All language subtitles for Freaky Stories - 2x05 - Radar Benny Battleship Severed Digit Photo Op_Legendas01.ENG

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LARRY:
Hey there.

Welcome to Freaky Stories.

Tonight we are
going to be...

Maurice!
What the heck is that?

A hair.

It's bad enough I gotta
deal with the ugliest,

slimiest, grossest,
disgustingest creature...

YOU!
I'm talkin' about you!

New rule.

No hairy maggots
on the show...

Get it?
-Got it.

Go.
Go on get outta here.

Hey, it's just you and me -

Hey, somebody, fix
that, would ya?

We'll be back, after
this Freaky Story.

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine,

it surely did.

Sweet Lucy Feeney, known
all over the county for the

yumminess of her
strawberry cream pies,

which she was delivering
to the Little Sisters of

Charity in her pie
mobile when she heard

the wail of a siren.

Lucy looked into her mirror
to see the flashing red

lights of the
town's only police car,

and pulled to the
side of the road.

Poor dear actually trembled
as Officer Benny waddled

over and without so
much as a howdy- do...

And even before poor
Lucy could say a word,

Officer Benny launched
into one of his ridiculous

tirades that he always
delivered with a ticket...

"I know one eensie-teensie
mile might not seem like a

lot to you, but that's
how it always begins,

and before ya know you're
tearing up the road like it

was some sort of
speed car race!"

Fortunately for old Lucy a
fighter jet from that nearby

Air Force base zoomed
overhead and drowned out the

rest of Officer
Benny's hot air!

But if there's one thing you
could say for Officer Benny,

he sure didn't
play favorites.

Take the time he was
ticketing the Mayor's car,

when his Honor came running
out of the barber shop,

his face still
covered with lather,

he shouted..."What do
you think you're doing?"

and Officer Benny said,
"Giving you a ticket for

parking in the red.

Ya should know better
than that, Mr. Mayor."

To which the Mayor
replied..."But I parked

in front of the red not in it!"

And wouldn't you know it,
Officer Benny whipped out

his magnifying glass, and
sure enough showed the Mayor

his front tires were exactly
one inch inside the red,

and "One inch may
not seem like much,

Mr. Mayor, but if every car
in the world did that you'd

have yourself a
real parkin' problem!"

Fortunately for
the Mayor, too,

that fighter jet
zoomed overhead again,

drowning out the rest of
Officer Benny's lecture!

Then came Black Tuesday, the
day Officer Benny was issued

the first Radar
Gun in the county.

He quickly became
known as Radar Benny,

which made his head swell
up like a watermelon and his

brain shrink like a pea.

No one was safe anymore, not
even Reverend Jones who was

pulled over for going...

"One tenth a mile over the
bicycle speed limit might

not seem like a
"THOU SHALL NOT" to you,

Reverend, but if every
bicycle in the universe

did that, it would equal
the Speed of Light!"

And what made it even worse,
for some reason the fighter

jet wasn't flying that day
and the poor Reverend had to

hear every single word
of Radar Benny's

never-ending sermon.

But it seemed it was dear
Lucy Feeney and her pie

mobile that took the brunt
of Radar Benny's crusade.

Pulled over once
again she pleaded...

"But I was only going
9 miles an hour!"

And Radar Benny responded,
reading his radar gun...

"8-point-3 to be exact.

Which is 1-point-7 slower
than the legal speed limit.

If every car in our
solar system went that slow,

blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-bla
h- blah!"

All the while Lucy looked
sadly to the sky praying for

the friendly
jet to reappear!

And from that time on no
matter how carefully Lucy

Feeney drove to deliver her
yummy strawberry cream pies

to some worthy charity,
Radar Benny was always on

her tail, forcing
her to pull over.

But one time Radar
Benny waddled toward her,

triggering his radar gun
like Jesse James shooting

bullets into the air, when
the fighter jet suddenly

reappeared!

And inside the cockpit
the Radar Detector

began to blink.

It zeroed in on the
Radar blips coming from

Radar Benny's gun.

There wasn't much
the pilot could do,

those planes being
so automated and all,

it mistook Benny's gun to be
enemy radar and the detector

automatically
fired a rocket.

