I just made a killing in the shock market.
Time! Reset the test course.
Deputy Director. I had no idea you were here.
Glad I could be so impressive. I'll take my victory muffin now.
Make it bran.
I'm afraid your usual muffin's been earmarked.
Hi. Agent Duper. Big fan.
Agent Duper not only bested your time, he did so with a far better catchphrase.
- What, better than "shock market"? - Duper?
Lucy, you got some 'sploding to do.
Oh, we're doing accents now?
But at the last minute, God told Abraham not to sacrifice his son.
It was all just a test of his faith.
My uncle's doing 25 to life for sacrificing his son.
Well, I hope he found God.
He sure didn't find him in my cousin's stomach.
This is my Bible class. Please, dim your headlights.
Bible class, huh? Tell them the story of how God was denied his fruity cereal.
No, wait, that was the Trix rabbit.
I get them confused, because they're both fake.
- When did you become so jaded? - She's a harlot!
- They should be stoned! - Way ahead of you, kid.
I'm telling you, that Duper is out for my job.
I always get the muffin! Always! Dammit!
- Did you use my "shock market" line? - Yeah, and it died. Thanks a lot, Larry David.
Done with your foot cream. I got most of it back in the tube.
Can't you get your own?
Love to, but you won't let me leave the house.
So unless you open a Circle K in the dining room,
looks like we're ointment buddies.
And FYI, your roll-on really worked wonders on my 'rhoids.
Great.
Francine, this Duper situation is out of control.
Why don't you invite your boss over for dinner tomorrow?
For some good old-fashioned boot-licking.
Dinner, huh? Great idea.
Chinese toothbrush. They can make chicken taste like orange,
but when it comes to oral hygiene, they phone it in.
- You bitch! - Bitch!
They sure knew how to write female characters back then.
Look alive, people! What the hell? If my boss sees you, I'm finished.
That's him. Up in your attic. Move!
- Now you're doing this? - I haven't been feeling so great.
- Once it dries, it'll chip right off. - Go!
- Can I top off my Chardonnay? - I'll bring it later.
Bright and summery on the palate, with an explosive finish.
All right, I'm going!
- Deputy Director Bullock. Welcome. - We're so glad you could make it.
- Where's your wife this evening? - Handcuffed to a radiator in Fallujah.
She wanted to come, but I do not negotiate with terrorists.
Do I smell meat loaf?
- Hayley, why don't you say grace? - I'll pass.
You pray all the time when Jeff comes over.
- "Oh, God! Oh, God!" - Yes, yes. She's very devout.
Anyway, what are these photos doing laminated in our place mats?
- Is this Agent Duper? - Yes.
And he's eating a falafel recreationally. Terrorist.
Smith! It appears you've gone to great lengths to discredit a fellow agent.
I like your style.
- Slut! - Slut!
God! Who do you have to probe around here to get a Chardonnay?
- Idaho! - That's all 50.
- Idaho. - Well done, Smith!
Pardon me. I think I hear my wife's pie burning.
That's my boss! Have you lost your mind?
- No, but I lost my buzz, thanks to you. - Smith?
Into the bathroom.
Smith? This might be the Chardonnay talking,
but I think this bathroom is the perfect place to discuss your promotion.
- Into the tub! - Without my flip-flops?
Good God, control yourself! Stop it! Oh! In my eye!
- Smith, are you under attack in there? - Everything's fine.
Stand back!
Good God, Smith! What the?
Thanks. How do you expect me to compete with Duper after what my boss saw?
- It's not my fault I don't feel well. - You've been nothing but a burden.
Stan, please.
Don't stress him out. It messes with his stomachs.
It's about time he heard it. We're the ones risking our necks.
Do you know what'd happen if the government knew we had an alien?
But he doesn't care! He just lays around inhaling groceries and pumping out pudding!
Shut up, Stan! Just shut up!
Our lives would be a hell of a lot easier if you were just gone.
Oh, yeah? Well, I...
Roger! Are you OK?
Oh, bravo. Bravo. Quite a performance.
- Ladies and gentlemen, Ethan Hawke. - He doesn't look right.
Up and at 'em. Time to make another awful Richard Linklater movie.
Ignore him. He's being a drama queen. Everyone up to bed.
- It's 7:45. - We're going to bed!
"Good night, Klaus"? Jeez.
What commitment! Wakey-wakey, Mr Hawke!
- Gattaca II finally got its financing. - Dad, I think he's dead.
Then I guess he wouldn't mind if I poke him in the eye with a fork.
- He's dead. - I can't believe he's gone.
He's up in heaven now, bumming smokes off Jesus.
- Poor Roger. - We should have a nice memorial service.
No, I'll have to dispose of the body so the government can't trace it back to us.
At least do it in a way that honours his memory and all that he meant to us.
Darling, it's me.
Double cheeseburger, small fries, and a Mr Pibb.
