Original subtitles

Ham, I love that you made my pancake into a little face,

but I regret to inform you

that now I simply cannot eat Gerard.

Gonna have a tough life in Alaska

if you can't bring yourself to eat a friend, doll.

Okay, how about a piece of my practice flan instead?

Dad ate most of them yesterday, but there's a few left.

Figures. For centuries, men have been eating

more than their fair share of the flan.

Preach. Pigs.

My brother's gonna be a celebrity

for making the flan for a real, professional restaurant.

You must feel like the non-famous Hemsworth

- right about now? - Yep.

Invisible but proud.

Which menu will your flan be on?

Regular, kids or seniors?

- All three, baby. - Ooh-la-la.

Holy hot dogs, Ham.

Hey, where's Dad?

He usually only takes a three-and-a-half-minute shower,

but he's been in there 14 minutes now.

I mean, he's probably just way in the zone.

Getting all those papa nooks and dad crannies.

Wolf, how many times do I have to ask you

not to say "dad crannies"?

Many more, probably.

Was that Dad?

Dad, you okay in there?

Perfect.

Whoops.

Closing the door.

But, Dad...

sounds like you're in pain?

I am fine, son.

Just having a little pain in my midsection.

And chest. And back.

- Chest? - And back.

Probably just pulled some muscles.

You want me to...

come in and get your towel for you?

No, thank you, son. I shall use nature's towel...

Standing here.

Hey, Dad.

- You doing okay? - Do not worry, Ham.

Just pulled a few muscles in the shower.

Makes perfect sense, but may I also suggest you see a doctor?

Nonsense. I'll go see the magical glacial water pipe

in Death Cliff today and drink its healing waters.

- - Mother Pipe? - Dad, that's a very cool legend,

but maybe we see a real doctor instead of a leaky metal tube.

No, thank you.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I better get ready for my journey.

That's good.

- Oop. - - Dad butt!

Good thinking, towel.

I am perfectly dry.

So the crooked butt crack runs in the family.

- Yeah. - - My poops come out in a curlicue

like soft-serve ice cream.

Well, it was great to see you, veronica.

We can't let two years go by again.

I was relieved when you reached out to me.

Funny story... I thought you were dead.

Really? - Yeah.

Everyone in Fresno said you followed some guy

into the wilderness.

I've seen Dateline, Honeybee.

I know how those stories end.

I didn't just follow a guy.

I fell in love.

Is someone making you say that right now?

Blink three times if yes.

- I just got married and moved away. - Okay,

it's just... If anything, a guy should be following you.

Crap, I got to go.

My neighbor's kid is looking through my window again.

Get out of here, Hans!

Bye, Honeybee. Don't lose yourself up there.

Whatever, Veronica.

I didn't follow a guy.

I'm a leader. In fact, I'm gonna lead myself

on a walk around the property.

And because I want to, not because it's one

of the only things you can do around this place.

Okay.

There she is, Mother Pipe.

Alaska's doctor.

Sweet mountain nectar.

Thank you, dear Mother.

I have suckled and been made whole.

Better go have one more sip

to heal these fresh wounds.

I mean, who does Veronica think she is?

So what if I moved up here for a guy?

What, I should have stayed in Fresno,

working at the curtain store?

My dad playing Steely Dan all day?

Ooh. What in the...

"Wife"?

That's all they put on this lady's grave?

No name?

Well, maybe there's something on the back.

Nope.

You poor girl.

You got to be more than just "Wife."

I got to get to the bottom of this.

All right, Wife, you wait right here, which...

you have to, 'cause you're dead.

I-I'll be right back.

Thanks for taking me by the grocery store.

I still can't believe you can buy a fully cooked chicken

every single day.

Good.

And they did not skimp on the bones.

Hey, kids.

Your dad went to suck on that drainage pipe

or whatever it is, so he sent us to get you.

So, guys, have you seen this grave out in the woods

- that's just labeled "Wife"? - Yep.

I have that grave marked on my cemetery map of Lone Moose

for when the zombie apocalypse starts.

Hell if Wife is gonna eat my brain.

Well, she's eating my brain already,

'cause she's all I can think about.

That poor woman is just lying out there

in a hole marked "Wife."

Not even a name.

I've seen that grave, like, a million times

and just kind of shrugged it off as vintage sexism,

but, yeah, no one deserves to just be thrown in a hole

and labeled with the W-word.

Unless the W-word is "Wassup."

Can you even imagine that on a grave?

I think I'm gonna do a little research

and find out who this woman was.

Maybe I can share her accomplishments with the world.

- I'm in. - Let's dig up her secrets.

And maybe her jewelry.

Hey, Dad.

That's a pretty fun noise you're making.

You aren't by any chance still in pain, are you, Father?

Nope. I suckled the pipe,

and her nectars are at this very moment coating my insides

in a thick layer of health.