Hearing the eerie whine,
Radar Benny looked up to see

the missile
heading straight at him,

clocked it at 903 mph.

He turned a-runnin' as fast
as his stubby legs could

carry him, but they were
no match for the rocket.

KA-BLOUIE!

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

As for Radar Benny he traded
in his radar gun for a cushy

seat IN the pie mobile,
where he now delivers Lucy

Feeney's yummy strawberry
cream pies...while keeping a

very close eye on
the speedometer.

Okay.
Our next story...

Hey!

What's goin' on?

Oh man.

I gotta find out --
here's the next story.

Hey guys, I'm comin' over...

This is a true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

He also used to be
Captain of the HMS Victory,

the finest battleship
in her Majesty's fleet.

His name was Newcombe, and
he jolly well did like

being captain.

He wore his full dress
uniform all the time,

and marched about the bridge
barking orders at the crew.

On the tour directly after
mine the Victory took on a

very special observer, a
certain Admiral Sir Horatio

Bigbum --there to make an
official year-end evaluation.

As opposed to
Captain Newcombe,

Sir Horatio was a
true naval hero,

and in time past, used to
be Newcombe's commander.

When Sir Horatio
came on board,

Newcombe puffed his chest
out so far he popped three

brass buttons.

But Sir Horatio snorted that
battle ships were sort of

out-dated and
belonged in a dust bin.

"I should rather be on a
proper aircraft carrier,

like my old flagship,
the "Royal George V".

Captain Newcombe did his
best to impress the old

bird, showing off how
up-to-date and modern his

ship was, and putting his
crew through their paces.

But it was no use.

Whatever Newcombe did
made him look like

a bloody idiot.

For example, when a gun
turret spun about wildly,

Newcombe pushed the
Admiral out of harm's way

and into a bucket
of swab water.

Sir Horatio remarked that he
could see why Newcombe was

merely in command of
an old tin of beans.

Oh, that really hurt.

Newcombe was
quite depressed.

But then his First Officer
happened to remark that they

were on pace for a record
transatlantic crossing.

They just might drop
anchor in Halifax Harbour

in record time.

That was enough for Newcombe
-- a new speed record would

definitely impress an old
navy fogy like Sir Horatio!

Newcombe ordered
full speed ahead.

As the ship
bounced over the waves,

some of the crew members got
a bit weezy and put their

ditty bags to good use.

Still Newcombe was
determined to have his

speed record.

By eight bells, the fog
was as thick as pea soup,

but Captain Newcombe
refused to slow down.

He was depending on his
radar to pick up any other

ship that might
be in his way,

and great heavens, the
radarman did pick up a blip

straight dead ahead.

The blip looked as
though it was stationary,

but it was right
in Newcombe's path.

If he changed course to go
round it he would lose his

speed record.

So he ordered his radio
man to send a message --

"Increase your speed
and alter course by

two degrees."

Several minutes later there
was a message in reply,

telling Newcombe to change
his course by two degrees.

Well!!!

Nobody ever refused one
of his orders before.

So he sent his original
message again --

"Change your course
by two degrees".

And again the answer came
back telling Newcombe to

change his course
by two degrees.

Well, now Newcombe
was quite upset.

If somebody did not
change course immediately,

they were going to collide.

Then Newcombe had an idea.

He grabbed the radio,
flicked the voice switch and

began to shout "I strongly
suggest you alter course

two degrees or risk
being rammed!

This is Admiral
Sir Horatio Bigbum!"

Newcombe was certain
that pulling rank,

so to speak,
would get results,

and he was quite
pleased with himself...

until he turned around
to see Sir Horatio

standing directly behind him.

The old boy was about
to pop a blood vessel.

But before Newcombe could
think of anything to say

the radio crackled.

"Ahoy there Admiral!"
said a voice.

"I still strongly suggest
that you change your course

by two degrees.

This is the
lighthouse keeper."

This is a true story --

it happened to a friend
of a friend of mine...

ex- friend...ex-Captain.

With proper instruction,
Seaman Second Class Newcombe

can become the best
swabee in the entire Navy.

Hey, I can't do a
show with all this...

what's going on anyway?

It's me, Maurice.

Like you told me, I'm getting
rid of that ugly hair.

What?

Like my mom gets
rid of her mustache.

