All language subtitles for Freaky Stories - 2x04 - Stolen Lunchbox Front Row Seats The Vanishing Dead Man Walking_Legendas01.ENG

¶¶¶

Yeah.

Thank you for joining us for
this very special episode of

Freaky Stories.

Huh.

Okay, okay, so every
episode is special.

But tonight we have a guest
expert who will explain the

reason for the
success of my show...

right after our
first Freaky Story.

Listen up.
This is a true story.

It happened to a friend
of a friend of mine...

[rapping:] Let me tell you the
story of Penny Penday.

The runty kinda kid
who always runs away.

Her mother
enrolled her in PS 32.

And from that day on the
other kids tried to get her

black and blue.

They thought
she's too skinny.

They thought she's too lame
They hated that her running

shoes didn't carry
some star's name.

Penny tried to
act real tiny.

She tried to disappear.

But there was this gang
of real mean girls

who liked to instill fear.

Teresa the Terror
was the leader's name.

She wore tight jeans and her
friends all did the same.

They hounded after Penny
both by day and by night.

Tripping her and pushing
her and giving her a fright.

Boys can be bad, but
girls are meaner still.

They held Pen by her ankles
out the Home Ec window sill.

They stalked her
in the bathroom.

Put her head in the sink.

They told her that
her perfume gave off

a rancid stink.

They were fixed.
To play some tricks.

And their make-up
was on double thick.

Penny was a baby.
And I don't mean maybe.

Her backbone it was
limp-noodle lazy.

She'd cower in the playground
hide behind the teach.

Teresa'd steal her lunch box
and hold it out of reach.

They stuffed
her in a locker,

they wedged her pantyhose.

Penny'd lie to her mom
when she got home

with a bloody nose.

Day after day, it
was all the same.

When she'd thought
they'd given up,

they'd find a
brand new game.

They'd laugh at her
in science class

and make her touch dead brains.

They dissed her and dissed
her till she thought

she'd go insane.

She was sad.
She was mad.

She wanted to get
back at them real bad.

She took Kwan Do.

Let her rage go.

She'd practice 24/7
now don't you know.

Now the city kids they
don't take no yellow bus.

They ride through the
tunnel like the rest of us.

Penny had to face
Teresa every day.

Riding the rails
on the big Line A.

T'rese and her girls would
cruise through all the cars.

Hassling passengers,
ignoring safety laws.

They wouldn't mind the gap,
they held the doors ajar.

If these femmes had
been Girl Scouts,

they'd never made it far.

They zoned in on Penny
like a heat seeking missile.

They jumped in her car
after the guard'd

blown his whistle.

Went straight up to her
and faced her nose to nose.

But I bet you can't guess
how the rest of this goes.

Teresa suddenly apologizes,

says what she's done's
not been fair.

'Cause it just ain't
right to mess with Pen

'cause she don't like her hair.

The guidance councilor'd got to

T'rese and
something'd just sunk in.

She was really very sorry now

and hoped they
could be friends.

Pen was shocked.
She wasn't mocked.

That she wasn't
suddenly put in a head-lock.

Theresa seemed sincere.

Then they were there.

Pen walked out on the
platform without fear.

But then she looked
back and saw what she saw.

Teresa hanging
with her lunch box,

a big smiling jaw.

The box Pen'd left
back on her subway seat.

The box she'd have to get
back with her Kwan Do feet.

'Cause Terese'd stole that
box so many times before

Penny started seeing red,
couldn't take it no more.

She would show that
sandwich thief

what a skinny runt can do,

When she's sick of going hungry
and been taught a move or two.

She said "Hey,
everybody clear the floor."

She was tough.
She was rough.

She showed
Teresa all her stuff.

She swung her leg.

She jumped up high.

Teresa gave her the box
'cause she was gonna cry.

Now you're
waiting for the moral,

seems like it
turned out right.

The bully gets her
just desserts

when Penny learned to fight.

But this just
ain't the ending.

There's
something more to go.

There's still a freaky bit,
hanging there down the road.

So Penny went to school
thinking she was

all that stuff.

She'd got her lunch box
back which was well enough.

She could hold
her head high now.

But grabbed a gulp of air
When she opened up the box,

saw her lunch wasn't there.

That wasn't her
ham sandwich.

She'd packed an egg on rye.

