured you had to work.

I'm off to the Poconos.

Everyone, I have
a very exciting announcement.

- You're shaving your mustache?
- I don't know, Flobelle.

Are you shaving yours?

Now, the announcement,
if everybody's done

with their attempts at humor.

Today, at 4:00
eastern farmer time,

I received a very special
delivery

of a new kind of...

butter!

- Oh, hooray, butter for butler.
- Now, that was a good jest.

Now, this butter is unlike
any you've ever seen.

Rich, thick, creamy,

batch tumble churned,
silky smooth.

Ready for...

ready for spreading.

- Mr. Peepers.
- Hmm?

Your wee-wee
is making a tepee.

I've been having certain
carnal thoughts as of late,

but ever since that night
in the stagecoach with Dodo,

the slightest thing sends me
into an erotic tizzy.

No matter.

So long as it does not
affect my work,

I shall just be strong.

Excuse me.

I suddenly
crave a lower-half ice bath.

So what do you think?

I don't really ever care about
the not-singing part of a song.

Me neither.

But it'll get there
once we add our lyrics.

- Fine.
- Okay.

Can you play the boring
just music part again?

One, two, five, six.

♪ Baked Alaska, Baked Alaska ♪

♪ Baked Alaska, Baked Alaska ♪

♪ It's Christmas pudding
all topped with meringue ♪

♪ but it's just about
my favorite thang ♪

♪ Bea likes it soft,
and I like it hard ♪

♪ If you need to,
use some cus-tard ♪

♪ Baked Alaska,
it's the treat that we want ♪

♪ Do it in the back
and not in the front ♪

♪ Alaska ♪

♪ Alaska ♪

Shut the hell up, Cutie!

You're ruining my solo!

Our solo.

So what'd you think?

I mean-- sure.

Uh, I think I can do something
with it.

I mean, I'm not just
an entertainer.

I'm the entertainer.

My sheets are soaked.

_

Today's the day.

Joplin's team dropped off
an advance pressing of our song,

and I just know
that "Baked Alaska"

is going to shoot us to stardom
and into America's hearts.

I would like to take
this opportunity

to say goodbye to all of you.

Some of you I've never liked,

although I've kept it to myself
in the interest propriety.

You constantly tell me
you hate me.

Some of you
I wish I'd known better.

But mostly I've accepted you
as a necessary part of my life,

but I'll thank you
to not ask me for any favors.

Garfield.

I cannot wait for the pink fog
of fame to wash over me,

and then I'll truly never die.

I can't wait to never die.

Here it is.

I thought we were supposed
to be singing.

Hmm.

My voice sounds weird.

Idiot!
That's not us.

That's Mayor Cutie!

Are you sure?

This dog sounds like it
has a Jamaican accent.

Someone thought it would be
a good idea to go solo

and leave the rest of us
in the dust.

You selfish bitch.

You never loved me.

All you loved is yourself!

And chicken.

_

Will you stop
playing that song?

Lillian, why are
the lights so low?

Do you have conjunctivitis?

I have conjunctivitis
of the heart.

I should've known better
than to trust

a fast-fingered ragman

and a too-hot-for-
her-own-good Chihuahua.

I'm just sad we don't get
to play in the concert.

What concert?

Joplin's doing this song
live with Cutie.

How could she betray us

and steal the spotlight
for herself?

That's what I was
going to do to you.

Oh.

God damn it!

- What? What happened?
- Someone forgot to bring me

my cold cocoa.

They probably gave it
to Mayor Cutie,

that four-pound whore!

You know what?

I will get the cocoa myself.

Beatrice, wait.

A rich person cooking.

They might think you're a witch.

Lillian, I will do anything
for my family,

including putting things
in my bottom.

I'll be back with the cocoa.

- Wait.
- Don't worry, Lillian.

I won't put the cocoa
in my bottom.

Well, at least there's that.

Ooh.

Oh, no.

I always do that.

Oh, hi, Peepers.

Neat dance.