Good, 'cause my flan reveal is at lunch tomorrow,

and I need you at full eating strength.

Hey. Slippity Dips is starting.

In our first slippity clip,

a mailman named Floyd makes a...

Floyd-ian slip.

- Dad? - Dad, we really should get you to the doctor.

Like, now.

Nonsense.

In this next slip,

a child falls in a ravine.

In a funny way.

Guys, I'm hella worried about Dad.

I googled his symptoms,

and it could be anything from muscle spasm

to a heart attack to something called "haunted pancreas."

I'm worried, too, but it's impossible

to get that man to a doctor.

Remember when one of his feet faced the wrong way

for, like, a year?

Of course. I had to tie the boot

on the backwards one every morning.

But this isn't gonna be like that,

because I have a plan.

It's not just giving him compliments, is it?

Yeah, there'll be a little of that, sure.

But here's what we do:

we give him the doctor exam sneaky-style,

right here at home.

Fun. Dibs on nodding reassuringly

while listening through a stethoscope.

Okay, Operation HPV is a go...

Heal Papa Victoriously.

Love the plan, hate the name.

All right, hands in.

H-P...

It's just gonna be me?

Fine. V!

Okay, here he comes. Time to get into our dad's body.

My God. It's like you've never heard

a word you've said.

Hello, Father.

How was work this morning?

Good haul?

Kill a lot of fish?

Cool, cool.

And, brisk wind out on the sea?

Any difficulty breathing?

The breathing was...

great.

Dad,

just, wondering,

when you hauled the fish in,

which of these faces did you feel like?

None. Those guys are all hotter than me.

Okay...

Guys, I've got a big problem.

I have a project for science class,

and the topic is older men's urine.

I remember that unit.

But I forgot to collect an older man's pee.

Damn it.

Guess I'll just fail.

That sucks.

Unless...

Dad, could you pee in this cup and then write your name on it?

And then seal it? And then write today's date?

And then give it back to me?

I'll surely get an A.

Yeah, with Dad's pee in your pocket, you can't lose.

Gentlemen, I was not birthed yesterday.

I see that you three are trying to give me

some kind of at-home doctor's exam.

Geez, Dad, all we asked for was a little bit of pee

and suddenly we lose all trust?

Son, cut it out.

My body is private, even to myself.

That's why there's a curtain around it called "my skin."

- But, Dad, you really should... - Put your "but, Dad"

in your butt, son.

Can no one hear themselves?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head back

to Mother Pipe for another sip.

But, Dad, my flan debuts at the restaurant today at lunch.

You promised to go.

I'll meet you there at noo...

oon.

Should we just take his pee by force?

Damn it. If we can't get Dad to a doctor,

maybe we can get a doctor to Dad.

Yep. One way or another, we have got to push those D's together.

Okay, now I'm doing it.

All right, we know that Wife's grave

is from 1888.

And it says here that some very unprepared British settlers

came here to join some other European idiots

around that time.

Yeah, dumb white people

was definitely the early Lone Moose vibe.

But she could be any of these smoking '80s babes.

How do I match a face with a grave?

Well, maybe we should just give up

and go over to Ham's big flan menu reveal?

I mean, maybe one of these gals wasn't as dumb as the others.

Maybe she was actually a big-city girl from London

and her name was something like...

Persephogenia Lumpnobble.

And she was an associate professor of squalor studies

who'd come to do research.

Now, back then,

most of the dumb European settlers

lived in holes in a big old mud and poop lake.

Such wonderful squalor.

It's wall-to-wall squall around here.

They weren't used to strangers in Lone Moose,

so this beauty stood out like a ravishing thumb.

And then a squalid but handsome gentleman

extended his dirty hand to her.

Wa-wa-wee-wa.

Pardon me, ma'am. I can tell

by how little dirt you have in your teeth

that you're not from around here.

Might I take you on a tour of our nasty neighborhood?

This is our pile of dead animals.

This is our pile of dead people.

And this is our playground.

I have an idea that could change things for all of you.

It's a reverse hole above the ground,

and we call it "a house."

And maybe

Persephogenia taught all the dum-dums about houses

and they stopped living in holes.

And she was about to return to London

when the townie did something super romantic.

Miss Clean Lady, I want you to have this.

It's a hideous corn husk doll I made for you.

Ma'am, mightn't we become betrothed in wedlock

and grow to the ripe old age of 35 together?

And she said yes.

And then one day they went

to a beaver corpse baseball game, and...

Aah! - she died.

And because the nasty Townie never learned her name,

he paid a local child in tobacco

to just chisel "Wife" on her headstone.

And then, I guess, everyone forgot about her

and her contributions, including her friend Veronica.

Oof. Poor

Persephogenia Lumpnobble.

And poor us, 'cause we still don't have any answers.