Then the truth started dawning
like a tale gone wrong.

This'd been Teresa's
lunch box all along.

Hers was on the counter where'd
she'd left it that AM.

In the kitchen she'd forgot
it munching toast and jam.

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

Here he is, the
noted psychiatrist,

Dr. Sigmund Von Maggot.

I meet some real
crazies in my work.

Now, tell us, Doctor, why
do you consider yourself

an expert on television?

Ven I Vas a
little schnitzel,

back in Dusseldorf, I
fell into an old TV set.

A gashtoonken bolt
of electricity

exploded through my body.

I got TV in my blood.

You ain't got no blood.

Here's a Freaky Story.

All right, this
is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine,

but I can't tell
you his name cause,

well you'll understand.

You see, he was a
real smart-aleck kid.

Let me give you an example.

One day, he swiped
a waiter's jacket,

put it on, and stood in
front of this swanky,

down town restaurant.

Brad made like he
was the parking valet.

Oops!
Forget I said his name.

Not aloud to do
that - regulations.

Right then, this hoity-toity
rich couple pulled up in

their fancy new convertible.

The lady was
dripping diamonds,

and hubby was
oozing big bucks.

And you-know-who, the kid,
was all smiling and making

like, good evening Sir, Ma'am.

Then he took the car
away, like as if to park it,

but the kid drove it
around the corner,

and guess what -
he just kept going!

So when the
couple came back out,

Brad, oop did it
again, anyway.

Brad was gone, and so
was the fancy new car.

The Misses was all in tears.

You see, they'd special
ordered the car to be the

exact same colour as
her favourite lipstick.

So she could be ah, colour
coordinated, right.

And the husband?

Well, he was
spewing smoke and fire,

because even to a
rich guy like him,

a car like that is
not small change.

So they called the police
and took a taxi home

from the restaurant.

And on the way, the wife was
whining about loosing her

special car.

The husband was
on his cell phone,

waking his insurance broker
to make sure he was all

covered, and wasn't
going to lose any money.

"Money", the wife said.

"Is that all you
care about - money!

I'll never get another car
that exact same colour!",

but the husband just said:
"Change your lipstick".

This was some
deep relationship.

Well, they were
pretty upset,

and they stayed pretty
upset for a couple of days

at least.

The wife was complaining,
and running all over town

trying out different
shades of lipstick.

The husband was grumbling,
every time he squeezed into

the little economy compact -
which was all the car rental

place had.

But just three
days later, there,

in his driveway, plain
as day - was the red

convertible.

And sitting in it,
putting on her lipstick,

was his wife.

She was all
smiling and happy,

saying how she came home
from the cosmetics store and

found the car
just sitting there.

And she showed her husband a
note she found in the car.

The note, which was written as
neat as Brad could make it,

said: "Sorry, I had
to borrow the car.

There was an emergency.

By using the car, I
was able to save a life.

Thanks."

And with the note, there
were two tickets to

"La Boheme", which is an opera
that the couple pretended

they were kinda crazy about,
because liking opera meant

they had culture.

The tickets were for
that very night -

front row seats.

You could
imagine how they felt.

The car was back
without a scratch,

they had two tickets to
this high-class opera,

and their car,
according to the note,

saved someone's life.

Now they could brag to all
their friends about how good

and caring they were,
and with culture to boot!

Well, they got dressed
to the nines -

tux, evening gown - the works!

They went to the opera in
their fancy red convertible.

If the story ended here,
it would be one of those:

"They lived happily
ever after" stories.

Which it isn't.

You see, after the
opera, they came home,

and to their surprise,
everything in their mansion

was gone.

I mean everything.

(SCREAMS)

Furniture, appliances,

linens, dishes, even
the burglar alarm.

Their big,
magnificent mansion,

was a big, empty mansion.

They would've
collapsed from shock,

but there was nothing for
them to collapse on to.

But, as upset and
depressed they were,

they had to admire
the crooks ingenuity.

These kids today.

Who says they
lack enterprise!

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

Yeah, his name is Brad.

And I've got him out of
the car parking and house

robbing business.

He's into lettuce - picking
it - for the next ten to

fifteen years, for me -
the warden on the youth

detention farm.

Welcome back to our
interview with Dr. Sigmund

Von Maggot.

Danke shein.

