All language subtitles for The.Middleman.S01E06.The.Boy-Band.Superfan.Interrogation.HDTV.XviD-FQM.(osloskop.net)

Fuzz. Fuzz.

Lacey, are you pointing the dish
to the southeast? 'Cause you have to.

How about now?

Fuzz.

- Ooh, fuzzy porn.
- Sounds good to me.

- Help me in.
- Are you joking?

What about Supremo-Destructo
Martial Arts Combat Challenge?

SMACC!

This morning you were
going on about how,

despite your generally
pacifistic ways, SMACC...

Is no mere bloodsport,
but an outlet

for man's primal angst
in the barbaric sterility of the modern world.

So, Lace, how could you settle for
fuzzy porn over the martial arts?

I know I might have said martial arts
is the most confrontational of all the arts,

but that's before I was in danger
of a multiple-story faceplant

from adjusting our
Cold War era hand-me-down satellite dish.

Oh, guys, I think it's
coming in. I see a crowd.

No. It's
Varsity Fanclub.

What's
Varsity Fanclub?

Only the most popular
boy-band in the world.

How could you be alive and
not know Varsity Fanclub, Dub-Dub?

How can you know Varsity Fanclub
and not want to end it all?

* Oh whoa uh, uh
Oh whoa uh, uh *

* Bad habit
Oh whoa uh, uh *

* Oh whoa uh, uh...*

- What?
- Oh, my God, you love them.

- I do not.
- You had all the dance moves down pat.

As if practiced
all night every night.

Whatever, guys.
I'm a quick study.

And lying to us about
your secret love for Varsity Fanclub.

I'm not having
this conversation.

You know, Wendy Watson, I think
we should buy Lacey Varsity Fanclub tickets.

Totally, for her 14th birthday.

Oh, look, the door.
I'll get it.

Hey. Pip.

Wow. Are my three favorite
illegal subtenants having a party?

Sure, you can come in.

I was just dropping by to invite you
to my gallery show tomorrow night.

You got your two-hour-plus spoken word opus
"Hey, Mr. God" into a gallery show?

No.

It's for my paintings.

You got your nude self-portrait
into a gallery show?

That was my sister.

And, no, my period of
erotic sibling representation is over.

This gallery show,
it's something new.

I'm calling it
Deus Ex Pip.

It's Latin for
"The Machines of Pip."

That's not what it means.

Whatever!

So, the deets.

Tomorrow night,
The Gate.

Wait, The Gate?

The gallery for
up-and-coming artists?

Sayonara, squatters.

I gotta see these paintings.

To the Internet.

How did that troglodyte
get his paintings into The Gate?

Oh, man, this photo of Pip!

Oh, wait.

That isn't...

Oh, my God,
that's my painting.

www.1000fr. com presents

Sync: FRS@iMeow

The Middleman
Season 1, Ep 5

Is it lame clinging to the hope
that despite all evidence

to the contrary this is just
a weird coincidence?

Like the mutual discovery of DNA,
or the collective unconscious?

Come on, Carol, I wouldn't put anything
beneath that scum-sucker.

He copied your painting.

Then Pip is a being of
the purest, darkest evil.

And a confusing one.

Who bogarts your work
and tells you?

Don't worry, Dub-Dub.

Confrontation is my business.

Pip is about to reap
the whirlwind.

That means we're gonna do
bad things to him.

I'll give you a second.

- What is it, Ida?
- Can't a woman just call?

Maybe I'm lonely.

Seriously, can't this wait?
I've got a crisis here.

There, there, buttercup,
of course it can,

if you don't mind there's been
a rip in the fabric of space!

Advertise your product or brand here
contact www.OpenSubtitles.org today

You know, it's a good thing
you have that nude self-portrait

for when they do
your facial reconstruction.

What is your
major malfunction?

If you're gonna copy my work
at least be smart about it.

I went to the gallery website.
I saw the paintings you stole from me.

The paintings I stole from you?

You know, Wendy, I didn't
want to bring this up,

but the thing is,
your work is kind of...

...exactly like mine.

You're trying
to gaslight me?

