Original subtitles

We're on the verge of a breakthrough!

Once you flip that switch,

we'll take my theory of transference to its logical end

and transfer my consciousness into another man's body!

Dr. Freud, please! This could kill us.

And I want to see who wins World War II.

Nonsense. Once I've assumed my new muscle-bound form,

I will get my revenge on this cruel world.

You're overloading the power grid!

Stop catastrophizing and hit the switch.

This is too much!

The castle can't take it. We're done for!

It's working, Fritz. It's working!

Really? Wow. I thought you were mad,

but I'm actually starting to get on...

No...!

Wow. The four of us have had the wildest days of our lives.

Rip is gonna flip when he sees us.

Hey, guys, you won't believe what just happened to me.

I thought I had lost my phone,

and then I realized it was in my pocket.

You can't write this stuff!

Although it would make a good screenplay.

I better get this down while it's fresh.

Audi five thoudie! ♪ Boopy-doop, ba-doop do-do. ♪

Unbelievable.

We've clearly all had crazy things happen to us,

and he didn't even ask.

Yup, that's Rip for you.

He mostly just likes talking about himself.

Well, I'm going to say something to him.

I don't know if anyone was about

to say something to me, but there's no time!

We just got hired for a new job in Austria!

The Couch Museum has hired us to find Sigmund Freud's couch.

I thought that was already at the Freud Museum.

No, that's a forgery, created

by the museum to boost ticket sales.

Now then, this is Freud's Castle.

Destroyed in 1939,

it was the last known location of Freud's couch.

And now built atop its ruins is the Alpine Institute,

a world-renowned mental health facility,

founded by Dr. Sandra Null.

Wow, she's a legend!

They say that if she had treated Ozzy Osbourne,

his song "Crazy Train" would have been called

"Neurotypical Locomotive."

That may be, but I think we can all agree

that psychiatry is the industry of death.

Well... -Uh, not quite...

I believe the couch is buried somewhere beneath the institute.

So we're going undercover as patients,

thanks to these forged documents that Agatha whipped up

using her advanced Photoshop skills.

Wait, there's four of these. Agatha, you're coming, too?

Yup. You're gonna have to move that couch,

and Saltine won't be any help with her broken wrist.

Saltine has a broken wrist?!

Yes, Rip, she fell into a pit.

There's a huge cast on her arm.

- Is there? - But don't worry.

My injury inspired me to come up with my latest cool invention:

a watch that beeps when you're near a hole.

Why is it beeping now?

'Cause it's below my waist. I'm still working out the kinks.

Hi. We're here to be admitted.

We're out of our gourds.

These documents are clearly forged.

There's no way I'm letting you in.

The hell?! These look like shit!

Agatha, you said you were a Photoshop expert!

I was capping.

Fine. Eff it. How about a bribe?

Wa-wa-woo! All right, you're admitted, and I quit.

I'm off to travel the world.

I may have over-bribed.

Guys, look.

All of the doctors and orderlies have key cards.

If we create a distraction,

I can snag one, and we can explore.

Hello, everyone. I'm Dr. Null.

I see we have some new patients.

We are going to do some group therapy, so grab a seat.

Look, I've seen Good Will Hunting.

You're gonna try to win me over by saying your wife farted.

Well, that ain't gonna work, Jack!

My goodness. If it isn't the world-famous Rip Digman.

I didn't realize you were being admitted,

though I can't say I'm surprised.

I've followed your neuroses for years.

You don't know the first thing about me.

Oh, but I do. You're a paranoid narcissist

who is haunted by grief and motivated

by a pathological desire for others to love you,

despite the fact that you are incapable of loving yourself.

And you hide all of your insecurities

behind inscrutable old-timey language.

What?! That's Flemington confetti!

No, it's not Flemington confetti.

Now then, please have a seat.

I will, but only 'cause my legs, ass and penis are tired.

Not because you asked.

And I'm gonna sit backwards in this chair.

- Turn your chair around. - Okay.

So we'll go around in the circle and check in.

Just a relaxed, friendly conversation.

The lobotomies happen later.

Very good.

Lobotomy joke absolutely slayed.

You, Saltine, why don't you go first.

How are you feeling?

You really want to know how I'm feeling?

Oh, my goggles.

You seem surprised. Why is that?

A second question?

Sorry, I'm not used to being asked about myself.

Rip hasn't done that in ages.

And how does that make you feel?

Another Q for the Salt Queen?

Ga-ga-ga-goyng, I'm in heaven!

And to answer said question, it makes me feel

- like Rip doesn't care. - The heck?

Rip, it seems like asking people

about themselves might be a hurdle for you.

