All language subtitles for Batman S02E13 An Egg Grows in Gotham.DVDVRip.NonHI.en.WB

A sunny Wednesday
morning in Gotham City.

The sort of Wednesday that
makes you wish it were Sunday.

And at Gotham
City's City Hall...

a stream of tourists
wend their way in...

to see the curios and
trophies on permanent display.

And this, ladies
and gentlemen...

is the original charter
of Gotham City.

And due to its excessive
age and delicate condition...

it has been sealed in this
guaranteed burglar-proof display case...

which has been vacuum sealed to
protect such a valuable document.

Oh, guide, are you absolutely
certain it's burglar-proof?

Absolutely.

And now, if you
step this way, please.

Your eggspert has much to learn.

No material can resist my
incomparable eggsplosives.

And now, let us make our eggsit.

Impossible. That a
criminal could march in...

and purloin Gotham City's most priceless
possession right under our nostrils?

But why, commissioner?
That's what I can't figure out.

Nor can I, O'Hara, nor can I.
What did the witnesses say?

Oh, there's no doubt about it. They
all agreed on one thing: His description.

- It was Egghead, all right.
- The rottenest egg of them all.

Any suggestions, O'Hara?

Well, it isn't so bad facing thieves,
murderers, run-of-the-mill crooks, but...

I know it seems we call on
the Caped Crusader pretty often.

There's no other
way to handle it.

And in stately Wayne Manor,
home of millionaire Bruce Wayne...

and his youthful
ward Dick Grayson:

If you'll hold the
line a moment, sir...

I will gain his
attention for you.

You see, Dick, many years ago...

Gotham City was founded by three
families who landed at Gotham Rock.

- The Savages, the Tylers and the Waynes.
- Right.

The original land was leased
from the Mohican Indians...

for the price of
nine raccoon pelts.

Wow, what a deal that was.

Every five years, the
lease has to be renewed.

The city charter is very
specific about honoring that debt.

Tonight is the night to make payment,
so Pete Savage, Tim Tyler and I...

the descendants of the original settlers,
have to deliver three raccoon pelts each...

to Chief Screaming Chicken
in order to fulfill the obligation.

Gosh, where did
you get the pelts?

I had to buy a whole raccoon coat
from a very popular crooner of the 1920s...

who'd fallen on hard times.

Had to pay a
pretty price for it too.

This one's held up
very well for a raccoon.

A matter of grave
importance has risen.

Your attention
would be appreciated.

A contract to be, ahem, read.

- I will take care of it immediately, Alfred.
- I'll go with you, Bruce.

Honestly, Alfred,
those two are so busy.

I'll wager Batman and Robin don't
get around as much as Bruce and Dick.

I, uh... I rather
doubt that, madam.

- Yes, commissioner.
- Dire news, Batman.

Egghead is back with
a carton full of crime.

We'll be right there.

To the Batpoles.

Why go to all that trouble
to steal the city charter?

Who knows what evil lurks.

He's a tough egg, Batman,
the smartest man in the world.

The second-smartest
man in the world.

Present company
excepted, of course.

He's assuredly the smartest
villain we've ever faced.

Any evidence left at
the scene of the crime?

None, Boy Wonder.
Frankly, we're stumped.

The Gotham City Charter.

What does it say?

Aside from its
constitutional edicts...

its purpose is to act as a treaty between
the Mohican Indians and the founders.

Holy Bill of Rights.

Maybe Egghead wants to start a war between
the Gotham City citizens and the Indians.

I rather doubt it, Robin.

There's only one Indian left.

He'd be outnumbered
ten million to one.

I think it has something to
do with the leasing conditions.

That probably means
Egghead will make a deal...

with Peter Savage, Tim
Tyler or Bruce Wayne.

Egghead does not make deals.

Oh, where is Peter Savage now?

Undoubtedly at his
home here in Gotham City.

He spends most
of his time in Paris.

He's something of a bon
vivant and patron of the arts.