I'm doing...
Electrolysis.

Let's have a Freaky Story.

This is a true story.

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

Sissy O'Grady's one of those
young southern belle's from

the wrong side of the tracks
posing as a debutante

from the upper side
of the crust.

You see, things
money can't buy,

she doesn't need.

So when the hundred and ten
year old billionaire she was

dating died and left all
his money to his children

Sissy didn't know what
she and her little Gigi

were going to do.

I mean, all they wanted was
a little ole mansion in the

hills with a couple of
hundred acres of manicured

lawns, maybe a nice ole
pool and a nice young

pool boy, and a husband to
pay for it all of course.

So when an extremely
eligible-looking young

bachelor ran into her while
she was window shopping at

the jewelry store (I mean,
there's no better place to

go casting for the big
fish now is there?)

Well, that Sissy
didn't lose any time.

She faked a
fainting spell right then,

and had the boy helping
her into a very expensive

restaurant for a restorative
lunch where she claimed to

have misplaced her
pocketbook before you could

whistle Dixie.

And the young gentleman
seemed all too obliged.

He was handsome, charming
and most important

he had that air about him
that said rich, rich, rich.

Sissy was as close
to love as a girl

with a stone heart can get.

Gigi on the other hand?

Well the pooch had a
pedigree rather similar to

Sissy's...

A sordid past at the pound
covered up by a good hair

cut and a real sassy
wiggle in her walk.

But that fuzz-ball had
street smarts and they told

her the new
fella was no good.

But things couldn't have
gone any better for Sissy.

The boy wasn't exactly
throwing money around,

but just by the way he
talked about wine and

dropped the names of people
called van something

and de la something else,
Sissy new she'd hit it big.

But it wasn't long before
Sissy cooed and coaxed and

cuddled her way into
an all-expense paid

7 night cruise.

They would go together.

And then if all went
accordin' to plan,

Sissy'd have
that guy signed,

sealed and delivered before
they ever got back to port.

One quick ceremony by
the Captain at sea,

and a solid-gold future would
be her very, very own.

But things didn't go
according to plan.

Mr. Right was called away to
an emergency board meetin'

just as the ship was
going to set sail.

And Sissy was forced into
the awkward position of

going on what she hoped
would be her weddin' cruise

all on her own.

Luckily this left one Mr. Right
free to dog sit with Gigi.

So things
weren't all that bad.

Or so our little
gold digger thought.

One week later Sissy
returned home to the most

horrible fright.

There was Gigi lying on
the living room floor,

barely breathing.

Sissy rushed her to the vet
just as quick as her leased

Jag could go...

things didn't look so good.

They told her to
head back home.

It would be better to
get the news there.

So Sissy got home quicker
than anyone expected.

And that's when she noticed
her apartment was not the

same as she had left it.

Her imitation Renoir was
missing and so was her

discount store antique rug.

Her crystal zirconia
necklace wasn't in it's fake

naugahide box.

In fact, all of her faux
jewelry and imitation fur

coats were out of their
usual places and stacked by

the back door, just like
someone'd been planning to

make off with
the whole stash.

And then she
noticed a trail of blood.

Little dots all the way to
the fake French Provincial

bedroom closet door.

But just as Sissy pulled on
the simulated ceramic knobs,

the phone rang.

It was the vet.

And boy did he
sound freaked.

He'd found out what was
wrong with poor little Gigi

all right.

The poor darling had something
caught in her throat.

The funny thing is, that
something was a severed

human finger!!!

Well, Sissy would have fainted
but she didn't have time.

Cause just then the closet
door swung open and huddled

inside was her
so-called dream boat,

'Mr. Right', hoped-to-be
future husband.

But it was going to be
hard marrying the guy,

considering he was a
thief and worse yet,

now he didn't even
have a ring finger.

This is true story.

It happened to a
friend of a friend of mine.

Gigi made a full
recovery, of course.

She and Sissy are working on
this poor- little-girl act now.

I mean, what's the point of
being a gold-digger if you

attract guys
looking to make it rich??

Okay, we made it...

Let me guess.
The waffle iron right?

Cover me with maple
syrup and call me

the breakfast special.

[With an Italian accent:]
Buon giorno.

This is true story.

It happen to a friend
of a friend of mine.

