Original subtitles

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

(SNICKERING)

(PETER YELLING)

COMPUTER: Ship will collide with planetary-sized object in 30 seconds.

Kiss what you miss goodbye.

-(ALARM BLARING) -Help me!

Why don't these space buttons ever have labels?

I don't even know what these buttons do.

(COMPUTER READING)

-Tickles. -(ZAPPING)

(GROANING)

Ooh, Tiny pretty.

COMPUTER: Ship will impact in 15 seconds.

What in the doo-dah day is going on up here?

I pressed a button that makes the computer say this.

COMPUTER: Planetary impact in 10 seconds.

(YELLS) Abandon ship!

Well, don't panic, we can fix this.

I'm the captain around here

and I say when it's time to panic.

Follow me!

(EXCLAIMING NERVOUSLY)

Forgot we're in space.

(ALARM BLARING)

Do I look puffy to you?

COMPUTER: Planetary impact in five seconds.

Okay, now panic.

(ALL SCREAMING)

Let me guess. Computer glitch?

ALL: Yes!

Good thing you called I.T.

Let's see. Destruct. Destruct.

Super destruct.

Fly into a planet destruct. No.

Screaming, burning, painful destruct.

-Ah! The stop button. -(BEEPS)

(SPACESHIP SCREECHES)

(ALL SCREAMING)

Hello, Peter.

Doing your usual bang-up job, I see.

P.T., are you calling to tell us

the Intergalactic Council has accepted our application to be space racers?

Peter, this is the future.

Human beings are too evolved for primitive activities like racing,

-watching TV, -(BEEPS)

and Free Bagel Fridays.

But racing, that's fun, exciting--

No racing.

-But---You pick up space garbage for a space living.

And if you don't finish your route on time today,

you and your little team are fired.

Space storm out.

All right, people, we've got a job to do.

Strap yourselves in.

Prepare for wacky speed!

(FARTS)

(SPACESHIP BEEPING)

No more buttons for you today, Petey.

Oh, please, just one.

-Here's a nice shiny one. -(BEEPS)

(EXCLAIMING)

I got it.

(EXCLAIMING CONTINUES)

DASTARDLY: Today is a special day,

for after a year of patient planning and waiting,

evil will finally get its reward.

It is time for my birthday party!

-(ALL CHEERING) -(BLOWS HORN)

(SNICKERING)

Of course, no birthday is complete without gifts.

-Did you get him anything? -Uh-huh.

No gifts?

Well, good thing I got myself a little something special.

I call that my "Never ever forget my birthday again smashy thing."

-Like it? -Yes, yes, yes.

Oh, and I got myself this, too.

"To the best, greatest--" Oh, how nice.

"Most handsome--" (CHUCKLES) So sweet.

(EXCLAIMS)

It's an Ultimatronic Positron Accelerator!

It's just what I always wanted.

However did I know?

What does it do?

Oh, I'm glad you asked.

I stole this device from the vaunted vaults

of the galactic gathering of goodniks, goody two-shoes

and party poopers.

Because the Ultimatronic Positron Accelerator

has the power to create an unstoppable army of balloon space warriors.

Balloon warriors?

-Yes, and they come in many evil shapes. -(ZAPPING)

DASTARDLY: With them, I shall at last

conquer the pointy planet of prickly porcupines,

-deep within the Needle Nebula. -(CHITTERING)

Now my unstoppable march of conquest can commence.

Right after I finish my cake.

Ooh, anchovy frosting, my favorite.

-That is not a good plan. -(MUTTLEY GRUNTS)

-(RUMBLING) -What's going on?

The shaking is being caused by the trash pickup service.

Tuesday morning already?

Did anyone rember to take out the recycling?

(EXCLAIMS, GROANS)

I.T., begin trash pickup.

Yes, sir.

Great Volganian galactic toads.

What are they doing?

Picking up the garbage.

Very badly.

(ALL GRUNT)

Ye gads!

My accelerator went down the garbage chute!

What are you goofy gizmos waiting for?

Go get it!

Worst birthday ever.

I want my accelerator back.

Engage double wacky warp speed.

(ENGINE ROARS)

(LAUGHING)

(EXCLAIMING)

(SNICKERING)

All right, you useless utensils.

Let's make this short and sweet.

Oh, drat, it's locked.

Need a hand?

Back off, you lumbering lummox.

-I've got this. -COMPUTER: Yes?

Ah, yes, this is the famous galactic space hero, Space Ghost,

and that weird monkey he hangs out with.

We are selling spacegirl cookies.

-May we come in? -COMPUTER: What kind?

COMPUTER: It's not the mint ones, is it?

No, no, it's the chocolate ones,

with the caramel and space conut

and little crunchy things.

Anchovies, I think.

COMPUTER: Oh, those are my jam. Okay, come in.

