Squidbillies (2005) s02e02 Episode Script

Butt Trouble

% My oldest son was born an albino % % My youngest is covered in hair % % The middle one says he's a homosexual % % The other seven are gone, l don't know where % % and l don't care % % l just don't care % - My turn.
- Hell, no.
- Man, let me drive that thing.
Come on! - Do not touch the trim! Puberty is a turbulent and insecure time in a young man's life.
His voice changes hair grows in unexpected places, and the inside of his pants become a firing range for his uncontrollable volcanic anus.
Daddy! Daddy! Look what came out of my butt during the night! Hell, Russell Cuyler! You done had a nocturnal eggnition all over my seven-count burlap.
Praise the Lord! lt's the second coming.
No, Granny! lt's just one more --ing mouth to feed.
Bananas.
All right! l made me a brother! Boy, you better not be touching my BB Gun.
- You gonna get it.
Come on, now.
- lt's a miracle! What are you gonna name it? Nothing! l turn my back for one damn three-day bender and you transaxulate yourself into a damn woman?! We 'bout to nip this in the nuts right now! - Daddy! - Make you a real man! - Daddy! - Don't you dare hurt him! And what's your saggy mouth gonna say about it? Ablo-mandalebigus- pentocolus-benturpinoize- forntormian-crisco- doffanecta-glabba-flontonian- smectarufus-fort-knox-truckindans- tranoctur-pontallaphermian- hudanox-mellakinesis! You lucky bitch! - That is the one thing you could have said! - Yeah, OK.
One of these days, you ain't gonna remember that freakin' word.
l'll be around.
Why don't you take that weak shit to the park? Where maybe the squirrels will care.
Hey, how y'all doing? The miracle of life.
Happy trails, Buddy Roe! - What do you think you're doing there? - Taking out the trash.
Not on my watch.
Early, l want you to read this.
Oh, hell.
Russell, fetch my glasses.
- We gonna make this happen.
- No, no.
Early, it's my job to protect and serve all forms of life even the unhatched.
Every American has the right to life.
Even that crazy bitch in Houston what killed all them chaps in the bathtub? Well, yeah, she should die, but l'm talking about the unborn.
lnside that egg is a beating heart, a soul this small.
And while l don't understand how Rusty might have conceived Dipplo-ribosomal-sexual-osmosis.
Right down there in his butt crack.
All right.
Whatever.
ls that how he did it? My point is this is a life.
And even though you don't love it, you don't have any money, and you won't give it any opportunities this here egg could grow up to be President or find a cure for homosexuality.
Wait a minute, or hell, even become the next Tom T.
Hall! So, what you saying is that my grandbaby right here might some day grow up to be the gay President of Tom T.
Hall?! Outstandinger than hell.
Well, maybe not this grandbaby, but some babies do have potential.
What if it's Dracula in there? Rusty's right.
lf it's Dracula, it best be killed.
You can't give birth to a Dracula.
You gotta be a Dracula to give birth to a Dracula.
So, you was the Dracula! - l was?! - l knew it! l knew it! Early, Early.
Damn it, Early, Nobody's a Dracula.
Look if y'all don't mind, l'm gonna take this young 'un with me and find her a proper home.
lt's crowning.
Might as wells take this one, too.
And that mess of them over there.
- Pull! - Clear! That one didn't make it.
Daddy, how do l do a breast self-exam? Mens don't do that, Rusty.
And mens don't lay no sissified eggs out of their fancy butt glands neither.
What we doing up here? We gonna de-bitchalate you, boy.
Make a man of you.
Now, put on your camo 'cause you got to blend in with nature.
But But this is orange.
No, no.
Tangerine, boy.
You see, them deers is gonna think this ain't nothing but a common Georgia fruit tree and we just two big friendly deadly, deadly honeydews.
- But, Daddy - Fruit don't talk.
Fruit just listens.
And waits.
Look over yonder.
Well, hot damn! ls that lemon-flavored? Chocolate.
Once them deer smell that birthday cake, them sonofabitches will come running.
Any minute now.
The hunt is on.
Ham box.
Heavenly Father God please be with these unborn followers and shepherd them thesethings, through the Valley of - What are these, Sheriff? - Squid.
- Squid?! - l think.
That Cuyler clan?! Up in the woods?! Just go on, Reverend.
So, Lord as part of your bizarre secret plan that we don't understand maybe have one of those bad things happen just this once.
Reverend! A ceiling tile could crush this spawn of the devil all up! - What are you saying?! - These need to die, and you know it! Reverend, come on now! One of these eggs could grow up to be Make a damn T-shirt.
lt's just more thieving drunks! lt's OK.
The bad man's gone.
Come on.
You haven't even touched this gingerbread.
Daddy?! Daddy! What's a deer look like? Like that right there! Be a man, son! Blow his damn brains out.
Take him! Pop his face off! Do it! Do it! Now is the time! Protect the damn cake, Rusty! Do it! Come on, you damn nut sprout.
Shoot his ass! Just squeeze the trigger, Rusty.
Come on.
Do it now! Rusty desperately wanted to be a man.
But he had too much bitch in him, and deep inside his vagina, he knew that.
Do it, do it! And so, at the last second, he averted his rifle and shot his granny.
- Jesus! - Granny! l've been filled by his spirit.
Oh, no.
Wait a minute.
l think that's the bullet.
- l'm coming, Jesus.
- l'm sorry, Granny.
You all right? lt's a talking honeydew! - lt's the Apocalypse! - About to slap your lips! What the hell you doing out here, woman?! l've been tracking this cake for three days.
Did one of you assholes just shoot me? Congratulations, son.
You bagged something.
Go on now.
Bathe in the blood.
l'd kind of rather have some cake.
The cake is dead.
What is that, Daddy? That there is a stress ball.
That's what it is, 'cause l'm angry! And l'm angry 'cause you pissed me off aquestionizing me about me and my mess all the time.
You want me to kill it and be a man? A big, big man? No, Rusty.
l have learned much from the Sheriff's pointless ramblings.
We'll let this one live.
And he will thrive on this land and one day grow strong, and bloom into a musky man that will preserve the Cuyler name on through the coming race war.
lt's a miracle.
Straight from heaven.
No, wait! lt's Dracula! National Guard, come in! Send the Black Hawks! They'll kill us all! What in the hell caused all this? God bless this bounty of stolen thermometers and their rich and smooth liquidy metally deadly mirrored gravy innards.
Amen.
- l can't - Damn it, Russell, it's easy.
Just pinch the tail and suck the head.
Just like a crawdaddy.
Hi, Sheriff.
What you doing here? You think l could crash here tonight? BloodLogic