All language subtitles for A.T.S02E03.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-NPMS_track3_[eng]

[ orchestral music plays ]

[ announcer speaks ]

[ arrows whizzing ]

Skip:
I don't know.
I can't believe it.

He's usually on time.

He's never late, really.

I don't understand what
could possibly be--

Rick:
W-w-where is he?

He's hardly ever late.

Don't sweat it.
We've got plenty of time.

40 seconds to air.

That's plenty of time?

Sorry.
The freeway was jammed.

Which one are we
doing today?

Rick:
"The Elves
and the Shoemaker."

What? We can't do
the shoemaker thing.

Skip:
You've got a problem
with that?

My feet.
Pan down to my feet.

Has anyone taken the time
to realize

that no one wears shoes
around here?

Rick:
We're just taking a little
creative license.

Chill out.

But what about
my love interest?

Where are
the gorgeous babes?

Skip:
Not this time.

30 seconds to air.

But I want gobs
of gals.

I have a contract,
you know.

There must be some
sort of clause.

Oof!

It's got to be in here
someplace.

On air in five,

four, three, two...

- [ glass shatters ]
- Howdy.

Today we're doing
a great "ALF Tale"

called "The Elves
and the Shoemaker."

It's got thrills.
It's got action.

It's got adventure.
And most importantly,

it's got a bevy of voluptuous
honeys for yours truly.

Punch it.

The story begins
many years ago

in the tiny borough
of Birkenstock

on Melmac's
lower east side.

On East 2nd Street stood
a small shoe store.

The store's owners

were the once master shoemaker
Donald Tramp

and his lovely wife Imelda.

This is where
I draw the line.

Get my agent
on the phone.

Ouch!

[ stammering ]

I mean,
dinner's almost ready,

my darling
yet penniless husband.

I'll be there
after I finish

cutting this
shoe leather, sweetums.

Sweetums?

I've never been
so embarrassed in all my life.

Gordon:
Yes, they were poorer
than dirt,

but they were madly
in love with each other.

Little did the shoemaker
and his wife know,

but their luck
was about to change.

So here's the deal.
If you want to continue
as professional elves

this is the last step
before you're out the door.

[ stammering ]
Oh, boy.

Does this mean we get
to work for Santa?

No, this means
you get one more chance

to prove yourselves
or you're living
on the street.

B-bummer.

There's a modest
neighborhood shoe store

that's about to go under.

Go fix the problem
so the humble shoe maker

and his lovely wife
can be happy.

Here is the address,
Norman Rae.

Report back to me
when the job's done.

Clowns.

Gordon:
That night, the two elves
broke in--

uh, gained access
to the shoemaker's store.

[ grunts ]

Once inside--

and might I add
that it's about time--

once inside,
the two elves

busied themselves
immediately

making a splendid
pair of shoes.

Oh, Imelda,

my little morning dove,

can you come in here
for a second?

[ clamoring ]

Give me a minute,
will ya?

Do you know anything

about these
beautiful shoes,

my little creampuff?

Creampuff?

That's it.
I'm out of here.

Hey, chill out.

We're doing a show here.

Get into it.

I mean,

I know nothing about
these beautiful shoes.

Oof!

[ tires squealing ]

I'm an incredibly
rich woman

who is looking for a gift

for my incredibly
rich husband.

How much for the shoes?

[ stammering ]

$42.50.

Being incredibly wealthy,

I wanted to spend
a far greater sum

on my incredibly rich
husband.

I'll give you 500 bucks
for them.

[ gasps ]

With enough of those shoes,
I could rule the world.

We'll own the planet!

So you've got to send
some more elves

to help us.
We're burnt out.

A-and this Tramp guy
is g-getting g-greedy.

Look at the bright side.

More entry-level positions
for recent elf graduates.

I'll make
a few phone calls.

Gordon:
Norman Rae and Ike
came back the next night

to make more
beautiful shoes.

Soon, thanks to hordes
of professional elves,

Tramp's little shop
sold the finest shoes
in the world.

With his new riches,

Donald Tramp began
buying real estate

and airline shuttles.

Soon he was the richest man
in the land.

And still he wanted more.

Tramp:
Attention, workers:

This is to inform you
that your eight-hour workday

is now 14 hours.

Keep those shoes coming.

Time is a-wasting, people.

Let's be productive.

A wealthy boss
is a happy boss.

I can't take
this anymore.

M-me n-neither.

[ powers down ]

Tramp:
Attention, workers:
To save money,

there will no longer be
a working air conditioner.

Think cool thoughts
and buckle down.

That does it.
I'm walking out.

I can't take it anymore.

- W-what?
- I'm on strike.
Are you with me?

Sure, Norman Rae.
I'm with you.

All right, go get him,
Norman Rae.

That's the greatest
thing I ever heard.