I'm just saying it's tough
to prove who painted what when.

You're gonna reap
the whirlwind, Pip.

That means we're gonna
do bad things to you.

Ooh, let me guess,
you and Lacey the wonderdog

are going to douse fake blood on my canvasas
or melt them with a hair dryer.

How could I share a roof
with you guys after that?

I'd have to call my dad and
have you illegal subletters kicked out.

Same goes if my nose spontaneously breaks
in the next few seconds.

Are we clear?

Good. I do hope
to see you at the show.

Wow, there really is
a hole in space.

With a duck
caught inside.

Guess this kind of stuff
really does draw a crowd.

Which one of our schmancy fake Ids
are we gonna use to disperse this mob?

No badge this time,
Dubbie.

The present situation requires
the derring-do of a different sort of ruse.

Ladies and gentlemen,
what you see before you is no mere trick,

for you are witness to the astonishing
street magic of Rene the Remarkable,

and my lovely assistant...

Uh, Marion
the Enthusiastic.

Now, for my next bit
of street magic...

That's it, folks.
Show's over.

- Nothing else to see...
- Yes. Thank you for coming.

Please watch our show,
coming this summer to basic cable.

- Drive safely now.

The fabric of space is tearing,
a duck's life hangs in the balance,

and you want to do card tricks?

My magic flip of the fingers
usually kills at a time like this.

It's a crack in space!

To my untrained ears
that sounds like a world-ending big deal.

Make no mistake,
a crack in space is no laughing matter.

But what we have here
is a warp hole.

Made properly, one of these babies
can link any two points in the universe

giving anyone the ability
to travel anywhere, instantly.

Lucky for us, this hole's
only half a drake deep.

So do we just yank out Howard,
zip up the hole and be done with it?

Only way to zip it back up
is to find the machine that made it.

Meantime, We've got to
remove the duck from the warp hole

and take measures to keep
any further lookie-loos

from poking their noses
where they don't belong.

Don't suppose we have
a laser beam fence handy.

Better. Pound for pound the most
powerful deterrent force in the world.

Rene the Remarkable
strikes again.

Vitals and intelligence
within normal limits.

This duck is nothing more
than an innocent victim.

Ida, punching a warp hole into the fabric of space
requires an enormous amount of energy.

Get on the HEYDAR
and do a global search.

No one can generate that much energy
without leaving some trace.

Oh, give me a minute.
I'm tracking down the perfect orange sauce.

Now that's just depraved.

Wait, so soulless androids
from parts unknown actually eat?

- Take a step closer and find out.
- Bring it, Marvin.

Ladies, I'll not have this escalate
into a donnybrook.

This duck's seen things
no feather-bearing waterfowl should ever see.

Need to find the machine that opened
that warp hole, and we need to find it now.

Oh, don't blow your diaper.
I'm on the case.

So what's in the box?

Oh, every now and then a box comes in
with weapons, gadgets and things...

Yeah, yeah, I got that
on my first day.

I mean, specifically.
What's in the box?

Ah. Two small
indistinguishable gizmos.

That's not necessarily the case.

One's a truth bomb, the other
a concussive stun field generator.

You can tell
by just looking?

Books, Dubbie,
are our friends.

Gee, Sugar Britches, don't make us
wait for the inevitable wisecrack.

Yeah. Heart's not
in it today, Ida.

Hold the onions.

Wendy Watson too glum to tte tte?
This is most unusual.

It's nothing, really. Just...

Some art stuff's
getting to me.

Ooh, art stuff.
I'm scintillated.

If you're not firing
on all cylinders

the Middle Organization is
not firing on all cylinders.

Pip, the malignant nematode son
of my building owner is ripping me off...

- ...and selling my work in a gallery.
- Just back up 200 feet!

Did you say
you're being plagiarized?

That's dirty pool.
I'll clean his clock.

Wait. What happened to taking the middle road,
and using violence as a last resort?

There's no negotiating
with plagiarists, Dubbie.

You take credit for a man's
ideas, you rob his spirit.

It's one thing to forego credit
for saving the world as a Middleman,

but art and the artists behind it
are what make the world worth saving.