- Not the largest. The one right under that. - That would be the medium.
Can I get some ketchup? Oh! No, it's already in there. I see it. I see it.
That sounded kind of effeminate.
Holy crap. Can't a guy fall into a stress-induced hibernation cycle
without being chucked in the trash? OK, calm down. Nothing to be scared of.
Get it off me!
Wait a minute. I can use this to get home, disguised as a lady.
A lady who keeps medical waste in her pockets.
- You called me, Dad? - You're having trouble with Roger's death.
It might cheer you up to help me burn every shred of evidence that he ever existed.
What? Why can't we just hide that stuff?
- It's too risky. No one can know he was here. - Don't you have any feelings?
Feelings are what women have. They come from their ovaries.
You're a monster! I have no father.
I'm not a monster.
So if I cash out my pension right now, how much will I get?
Aw, dammit! That's a very steep penalty.
So basically, you're telling me I'm stuck here for two more years.
Thanks for nothing, Marty.
So what is it, now? Your mother died, or something?
No, it was a very dear, dear...
He was like a pet. You'll have to forgive her. She's very upset.
Could you say a prayer for him on Sunday? You know, so maybe he'll hear it in heaven.
For a pet.
You're serious. Look, according to the Church, there are no pets in heaven.
Eligible for heaven: men, women, children and apes who use sign language.
Not going to heaven: pets, dinosaurs, smart types and self-aware robots.
You ever seen Blade Runner?
Of course not. All righty. Can I validate your parking?
Wait a minute. Roger was good. What kind of a God wouldn't allow him into heaven?
This kind.
- That's your idea of God? - Kick your ass.
Whatever.
How do I get home? Where the hell is a trail of Reese's Pieces when you need one?
- Where are you going? - I'm not an alien.
Back on the bus, Mrs Nesbaum.
This is a mistake. I need to get home.
The home? No. We're going to DC to see the sights.
Haven't seen you around the pill line. The name's Gertie.
Now don't you fret about that. Happens to me all the time.
What do you know! It's happening right now.
Morning. Wanna help analyse some Al Qaeda chatter?
Actually, they put Agent Duper on chatter.
They bumped you down to Al Qaeda banter.
I tried those whitening strips, but they don't work.
- You wear them every day? - Every other day.
That's why they're not working.
Don't you have any feelings? You're a monster! I have no father.
- What seems to be the problem? - Well, I got in an argument with our dog.
He expelled a large amount of xenoplasm and then died.
- Am I a monster for not feeling anything? - Depends. How close were you to this dog?
Well, we do go back a ways.
The alien has escaped to level four. Repeat, level four.
I'll check this lab where the theremin music is coming from.
Don't hurt me! I know it sounds clich�d, but I mean you no harm.
You're the alien? They said you'd be bigger, and with claws.
Oh, I've got claws. Look how fat you are. See? Kitty can scratch.
It's in the lab! Let's dust it!
Let's go, space chimp!
You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?
You got TiVo?
Stan?
Thought I lost you there. Now, look. This is a safe place. How do you feel?
Well, I guess I feel kind of sad.
- And do you know why? - Because I miss him?
No. Because you're a lady!
"Oh, yeah! I'm sensitive!"
- I am not a lady! - Wait, Stan. You forgot your purse.
I swear I'd lose my own head if... Hey! I don't have a purse!
Heaven, Pearly Gates, angels? It's all a lie.
When your parents die, they'll be in the ground,
worms slowly chewing through their foul, putrid organs.
Don't worry, kids. God is real, Jesus loves you, et cetera.
- Mom, what are you doing? - I just can't believe in a God
that wouldn't let Roger into heaven.
Hey, Hayley. Since Dad's a heartless bastard, I'm auditioning new father figures.
Should I go with outwardly affectionate Tom Hanks,
or consistently underrated Jeff Bridges?
Why are you worried about Dad? It's Mom that we've lost.
Steve, mein Kinderstrudel.
There's an emotionally available father figure floating in front of you.
- Really? You'd be my dad? - It would be mein honour.
Now, here's your allowance. Five bubbles.
What the hell. Six bubbles. Don't tell your mother.
Wow, the Oval Office. Just think of the history that's been made behind that desk.
Not to mention under it.
- Have yourself a nip. - Wow, getting hammered in the Oval Office.
Hey, look. I'm Kitty Dukakis in an alternate time line.
This footage was captured at 1400 hours today by a White House security camera.
Sorry I'm late. I was getting a piping hot cup of coffee.
It's far too hot to drink, but my leathery man mouth can take it.
Sit down. Our analysts have confirmed this creature is none other
than the alien that escaped from Area 51 four years ago.
- My eyes! - He's alive!
Naturally, recapturing this fugitive is our top priority.
Then we can track down the bastards who harboured it,
and punish them brutally.
I mean really brutally.
Weird stuff. Butt stuff.