Strike! Strike!
Strike!

Hey, where do you think
you're going?

You can't just walk out.

If you don't come back
immediately,

you're all fired!

Gordon:
And so the workers
went out on strike.

This is where I come in.

[ engine revs ]

[ tires squealing ]

Good morning,
Mr. Shumway.

That's me.

Trillionaire Donald Tramp

started as a small
businessman

a few short years ago.

Now he is the head
of Tramp Enterprises

along with his
lovely wife Imelda.

Gordon:
Lovely? Gack!

- She's a bowzoid.
- [ blows raspberry ]

Donald Tramp's workers
have just gone on strike

stating that he
is a tyrant to work for,
among other things.

Your mission, should you
decide to accept it,

is to settle the strike
in an impartial way.

As always,
if you are caught

and beaten with a sack
of sheep-dip, tough luck.

This tape will self-destruct
in eight seconds.

Be kind.
Please rewind.

[ static ]

[ lamp shatters ]

I told those guys
eight seconds wasn't
long enough.

[ groans ]

[ grunts ]

[ muttering ]

[ engine revving ]

- [ tires squeal ]
- Whoa!

What are you doing
with that thing?

Careful.

Who's in charge here?

I am.
My name is Norman Rae.

I guess I was the one
who got these guys to walk out.

Norman! Norman!

The name's Shumway.
Gordon Shumway.

What seems to be
the problem here?

Our boss is a tyrant.

- Yeah!
- That guy's a tyrant!

He treats us
like slaves.

Makes us work long hours
with no air conditioning.

Only gives us
10 minutes for lunch.

Tramp is icky!
Tramp is bad!

Norman Rae
is rad, rad, rad!

Catchy little tune.
I'll give it a nine.

It's got a good beat
and I can dance to it.

Go back to picketing.
Go back to picketing.

Tell the world
of our problem.

I'll talk to this man.
I trust him.

It's my face.
Mom says it's
a trusting face.

Tramp is stinky!

Tramp's a dope!

We'll wear him down,
we hope, hope, hope!

They should have quit
while they were ahead.

So what's your first step?

I'm gonna go in
and talk to Tramp.

But first I'll need to see
a list of your demands.

Hit it, dude.

O-our demands
are as follows--

A 10% incentive
for working third s-shift.

Why don't you just demand
first shift?

We only work at night.

Y-yeah.
W-we're professional elves.

Then why are you picketing
in the daylight?

W-we're m-moonlighting.

That doesn't bode well
for your primetime future.

We also want a c-comprehensive
dental plan,

North Pole vacations,
shoe curling irons,

and a television
so we can watch our two
favorite g-game shows.

Which are?

"Wheel of Cheese."

And "Bowling for Lard."

I hope you're not
gonna hold me to that one.

- We are.
- We are.

Figures.
Is that all
of your demands?

- Yup.
- I won't make
any promises,

but I'll give it a shot.

[ protestors muttering ]

Excuse me, sir,
but these boxes

are too heavy to carry
all at once.

Please, can't I take
smaller stacks?

Stop whining, Mom,

or I'll send you back
to the trucking department.

Norman Rae,
he's our guy!

Spit in Donald Tramp's
left eye!

Hustle, Dad.
Don't be a loser
all your life.

I'd like to talk to you
about those workers outside.

These are my new workers.

But they're scabs.

Workers:
Excuse us for living.

I'm from the Impartial
Mediators Foundation,
Mr. Tramp.

I'd like to know your
response to the charges

made by your
striking workers.

Whoa!

Oof!

So, how'd things
go in there?

[ revving motor ]

[ tires squeal ]

If you can't keep up with
the conveyor, Grandma,

at least help
load the trucks.

What is it,

my little
passionflower?

That does it.
I'm suing the writers.

Stick to the script.

I-I mean,

there seems to be
a problem, sweetie.

Your uncle screwed up
the dye mix

and the shoes are coming out,
shall we say, unique.

Huh?
Oh, just handle it.

Yes, my darling husband.
You heel.

The gig is up,
Donald Tramp.

Now you've got
to listen to me.

The strikers' demands
are a comprehensive
dental plan,

North Pole vacations...

I-I w-wonder where
Mr. Shumway is.

I think it was the demand
for the TV.

Oof!

Look, just cut out
the sweetums garbage
and follow me.

We've got a real problem,
you clodhopper.

Aah!

Way to go, Filbert.

Turn the machine off,
you idio--

[ crying ]

I tried that, pinhead.

The button's stuck.

Then unplug it,
baby doll.

It's wired directly
into the main breakers.

What's your next
brilliant idea,
you weasel?

Go down the line and tell
my family to slow up,

my little cupcake.

What, are your laces
tied too tight?

It seems
the machine dyes

173,000 pairs
of shoes at a time

and it's fully loaded,
you flip-flop.