But I'm thinking maybe we should check the old census records

at the historical society.

Wow, I'm excited. You guys excited?

I'm just kidding. Let's go.

Thanks for wearing the disguise, Dr. Callahan.

It'll help us get you close enough to Dad to examine him.

Sure. I mean, I mostly do this kind of thing for kids

who are scared of the doctor.

And also, pirate meetups, and once in my private life,

- but I'm happy to help. - Great.

We really don't want our dad to die.

I'm not ready to be the Tobin patriarch yet.

I don't even know when trash day is.

So, here's the plan: approach the table,

claim to be a fellow sea captain...

Which Dad'll love 'cause he's a real captain hound...

Then give him a long hug and listen to his heart.

Bada-bing, bada-boom, you diagnose our dad.

What the...

Hello, boys.

Guess who's all better.

For real this time, and I am not lying.

Enter, and let us celebrate your brother's flan.

Our father sucked upon a pipe and he hath been healed.

Hallelujah.

So, you really feel all better?

Yep. Pardon me for starting without you,

but I haven't been able to eat much the past few days.

My fettuccine Alfredo levels had gotten dangerously low.

So, you have, like, no pain

- at all? - Nope.

Hello there, friends. I'm a ship's captain

blowing through town with me, cargo.

May I give you a hug?

Hello, Dr. Callahan.

Let me guess... my boys asked you to come down here

and sneakily give me a checkup?

Argh, you caught me.

They're worried about you, Beef.

Actually, Doc, he feels all better.

Okay, well, there are some serious conditions

that can come and go,

- namely gall... - Bup, bup, bup, bup, bup.

This is a restaurant, not a medicine class.

I'm here celebrate my son's success

in the Lone Moose culinary scene.

But the pain in your back and chest...

Life is a mystery, and no spoilers, please.

- Beef, but it could be... - No. You know what?

If you won't leave me alone, then I'll leave you alone.

I'm gonna snow machine home.

Come along, potato, I shall be devouring you on the way.

But Dad, my flan! My big day.

I love you, son. Bring me home a piece.

Stupid doctor doesn't know what he's talking about.

Nothing wrong with me. I've never felt better.

Aah! My heart!

Aah! My potato!

Aah!

Can't move.

I'm so sorry, potato.

Maybe

this is something. Says here

there was a log-rolling competition in 1888,

but only men were allowed to enter.

That's something I'll never say.

Still, you got to wonder, what if there was one woman

who did try to enter? Let's say she married a man

who worked at the mill. And maybe this lady was gifted

with log-rolling abilities. See, this wife had been born

on a log in the middle of the Mighty Mississipp,

and she could spin

that wily wood like she was hanging a drape.

And she was so talented, it caught on,

and everybody in Lone Moose wanted to learn

and be just like her.

It became so popular, they decided to have a competition.

But wouldn't you know it, they made a rule that women

couldn't compete, even though this wife

started the whole damn thing.

So she taught her husband

everything she knew, and he won.

And then people started saying he taught her to log-roll.

And of course he took credit for it,

'cause taking credit for stuff is fun.

Wife decided to prove herself by getting out there

on the river, and she was absolutely incredible.

But then, a big wave washed her out to sea.

And she danced on that log for months, waiting for help.

And then, sadly, she got run over

- Aah! - By the Titanic, and she died.

Man, that Titanic couldn't do anything right.

And her husband felt so bad about stealing

her log-thunder, he couldn't bear

to even see her beautiful name, so he put "Wife"

on her grave and then he exploded from grief.

And with him died the last memory of her,

even though she was an absolute boss.

That's clearly what happened. Let's go eat.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and flan to my mouth.

Dust. Sawdust. The old Lone Moose Mill.

We should go over there and check the employee records.

Right. Almost everyone and their child

worked at the mill back in the day.

Not me. I was foreman at the quarry

all through middle school.

Ten cents more an hour and all the gravel you could eat.

Missing...

ooh, precious...

m-moments.

Dying.

Ooh, ooh, my phone.

Ooh. Must crawl.

No, no. Decline. Damn it.

No. - Hey, it's me, Londra.

Okay, so Beef, you're not gonna believe this.

- Nuh... - Dusty and I were in Anchorage this morning,

food shopping for her birthday dinner,

and the Anchorage Food Otter has watermelons.

No, that's not the crazy part.

We cut the watermelon open, and inside? A set of keys!

Londra... - My God, Beef,

Dusty found a Bratz doll in there, too.

I'd love to chat more,

but I got a lot more people to call. Bye!

Hello, anyone? Am I...

It's you. Hey, Dennis.

You remembered my name.

Yes, it's me. Your heart.

Wassup?

God. If you're here, you're gonna tell me

something's wrong with my heart, right?

That's why I've been having the chest pain?

What? I'm offended. I'm in incredible shape.

I'm a heart and yet, somehow, I have abs.