Somebody take Smith's coffee.
Smith. Talk.
Stan, you lantern-jawed sasquatch.
You throw any of your kids in the garbage today?
- I've been looking for you. Where are you? - I'm getting by just fine on my own.
- And I got something to say to you... - Call him a carpetbagger!
You're a carpetbagger, Stan, you know that? What's that?
I'm sure you're mad I chucked you in the trash, but I'm willing to forgive me.
But the important thing is, the CIA is looking for you.
Bring 'em on! I got some stories to tell about who's been hiding me.
Hope you and your family like prison, because that's where you'll be rotting! Prison!
I'm not screwing around. My butt is literally on the line.
Well, that must be one massive line, because your butt is huge!
So, old buddy, to protect our family, we must kill a friend.
Don't worry, it's not you. I could never be mad at you.
Made you laugh.
Gun, we've got to track down and kill Roger before the CIA finds him.
Oh, gun! Crack a window!
Boy, I really got up in Stan's grille, huh?
He was all, "Come back," and I was all, "Fat-ass carpetbagger!"
He had it comin'. That family don't give a Dixie toot about you.
From now on, we're family.
We are, aren't we? Oh, my God.
A Dynasty exhibit. They must have gotten my letters. Can we go? Can we go? Can we?
Sounds glorious. Let's get movin', sis.
Almost forgot.
That's for freein' the slaves, you Negro-lovin' Yankee devil!
And suddenly things turned ugly...
Roger? Here, boy. Dammit! Where could he be?
- This ain't your corner, bitch! - Well, I guess my GPS is out of whack, slut!
- Bitch! - Slut!
This reminds me of something.
Dynasty!
CIA! To the Smithsonian! Drive!
Wait. This is my car. Even better!
Now, son, here's a fun activity my father taught me.
- I feel weird washing Mom's underwear. - Nonsense! We're bonding.
Now bury me in an avalanche of panties.
Ja, ja! A sweaty, sweaty sports bra!
- Mom, you're reading the Bible again. - No! There's an oil spill in the garage.
I'm just gonna mop it up with "Exodus".
- Hello? - Hayley? Roger. Got a sec?
Roger? Whoa! Is this one of those Twilight Zone phones where I can talk to the dead,
but only with horrible, ironic consequences?
Oh, right. It's past noon. You're already high. Let me talk to the fish.
Oh, my God! You're really alive?
Yes, and I've somehow acquired a nasty old racist sidekick.
I'm at the Smithsonian. Come get me.
There you are! You send me to get you a churro, then you disappear.
- Here's your filthy wetback doughnut. - Hurry.
We've tracked the alien here. We need to take it alive
so we can punish those who've been hiding it.
Not if I get to him first.
Oh, my God! Joan Collins' ball gown. Linda Evans' tennis outfit.
Wow! John Forsythe's girdle. Oh, the stories it could tell.
- Roger? - Steve! Hayley!
- Oh, thank God you came! - Roger's alive? It's a miracle!
I knew you couldn't resist a federally funded Dynasty exhibit.
Stan! Look, about that phone call... What are you doing?
- Say your prayers, space chimp. - Stan, no!
Leave her alone, whitey!
- Dammit! He's getting away! - We're parachute ghosts!
All this for a fat-ass comment?
- No, former dad! - Nobody threatens my family!
- Get out of the way, or I'll shoot you all. - It's my junior prom all over again.
Leave her alone, you two-dollar Pai Gow whore!
We know you're in there! Come out with your tentacles up!
- You can'tjust give him up. - That's the CIA out there.
They won't stop until they have Roger in custody.
- Just make it quick. - No, Roger! Use my children as a shield.
It's no use. They've got me. And if they torture me, I'll crack.
I can't even make it through the afternoon without a mojito.
- I'd never put my family's safety at risk. - Your family?
Of course. Now, how are we gonna do this? I think right here would be most dramatic.
OK.
What's this? Some kind of tear-like substance coming from my eyes.
- He's crying. - I'm not a lady!
Stan, having feelings doesn't make you a lady.
- It makes you human. - We've got to blow this door!
Prepare the door blower! We really should find a better name for that.
Well, it's clear what I have to do.
- Smith! - I've got the alien, sir.
Give me back my wig, you scalp-happy red man!
Look how it mimics our language.
Well done, Agent Smith!
I'm going to strike the words "tool" and "incompetent" from your personal record.
Thanks. Perhaps you could insert the words "lady" and "not a".
You know... I think we can.
- It's good to have you back, buddy. - So, Roger, what was heaven like?
Heaven? What the hell are you?
Oh, yeah. Heaven. Oh, it was great.
Fluffy clouds, unicorns, bubble-gum waterfalls, all that crap.
Roger's our little miracle, isn't he, Mom?
He sure is. God certainly works in mysterious ways.
Oh, wait. This is last month.