His name is Giacomo.

He is bellhop at big
fancy hotel here in Roma.

The trouble it starts when
Giacomo he pick up the bags

of a family who come
to visit Italy

for the first time.

Giacomo thinks
they are rich,

because the papa
is loud and fat.

So he tells the hotel
manager to put them in a

special room,
with a special view.

Giacomo is
expecting a big tip.

But Giacomo is young.

The family was a
mama and a papa,

a little boy and a
bigger little girl.

Giacomo carries all their
bags up to their room and

what he gets
from the papa is,

"Hey, here's a tip,
don't order the gnocchi

from room service."

The papa, he
thinks he's funny.

[laughing]

The little boy, he says he
wants to see the Pope so

maybe he can get a
ride in the Pope-mobile.

The girl, she only
wants to see naked statues.

The papa only
wants to use his new,

expensive video camera.

And the mama only complains.

About anything.

Giacomo, the
window is stuck."

"Giacomo, the ice
melts too fast."

"Giacomo, my ring fell
down the toilet bowl.

Get it for me."

Oh, this family not only
makes the trouble at the

hotel where Giacomo works.

No-no-no...

they make it all over Roma.

The little boy, he jumps
in the wishing fountains to

take out the coins people
throw in for the good luck.

The girl, she don't
like her gellato,

she toss it in the
street and she make a mess.

And the papa sticks his
camera in everybody's face

-- the butcher, the
baker, the canoli maker.

This papa, he is the tree
from which his little acorns

do not fall too far from.

And then back to the hotel
so the mama can complain

about Giacomo.

She tells the hotel
manager her TV is broken.

"No picture?"

"No English, I can't
understand a word...

and it is Giacomo's fault."

She tells the manager to
fire Giacomo or they are

checking out.

This manager is not happy
with the idea of an empty

room, so he
fires my friend...

Giacomo.

With no more for the
mama to complain about,

the family goes out to
find a good hot dog...

si, they come to Italy
and they do not like

Italian food.

Tourists!

But when the family
returns to their room,

they see the door,
it was broken into.

The papa demands
they call the police.

The mama is fainting
from the thought of

what the robbers stole.

The little girl was happy
her doll was still there.

And the little boy?

Seeing Italian
police in leather coats.

Way cool.

The police search the room.

Everything is there.

Even the mama's
Leaning-Tower-of Piza

earrings.

Nothing is stolen.

The mama, she has a
fit for no reason,

except maybe to get
a lot of attention.

Maybe I think she is a
little disappointed she

cannot blame
this on Giacomo.

So, the family goes home.

Maybe they do not
have such a good time,

but the papa got
lots of video tapes.

Many not aimed too good --
the top of a nun's umbrella,

the foot of a bicycle racer,
half of most of the sights.

And there was one
video of Giacomo.

He is looking into the
camera and laughing.

Laughing, while he shoves
the family's toothbrushes --

two in his nose,
one in each ear.

Then he puts the
toothbrushes back in the

bathroom.

The whole family
-- mama, papa,

little boy,
bigger little girl,

they all think for a
second and then....

They all throw up.

Hey, this is true story.

It happened to friend of
a friend of mine Giacomo,

who, if you visit
Roma, you take my advice,

and don't
complain about him.

This letter is from
a maggot named...

I can't make out the name.

It's Marvin.

Isn't Marvin your cousin?

Yeah.
Just read it.

Okay. Dear Maurice, we all know
of all your many talents...

It is from your cousin.

Will you please do
some of your marvelous

impersonations.
Huh?

Okay, viewers,
because you asked for it.

Guess who this is.

You can't handle the truth.

Hey Jack Nicholson.

Not bad.

Can you do, uh...

Sylvester Stalone?

Ok.

You can't handle the truth.

Stallone sounds
exactly like Nicholson.

Could be they were twins
separated at birth

or something.

Um. How about that
Latin movie star,

Antonio Banderas.

You can't handle
the truth -- amigo.

And L.L. Cool J. would be...

You can't handle
the truth -- bro.

and Jean Chretien...

You can't handle the truth --
What do you tink of dat, eh?

Ladies and gentlemen, tune
in next time to see Maurice

do Frank Sinatra.

He's dead.

Exactly.