I agree. You should quit immediately
and pursue your art full-time.

Look, as buoyed as my spirits are
by your mutual outpouring of support...

...this is my problem.
I will deal with it.

She means with doobage.

I'm finding something.

It won't take me more than a
few seconds to pin it down.

Chocoholics Anonymous! Ida!

- Somebody pinged me.
- Pinged you? How?

There's another
HEYDAR out there.

She's my sister.

She's my daughter.

My sister...My daughter...

Another HEYDAR.

They're scanning
my circuits.

Unplug me.

Blue, blue!

She's in blue screen crash.

What are we supposed to do,
hit Control-Alt-Delete?

Dubbie, I have an important question
before I activate this.

Answer truthfully.

- Are you pregnant?
- Are you kidding?

I'm as serious as
Mao-Tse Tung's heart attack.

No!

Is there any chance
you might be pregnant?

Only with anticipation of
what you'll do with that tubey gizmo thing.

Seriously, Dubbie, no chance?

- I'm pretty sure...
- Pretty sure's not sure.

You want me to go into
the stark and ??? details

of my post-Ben dry spell
where the only things I see

when I meet a guy are the
428 pressure points that incapacitate him?

Oy gevalt!

I am seriously considering
changing my stance on capital punishment.

- Really?
- No.

I star-69'd that second HEYDAR.
I've got an address.

Whoever did this,
I want payback.

Dr. Elliot Marshall,
Henry Jones University.

Professor of
theoretical physics.

Think about it, Bubbie.

In the exact same day we're looking for someone
punching holes in space,

an unlicensed HEYDAR, a device only Middlemen
are supposed to have, hacks into our system.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

It's Lacey.
You mind if I get this?

Bill of Rights says OK.

- Hey, roomie.
- Hey, Wendy Watson.

Noser and I are at
the screen printers.

I have the idea to print protest T-shirts for
everyone to wear at Pip's opening tomorrow night.

Can you say public humiliation?

- Guys, stop.
- Why?

Lace, you don't have to turn everything
into a piece of confrontational art.

Is this a situational thing,
or you asking me to rethink my entire life?

I just want you
to let me handle this.

My own way.

Please?

Pretty please?

Look, I gotta let you go.

My boss is giving me an
inordinately weird look.

What's with the
inordinately weird look?

Nothing.

It's just this Pip situation
really steams my clams.

I'm no advocate of reckless strong-arm tactics
and physical coercion.

but remember, Dubbie, people,
people like myself,

people who are trained,
can do things,

things that hurt.

That's fascinating.

Turn here.

Steel yourself.

These mad scientist types
can be tough nuts to crack.

Anti-establishment
weirdoes, all of them.

If I have to give them a taste of
the hard candy, avert your eyes.

Or watch.
See what I can do.

Hi. Can I help you?

- Dr. Elliot Marshall?
- Yes.

Agents Brody and Forrestal of
the Federal Unified Atomic Regulatory Commission.

Central's tracked
a power spike to this house.

We have reason to believe it's due to
the activity of an unlicensed HEYDAR.

Really? Wow.

Am I under arrest?

Depends on your level
of cooperation.

I'd love to cooperate.
Come in, I'll show you my lab.

Come on.

So HEYDAR is the one
that looks like...

Silver ball that gives us
answers to things.

Silver ball, yeah. Exactly.

Doctor, would you please
identify this device for me?

Of course, yes.
Uh, that is...

It's kind of complicated. Uh...

Dad!

If you'll excuse me just a sec.
My daughter, Cindy.

These nano-circuits are far beyond
the most sophisticated man-made tech I've seen.

Think that's
our warp hole puncher?

I don't know.

But it seems to be
missing a power source.

This is darn fishy.

Really? What? That Dr. Nimrod,
Ph. D. has all this high tech in here,

but can't tell his HEYDAR from his elbow?

Or that he's supposed to be
a dangerous anti-establishment type,

but he let us flash a badge
and waltz into his top secret super lab?

Actually, I was referring to
the height of these lab tables.

They're, uh,
kind of low, aren't they?