But he's always here for the Raccoon
Ceremony and to distribute the pelts.

And I think I know
where Tim Tyler is.

Probably at Tyler Stadium, watching
his team play baseball against the Pets.

That leaves only Bruce Wayne.

I, uh, wonder where he is.

Unquestionably, out doing
something inconsequential...

with his youthful
ward, Dick Grayson.

You know how those
millionaire playboys are.

- Let's go, Robin.
- Where to?

To the teepee of Screaming
Chicken, last of the Mohicans.

Meanwhile, behind the doors of
an apparently legitimate import firm:

Eggscellent.

I might even go so far
as to say eggsquisite.

What you got in mind, boss?

This just looks like
some old piece of paper.

That's because you have
no foresight, Benedict.

Not everybody is as
smart as you are, Egghead.

Not anybody is as smart
as I am, Foo Yung. Ha, ha.

Please, don't talk so fast.

What's she following us
around for all the time?

I don't like dames on capers.

Fortunately, not everyone
thinks like that, Mr. Benedict.

Hi, Eggybaby.

Please, it's Mr. Egghead before
other people, not Eggybaby.

My eggsecutive secretary, Miss
Bacon, is taking down my every thought.

That way posterity
will have on record...

the working of the most
brilliant criminal mind of all time.

If I do say so myself.

You gonna publish a book?

Well, now, let us eggsamine
this more carefully, huh?

There must be a
loophole in this charter...

that will enable me to
eggstort control of the city.

Here it is. Look at
that, my rotten eggs.

"Whereas, and to wit...

if the price of nine raccoon pelts is
not paid to the Mohican representative...

by the descendants of the
Savage, Tyler and Wayne families...

and whereas, if it
is not paid on time...

said land will revert back
to its original owners...

and/or their legal
representatives."

Oh, we've got them this time. We've caught
them with their eggs post facto down.

- What's he talking about?
- Search me.

- A little slower, please. My fingers hurt.
- Eh, mm?

Don't you know who the
representative of the Mohicans is?

Oh, you mean that little guy that's got
the blanket concession out on the highway?

Eggsactly.

Chief Screaming Chicken...

the last of the Mohicans.

- How?
- What?

- When?
- Where?

You, you are only person in Gotham
City who know traditional Mohican greeting.

I've long been a student of your tribal
customs, Chief Screaming Chicken.

What you want with
Screaming Chicken?

Tonight's the night when you receive
payment on the Gotham City lease renewal.

Me think price too
low for Gotham City.

Nine raccoon pelts, cost
of living go up and up.

Me want 12 raccoon pelts.

The contract was for nine.

Indian poor businessman.

My cousin, oh... He sell
Manhattan for 24 dollars.

Could have got 35.

Be that as it may, Chief
Screaming Chicken...

I'm here to make sure you're
present at the ceremonies tonight.

It's imperative that you attend.

Absolutely.

Thank you.

Ciao, Chief.

A magnificent eggshibition,
Chief Screaming Chicken.

When I'm done with you, you will be able to
eggsercise your most eggstravagant desires.

If you give me an eggsclusive
lease on Gotham City.

Me no give you
lease, not until tonight.

Me honor-bound, if
paid nine raccoon pelt.

- And if not?
- Me deal with highest bidder.

But don't worry they pay me
pelts. They always do, it is tradition.

Ah, but tonight, one of
those men won't show up...

and then the
lease will eggspire.

You make mighty
big talk, kemosabe.

Kemosabe?

I thought I heard just
about everything but.

- Yeah, Screaming, what's that mean?
- Me no know.

Me hear it once on
radio. Very old word.

It's no use, Robin.

Not a single new egg company has opened
in Gotham City in the last few weeks.

I can't understand.

That's his usual modus operandi.

Egghead always has his hideout
associated with some sort of egg outfit.

Obviously, he's changed
his way of thinking...

and if that's not enough, he's
probably changed the way he...

