All language subtitles for S01E24 - The Final Episode

Oh, boy.

I always sleep like a rock on these
flights.

I hate to wake him, but it'd be a shame
if Sam slept through all the fireworks.

Tick, tick, tick.

Ring!

Rise and shine, Sam!

Time to greet the nuclear dawn!

How do you feel?

Not so good. My head's still throbbing
from the beating I took last night.

Sorry. It's best never to wake me while
I'm dreaming about the cactus people.

The details of our capture are still
kind of foggy. But, as I recall, we were

harshly roused in the pre -dawn hours by
a band of faceless no -goods who

dragged us off into the night.

Imagine my dashed hopes when I realized
this was no alien abduction.

Unless I'm miserably inept at reading
the signs, this five -megaton nuclear

cherry bomb we're lashed to is about to
play the lead role in the story of our

grisly demise.

That is correct, freelance police.

Allow me to introduce the proud authors
of this satisfying drama.

The mad thespian.

The ugly on high ruler.

Hurt dog.

Deadly dangly beaver.

Lactose the intolerant. I see you with
top billing going

to yours truly.

Mack Salmon again?

You think someone could freshen up the
menu? That's the last time I fly this

airline.

We stand before you as the greatest
collection of criminal minds the world

ever known.

Guess he hasn't seen the ones at the
Smithsonian.

Al Capone looks like a boiled cabbage.

For years, we have endured your
sophomoric shenanigans and breathed the

interference in our affairs.

And for that reason, we have banded
together to make certain that this will

your final episode.

Gee, that's kind of flattering when you
think about it. Six criminal kingpins

getting together in their free time to
plot against little old us. Trading

recipes for doom and staying current
with the latest methods of torture.

Sort of like a malignant quilting bee.
I'd say we got ourselves a glut of

felonious masterminds here.

You're right, Sam. Let's thin them out a
little.

Spoil this for me. But we were just
getting started.

Want to see us turn Pinocchio into a
real boy?

You are to be flown to a remote location
and dropped from a dizzying height into

an active volcano at which point the
nuclear device you are secured to will

explode, setting off a volcanic eruption
such as the world has never known in

which you will surely perish.

That could hurt. Any chance of us using
the stunt doubles for that? Normally I'd

say yes, but it's now way past their
bedtime and their school tomorrow.

And now it's time for us to say goodbye,
freelance police. We will take our

leave of you now so that you might spend
these last few hours together.

In other words, we won't tie you up any
longer.

That's just so unprofessional.

What, leaving us unattended without even
a guard to put the boots to? No,

laughing at your own material.

Quite a sticky wicket, Walt. Even if we
could slip these bonds, we've got a

fancy fish, an ugly alien, a naughty
wooden boy at the controls, and a giant

floating head guarding the door.

I see you!

I guess this is it, then. The end of the
line for the freelance police.

Afraid so.

But it's been some fun, eh, Max?

It sure has, Sam. My earliest childish
memories are of us doing dumb stuff

together.

Remember the time we accidentally set
Dad's briefcase on fire and buried it in

the backyard?

No, Max. That happened to the beaver.
Oh, yeah.

Remember the time we accidentally set
Dad's beaver on fire and buried it in

backyard?

Good times.

Hold it, Sam. Is this turning into one
of those shows where we sit around and

reminisce, thereby recouping 80 % of the
episode cost via the use of clips and

archive footage?

Yes, it is, Max. Now stop talking,
stupid. It's costing money.

Not long after that, we tackled our
first real case together.

An amusing bit of high school drama we
like to call Organisms Made Easy.

Will these awkward teenage years never
end?

Who knew the mixing of two unstable
compounds like barium hydroxide in my

would result in such a bizarre
biological oops?

I like how it lumbers around on its
overgrown nose hairs.

That's silly of Matt.

That's for sure. Well, don't you stay
there, Sam. Start honking stuff at it.

As I recall, this was the defining
moment in our relationship as crime

The first time that our unique problem
-solving skills meshed as one.

Uh -oh.

Sorry about that, Max.

I feel all tingly, Sam. Why?

That's the enzymes at work, little
buddy.

Consuming you in a sort of slow, lazy
death.

Swim for the waste vacuole, Max.

Why? Do you have something in mind? Or
do you just like to say waste vacuole?

Both, actually.

Uh -oh.