Your goose is cooked, baby.

I'm free, once and for all, I'm...

Aah!

Really low lab tables.

Who are you?

And what do you want
with that black box?

Gosh darn... idiots!

See you in hell!...

Dubbie,
that is one fast Huffy.

I've never seen she behaves that way.

Did she ever mention building a machine
capable of punching holes in the fabric of space?

I know it must be hard to accept
your child's capable of such menace...

She's not really my daughter.

That repugnant little moppet
landed on my doorstep one day

with fake adoption papers
and a promise.

If I did as she said,
she'd get me tenure at the university.

What did she have you do?

Our lab equipment is all
physics department property.

Tenure was just a lie
she used to get me to steal it.

She blackmailed me for stealing it.
I want out.

Then tell us. The black box,
what does it do?

I don't know. All she'd tell me is
it's next to useless without the right battery.

That's all you know about it?

That's practically all I know about her.

Cindy's been here for a year,
but only two things stood out.

- This lab...
- And?

Varsity Fanclub?

Varsity Fanclub.

The world's most popular
boy-band.

If you're a fan,
just kill me now.

I'm a country man.
Jimmie Rogers, the Carter family, Hank.

But I've always been
fascinated by the ability

of preassembled sets of
submasculine archetypes

to tug at the heartstrings of
a 12-to-17-year-old fan base.

Funny. I've always been fascinated
by their ability to bring up my lunch.

I think Cindy'd
take issue with that.

If we're gonna figure her out,
we have to figure them out.

You have Jayk, the crooner.

Thomas, the heartthrob.

Bobby, the street tough.

Drew, the charmer.

And the requisite
man of mystery, David.

Is Drew a guy or...?

Why do you think
David needs a cane?

- Crazy, isn't it?
- It's no joke, Dubbie.

Jayk, Bobby, Thomas, Drew and David
have themselves one seriously depraved fan,

a 14-year-old warp hole punching menace
with a profoundly mysterious little black box.

Hey. Despite my better judgment,
I ran another HEYDAR scan.

Way to climb back
on the horse, Ida.

Helps to be devoid
of human weakness.

Now get a load
of these hot tamales.

No power source yet, but
I found five more warp holes,

each incrementally smaller than
the duck-sucker you saw this morning.

The smallest one is barely
the size of Wendy's brain.

Get it?

'Cause it's small.

So it seems the holes
are growing larger.

Maybe she's trying out batteries.

- Where are they?
- Oh, all over tarnation.

Newark, Toledo, Albany...

Kalamazoo and Cleveland.

That's right.
How'd you know that?

Varsity Fanclub's tour map.

The warp holes open up at each
of the stops on their tour.

Solid sleuthing, inspector.
Where are they playing tonight?

Metro Theater,
here in town.

Varsity Fanclub should be
performing a sound check as we speak.

Now, let's try to get there before that
little girl sucks the band through a hole.

In space.

- Lace?
- We were right about

- that whole Pip thing.
- You were?

Yeah. Why do I have to turn
everything into a performance piece?

This is a legal issue,
not an aesthetic one.

OK.

Which is why
we hired a lawyer.

You did what?

It's our good friend Joe 90.

Joe 90?

That guy from 5A who makes
those creepy phallic sculptures?

And you're on speakerphone.

Not only is Joe 90 a talented artist,
but, also, he's a law student.

- Former.
- Former law student,

who thinks you might totally, possibly,
have a case against Pip, maybe.

Absolutely. If you have any way to prove
when you began painting your works,

we could file a...

...an injunction.

Will you put me
on un-speakerphone?

Lacey, please,
I know you guys love me

but a half-baked, genitally-preoccupied
law student isn't gonna do me any good.

Tell me you have a plan, Dub-Dub.

Tell me there's some hellaciously Byzantine
revenge strategy at work

that you can't tell me about.

You gotta stop, OK?

I promise you, everything's gonna
work out the best. Isn't that enough?

I didn't hear the words
"hellaciously Byzantine" or "revenge,"

but it'll have to be.

I could tie him to a chair.

Just sayin'. The rest
takes care of itself.