Oh, well, that's it. Of course.

What kind of company sells eggs
that you can't fry, scramble or boil?

- A fish egg company.
- Right, Robin. Let's see what that brings.

Look at this.

A new egg firm has just
opened on Point View Street.

"The Ghoti Oeufs
Caviar Company."

"Oeuf" means "eggs" in French,
but I don't get this other word at all.

The word is "fish," Robin.

- "Ghoti" is "fish"?
- See here, English phonetics.

G-H becomes F...

as in "tough" or "laugh."

O becomes I as in "women."

T-I becomes S-H...

as in "ration" or
the word "nation."

Holy semantics, Batman,
you never cease to amaze me.

No time for compliments now,
Robin. We must thwart some criminals.

To the Batmobile.

Oh, you're making a fine
deal, Chief Screaming Chicken.

One hundred dollars a month for
life and all the eggs you can eat.

Me 60 years old now.

Me need them pension.

You 60? I hope I look
that good when I'm 60.

Well, I have great eggspectations
for our relationship, chief.

I tell you what I'll give
you as an added bonus:

You may have the
import-eggsport concession...

for all genuine American
Indian blankets made in Japan.

Oh, heh.

You are one heck of
fine pale face. Mm. Yeah.

- You no Indian giver?
- Oh, no.

Eggybaby never gave
an Indian anything.

Well, I for one am eggshausted.

It's been a trying day, and I must
rest my fantastic brain for tonight.

There'll be no rest for the
wicked today, Egghead.

Boy, do you guys
have egg on your faces.

All the king's horses and all the king's
men won't be able to put you together again.

Oh, Batman, you're so lyrical.

Well, that's enough
eggsercise for one day, Batman.

You no stop, me give Boy
Wonder very short haircut.

You, Chicken, turn chicken?

Have you joined the
enemy camp as well?

This is an acid egg, Batman.

One move and I'll
drop it on Robin's head.

Nobody could be that rotten.

Don't temp me.

Ow!

You put all your eggs in one
basket, Egghead, a fatal mistake.

Prepare yourself for
an eggspeditious defeat.

- That's very apt, Robin.
- Oh, glad you liked it.

Well, see how you like this.

- What is it, Batman?
- I don't know.

Whatever it is,
it's awfully funny.

The yolk's on them,
it's laughing gas.

Ha, ha! It's the funniest trick
anyone's ever pulled on us.

- Yes.
- Ha-ha-ha!

It's even funnier
than the Joker.

I can't stop laughing.

And you won't, not
until the gas wears off.

- Let's go, boss, before we start laughing too.
- An eggscellent idea.

- Let's go after them.
- No, no, no.

Not now, old chum.

In our condition, it
won't do us any good.

Here, here.

Here, take this.

It's a sad pill to neutralize
the laughing gas. Ha-ha-ha!

It'll clear our minds.

Well, he may have
won the first round...

but we're going to
fight fire with fire.

Robin...

we'll never beat Egghead
with brute strength.

We must... We
must out-think him.

That poor, misguided redskin,
Chief Screaming Chicken...

is obviously under
Egghead's influence.

Therefore, it
stands to reason...

that the lease to Gotham City must be
close to being in Egghead's greedy hands.

How do we stop
it from happening?

Egghead must prevent either
one or all three of the millionaires...

from delivering their pelts
in order to break the lease.

- Shall I call Tim Tyler and Pete Savage?
- I'll do it.

The machine is attuned to Bruce
Wayne's voice. KLondike 57589, please.

Gosh, Batman, I've never seen
you use a telephone directory.

- How do you remember all those numbers?
- Elementary, my dear Robin.

I simply transpose the
numbers into letters.

For example, Pete Savage's number is the
name of a girl that he and I used to date.

Holy IT&T.

Hello?

Hello, Pete, Bruce Wayne here.

I'm calling to see whether you'll be
attending the anniversary celebration tonight.