Uh, no. I just actively don't care

to know about them and their lives.

What's the big whoop?

Why don't you try it anyway,

right here in this safe environment?

I mean, I really don't want to, so this is under protest,

but fine, I'll give it a shot.

So, Saltine, um, how... are...

I can't do it, Doc!

Goddamn it, why'd you make me try that?

Now I'm freaking out!

I can fix him.

Oh, Saltine!

Time to find the couch! I know I should be more quiet,

but I'm just so amped 'cause my plan worked!

By the way, Saltine, that was a really good

fake story earlier about how I never ask you questions.

Rip, it wasn't fake.

I wasn't gonna bring this up during a job,

but you pretty much never ask us about ourselves.

- It's inconsiderate. - What? That's flapdoodle!

Right, Agatha and Swooper?

- Um... - Well...

Wow. So the truth comes out.

Well, guess what, guys. I'm your boss,

not a Mr. Nice Guy contestant.

Well, if you ever asked us about ourselves,

you'd know I won the Mr. Nice Guy contest two days ago!

I didn't know that! Congratulations! Well-deserved!

Thank you! I mean it from deep in my heart!

- Stop yelling! - What? You're yelling, too.

Just 'cause you're whispering doesn't make it not loud!

I got to agree with Rip here.

What? I can't hear you, Agatha, you hoarse, old bag!

- Hey! -Not cool! - Too far, Rip!

Fine, fine. You guys can keep talking

about what a jerk I am while Fleety and I do our actual jobs.

Audi five thoudie!

Geez. I've never seen so much mental hospital rubble

in my entire life.

All right, Fleety, hop to it!

Das boot?

Hey, there's upholstery under here!

I think I found Freud's couch!

What the frog?

Mein Gott!

That, to me, is wild!

The hell? The couch is alive?

Rip! Over here!

Watch out!

What the hell are you doing?!

That was our only way out of here!

Now we're trapped here with that thing!

Exactly. We can't let it loose into society.

It would do harm.

And as a doctor, you must do no harm.

- You know your shit. - Oh, open your eyes, you fool.

Trapping us here is gonna harm me,

one of the top dudes around.

Interesting. In a time of crisis,

you think only about yourself.

I don't only think about myself.

For instance, right now,

I'm thinking about how much I loathe you.

So you've already made a breakthrough?

Sounds like congratulations are in order.

Sure. Congratulations.

You just signed our death certificates!

Good thing I'm a doctor. That's part of the job.

Well, I'd love to give you another job. A hand job!

That's right. I want to shove you.

We got to get out of here!

Follow me!

There.

We're barricaded in. This should be a safe place

to hide from whatever that thing is.

It's Dr. Freud's old couch. It was buried down here.

Really? I knew this was the site of Freud's old castle,

but I foolishly assumed

there wasn't a living furniture monster alive in the rubble.

Well, I got news for you, Doc.

It's the real reason why we're here.

We're on an undercover Arky mission.

We're not really mental patients.

Yup, we're all completely sane.

Wonderfully, funderfully sane.

Uh-huh.

You guys seem about as regular as my period,

Which is about every 60-something days.

Tepid response to period joke.

Must workshop it.

Guys, check it out!

I found Sigmund Freud's journal!

His last entry says, "Mankind is despicable.

"And I shall make them pay for what they've done

once I transfer my consciousness into that hulking corpse"?

Why was Freud so angry at mankind?

He was a respected doctor.

The castle must have collapsed

mid-experiment, and Freud accidentally

transferred his consciousness into the couch instead.

Nein! Not the couch! The hunk!

I want to be the hunk!

Is that scientifically possible?

Hold on. Let me check the notes.

Yes.

So Freud's soul is couched in his sofa?

This find is gonna get me on the Arky Rankings for sure.

So you're not interested in Freud's couch

because of its historical significance

but because finding it would feed your ego.

Hey, what are you writing in there?

Oh, you're not gonna tell me? Well, two can play that game.

- Yes. - Wow. This is upsetting.

Why? 'Cause I didn't get Garf's stripes right?

They're deceptively tricky.

Focus up. To capture this couch, we need to lure it out.

Well, Freud believes that sex motivates all human behavior.

So we can lure it out by appealing to Freud's sex drive.

But who here is Freud's type?

I recently had a glow up.

Doctors are pretty obsessed with me.

Always calling me, leaving me urgent voicemails.

"You're gonna die, Swooper. You have gas in your veins!"

Let's face it. He's a doctor. I'm a doctor.

Plus, I'm cool. I'm a certified hang glider.

Hang gliding's not cool.

Spoken like a man who's never specked out due to ridge lift.