* I gotta get it
from your love baby*

* Scream, girl
Scream your love for real *

* Let's tell the whole world
so they can know how I feel *

- * Scream, girl...*
- Cut it!

David, if you can't get
this right by showtime,

we're gonna be
a four-member band, got it?

OK.

Sorry, it's the biggest
show of the tour tonight.

Security tells me you're from...

TLI. Threat Liquidators Incorporated.

We're a boutique security firm
specializing in high-risk celebrity clients.

- Haven't heard of you.
- We keep a low profile,

but I assure you we work with the best
and most threatened names in the business.

I can't break confidentiality,
but I will say a certain metal band

with a singer predisposed to shout
"Ya-yee, yeah, yeah" is on our list.

And you think
Varsity Fanclub needs protection?

Sir, during a routine
monitor of fan chatter

on the various inter-,
intra-, sub- and extra-nets,

we came across
a threat warranting your notification.

What's going on here, Jack?

This dude thinks we're in danger.

Meet Cindy Marshall,
classic threat level three.

We'd like to manage
your security free of charge.

Or, for maximum security,
aid you in canceling your show entirely.

- Whoa, whoa, no.
- Hey, go get the books.

Look, we dig you coming
down here to warn us.

Yeah, guys. This Cindy is not
the first fan a few sandwiches shy.

There's not a single girl in here

who hasn't threatened
to kill us, kill for us,

maim us, or maim someone for us.

What's this one?

It's parents of the girls
we slept with.

David didn't always
have that cane.

Ah.

So thanks, man,
but we're cool.

We got tip-top security.

And as they say,
the show must...

- * Go on *
- * On *

Excuse me.

Ida, you have an update?

Yeah, I'm buying Wilderness Girl cookies.

You like Skinny Mints, right?

Uh, Bora Boras, actually.

I find the mix of caramel and
conut tasty and refreshing.

Is this some sort of esoteric joke,
or do you have an update?

No! I'm back at the ranch with
an adorable Wilderness Girl buying cookies.

You know how much I love
adorable little girls,

'cause I love
little girls so much.

Ida, can you contain her until...

Ida?

Cindy's at Jolly Fats.

We clear every room.

Chutes and Ladders.

She ripped out Ida's battery.

Is she dead?

She's an android, Dubbie.

The words life and death have zero relevance
to her condition at any point of time.

Well, looks like Cindy
gave us the slip.

So what now?

Now? I'd suggest
you avert your eyes.

Why?

Concussive stun field generator. Yeah.

She's pretty cute for
an alien. Are you sure?

Only thing that makes sense,
given her know-how and abilities

and how handily she dispatched Ida
to get to her battery.

I'd never thought
I'd say it,

but I'm gonna miss
the walking, talking, insulting version.

And you, don't think
you can come in here

with those big sad eyes
and get a promotion off of this.

The HEYDAR tells me, now
powered with Ida's battery,

this black box generates particle waves
with the exact opposite polarity of

those recorded within
the warp hole's event horizon.

Dubbie, this isn't
the warp hole generator.

This is a reverse switch
for the warp hole generator.

So the Ida-killing obsessed fan
is a good guy now?

If I rob a bank and close the vault behind me,
am I a good guy?

If this box is ever activated,
Ida's battery will be depleted.

So how do we get the
little delinquent to talk?

Cindy, I won't mince words.

You're in a real tight spot.

You're a mysterious alien,

using alien technology,
in a world you didn't make.

That means no trial,
no clemency.

I'll offer but one chance
to save yourself.

Who are you, where is
the warp hole generator,

and what does this have
to do with Varsity Fanclub?

Don't bother, kid.

Those cuffs have more tech in 'em
than ten of your little science labs.

Your dark side powers
are useless here.

I'll begin again.

- Who are you?
- My name is Quithaalian Rii.

My rank is Commander Mark Two,

and my service number
is X700-3T-Epsilon-5.

Sorry. Name, rank, and serial number
won't cut it with me.

What's your business
here on Earth?

Come on, commander!

There's no sense
holding back now.

My name is...

