Original subtitles

Fuck you, Vegas.

Man, I really like Vegas.

♪ Bright light city gonna set my soul ♪

♪ Gonna set my soul on fire ♪

♪ Got a whole lot of money That's ready to burn ♪

♪ So get those stakes up higher ♪

♪ There's a thousand pretty women Waiting out there ♪

♪ They're all living the devil-may-care ♪

♪ And I'm just the devil With love to spare ♪

♪ So viva, Las Vegas ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas ♪

♪ How I wish that there were more Than the 24 hours in the day ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas ♪

You're a killing machine.

Now do what you were trained to do.

You're a killing machine. Now do what you were trained to do.

♪ Viva, viva ♪

♪ Las Vegas ♪

- What a show! - Oh my God!

That was amazing, Elvis!

Elvis, not bad for a white boy.

Oh, you know it, Redd.

Groovy, baby.

Love the kung fu.

Yeah, Sammy.

Heh, careful of those hips, King.

You'll put an eye out. And Sammy only has one left.

Hey, thank you, guys. Thanks for coming.

Well, hey, 'Cilla. You made it.

Great show, Satnin. I loved it.

And love you.

The karate was different.

Yeah, sorry about that, Ronnie.

All good.

Walk it off, big guy.

He's gonna be okay, right?

Oh shit, yeah. Ronnie's a pro.

So, what the hell's going on inside that head of yours?

- Ah! - Okay, full disclosure:

slept through most of the show, but loved where you freaked the fuck out.

Jesus! You again?

How the hell did you get in here past security?

Those are your security guys?

Huh. Adorable.

Oh relax. They're still alive, probably.

What are you doing here?

Only the most insanely boring job ever: errand girl.

I'm taking you to meet my boss.

Your boss?

Now why in the hell would I do that? Who do you even work for?

Not authorized to tell you that, but he is dying to meet you.

Yeah, I get that a lot.

I'm not interested.

Hey, you owe me for saving your butt at that Manson thing.

Ha! More like the other way around, friend.

Hey, lady, you can't...

Fuck!

You score me one of those zapper guns, and I'll meet your boss.

- Done. - Never caught your name, by the way.

- It's CeCe with an E. - As opposed to?

An I, which is how you'd spell it if you were a coked-up stripper like my mom,

which I am not, thank you, so I spell it with an E.

Already bored.

So, where are we going again?

- Don't worry about it. - And we're meeting who now?

Don't worry about it.

And we're leaving Scatter here by himself?

Now that we may want to worry about.

Back in a couple hours, Scatter.

Stay in the room.

No chicks, no booze, no bullshit. You hear me?

♪ Hello, I love you Won't you tell me your name... ♪

Hey, baby. What took you so long?

♪ Hello, I love you Won't you tell me your name? ♪

♪ Hello, I love you Let me jump in your game ♪

Turn that psychedelic drug shit off.

Over my dead body.

And by mine, I mean yours.

Jim Morrison is an actual god.

Like one of the hot Greek ones.

♪ Do you think you'll be the guy ♪

♪ To make the queen of the angels sigh? ♪

Oh brother.

No pets, ma'am. Sorry.

The monkey's gotta go.

Technically, chimpanzees are apes.

See?

I don't care what it is. Just get it out of here.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's not a monkey.

That's Mr. Presley's monkey.

My apologies. Anything you need, just ask.

We'll charge it to Mr. Presley's room.

Holy shit.

Would you look at that, E?

- What is this place? - It doesn't have a name,

or even exist, technically.

Got it. More of that top-secret bullshit you've been selling.

I'll take that zapper gun now, by the way.

Now careful with this thing. Let me walk you through it.

Safety off, set the charge and...

Yep. Think I got it.

- So, where's this boss of yours? - He'll be here any minute.

He's flying in from Monte Carlo, had to have a little chat with JFK.

Uh, JFK is dead. It was a goddamn national tragedy.

Oh.

That's right. He's, uh... He's "dead."

I keep forgetting that.

And you're saying he's not?

You shouldn't believe everything you see on TV.

Hey! Don't you dare ruin Hawaii Five-O for me, lady.

Kinda getting a little bored here, CeCe with an E.

All right. Wait, wait.

At least check out the plane first. My boss thinks you might like it.

We can go on that thing? Ha!

Well, hell! Lead with that next time.

Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, string bean.

This is classified.

And that goes for my purse too, so keep your weirdly small hands off.

Classified, my ass.

Besides, peeking ain't cheating.