Now, that wasn't too gut -wrenching, was
it, little buddy? Maybe for him. I

copped his nucleus.

He has so many memories, so many rich
and rewarding experiences.

But with all the highs, Sam and I have
had our share of lows.

As you'll see in this scene from our
Christmas clunker, you'll put your eye

Um, Sam, if I tell you something,
promise you won't get mad?

It's Christmas, doughhead.

Nothing could make me flip my lid at
this time of brotherhood and good cheer.

Funny you should mention headwear.

I needed something to mix up our
traditional yuletide nog, and, well, I

careless.

No! No!

No!

Max had violated a cherished family
heirloom.

Defiled the memory of my howling Grandpa
Leo who bought it in the big one. I

thought he bought it in Walmart.

Wait, Sam! It was an honest mistake!

His slapdash treatment of Granddad's
unwashed helmet was unforgivable.

The freelance police were no more.

I thought it was old -todded nutmeg in
there. Honest, Sam.

Sam!

Going our separate ways, Sam headed to
Alaska and the Iditarod, where he became

the lead dog in the heavily favored sled
team.

Despondent over the breakup, Max let his
appearance go to pot and became a

burden to society.

But after falling asleep in the park,
Max woke up on the wrong end of a can of

sternum.

Luckily for me, the thought of spending
Christmas with a wild pack of sweaty

hounds was not what Sam had in mind. So
I waved goodbye to the folks back home

and drove that dog thing for New York
City.

You okay, little pal?

Sounded a pound, Sam.

Boy, those were great times. The
thrills, the adventures.

The callous disregard for homicidal
transient life, followed by our

riding off into the sunset.

And as I recall, that was the winter we
made our big impact on the news media.

It was also the winter of our
discontent, for it was around that time

Lorne. Oh,

by gosh, by golly, it's them! Sam and
Max!

In the flesh. In person.

Unconscious.

I think I'll start with Sam.

I've done it. I've saved the lives of
Sam and Max. From this day forward, we

joined, you as the wise and wily
freelance police, and me, Lorne, as your

faithful friend for life.

Lorne was better than his word.

He became as good a fan, as good a pest,
and as good a friend for life as the

good old city ever knew. And it was
always said of him that he knew how to

onto celebrities well.

May that be truly said of all of us. And
as Sam and Max most often observed...

Help! Help us!

Anyone!

When I think back on that, I thank my
lucky stars that Lorne isn't around to

save us this time. I hear you, Sam. If
we have to kick, at least let us kick in

peace. You see?

I told you I heard narration in here.

They've wriggled loose, you fools.

Nope, uh -uh. This changes everything.
We can't run the risk of you escaping

again. I put it to the group that we
dispensed with Sam and Max right here

now. All in favor?

Aye.

All opposed?

Nay.

your vote back there, Max. Sorry, Sam.
I'd rather not get involved.

Throw them out!

Friends,

co -workers, enemies of the deceased,
the freelance police are gone.

Never again will we encounter their
smug, shining faces gloating over the

ruination of our affairs.

Praise be to me!

we plowed headlong into lactose's soft,
mealy head, Max.

I'm so grateful, I almost feel bad about
doing this.

Hello, blue boy!

You know, Max, all these high -flying
hijinks reminds me of the time we were

escorting international hitman Carlos
the Wacko from Lisbon to New York. Watch

the monitors.

What's wrong, Max?

I'm having trouble breathing, Sam. Is it
the air pressure or does our prisoner

need his underarms rolled again?

Actually, it's me. I guess my stomach
can't handle a hodgepodge of salted

acidic complementary juices, and runny
wax -encased cheeses of the world the

it used to.

Some flat ginger ale ought to fix you
up. Hand me the glass cutter. I'm

a window.

Okay, but I'd rethink this, little pal.

Unless you want to get sucked out into
the screaming blue yonder howling like a

just -banked newborn.

Anything to end this flight.

I can't seem to hail the Bonnie Stewart
less.

He's probably busy pumicing the Kornzopf
Alita Chaplers up in first class.

Stop. I'd kiss my sister for a good
pumicing.

Hey, Max.

What's wrong with this picture?

Well, for starters, you've lost weight.

About 400 pounds, it answers to the name
of Carlos the Wacko. Look around.

We may have slipped down behind one of
the seat curtains.

Hmm. He's not here.

But I think he dropped it.

Look at the colors.

Ooh. Pretty.