My rank is... mark two,

and my service number is X700...,

you slimy...
before I shove a boot up your...!

Wait a minute. Say that again.

...sucking... smacking...
...munching Yank!

No, no, the serial number...
Never mind. I've got it.

Ida, run a search
on the...

Let's see what ESDI has to say
about our uninvited houseguest.

ESDI?

Extraterrestrial
Serial Data Index.

Cindy here is a soldier
from the war-torn Clothar galaxy.

A rebel soldier,
by the looks of her serial number.

- A rebel soldier?
- Yes.

According to ESDI, rebel forces
fought against the Pentharcs of Clothar,

five nefarious oligarchs,
who held the galaxy in the thrall of oppression.

OK, so Cindy isn't just an alien
masquerading as a 14-year-old girl,

she's a rebel alien soldier
sent to Earth to close warp holes?

Even ESDI has limits.

Either way, the implications
of a member of her species on Earth...

With access to
warp hole technology...

...are gravely unsettling.

Jeez, Elroy,
what do you want?

I am High Aldwin, supreme commander
of the Clotharian Rebel Fleet.

It's a message beamed to us
from billions of miles away.

This is a message beamed to you
from billions of miles away.

By executive decree 24,
five, 17, eight,

93, 55...

two, 39, three.

You are hereby ordered to release
Special Forces Agent,

earth name Cindy Marshall, with her instrument
to complete her most vital mission.

With all due respect,
I invoke the Scrolls of Xanthor

and demand an explanation
of Cindy's mission.

The Scrolls of Xanthor?

Your acumen with
Clotharian law is impressive.

- Yeah, seriously.
- Very well.

Five years ago the
Pentharcs of Clothar were captured

and sentenced to exile
to your pathetic planet

where they would live out their days
in disgrace, or so we thought.

The Pentharcs' plan for escape
is sheer elegance in its simplicity.

They formed the boy-band,
Varsity Fanclub.

The boy-band Varsity Fanclub
is actually five intergalactic dictators?

And through a rigorous schedule
of promotion and touring,

amassed a fortune atop
your popular music charts,

so they might build a device capable of
warping them back to Clothar Five.

That truly is sheer
elegance in its simplicity.

So now you see why Cindy must be
allowed to complete her mission.

But the battery powering
her little black box...

Silence!

Once activated, the black box
will emit a disturbance wave,

reversing the warp hole generator,

and unleashing an explosive shock wave
to vaporize the Pentharcs once and for all.

Nice and neat.

However, if you do not obey,

should you interfere with the
completion of Cindy's mission,

the entire Clotharian Rebel Fleet
shall open a warp hole to your world...

and finish off your planet
without mercy.

Tell me you're not walking
with purpose to release Cindy.

I am walking with purpose
to release Cindy.

Are you sniffing glue?

We're just supposed to blindly follow the orders
of some intergalactic Monty Python wannabe?

If they sent those five psychos to Earth
this is their problem, not ours.

- Why should we...?
- No choice.

If we stop Cindy from using her black box
to close those warp holes,

the entire world pays the price.

She'll use that black box
and kill Ida.

- That she will.
- Ida's your friend.

Ida doesn't deserve
to go out like this, and you know it.

Are you trying to make this harder
on me than it already is?

Sometimes you have to
take one on the chin, Dubbie.

Based on what I've seen of you today
you know that better than you let on.

The eyes of your paintings
are on you, Wendy Watson.

Oh, good Lord, Lace.

Do you hear their cries?

They cry for justice,
for you to step up and...

Pip's blackmailing me.

He is?

- With what?
- Eviction.

Eviction? I can't swing
the rent on this place alone.

He might as well evict us both.

Oh, he will. You, me, Noser.

Half the building, if I
interfere with his show.

We'll just have
to explain to everybody,

and if it
comes down to it...

Lacey, no.

Yes, Dub-Dub.

And, if it comes down to it,
we're just gonna have to move out.

Move where? We can barely
afford our illegal sublet.

It doesn't matter.

What matters is your art.

Hey, this place is just a...

...unrealistically affordable
yet fantastically large loft.