And I thought my jet, the Lisa Marie, was tricked out. Ha!

Oh!

Who's this Lisa Marie? She sounds hot.

- My daughter. - Oh!

This guy named his daughter after his plane?

Weird priorities, but I love it.

Uh, just a heads-up, but you got a creepy homeless guy

pissing in a jar in the middle of your spy plane.

Creepy is correct, yes, but definitely not homeless.

Howard is a billionaire and a genius inventor.

- He works for us. - Howard Hughes. Nice to meet you.

Howard Hughes?

Hell, I'd heard you gone insane.

And I must say, based on your wall of piss over there,

I'm guessing I heard correctly.

You sound like all of my doctors.

Truth be told, I'm completely insane...

Wait a minute. I'm completely insane...

Wait, nope. That's not right.

I'm completely not insane.

Mm-hmm. Well, then what's with the jars?

No bathrooms on the plane?

It actually has six.

Three for number twos, two for number ones,

and one that's just full of jars.

This plane has everything.

It's even nuclear-powered.

I built a reactor in the back. Imagine it.

Never has to refuel.

A permanent TCB headquarters in the air, with six bathrooms.

TCB?

Yeah, pretend you didn't hear that.

Ooh! How about a tour? We can start at the cockpit.

It's the coolest part,

mostly 'cause of the word "cock."

Hey, anyone ever tell you you look like poor man's Elvis Presley?

Bulletproof.

No shit. I was rage shooting, dumbass, but we can't let them hijack this plane.

Well, unless you got spy lipstick that's secretly a blowtorch or something...

- Oh, fuck me! - What?

I left the blowtorch cigarettes in my purse.

Oh!

Now, where the hell are they going?

Hey!

You fellas have any idea...

where the back of your fucking heads went?

Well, this ain't good.

Hello, Louise.

Uh, let's do the math here.

Reinforced steel door versus little lady with a fire extinguisher.

My money's on the door.

Oh, hey there, chauvinism! Perfect timing, dick.

This is captain speaking.

So sorry if Elvis is all shaking up in his blue suede booties.

It's "shoes," dumbass.

Oh, there's your fan base right there: asshole bad guys.

I'm not gonna apologize for my universal appeal.

Sorry for this, but now is it time for you to be going to the heartburn hotel, eh?

Uh, okay, language barrier aside,

the takeaway here is Elvis fans are worldwide...

- Doyle. - Yes, Commander?

Is my watch running fast, Doyle?

- No, it is not, sir. - Didn't think so.

And CeCe was told to report to me, with Elvis,

promptly at the airfield at 0300 hours, correct?

- Indeed, sir. - And yet, somehow, they're not here.

Are they perhaps employing a cloaking device?

Uh, I'm sorry?

You know, a cloaking device.

Is it possible they're standing right here,

but they're invisible thanks to a new, experimental cloaking device

that has malfunctioned,

and they can't make themselves visible again?

Because that's literally the only explanation I can come up with.

Uh...

I do not believe we've invented

- a cloaking device, sir. - I didn't think so.

If we had, it'd be a very different world, wouldn't it, Doyle?

I could be standing right next to an attractive man in the restroom

to watch him urinate, and he wouldn't even know I'm there.

Now, I'm just picking something at random, of course.

Obviously, the possibilities are endless.

So, now I seem to have two reasons to be enraged.

There's no Elvis here,

and we are apparently way fucking behind on developing cloaking devices!

Remind me to let CeCe know she's now in a world of...

Shit!

Hey, hey, hey! Going my way?

Well, if your way is straight down to a splattery death,

then yes, as a matter of fact, I am.

Nobody's gonna be splattering anywhere.

Okay. Your cape, while very showy and vaguely feminine,

isn't gonna break our fall.

- You're right, but he will. - Who?

My boy, my boy.

Oh.

You are so my new favorite.

Whoo! Nice plane, Bobby.

- Yeah! Even has a cup holder. - Where the hell did you learn to fly?

Bobby Ray here can drive, fly, and ride just about anything.

I guess your little Memphis Mafia boys come in handy, don't they?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

No, Bobby Ray is not my Memphis Mafia.

- Hoping to get in one day though. - Uh, yeah.

Tell you what, how about we play it by ear there, buddy?

Yeah, okay, good.

And in the meantime, how about we follow that hijacked plane?

Not a problem.

Well, that doesn't sound good.

Don't worry. Bobby Ray can fix anything.

Hey, anybody got a shit-ton of gasoline?

Asking for a friend.

Yeah.

This is good, Bertie. This is real nice.