[ both scream ]

The professional elves,

they'll know
how to fix this.

They'll know...
[ coughs ]

what to do.

Donald Tramp,
he's a clown!

Throw him in a pond
to drown!

My people are revolting.

Well, none of them are
especially good-looking,

but revolting?
I don't think you have
to go that far.

- No, I meant that--
- Forget what you mean.

Here's my next plan.

I jump off of the building
across the street,

spreading my bat-like wings.

I soar down
to the front doors.

You guys
will be standing here
holding the doors like--

whoa!

[ both gasp ]

[ whimpering ]

Please, you've got
to help me.

The shoes are running amok.

We want a labor
meeting today.

Fine, just get me
out of this mess.

- Yikes!
- Ow, ow, ow, ow!

Yikes!

Now that the introductions
are out of the way,

let's start with an opening
statement from Arnie Reebok.

He's representing
the striking workers.
Mr. Reebok?

Thank you.
Ahem.

The employees
and the impartial mediator

here and after ipso facto
as per aforementioned

decline to reiterate
pursuant to the undersigned.

And that goes
double for me.

Uh, yes.
Very well said, Mr. Reebok.

Gordon:
Let us proceed by hearing
an opening statement

- by Donald Tramp's lawyer,
Mr. Douglas Hushpuppy.
- [ siren blaring ]

Just to add to what opposing
counsel so eloquently stated,

yet due to the purpose
of habeas corpus writ,

the pending receipt
of the attached

decline and refuse with
an acknowledged inquiry--

Enough already!

Can we lose these clowns?

Okay with me.

[ both scream ]

Now, what's it
going to take

to get you back to work
so you can fix my little
predicament?

I-I think you'll need
a s-surgeon for that.

Can we get on
with this meeting?

The only reason
we're here

is because you
ran into trouble.

Everything is always
on your terms.

My terms?
I made you!

You were nothing
before we came into
the picture.

Nothing?

I was a master craftsman!

Who couldn't sell a pair
of shoes to save your life.

- Gentlemen!
- [ gunshot ]

Seeing as we are about to be
overrun by polka-dot shoes,

and considering this episode
ends in a couple of minutes,

can't we try
and wrap this up and stop
the strikers' demands?

Look, I don't care
what it takes.

Just stop those shoes
and I'll sign anything you want.

Is that okay
with everyone?

- Fine by me.
- I like it.

Good, then it's
a done deal.

Now can you turn off
those blasted machines?

Hurry up

while we still have part
of a building left.

Go to it, my man.

That's it?

That's it.
Now let's go
sign some papers.

What papers?

You go tell
those losers outside

to get their faces
back in here and start
cleaning up these shoes.

They'll be working
double time until
they're finished.

B-but what about
our agreement?

Get a life, grinny.
We had no agree--

Imelda:
♪ My feet come alive
'cause I'm so darn graceful ♪

♪ I feel I can dance
for a million years. ♪

Honeybuns.

- That's your wife?
- Yes.

Why, she's beautiful
in those low-heeled pumps.

They add just the right
amount of height.

Yes, I am.

What's come over you,
my little sugar lips?

Knock off the sweet talk,
polish breath.

I'm happy now.

These are the most
comfortable, flattering
shoes I've ever worn.

I'm buying them all.

Buying them all
with what?

With the money I get

from my half
of the business.

I'm leaving you,
Donald.

You'll hear
from my lawyer.

Leaving me?

But cinnamon crumb cake,

if you hated me so much,

why didn't you
leave before?

How far would I have
gotten in spike heels,

bunion breath?

[ gasps ]

I-isn't this b-beautiful?

Are you Donald Tramp?

Yes.
May I help you, Officers?

And are those shoes outside
from your factory?

Oh, well, yes, they are.
I mean, they were.

Mr. Tramp, I'm arresting
you for littering,

creating a public
safety hazard,

and neglecting
to floss this morning.
Please come with me.

You can't do this to me!

I was framed!
Yeah, that's it.
It was the elves.

I'm a taxpaying citizen!

Help!

Well, we have you to thank
for this, Mr. Shumway.

It's all up
to you guys now.

Good luck with
the shoe business.

Oh, and we'll need a convoy
for these shoes.

Let's blow this
pop shop, babe.

[ cheering ]

Gordon Shumway!
Gordon Shumway!

He solves problems,
not in a dumb way!

Don't give up
the night job.

Hah! I kill me.

Told you I'd work in
a beautiful babe.

[ tires squeal ]

- ♪ Gordon, send us...
- ♪ Oh, send us...

♪ Into outer space

♪ 'Cause there ain't
nobody like you ♪

♪ In the Melmacian race

♪ Teach us, Gordon

♪ Make us twitch.

Hah!
I kill me!