But it isn't.

If we get kicked out,
you'll move back home;

and Noser will go live
with his parents in Monaco.

And Joe 90 will probably move into
one of those weird utopian co-ops

where everyone's
naked all the time.

All of our art gang
shenanigans will be over.

No more Art Crawl, Cable Fridays,

Thursday night drunk, Name That Stanza,

Stump the Band, all gone.

* I am just mumbling *

* Let the words hang in the air... *

Why didn't you just tell?

I guess I just
thought, you know,

this is my cross to bear.

It hurts, Lace,
but, you know what?

A few paintings or my
awesomely bizarre family?

Sometimes you just gotta
take one on the chin.

No, Dub-Dub.

I'm sorry.

I can't believe that.

And I don't think you do, either.

* It's tonight I'm going back
to where we both belong... *

Hello, young lady.

Welcome to the
Jolly Fats Wehawkin Employment Agency.

So now we have
to run the front too?

I don't know.

A Middleman's never been
without Ida before.

Lots of stuff for us to do now,
like, uh, paperwork.

Interrodroid 4000 is all
thumbs with the stuff.

Ida loved paperwork.

Yeah, Ida loved
a lot of things.

Like belittling
my every accomplishment.

- Mmm.
- Calling me a drug addict.

Threatening me with physical harm.

Well, she was a pistol.

You know, we may have agreed
not to interfere with Cindy,

but that doesn't mean
we can't console our grief

by going to see
Varsity Fanclub in concert.

Hmm.

And, perhaps, should we stumble on the device
they're using to punch their hole in space,

destroy it before Cindy gets a chance
to use her black box.

Your tickets are totally
better than mine.

Sometimes it's good
to be the Middleman.

Come on, Dubbie,
let's lay down tracks.

* Girl, I've got some things to say *

* Sit down Put your phone away *

* Don't let the interruptions...*

You see Cindy?

Keep your peepers peeled.

* You're trying
to cut me off, baby *

Hi. I'm, like,
the world's biggest fan

and I'm collecting signatures
from all of Varsity Fanclub's crew.

Could you sign my shirt?

Sure.

You know, I don't get these guys.

We've got five Great Gazoos who want to
go home and unleash their doomsday device.

What else is there to know?

This seems like a pretty cush gig.

Look at the stage.
Whole thing's an applause meter.

Hawks of the Luftwaffe!
That's it, you cracked it.

That fancy applause meter
isn't just decoration,

it's a scream harvester.

Scream harvester?

In layman's terms,
a giant battery.

Well, if that's the battery,
where's the warp hole generator?

That's just it, Dubbie.

The entire stage is the warp hole
generator. Don't you see?

That's why Ida couldn't
locate a power source with the HEYDAR.

Only tweenage screams of ecstasy have
the strength to cut a hole in space itself.

How could I not see it before?

Uh, because it's completely insane?

So insane it just might work.

That scream-o-meter
is getting pretty high.

Look above the stage.

And that would be a warp hole.

Lightning round, Dubbie.

Our irascible teen alien's going to
activate that black box any moment.

If there's any chance to save Ida
we've got to find Cindy and find her now.

Head to the backstage entrance.
You know the drill.

I'm Sgt. Ravenwood,
you're Sgt. Jones.

- You do the talking.
- Yep.

* I never forget
You got me goin' in circles...*

Pull out a lash
and blow on it, Dubbie.

It's gonna be
a nail-biter.

Tread careful.
This stinks of Cindy.

Everybody, it's time
to scream your love for me.

Let's rock!
One, two, three...

* *

*
Scream your love for me *

*
If you want more, baby *

* You're gonna have to scream
Scream your love *

- Trail ends here. Now what?
- I'm not sure.

There's something tugging at me.

That would be me,
you stupid...

Cindy! She's been shot.

Damn right I have.
Right in the old breadbasket.

Cindy, listen to me...

It's the black box.

Gimme!

* Scream it! *

* Feelin' your strength
makes me feel all whole *

- * Scream, girl *
- Come on!

Gotta be another way.

The warp hole generator's
just a machine with vulnerabilities.