Now, procure me my Ultimatronic Positron Accelerator, post haste!

PENELOPE: Approaching the trash planet, Captain.

PETER: Bring us out of wacky warp.

Prepare to complete our mission.

Well done, crew. We're as good as finished.

Why are there people digging around in our garbage?

Hide and seek?

I found it!

The universe is mine!

Pardon me.

I hate to make a mountain out of a refuse hill,

but that's our trash you've got there.

Oh, silly me.

My gracious! Look!

A UFO!

-Oh! -(GASPS)

Whoa--

Not you, you half-witted hench-hound.

Peter, that man just stole our trash.

We've got to get that garbage.

No, no, wait.

(GROANING)

I really hate my job.

PENELOPE: Ugh! Something licked me.

Faster! Faster, my stalwart steward!

(PANTING)

Can't your feet fluctuate any faster, you lackluster layabout?

-(YELLS) -(MUTTLEY GRUNTING)

(DASTARDLY EXCLAIMS)

Hi, Dastarius.

Make yourself useful,

you capriciously cacophonous collection of calamitous claptrap.

Catch!

I caught it! I caught it!

Now, what do I do?

You move your motorized mass, you manically merry mandroid.

Lucky for you, I was raised by a refrigerator

who never stopped running.

Robot humor. (LAUGHS)

That metal man is getting away with our trash.

Someone, give me your laser pistol.

Trash collectors don't carry laser pistols.

Well, I'm out of ideas.

I think I have one.

-(WHISPERING) -Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Ooh.

Fire away.

-(TINY GRUNTS) -(PENELOPE EXCLAIMS)

Hurry up, y'all! He's getting away!

(GRUNTS)

(PETER EXCLAIMS)

But who will throw Tiny?

Ah, he'll throw himself.

-Nice. -(PETER GROANS)

-(PETER YELLS) -(THUDS)

Can we talk this over?

I don't wanna hear any of your clever trash talk.

Give me back my garbage.

DASTARDLY: Back off, trashman.

Henchbot, throw me what is mine.

(SNICKERING)

Okay, here I come.

I really should have seen that coming. (YELLS)

He's getting away with our worthless piece of garbage.

Wow, I can't believe I actually care about that.

Hurry! Back to the ship.

PENELOPE: This is more like it.

-Everybody ready? -ALL: Ready.

PETER: This is great. It's almost like racing.

Except for the garbage.

DASTARDLY: They're gaing on us.

-Drat. -I.Q.: Oh, dear.

This looks dangerous.

Danger is my middle name.

Peter Francis Eugene Aloysius Perfect.

Huh. Could have sworn there was a "Danger" in there somewhere.

Why are you chasing me?

It's just a little piece of worthless garbage.

As far as you know.

Because we've got a galaxy to clean up.

Really?

Because it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Are you just going to spout heroic cliches at me?

Well, it's actually because our boss scares the space willies out of me.

ALL: Yeah!

Lady scary.

Well, tough asteroids.

You'll never catch me, you chunk-headed chasers.

(ALL SCREAMING)

(PENELOPE WHOOPS)

-PETER: Yipes! -That was too close.

That really got my blood pumping.

See.

Fun.

Lesson to be learned, you lethargic lunkheads.

Always keep your eyes on the road

during the inevitable third act chase scene

at the end of every predictable action show.

Not now, Muttley. I'm elucidating--

Oh, space drat.

(LAUGHS)

(ALL CLAMORING)

Trash delivery complete.

Looks like we finished our little old job after all.

Well done, valiant crew.

I know you'd all like to thank me personally,

but first I have a long speech prepared.

"I was born some time ago in the future and--"

Hi, everybody.

Did I miss anything?

You may have completed your mission,

but it's the last thing you'll ever finish.

Behold the power of the Ultimatronic Positron Accelerator!

-(LAUGHS EVILLY) -(SNICKERING)

Um... Never mind.

-PENELOPE: Uh-oh. -We're in trouble.

(BEEPS)

(DEVICE PLAYING "HAPPY BIRTHDAY")

(COMPUTER READING)

The council of goodniks, goody two-shoes and party poopers

has a present for you.

Well, isn't that thoughtful?

(EXPLODES)

Wait. What happened?

I surmise you were tricked

into imprisoning yourself, Mr. Dastarius.

I imagine the space police are on their way to take you to space jail.

Drat. (EXCLAIMS)

And when they do, they'll have Captain Peter Perfectonator

and his valiant space crew to thank.

From this day forth,

our lives will be filled with nothing

but adventure and excitement.

What are y'all doing just standing around in heroic poses?

You have another garbage delivery to pick up.

Now get going.

(ALL CHATTERING)

PETER: Come on. We still smell like garbage.

(ALL CHATTERING)

(SNICKERING)

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