Yeah, I don't know if you know this,

but I was one of the first Black men to ever play Vegas.

I love this town. White folks here give me whatever I want,

mostly because they assume all Black people carry a knife.

They wrong.

I carry a pistol.

Oh, oh. Hey there. Excuse me. Yeah.

Could I get a virgin daiquiri with one of those adorable little umbrellas in it?

Oh, and three shots of tequila, and whatever Mr. Foxx here wants.

Sorry, ma'am, but your account has been flagged as over the limit.

I'm on the Elvis Presley account.

There is, by definition, no limit.

Apparently there is, and it's $302,000.

What the hell?

Did the Colonel gamble away all of this?

I believe it was another member of your party, a Mr. Scatter.

Oh. You mean the chimp I'm about to murder.

Easy.

Easy.

Easy.

- See? Easy... - Say "easy" again. I fucking dare you.

Easy, CeCe with an E.

Now, where the hell are we?

Hey there, what are you doing?

Trying to fix this thing.

It'll pick up the tracking device I left on the plane.

- You always carry one? - I like to know where things are.

Hijacked planes, ex-boyfriends,

my shitty dog, ex-boyfriend's even shittier dog.

Well, would you look at that? Ha!

I'm even on out here in the middle of nowhere.

Fitting, out here with all the other dusty antiques, gramps.

I'm 33.

Oh yikes.

Okay, look, your music's just not my thing. I'm sorry.

- That's literally not poss... - Give me that.

Here we go.

Can't get away from that damn song.

Uh-huh. That's because everybody loves them.

Kinda like your stuff way back when, like, during the Roaring '20s or whatever.

Wait, did they have radios back then?

My thoughts exactly.

Scatter, you damn fool.

How drunk are you?

Ah, ah.

Don't you dare pass out on me.

For all of your NASA training,

you sure as hell ain't no rocket scientist.

More like a furry fucking moron.

Get your nasty ass out of here.

Now, let's go win Elvis his money back.

Great, there goes the neighborhood.

Oh! Whoa, whoa, whoa.

So, we making this a Black thing now?

You playing, or you talking?

I'm gonna enjoy beating your cracker ass.

Deal.

Hey, hey, hey. Looks like Bobby Ray got the power on.

Oh, hey! Same here.

I think I got this thing working.

Oh, nice ride.

Oh, you ain't seen nothing. I souped this baby up.

- Doesn't actually make it go faster, but... - Hey, guys?

...worth it, though, because it makes it look shit-hot.

- Agreed. - Hey, guys.

This is weird. According to my tracker,

the plane's on the ground, and I mean like right over...

Oh fuck me.

- Did I get one? - Yep.

Wakey, wakey.

Hey, guys?

Hey, wake the fuck up!

Where are we?

Goddamn commies.

Probably halfway to Russia by now.

No, not Russia, Vegas. I heard them talking while you two were out cold.

You both snore like basset hounds with asthma, by the way.

Hold up. You speak Russki?

And eight other languages. Nine if a safe word in Portuguese counts.

But these guys switched to French when they saw me listening.

I don't think they're Russian agents at all.

They're something else altogether.

Why hijack a plane just to fly it back to Vegas?

Uh, simple. To vaporize it.

Okay.

I can see from the confused faces that I forgot to mention

that they made me turn the nuclear reactor in the plane into a nuclear bomb.

- You what? - "You what"?!

They had a gun to my head!

Nuke Vegas? Why?

I'm assuming so that they can wipe out that fuck Wayne Newton.

But it could also be

that they know TCB secretly runs all of Vegas as a revenue source.

Ew. Pretend you didn't hear that.

Oh my God.

Priscilla. She's still in Vegas.

Sorry, just, it's funny because technically, you know, not for long.

For the record, I told you building a nuclear plane was a terrible idea.

So? Everybody did!

You're not special!

Shut up!

What we need to do is get out of these chains now.

That I can do.

I just need a little help getting my dick out.

A little help getting a what now out?

Okay, hmm. I guess I'm going to have to tell this story.

So, I injected myself with radiation years ago.

- Why? - Well, in my defense,

turns out the Spider-Man origin story is complete bullshit.

Which you did not know at the time?

How could I?

It's a total con job.

No kick-ass spiderwebs, can't climb walls for shit.

All I got was razor-sharp fingernails you can't cut,

and urine that's basically acid,

which is why I use the jars: to save the plumbing.

So, uh, which one of you is going to aim it for me?

Goddamn, it sucks up here.