Your weapons are useless.

I'd have used them
if I could.

That box is the only thing...

...that can seal the hole and
kill those maggot-eating...

* Scream, girl *

* All your love
could never cause a strain *

You want to know
the real bitch of it?

I was two weeks...

...from retirement.

Cindy. Cindy!

* Scream, girl
Scream your love for me *

* You gotta give me
some of your lovin' *

Wait. There has
to be another way.

There's no time.

* If you will scream, girl...*

- What about Ida?
- We tried, Dubbie.

At least we gave her that.

* So let's scream *

I can't believe it.

Ida's battery's really dead.

We've lost her.

But we've saved the world
as we know it.

Come on, cowgirl.

Better saddle up
before the fuzz gets here.

I really like to think
I'm beyond influences.

Now, is it too much
to say at this point...

...I'm influencing myself?

This is very much
the opposite of cool.

Hello, ladies, Noser.

I've got an interview,
but I'm so glad you came.

Uh, pretty sure at this point
you can drop the act.

Act?

You've defeated
unknown Wendy Watson,

who was never even
competing with you.

Enjoy your success.

I'll be here,
hanging with the friends you've lost.

I won't be hanging.

When you do that interview,
and you see my eyes,

you'll see a mirror
staring back.

And you will be moved
by truth and shame

and whatever good is still left
in you to renounce your sins.

Yeah.

Or not.

You know you could never
wash that cheek.

What's Sexy Boss Man
doing here?

Hey, what are you
doing here?

Uh, settling a score.

You might not want
to be here a moment from now.

Are you gonna kill him?

Only his painting career.

Ma'am.

The way I see it, I was brought
into this world against my will...

I mean, because I would have chosen to have
actual talent instead of doing what I did,

which was to steal
Wendy Watson's art.

Excuse me?

I'm sorry. Uh,
what I meant to say was

I snuck into Wendy
Watson's apartment

and digitally photographed her
paintings so as to copy them.

Lord, what's happening
to me? I can't stop.

- Oh, my God.
- My gaze. It's working!

I am a talentless hack.

I know that.

Everyone knows. Why pretend?

I stole her paintings.

I stole them all.

Clap for the real artist.

To Wendy Watson!

Their eyes.

I can't escape their eyes.

- You set off a truth bomb?
- Yep.

I thought we weren't supposed to use
Middlegear to solve personal problems.

Well, there's personal, Dubbie,
and then there's personal.

Wait. You're not immune
to the truth bomb, are you?

No, I am not.

So, if I asked you a question,
you'd have to answer it?

That I would.

What's your name?

My name is the same
as my father's.

Take care, Miss Watson.

Drive safely.

I don't even like art.

I'm just here
for the babes.

That's nothing. I'm a critic
and I'm colorblind.

I've taken the bar
16 times.

I can't believe my words
actually got through to Pip.

To confrontation.

Guess he's gonna have a lot
of checks to return, huh?

Yeah,
when they find him.

It shouldn't be too hard.

Last thing I heard
he was running down the street screaming,

"Their eyes, their eyes!"

You comin'?

Something tells me we're in for a microbrew-fueled
round or two of Name That Stanza.

There's something quick
I gotta do,

but don't start the
Beat poets round without me.

Ginsberg's ass is mine.

Nice bugle.

Oh. Thank you.

It was my father's.

You know, I didn't have a chance to
thank you at the gallery. And I just...

An artist should never
have to hide her work, Dubbie.

You are living
a double double life.

In my humble opinion, that's
one double life too many.

That's why you stopped by?
To thank me?

Guess I just wanted
to say goodbye.

You know...

The idea that her sacrifice'd
lead to peace and prosperity

for hundreds and billions of aliens,
not to mention save Earth itself,

think it would have
really ticked her off.

That's a good one.

Now, if you'd both
please excuse me,

I'd really appreciate
a moment to mourn alone.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Hey! Finish rolling that spliff
and get me out of here, you dope fiend.

Ida?

Is that really you?

You bet your Bosco it's really me.

I'm back!

What is this, recess?

Let's get our world saving on.

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