Look, we're all frigging smokeshows,

but now that Freud's a couch,

wouldn't he be attracted to furniture?

My God, the loud guy's right.

There's a store room with extra couches upstairs.

Agatha and Swooper, you're on couch duty with me.

You two, stand guard, but you're not allowed to talk about me.

He said, knowing full well they're gonna dish.

Man, they got a buttload of couches here.

Anyway, stay frosty. That thing could be anywhere.

Check it out.

Stiletto legs, red upholstery, massive pillows.

Yeah, I'd fuck this couch.

Agatha, you're being weird, but I don't disagree.

Let's grab it.

Psst.

Agatha, go!

I'll handle the couch.

Ow, ow!

Tell Cornelia I died this way! Spare no detail!

Oh! Just go!

Where's Swooper?

He's dead! And you'll be next

if we don't get out of here!

- What? - Just go! Bottle up your grief

and never let it out. Let it become generational.

That's horrible advice.

Tell that to my many forebears!

Okay, sexy couch is in position.

Hey, Rip, are you thinking about Swooper?

Yeah, I am. I know this sounds crazy,

but I wish he had never been killed by a man-eating couch.

That doesn't sound crazy.

Why don't you leave that sort of analysis to the experts.

Some expert.

Your great sex drive plan got Swooper killed!

What's next? We get Agatha disemboweled?

Stop screaming! You're gonna attract...

Agatha!

Saltine, hurry.

Commit Seppuku so you can preserve your honor.

I don't have a katana, Rip.

I can't die a samurai's death.

No!

My hang glider!

It's specking out due to ridge lift!

Son of a bitch stole my rig. Now it's personal.

Now it's personal?

It just ate my three best friends.

Who you never ask how they're doing.

Willkommen to the Sound of Music locations tour.

This is the very spot where the main lady danced around--

Oh, my God!

I love working at the sausage factory.

Can't believe I have only one day until retirement.

Oh, God!

Oh, it brings the orphans such joy

when they get to play with the puppies.

I hope no other tragedies befall them.

Oh, my God! Sigmund Freud's couch has come to life,

and is rampaging across Vienna, Austria.

Oh, no. Good thing we're in Vienna, Virginia,

where we're safe.

Yes, good thing indeed.

Thanks again for Free-Solo-ing me on your back

out of the institute, Doc.

You have mad upper-body strength.

Of course. -Man, these Austrian pastries are divine.

They're really helping distract me from the fact

that all of my friends just died.

Mmm. Mouthgasm.

Now, we need to come up with a plan

to stop Freud's murderous rampage.

Well, as much I wanted to put that couch in a museum,

it's clearly too dangerous.

We got to blow it-- and I don't say this lightly--

to smithereens.

I just feel like, if we could get to the core

of why Freud's doing this, we could get him to stop.

I feel like I'm at a duck pond,

what with all this typical quack talk.

It's like I'm watching an episode of DuckTales.

They don't quack in DuckTales.

Aw, damn it, my TV speaker's broken.

What about Succession?

Are they not quacking at each other on that? -No.

What kind of speaker are you using?

Bo's. Well, it doesn't belong to Bo anymore.

I bought it from him.

So now I guess it's Rip's.

But I think the brand is Yamaha. -Ugh.

I'm just saying, this type of behavior

is clearly a cry for help.

It would be a travesty to destroy this thing

without first trying to understand it.

That ship sailed when it devoured my team.

Oh, my God.

On the TV. Dr. Freud is at the amusement park.

Hilf mir!

You still want to take the time to rehabilitate this thing?

Or should we go blow it to hell?

The latter.

Hello?

Michelle, is that you?

No, it's me, Saltine. Who's Michelle?

She's just a friend.

You sounded like her for a second,

but I guess it makes sense that it's you

since we got swallowed at the same time.

- Where are we? - The couch ate us.

- Now we're in heaven. - No, we're not.

What? But I forsook sin.

I saw heaven once

when I flew really high in my aeroplane.

It looks way different from this.

It's mostly black, and it's really hard to breathe.

What was that?

It was my cool invention,

which I'm now calling the Hole Hound.

If it's beeping, there's must be a hole nearby.

I'm gonna go look for it.

Are you sure it's not just

picking up any of our holes?

No! I changed the settings!

Woo-hoo!

These hang gliders friggin' shred!

Not to mention the adrenaline hit

I'm still getting off stealing them from those guys we killed.

Okay, I'll distract Freud.

You get the kids.

You'll have to do better than that.

Rip, I've got the children.

Great. Are any of them traumatized?

Not yet. We made it with ten seconds to spare.

Okay. You get them out of there. I'll blow Dr. Freud sky-high.