It's the Raccoon
Ceremony, you know.

Certainement, I'll be there. You're
grand marshal this year, aren't you?

Heh, yes, it should be fun. It's
nice to have you back in town, Pete.

Be it ever so humble, there
is no place like Gotham City.

Au revoir, Pete.

Very good, Mr. Savage.

Everything sounds good
there, let's try Tim Tyler.

QUentin 65701, please.

You can't make a word out of that
one because of the one and the zero.

Things don't always work
out like we want them to.

When that happens, I simply
depend on my well-developed memory.

When the last time
you called that number?

- Yesterday.
- Sally, you're a whiz, Batman.

- Tim Tyler speaking.
- Hello, Tim, this is Bruce Wayne.

Bruce, how are you?

- Are you attending the ceremony tonight?
- Wouldn't miss it if it meant my life.

- Oh, that's swell. See you there.
- Right.

You demonstrated uneggspected
good sense, Mr. Tyler.

What do you want
from me, Egghead?

I am just a poor major-league
baseball team owner.

How about season
tickets? I love halfbacks.

How eggsasperating.

Oh, what a beautiful night.

Mercy alive, do we look sharp?

Have a good time, boys.

And don't stay out too
late, you know how I worry.

I wonder where
our official escort is.

- Dick, do you have the pelts?
- Here they are.

But I doubt if Chief Screaming
Chicken will be there to claim them.

Not after all he's done.

Still, we must live up to our part of the
bargain and deliver nine pelts before midnight.

I'll never understand why Chief Screaming
Chicken decided to put in with Egghead.

He told me once that he worked
for a while as a bottle washer.

He had an argument with a boss who
told him to go back to his own country.

- But this is his country.
- Ha-ha-ha.

Exactly.

And you wonder why Chief
Screaming Chicken is dissatisfied.

- Your escort, sir.
- Thank you, Alfred.

- So they got you too.
- What do you mean?

This is a trap, Bruce. Egghead
is driving this limousine.

And we walked right into it.

We can always get out.

There's no handle on this door.
- That's correct.

So get ready for an
eggsotic eggsperience.

There are several reasons why I
called this meeting, gentlemen...

aside from the obvious one of keeping
you all from the anniversary ceremonies...

when Chief Screaming Chicken
appears to collect his raccoon pelts.

It has occurred to me
that one of you is Batman.

- How exciting.
- Yes, you see this fiendish machine?

Well, it's one of
my own inventions.

For lack of another name for it, I
call it an electro thought transferor.

It sucks every
shred of information...

from the mind of the person
sitting under that apparatus...

and places it in the brain
of the one under this one.

- How ugly.
- How disgusting.

How eggshilarating.

Long ago, my superior intellect
deduced that Batman must be a person...

who was a millionaire
and didn't have to work...

because crime-fighting is
such an eggspensive hobby.

- Which one is it, Eggybaby, hmm?
- Please, please, Miss Bacon.

All of you are approximately
the right age, in your early 30s...

but I have eliminated you, Mr. Tyler,
because you are left-handed.

No, the Caped Crusader
is not a port-sider.

And you, Mr. Savage, are
out because of your accent.

So aside from a couple of
aging rock 'n' roll singers...

you, Mr. Wayne, are the
only Gotham City millionaire...

who is athletically inclined
with eggsessive agility.

Therefore, you must be Batman.

You realize this is
all a waste of time.

Not at all, Mr. Wayne.

My machine has a rather
eggscentric and ugly side effect.

In removing all of the
knowledge from your brain...

it will leave you an
empty-headed fop.

There's no use
struggling, Mr. Wayne...

you're being held there
by an electromagnetic force.

I'm leaving. Things like
this give me a headache.

All right, Benedict,
turn on the machine.

It will take a moment
or two to warm up...

and then we shall see if my
eggseptional logistics are correct.

But even if I'm wrong about
your being Batman, Mr. Wayne...

your brain will be
utterly destroyed.