Miss Beatrice,
what are you doing down here?

Someone forgot the cold cocoa
for our bedtime biscuits.

I shall find
the culprit immediately.

Thank you.

Good night, Peepers.

Worry not,
Miss naked Beatrice.

I shall ferret out whoever's
responsible for this savagery.

It was I.

'Twas I who forgot
the cold cocoa.

What is happening to me?

Why won't you leave me alone,

devil's pole?

Oh, hello, husband.
How were the Poconos?

The mai tais were strong,

and the klezmer white-hot.

I don't know what either
of those things are.

So do you think
that we might consummate soon?

I just would like
to make this official.

Blanche, I want to, I really do.

I just-- it might be hard.

- Because I'm not a man?
- What? No.

I'm not a-- I'm not a homosexual.

I mean, if anything,
I'm a pansexual.

Is it the company, then?

Oh, no.

No, to be honest,
I kind of like it.

Well, what, then?

There's no easy way
to say this,

so I will just say it.

It's your pregnancy, Blanche.

It's repulsive to me,
no offense.

I can't get over the idea
that the baby's

going to attack me from within
with little hands

and little teeth and--

You understand, right?

- Okay.
- Oh, poor Blanche.

You know what?

I've got an idea.
I can help.

A-ha. Yes.

Oh, no. Please.

No, no.
Oh, my God.

Help!
Help, help, help, help.

Help, help, help, help!
Please!

Peekaboo!
I see you.

Now I don't.

It's a wonderful idea
and a custom of my people.

Good, Blanche.

Okay. Spread.

And bed!

Okay.

Yes. Yes!

Hello.

The doctor is in.
Oh!

Ah, and the doctor is done.

Give her the eye contact.

Married!
I am married.

Oh, I hate you!

Your mother's a whore.
Oh, come on!

Excuse me, Hamish.

What the hell do you want?

I need you.

I need your help.

So you kill a man,

that gets me arrested,

and then you let me rot in jail
and nearly get executed,

and now you want my help?

That is essentially
the circumstance, yes.

I can't say no to that face.

It's so clean.

What's the problem?

Well, I'm having...

nighttime penile seepage.

Sleep sprays.

It's not a big deal at all.
It happens to me all the time.

I use my dried sheets as doors.

They don't work very well.
They're sheets.

But, Hamish, I'm having
increasing carnal frustration.

I feel like
a pubescent teenage boy,

though I'm nearly
thirty years old.

- So you want what from me?
- I want you to castrate me.

Here.

Let me take this out.

There it is.

Here, I brought you this.

Ice tongs. I don't know
if they'll be useful.

- No, no, no, no, no.
- Do it quick.

No, no. Listen, man.

Even if I could--
and I want to--

I wouldn't.

It doesn't do any good.

If I cut it off,
you'll still feel horny,

and then there's nothing
you could do about it.

It's called "phantom dick,"

and it's not as fun
as it sounds.

Let me take you
to the bordello this evening

so you can dip your wick.

Problem solved.

Hamish!

Hello, whores.

I am so happy to see you,

but I'm very sorry, Hamish.

The shaved orangutan is
at the veterinarian's.

I'm not here for me.
I'm here for my friend

Peeps here, who wants
to clean his pipes.

- Say hello!
- Well, good evening, madam.

"Madam"!

"Well, good evening, Madam."

Well, go on.

Choose one there, Jeeves.

Don't worry.

You're not going
to hurt their feelings.

What about Josephine?

You can call her "Richard"
'cause she has a dick.

- Lovely.
- Or this is Peggy, who has

a wonderful knack
for doing the old steamed clam.

You know, if it doesn't open,
don't eat it.

This is Baby, 'cause she'll
make you cry like one.

And, also, she just had one.

And this is Diana.

She's an advocate
for sex workers' rights.

Yes, well, madam,
may I choose you?

Me? No.

I'm not-- I'm the lady
of the house.

That's what I like.

Okay.

The time has come for me

to put aside
my creative differences

with Mayor Cutie
and attend the concert.