Hyah!

Prepare to perish,

Sigmund Freud's consciousness put into a giant couch monster.

Rip, don't!

We're still alive in here.

Don't blow us up!

Oh, my...

Oh, no, you don't.

Sandra!

- I love you. - You're projecting.

If I kill this monster, I also kill my friends?

Could this catch be any more 22?

What am I gonna do?

Damn it! I can't do it.

Damn.

I wish Dr. Null was still here.

She'd know what to do.

Wait, what was it she said earlier?

If we could get to the core of why Freud's doing this,

we could get him to stop.

That's it! I'm so glad I can remember it

exactly as it was said.

Dr. Freud, before you kill me,

I have something I want to ask you.

How-- come on, Rip, you can do this--

how... are you...

...feeling?

You're... You're asking... me?

Whoa. You talk? I-I mean, yes, I am.

No one has ever asked me about myself before.

That's why you lost your marbles, isn't it?

Because you spent decades asking everybody else about themselves,

but nobody ever asked you about yourself.

Precisely. At first, it didn't bother me,

but as the years went on, it drove me mad.

Wow, that's really hard.

People should ask their therapists how they're doing

more often, rather than blathering on about themselves.

I assume.

Obviously, I don't go to therapy because it's a racket.

In fact, I refer to it

as the industry of death, often.

But that being said and meant,

I'm happy to... listen

if you want to talk about yourself.

- Really? - Yes, but on one condition.

You have to promise to barf out all the people you ate.

Okay. Deal. Now then, where to begin?

I mean, my childhood was pretty rough...

Hey, you have to stay awake

and pay attention the entire time.

- Or the deal is off. - No, no, no, I'm awake.

I've got chronic TMJ

from taking too many Molly doses cut with Speed.

Please continue talking about yourself.

Okay, so, back to my childhood, or maybe even earlier,

my mother's childhood.

In Vienna, it's, like,

culturally expected you play piano,

but Mummy had other plans...

So fucking boring.

Now, shorts with a tie and jacket were de rigeur

for little boys back then, but you could really make

a statement with your socks.

And the reason I thought I'd be good at interpreting dreams

is because I have really weird ones,

like this one where I'm a goat,

but I'm also my dad if he was a goat.

Whew. That's the stuff.

Sometimes I do silly voices like...

"'Ello, how you doing? You doing all right?"

Or like... "Howdy, y'all. I like that."

Maybe I should make front-facing videos, or am I too old?

And that is why I ate all those people.

- I am really sorry. - Did I do it?

I listened to everything?

Yep. Well, you upheld your end of the bargain,

and now I will do the same.

Oh, God, I hate that feeling so much.

I can't believe it didn't work.

I'm all covered in goose pimples now,

and I haven't even booted yet.

Okay, I'm just going to freaking do it.

I'm going to gag myself. Here I go.

- Rip, you did it. - Indeed.

Because I learned an important lesson today.

I always thought you were only supposed to ask other people

about themselves if you genuinely care

what they had to say, but that's not it at all.

You do it so that people feel like the world cares about them

and they don't turn into crazy monsters

who take their resentment out on society.

It's for the good of humanity, even though we all know that,

to us, it's boring as shit.

Thank you for saving us, Rip.

Sure thing, Doc. I couldn't have done it without your help.

And who knows, maybe I could call you sometime?

Sorry, Rip,

that would be crossing a professional boundary.

No, no, not like that.

I meant maybe I could call you to set up a therapy session.

Oh. I'd like that, Rip.

I think you have a lot of issues.

Thanks again, everyone,

for helping me work through my problems.

Dr. Freud, wait. With our combined psychoanalytic powers,

we could go on therapeutic adventures across the world.

Of course. And it will take both of us

to bring down The Mental Illness Mafia.

Wait, Dr. Null!

When should we have our first session?

It's great that you want therapy, Rip,

but for now, I'm out of network.

Wow, so this is based on King Lear?

Swooper, how was the bathroom for the last 20 minutes?

What'd you get up to in there? Tell me everything.

- It was fine. - Hey, hey.

Saltine and Agatha, how were your weekends?

- Pretty good, I guess. - Fine.

Well, don't stop there.

Agatha, how was your poker game?

Pray tell, was there any juicy goss upon which I might munch?

I want to hear all about it.

- Knock it off. - I can't.

I don't want any of you going crazy

from not being asked about yourselves, like Freud.

- We're not going to. - Can't be too careful though.

Well, we had a lot of fun here, but mental health is important.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health,

contact a licensed professional and get the help you need today.

- Rip, who are you talking to? - I don't know.

Chirp.

♪ MTV. ♪