Original subtitles

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

(SNICKERING)

NARRATOR: Space, the last place to go.

This is the voyage of the spaceship Wacky One.

B-12: No wait. That's a comet.

Hmm. We shall be around here some...

Oh, there we are.

Hey, hey there, space race fans.

I'm cybernetic race commentator R-Bot B-12,

and welcome to a very big day here on spaceship Wacky One.

We travel here for the very first ever Interplanetary Mars 5000.

Our racers are star-struck and rearing to get started.

Or they would be if they weren't frozen like the icy bag of peas

at the back of your freezer everyone's afraid to eat.

-(YAWNS) Good morning, y'all. -(PETER SNORING)

Are we in Acapulco already?

I can hardly wait to work on my tan.

Bleh, tan, schman.

This pale happening dude is all about the night life.

Tiny want to fly fish.

Do you like fish, big fella?

No, flies.

-FLY: Help me! -(MUNCHING)

Wait a moment. This doesn't look like one of

Wacky Enterprises' forced family fun cruise ships.

It's much too clean, and it doesn't smell of yak.

B-12: Good news, racers.

And you're on a spaceship on your way to a race on Mars.

ALL: Mars?

Wait, wait. I don't understand.

Are you saying that our boss, Mrs. Barnstorm,

the owner of the Wacky Race International Franchise,

told us we were going on an all-expense paid vacation to Mexico,

but instead kidnapped us,

froze us and shipped us off to Mars?

And the very best news is we're almost there.

What do you mean, "almost there"?

-(LOUD EXPLOSION)-That should be us striking the Martian atmosphere now.

(BRAKES SCREECHING)

B-12: Oh, no. Major turbulence.

Psst, guys, major turbulence.

-Hmm? -(ALL EXCLAIMING)

Well, obviously someone handsome needs to take charge.

-Everyone, to battle stations. -(BEEPING)

PETER: Laser shields to maximum.

Reverse the polarity of the flux transistor.

(BEEPING)

Darlin', there are no battle stations.

You just babbling technical-sounding gobbledygook

to make yourself sound cool.

(SIGHS) I know.

Then we're doomed. (CRIES)

Muttley, old friend,

there's something I've always wanted to say to you.

This is all your fault.

Yeah. Razzle-fazzle.

Maybe you should just fly to the ground in your space racers.

Our what?

The vehicles specially designed for you to race around Mars with.

They're down in the cargo bay.

Well, then. All ship's personnel

proceed to the cargo bay in a calm and orderly fashion.

(CLAMORING)

(YELLING INDISTINCTLY)

Huh?

(ALL EXCLAIMING)

(SNICKERING)

There's the hangar deck hatch.

Get out of my way.

-(HISSING) -(CLANKING)

Peril, Penelope Pitstop. Peril.

(GASPS)

-Aah. Ooh.-See, I told you.

Oh, darlin'. Are you all right?

Of course I am.

But I could use a hand.

-It's locked.-There's a panel next to the hatch.

All you have to do is key in the correct release code.

-(BEEPS) -All right. What is it?

-I forget. -You forget?

I have been alone on this ship for two years, you know?

It's possible I've gone a bit to pieces.

Hey, have you gotten taller?

I.Q., figure out the combination.

What? Why me?

Because you're a genius, duh!

What does that have to do with it?

It's a nine-button panel.

Could be literally millions of combinations.

It's got nothing to do with being smart.

-I don't have any idea what the code is. -(GRUNTS)

Just guess.

(SIGHS) Fine. Three. I completely, randomly

-guess the number three. Happy? -(SIGHS)

-(POWERING UP) -(PANEL CHIMES)

Whoa. It worked. I am a genius.

Get out of my way.

(SNICKERING)

PENELOPE: Oh, my stars and gardens.

I think I'm in love.

B-12: Complete destruction of the Wacky Oneestimated in 15 seconds.

BELLA: I hope they fly as good as they look.

Let's find out.

Twelve seconds to complete and total destruction.

C.A.R.: Good morning, boss. Miss me?

C.A.R., is that you?

C.A.R.: Of course, I wasn't going to let you have this much fun without me.

-Six seconds. -Hit it.

B-12: Four seconds. Three seconds.

Two seconds. One second.

Zero!

(EXPLOSION)

Hold on, everyone.

Point your ships away from the blast.

Try to ride the shockwave.

Don't tell me what to do, you...

I'm doing it. I'm doing it.

C.A.R.: Surface contact in five meters.

Everyone, brace for landing.

PETER: Fire retro.

We're coming in fast!

-Too fast. -Hold on.

(ALL SCREAMING)

DASTARDLY: Muttley, did we make it?