After all, I'm her owner,
so I should be entitled

to some of the glory.

Ever since she got famous,

Mayor Cutie's really changed.

I heard she dyes her fur now.

Ever since that shyster
Joplin arrived, I knew he

and that little twat

would be in cahoots
to steal my thunder.

Our thunder.

The point is, Joplin
is a liar and a bum,

and Mayor Cutie is
a fame-seeking, egotistical,

self-serving,
pathetic old bitch who--

Mayor Cutie!

Mayor Cutie!
It's me, Lillian!

Remember me?

Old Lil,
your dear old gal?

♪ You look beautiful ♪

Mayor Cutie.
Mr. Joplin. It's me!

Me, Lillian,
the singer!

Hello?
Mr. Joplin.

Enough! And now, I would like
to introduce to you

someone I believe in

almost as much
as I believe in myself.

The legend, Mayor Cutie.

I'm her owner.

I took a zeppelin all the way

to the Mexican state
of Chihuahua

to buy her from a breeder.

Shh.

I named her and then had her
legally elected mayor

of a small town
in Rhode Island.

Arf, arf!
Arf, arf!

Arf, arf!

Arf, arf!

Hey, get off
the stage, you dummy.

Arf?

It's not her real hair.

I liked it.

- Ooh.
- Yes.

Very good.

I see, I see.

You gonna keep
your clothes on?

Well, to tell you the truth,
madam, please.

I must confess to you it is--

Ooh, a confession.
I'm a priest.

I have never done this before.

- Not at all?
- No. I mostly just dust.

Okay.
You know what you can do?

You can put it
in my hind quarters.

You know, the Baked Alaska.

Oh, I don't like
the sound of that.

Well, listen.

All you got to do is,
you take your little willy...

- Yes?
- And you point, thrust,

go "pow, pow"

until your dick pukes.

Madam, do you think
it would be possible for you

to be slightly less vulgar?

Perhaps you could affect
a higher-class accent,

or perhaps you could order me
to buttle something.

Very funny.

Madam, no!

No!

I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.

I just-- I don't think
I can do this.

Well, look.

Why don't you
just try jerking it?

- Jerking what?
- Jerking off!

Jerking off!
You never done that neither?

Well, I--

All you got to do
is take your hand--

- Yes?
- Make it like a jelly pot--

Okay.

And then just jank it
till it pops.

I see.
Oh, it's rather like

polishing a banister, isn't it?

Thank you, madam.
You've been a very good friend.

That'll be a dime.

Oh, yes.

Ugh.
What an idiot.

"Mr. Joplin, Mayor Cutie,
it's me, Lillian!

Oh, I'm so desperate."

I'm so stupid.

You.

You betrayed me.

You used me to get to Joplin

and then left me on the side
of the road like a dead hyena,

and you're not even a singer.

You bitch!

Lillian, what are you doing?

She is our sister.

Now, I know she's made
some mistakes before,

but you don't kill your family.

It's one of the Ten Commanders.

Oh, my goodness.
You're right.

Oh, what have I become?

Oh, Mayor Cutie, I'll never let
a song get in between us again.

Isn't that right, Mayor Cutie?

Mayor Cutie?
Mayor Cutie, say something!

Sing something!

Arf, arf!
Anything.

Wake up!

She's dead.

- No!
- She's dead.

I killed our sister!

Oh, God, why?

Why couldn't it have
been Hortense?

Oh, oh, oh.
Don't-- don't sit there.

- What?
- Oh, actually,

it's what she would've wanted.

Mr. Peepers,
what are you doing?

Quiet, boy.

Go on with your tasks.

- Yes, sir.
- Churn that butter.

Lillian can't come
to the phone right now.

Can the crap.
Where's Cutie?

The president of France has invited her
to bark at his birthday party.

- She's dead.
- Lillian killed her.

Another star...

snuffed out too soon.

Never mind.
Joplin doesn't need a partner.

Joplin is a comet.

Joplin is the solar system!