Now, tell us, Doctor, what
is the secret of the success

of Freaky Stories?

Maurice the maggot.

Vot a charmer, vot talent...

Excuse me while I go
and hurl my guts out.

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

Joe was a
travelling salesman.

His territory covered
most of the Omega Sector.

He used to drive around
hawking what he called

'quality merchandise'.

Dime store stuff.

Grav-jiggs and Time Coders.

Business was
pretty good for Joe.

He was a sharp dresser and
drove a shiny new sedan.

He liked the ladies.

And the ladies
liked him back.

One night, he finished his
last call at my shop and was

looking for a motel.

The rain was coming down in
buckets and as far as Joe

was concerned, any
flea-bag-joint-in-a-storm

would do.

Joe was hunched over
the steering wheel,

peering out as his
windshield wipers waged a

pitched battle with the
unrelenting sheets of rain.

It wasn't a night
fit for man nor 'bot.

That's when he saw her.

She was walking along the gravel
at the side of the road.

Drenched to the bone and
making a futile effort

to protect herself
from the weather.

Against his
better judgement,

Joe pulled up
along side of her.

He studded the window open.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

The girl kept walking.

Couldn't hear him
above the beating rain.

Joe stopped the
car and got out.

"It's a long way to
the next town, Miss.

The girl stopped,
then turned to face him.

She was young.

Couldn't have been
more than sixteen.

Wearing a light
summer frock and sandals.

No umbrella.

No rain coat.

Kids.
Hrmmp!

Out on a night like this.

The girl climbed into
the back of Joe's sedan.

As he started
the thrum- motors,

Joe glanced in the
rearview mirror.

He could see that
she was shivering.

Joe took off his overcoat
and passed it to her.

"Here.
You'd better wear this.

It'll keep you warm
'til you get home."

She slipped into the
coat, said "Thanks"

and sat staring out
into the rain.

"Where can I drop you?"
asked Joe.

"437 Hope
Street," she replied.

"In Ridgemount, the
next town up the road."

"A name?"

She said, "It's Mina."

"Unusual."

"Yup, unusual."

She wasn't much of a talker.

Different than any
teenager he'd ever met.

So Joe gave up and drove on
through the teeming downpour.

He crested a hill,
and there ahead,

lay the thriving
metropolis of Ridgemount.

Population: 600.

"Thar she blows," Joe
said, in one last attempt at

conversation.

But when he turned around
to see if Mina was laughing,

she wasn't.

She was gone.

And so was Joe's coat.

How could that be?

He hadn't stopped
once, the whole while

she was in the car.

The puzzlement of it
all made Joe's head spin.

He found 437 Hope
Street without any trouble.

It was quite the bungalow.

He went to the door
and rang the bell.

The door slowly swung open.

He was wearing a tuxedo.

All seven-foot eight of him.

It was an old Mark-3.

A robot butler.

Joe hadn't seen one of those
since the radiation scares,

back in the '80's.

"There was a
girl in the road.

I gave her a lift.

She wanted to come here..."

"One moment please."

Said the robot as
he turned and left.

He went into the back
room and emerged saying,

"Follow me."

And he led Joe up some
stairs to a room with little

light, lots of
cobwebs and the smell of

aging...EVERYTHING.

And there was
this ancient crone,

in just enough light to
tell she was a least

one century old.

"Thank-you for the ride."

"What's going on?

I gave a ride
to a young girl,

but when I turned
around, she was gone."

The old woman
smiled and said,

"Gone is such a final word."

"But..." Joe began,
but never finished.

The old woman smiled.

"Some of us never go."

When she handed
back his coat,

he looked deep
into her eyes.

Behind the wrinkles, Joe saw the
two bright eyes of a teenager.

This was a true story.

It happened to a friend
of a friend of mine...

Joe.

As for hitchhikers, he makes
it a practice to only pick

up stray dogs, robots
and senior citizens.

Doctor, here's
the big question.

What makes Freaky
Stories such an exciting,

vibrant, up-lifting,
invigorating show?

[snoring]

Well, it ain't the
sparkling interviews.

Must be the stories.

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

Clinton Vance was a guy
I went to school with.

He was always a bit
of a scaredy-cat.

So when he decided to
take a summer job at the

"Sunset Palms" old age home,
I couldn't believe it.