(MUTTLEY MUMBLES)

Each of the ships contains a custom environmental suit and comm system.

Who wants to take a look around?

Mars, pretty.

It sure is, darlin'.

Just imagine, we're the only living things for millions of miles.

(SPACESHIP WHIRRING)

You're late.

(EXCLAIMS)

Razzle, frazzle. Razzle, frazzle.

Oh, um, hello. Who might you be?

I am Grazagonort,

all-conquering High Coordinator of the Fifth Galactic Spiral.

And you are the universally famous Wacky Racers

here to race my son Phlem.

Greet the talking monkey things, Phlem.

(ALL GASP)

Hello.

Nice day for a walk.

(CHUCKLING)

So, how was your journey?

-(MEOWING) -Would you care for a Martian snack?

Uh, no thank you, darlin'.

-Ew. -Sandwich bad.

Mmm. Um, maybe later.

-Suit yourself. -(MEOWS)

Anyway, Phlem wants to be a famous galactic racer.

(CHUCKLING)

He's a bit of a sponge brain, if you know what I mean.

So, I arranged a nice easy race to get his career started.

Once around the planet.

You all against him.

And the loser gets shot into a black hole.

Absolutely not.

The monkey things don't want to race, daddykins.

Nothing personal, but we'd rather not.

Fine, then we'll just destroy your planet and leave.

-(BEEPS) -(MECHANICAL WHIRRING)

(ELECTRICITY CRACKLING)

So, race or planet go boom?

I'm good either way.

-Then I guess we're racin'. -(CATS MEOWING)

Hey, hey, space race fans.

-Welcome to the start of an exciting race... -(TEETH CHATTERING)

...with the fate of the entire Earth in the balance.

Cool, huh?

On your mark.

Hey, he started before "go".

What? You don't start when someone says "on your mark"?

How primitive.

-(COUGHING) -(MEOWING)

Sorry, Phlem, old boy, but I think Team Wacky is bringing home the gold today.

Phlem, what's taking so long?

Oh, daddykins. The monkeys are getting the best of me, I'm afraid.

We'll just see about that.

-(SLURPING) -(MEOWING)

(BEEPING)

Wow, this Mars atmosphere is doing wonders for my skin.

DASTARDLY: What? Perfect, how dare you, you cosmic klutz!

Hey, what's happenin'?

C.A.R.: We've been enveloped in an inertia-dampening transport field.

We're trapped like bats.

And it looks like most of the Wacky Team is out of the race.

And racer Phlem is back in the lead.

B-12: The race is now headed into the magnificent

Valles Marineris.

I'll show that alien amateur

who's the champion cheater around here.

Muttley, deploy the net.

(SNICKERING)

(RUMBLING)

By golly, if I'm going to save the Earth,

I might as well look good doing it.

PETER: Uh-oh. Whoops.

Oh, drat.

And it looks like another racer is out of the competion.

(BEEPING)

(ALL SCREAMING)

Thanks, daddykins.

Yeah, yeah. Just win this thing and let's get home.

(SLURPS)

I'm never going to get the smell of monkey out of the upholstery.

Peter, old boy, looks like it's all up to you.

Wow, bad day for Earth.

Oh, I don't think so.

(BEEPING)

(PETER GRUNTING)

Pretty good, earthling.

But avoiding the beams is keeping you from beating Phlem

and the finish line is just ahead.

Oh, goody-goody space drops.

-I'm going to win. -(PETER SCREAMING)

Hello, fame and fortune.

Adios Earth.

Yes?

Hi, B-12 broadcasting live commentary on the race here.

I was wondering if I could get an interview with you before you win the race

and doom all the people of Earth?

Oh, I don't know. I'm kind of busy.

Just a few words for your many fans out there.

Fans?

-I have fans? -Of course you do.

You can do conventions.

Really?

Well, maybe just a quick interview.

Great. Now, if you wouldn't mind turning off the engine

so we can hear you better.

Oh, sure.

(SHIP SCREECHES)

Phlem, what are you doing?

And Peter Perfect wins the race.

Saving planet Earth.

Phlem!

Uh-oh, I think I made a boo-boo.

Okay, you guys win.

I won't destroy Earth.

I'll just shoot Phlem off into a black hole and go home.

Boy, his mother is going to be so mad at me.

Wait, if you would give us all a ride home,

we'd be willing to call the race a draw.

Then nobody has to be shot into anything.

Oh, all right.

At least it'll keep your mother from giving me the evil eye.

All three of them.

Come on, let's get going.

Well, all's well that ends well.

Thanks, daddykins.

-Phlem, no. -(BEEPS)

-(ALL GASP) -(MEOWS)

-(GROANS) Drats, drats... -(SNICKERING)

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