- Wow. - Yeah, your lifestyle

of constant physical activity, heavy meats

and relentless stress keeps me very strong.

Good to know, but what is wrong with me?

I have been in a lot of pain.

I can't diagnose you. A doctor should do that.

Which is why I'm here. I want to know why on Earth

you won't go see a flipping' doctor, my man.

I... I'm afraid.

'Cause what if it's something really bad

and then I die and leave the kids behind?

Wait, what? We die?

Yes, I'll die someday, and you'll die with me.

What the hell, man? This ends?!

The brain didn't say anything about that to me.

Sorry. I-I assumed you knew.

No, I did not know. I'm just a heart, man.

- I can't think on my own. - Apologies again.

But yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.

That I'll see the doctor and he'll say I'm about to die,

and then I'll have to live a little longer

knowing I'm gonna leave these amazing kids

and all the weird things they do that I love so much behind.

Also, trees and rocks and mountains and Andie MacDowell?

God, there's so much good stuff here, I don't want to leave.

Well, then, what are you doing, man?

Go to a doctor now.

- You're right, I should save us. - Yes.

If I don't do the thing I'm afraid of

then the thing I'm really afraid of will happen.

Yes, let's not die.

We have so much to look forward to.

I have a date with a teacher from Ohio on Thursday.

- Wait, how? - Well, I met her...

No time. Good God, Beef, do something now.

Okay, okay. I will.

Boys! Dr. Callahan!

Is that Dad?

I need help!

Pull back my body curtain and look inside.

Hi.

We were wondering if you had employment records

- from the 1880s. - I'm sorry, the mill has burned down

and been rebuilt since then.

- 47 times. - Damn it!

Well, Honeybee,

you did all you could.

Maybe it's just time to let a sleeping corpse lie.

No, we can't give up.

Why is this bothering you so much?

I just... I mean, what if this lady

came all the way from Fresno?

You know, 'cause she fell in love with a guy she met

in an 1800s Morse code chat room or, something,

and it seemed like a good idea but then she... she just died.

And then everybody forgot who she was.

- The end. - Okay, Honeybee, wait,

you don't think you're like this dead lady, do you?

Maybe. My dumb friend Veronica

said I gave up my life and followed a guy to Alaska.

Am I just a wife?

Honeybee, come on.

You're already a legend in Lone Moose.

You've been mayor, you got attacked by an eagle,

you got in a slap fight with a drifter.

If anything, Wolf should be afraid he's gonna end up

in a grave just marked "Husband."

And you should make sure he does, as a goof.

Poor Wife. I guess the least we can do

is lay some flowers on her grave.

And a pepperoni pizza.

I mean, sure?

Have you had a pepperoni pizza before?

They're amazing. It's a beautiful gesture.

There you go, Wife. Enjoy your pizza.

Wait, what's that?

"Bartholomew Wife"?

Hold up. "Wife" is a last name?

"Manifred Wife, pronounced, 'Wee-Fay, '

"was also known as Manifred the Maniac.

"Manifred Wife was a prolific murderer

who killed 17 people including her husband Bartholomew."

- Whoa. - So, she wasn't just a wife.

Good for you.

My gallbladder?

Yep. You got some pretty sizable stones in there.

Hell yeah he does.

Dad's 'blad makes some sick stones.

The pain can come and go with eating,

but we'll remove it today and you're as free as a bird.

I have my Lil Preppers surgery badge, Doc.

I can scrub in if needed.

Won't be necessary for this one, Moon.

But I do have a spinal surgery on Thursday

I wouldn't mind a consult on.

I'll have to move some things around, but I'm in.

Dad, we're real proud of you for finally asking for help

from a doctor who isn't a pipe on a hill.

And, maybe you could, do it again...

The seeing a doctor thing... 'cause of how we want you

to be alive?

- Sorry to be pushy. - No, Ham, you're right.

I promise, from now on, I'll get an annual physical,

every five to six years or so.

That's a start.

Vaya con dad-os, gallbladder.

You're gonna be all right.

What the hell?

You all have gravestones already?

Yes, a few years ago, I got a deal

on some granite and, well, one thing led to another.

Speaking of which... Honeybee, a little bird named Judy told me

that you were kind of worried about ending up like old Wife,

which inspired me to get you this stone stunner.

You picked a death year?

You'll be 220 years old, so it's cool.

And it also has all kinds of facts about you on it,

like that you're a Shrek-thusiast, an entrepreneur.

Plus, lots of space to add anything else as it comes along.

Like if you suddenly get super into Dave Matthews Band.

Wolf, this is deeply unsettling.

But also kind of touching, I guess.

All right, enough grave-gazing.

Let's head in for dinner. Now that my G-blad is out,

fatty foods are my friend again,

and I made my famous five-butters casserole.

Dibs on a corner piece.

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