It was Clinton's first day
on the job and head nurse

Laidlaw assigned him to
Mr. Seery for the day.

"This is Mr.
Seery's banking day.

Take him downtown
Clint.", she barked.

On the way to the bank,
Clinton stopped to get

himself a soda pop and
Mr. Seery another packet of

personal hankies.

He couldn't have been
gone more than five minutes.

But they say that five
minutes is all it takes.

He handed Mr.
Seery his tissues.

The old guy didn't
even say thank-you.

In fact he didn't say a
single word on the whole

trip to the bank.

Clinton just figured
he was like moody.

That is until he brought the
Sunset Palms station wagon

to a stop in front of the
bank and Mr. Seery plopped

over into his lap.

Clinton panicked assuming
that he'd lose the job of a

lifetime if anyone knew that
someone like died while he

was supposed to be
looking after them.

Clinton decided to complete
Mr. Seery's business

downtown, sneak him back
into the Sunset Palms,

and straight into his
own bed where it would be

discovered that
the poor old gent

passed away in his sleep.

Poor nervous Clinton
shivered worse than he did

in biology class when he
reached into Mr. Seery's

breast pocket to pull
out his bankbook

and deposit slip.

After fumbling through
several used hankies

he managed to shake it off
and run into the bank.

Inside the bank,
Clinton made the deposit,

but before he could run out
the clerk saw that there was

a message on
Mr. Seery's file.

They needed to head up to
the Bank manager's office

to sign some papers.

Poor Clinton went outside
and hauled Mr. Seery out of

the wagon and headed up the
elevator to the 13th floor

to meet with the manager.

The security guard
recognized old Mr. Seery

and gave him a wave.

Clinton 'waved' Mr.
Seery's arm back at him.

Finally, they got up
to the 13th floor.

The bank manager
greeted them grandly

but also wondered if
Mr. Seery was OK.

Clinton explained that
Mr. Seery was just really,

REALLY tired.

When the Bank Manager slid
the papers he needed signed

across the desk, Clinton
quickly pointed out the

window screaming that
Donald Stump's helicopter

was soaring by.

As soon as the
manager turned his back,

Clinton signed the papers.

Clinton and Mr. Seery got
back to the elevators only

to find an 'out
of order' sign.

Thirteen flights is
quite a bit for Clinton

even on his own.

Surprisingly, he did just
fine wrestling the limp

Mr. Seery down the flights...
well, two of them anyway...

unfortunately Mr. Seery
found his own way down

the remaining eleven stories.

Finally, Clinton got
him into the car

in one piece and back to
Sunset Palms.

After tucking
him into his bed,

Clinton dusted himself off,
regained his composure

and RAN to Nurse
Laidlaw's station.

"Come quick!
Mr. Seery is...

is...
well you know...

he's ceased to be!!"
he yelled.

Nurse Laidlaw ran into Mr.
Seery's room to find the

corpse but when they
whipped the door open,

there was Mr.
Seery sitting upright!

Poor Clinton stammered
about being positive

Mr. Seery was deceased.

Then nurse Laidlaw explained
Mr. Seery suffers from

narcolepsy.

He falls into a deeeeep sleep
when you least expect it.

The nurse and the
interns laughed.

Old Mr. Seery
wasn't laughing though.

Aside from wondering
why his head hurt,

he was his old self, calling
for his jelly dessert,

and a bedpan!

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine,

who decided to get
a different job.

Like at a mortuary.

Our first letter is from a
viewer who wants to know if

we ever did an infomercial.

Hey, Charlie, run the clip.

For only
fourteen ninety-five,

plus shipping and handling,
you can have "Glorp",

the new,
improved youth cream.

The secret
ingredient in "Glorp" is...

Grease trap drippings.

Does it work, you ask?

Well, here's living proof.

This is Maurice
after using "Glorp".

And here's Maurice before.

If you don't want
to look like this...

smear on some "Glorp" and
you can look like this.

The infomercial wasn't
what you'd call a big hit.

The cops shut us
down, for fraud.

You see, the "Before" picture
wasn't really Maurice.

It's hard to find a
maggot uglier than Maurice.

We were shot this
picture of Maurice's

great Uncle Filbert.

two weeks after
Filbert died.

He's still better
lookin' than Maurice.

¶¶¶