Now get rid of it while I chew off my
own foot to escape.

Hey, no plane rocking explosion?

How'd you manage that, little buddy?

Max?

Who's up for a heavily scored foot
pursuit as we chase down this dangerous

Me! Oh, me!

First class is nice. It doesn't smell
like bison.

And my feet aren't sticking to the
floor. I can run like the wind.

Freelance police, ma 'ams. Just a
routine check for an escaped psychopath.

Don't get up.

Is there any reason this door is locked?

It's probably the pantry, Max.

Killer always hides in there, armed only
with a crazed instinct for survival and

a frozen shank of ham to hit you with.

We've always worked well together.

I'm thinking specifically of our
greatest, most action -packed moment

As you'll see in this next clip from our
bare -fisted epic, Die Hardly.

Silence, network dogs.

We will now cancel one hostage every
hour until you begin airing nothing but

figure skating around the clock.

Now you be careful.

You don't have to worry your pretty big
little head about me.

Actually, I'm worried about the bazooka.
It was a gift from my sweet old granny.

Death from a bug!

Oh, what do you know?

Bulletproof glass.

Speaking of network apps, remember when
we were drawn funny?

Homogenized down to a pair of dirt
-simple cartoon chuckleheads?

Lucky for us, it led to the downfall of
our ill -conceived primetime sitcom, I

Dream of Weenies.

In this scene, I try to persuade Scrappy
Sam into going into the old Henderson

estate, convinced that the rubbery ghost
inside is actually Mr. Fifth, the

unscrupulous real estate speculator. Go
on, Sam. If you do it, I'll give you a

scrappy dog.

Uh -uh. Uh -uh.

Two scrappy dogs?

Then there was the time you swallowed a
wallet.

Come out!

Praise the Lord!

And who could forget the defining moment
of our lives?

When our sorry existence was forever
changed following a chance encounter

Darla Guggenheek.

We found her floating down the river in
a basket and decided to take her in,

knowing that one day she would lead us
out of eternal bondage. Uh, no. You're

thinking of Moses there, little pal.

Oh, yeah.

How did we meet the gig again?

That's cool!

Want to come and live in our basement
and devote the rest of your life to

fighting crime?

Okay.

Open this door.

I'm warning you, don't make me use
force.

Max, if for whatever reason I don't make
it, I want you to take care of this.

If anything happens, I'll deny I ever
knew you. Love, the Commissioner.

Just so, him.

Yeah, whenever we were feeling low -key,
in need of a little sub -human contact,

we could always count on that phone to
ring.

So many memories.

Tainted watercolor memories of the way
we were.

good times must come to an end.

Uh -oh. Look where the cat popped out.

We really need a bouncer on that door.
If you please, raise your hands and step

away from the controls.

And if we refuse?

A convincing argument.

I bet he was top dog on the debating
team.

Yes. Yes.

Everything is in readiness.

We have reached the crucial juncture.
Our timing is... Perfect.

Nothing can stop us now.

Now what?

An unwelcome caller.

It never fails.

I'd get rid of him quick. This juncture
is too crucial to risk being spoiled by

canvassers. Although, if it's girl
guides, I'll take two boxes.

What is it? Can't you see we're busy?

It's the rubber pants commandos. Laying
down the law with scalding milk and

sweet -smelling concussion bombs.

Get in there and fight dirty, you
chuckleheads.

Blitz, you're returning to base.

No. Dad!

You can't go home. You're ruining all
that we worked so hard to achieve.

Come to daddy.

That's right. You can do it. Come on.

You're a big boy.

You may have won the battle, freelance
police, but I, Max Salmon, will win the

war. For when the force of a volcanic
eruption combines with the sheer

of a nuclear blast, I dare say you can
kiss your precious world goodbye.

You'd think so, wouldn't you? But while
you and your friends were so engrossed

watching the in -flight movie... I
believe it was Free Willy.

Max and I took the liberty of replacing
the bomb's combustible innards with 600

pounds of our anti -flagellant of
choice.

No.

That volcano should be no trouble now,
Max.

Come, take a look. No.

No! No!

Gosh,

they're cute.

Almost makes a guy pine for kids of his
own, don't it?

It's gonna. Any second now.

Forgive me, Max. I never should have
doubted you.

Ah, go on. Oh, look!

Dolphins! I got it! I got it!

You cracked me up, little buddy.

I got it!