See? I used to play in our church basement with folks from the congregation.

Just for toothpicks, of course.

Eventually, I talked them into playing a money game though.

And now? I own the church.

Dealer busts.

Like taking candy from a baby.

Well, assuming babies can be asshole, racist blackjack dealers.

Ha!

Yeah, that's right. You better walk away!

Was tired of winning money from him anyhow.

Oh come on.

He's not asking for a reach-around. Just aim the guy's dick.

Well, you work with the guy.

Yeah, that is textbook workplace-inappropriate.

Fine. Bobby Ray, you're up.

You got it, E. Wait, what now?

Hero time, buddy. Time to buck up. You were made to do this. Know that.

But mostly, you do it so I don't have to.

Can we hurry this up? Because we've got company.

Oh! Cold hands! Cold hands!

Stop fucking around, damn it!

Hey, hey, hey! Drop the penis.

Now, you guys can disarm that bomb, yeah?

- Not a problem. - Highly doubt it.

Ah, so what you're saying is,

if we simultaneously cut the lead to redirect the primer charge,

we can decouple the detonator.

Whoa, you're like some kind of hillbilly genius.

Something like that.

- Now, where's that no-matter-what wire? - The what now?

On every bomb, there's a wire you don't touch, no matter what.

My Uncle Randy taught me that.

Those were his final words, actually.

Okay, and yours too if you idiots don't hurry the fuck up.

'Cause we are out of time.

♪ Viva, Las Vegas ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas With your neon flashing ♪

♪ And your one-arm bandits crashing ♪

♪ All those hopes down the drain ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas Turning day into nighttime ♪

♪ Turning night into daytime ♪

♪ If you see it once... ♪

Oh God... Get that Jim dog out of my face!

Oh man, if I had a nickel for every time Rita Hayworth said that,

I'd have 18 nickels.

♪ If it costs me my very last dime... ♪

Hang on to something!

♪ I'm gonna give it everything I've got ♪

♪ Lady luck Please let the dice stay hot ♪

♪ Let me shoot a seven with every shot... ♪

What was that about small girls with fire extinguishers?

♪ Viva, Las Vegas ♪

♪ Viva, Las Vegas... ♪

Oh, just had to be the no-matter-what wire, didn't it?

♪ Las Vegas ♪

Very impressive, my friends,

but unfortunately for you, I have locked the autopilot on Vegas.

So, guess this is goodbye.

For you, it'll be a little less conversation...

...and a little bit more radiation.

Okay, okay. I'll give you that one.

That was pretty good.

And that officially makes $302,000.

Bam!

Good. Going back to where you came from, hopefully.

Looks like I'm not done busting you up after all.

Like my sweet little nephew Wesley says...

always bet on Black.

Heads up!

Damn it, Howard. I needed that guy alive to question him.

Well, you should have said that!

Oh, and speaking of,

the disarming-the-bomb thing we were doing?

It didn't go "good."

We are totally fucked!

Shit! And the autopilot's locked and headed for Vegas.

Not anymore it isn't.

Everybody, grab on.

Okay, who's groping my ass?

Okay, who's not groping my ass?

Uh, probably the dead guy.

I'm actually not dead.

Just badly burnt.

Oh! Oh Christ. Oh God, it's like talking to a meat loaf.

No, I big fan. Number one Elvis.

That's why I do quotes.

You inspire me.

- Uh, thank you? - Yeah, that's great. Who do you work for?

You know, maybe this is sign.

I should make changes in life, you know?

Join the carpool, get normal job, eh?

Oh, yeah. Yay for pretty pictures. Who the fuck do you work for?

Okay, okay. It's too many secrets.

Doesn't matter, so I tell you.

I work for...

Oh, well, that's just fucking great.

And thank the Lord for metaphors!

Your ass needs to see a doctor.

And I mean, like, a ton of 'em.

Ugh. And I'm totally fired, aren't I?

Oh yeah.

Fuck you, Vegas.

What... Howard? Is that you?

You idiots know each other?

Oh yeah.

Melvin found me on the side of the road a few years ago

and gave me a ride into town,

so I'm leaving him all my money when I die.

Uh, just for giving you a ride?

Wait, what do I get for the handy?

Just take me to my hotel, will you?

Yeah, absolutely.

Any chance we could swing by and meet my boss first?

No, I'm done with you people.

- Well, but... - Done.

How about some tunes then?

♪ Hello ♪

Oh, fucking Vegas.

♪ Hello ♪

♪ Hello ♪

♪ Hello ♪