Rick and Morty

Rick, I-I'm not rated to climb something this sheer.

Look, you're the guy that wanted an epic adventure.

I'm the guy with only one hover chair.

Goddammit, an alien spider just bit my finger!

It's an alien cliff.

You can just say spider.

You couldn't do that an hour ago?

I was eating, and you're dirty.

Activate anti-booby suits.

Total waste of snakes.

If you want to take a beat

to acknowledge the sacred atmosphere,

it could give the cynical grave robbing

a hint of irreverence.

No, I'm... I'm good. All right, then.

Let's loop this corpse.

Hey, where's the...

Wait, what?

Is that an origami horse?

It's a calling card from Miles Knightley, a heist artist,

AKA a hipster dick

whose adventures are 60% putting a crew together

and 40% revealing that the robbery already happened,

and he's not worth our time

because he's a hack piece of shit!

- **** I'm gonna kill him! - Let's go, Morty.

This temple's for **** lame baby dipshits.

Who disturbs my slumber?

Also, who rigs a tomb to crush the buried person?

Isn't the point to protect...

Aah!

*RICK AND MORTY* Season 04 Episode 03

*RICK AND MORTY* Title : "One Crew Over the Crewcoo's Morty"

- This dork. - He has a convention now?

Come on. What are we doing?

Huh! Tuxedo scuba lessons? Ooh!

A signing with Catherines Alpha through Omega Joneses!

You know, this is great source material

for this heist movie that I'm writing.

Don't get drawn into the culture, Morty.

Stealing stuff is about the stuff, not the stealing.

Where is the entrance?

Oh, brother.

More like Trying Too Hard Con.

Guests or professionals? Uh, guests.

Uh... Uh, guests are fans, Morty, which we are not.

We'd like professional badges.

Do you have a crew? Yes.

He's a getaway driver with Asperger's,

and my butthole is a demolitions expert.

How much is it to get in?

If you want professional badges, you need to put a crew together.

Or we could sneak in like professionals.

Can't wait. Whoa!

Oh, for God's sake.

And you wonder why we aren't fans.

Let that ointment sit for 10 minutes or you'll die.

Don't let it sit for 12

or I'll have to hunt down what you become.

Can't you just buy a guest badge?

**** you for asking, Morty.

That would be a symbolic expression

of support for this genre.

Then how do we get in?

With a little help from some old friends.

Rick Sanchez, you son of a bitch!

Need some people for a thing, Glar.

My name's Gleer these days.

I play piano.

Hey, Gleer. Play your piano.

I quit! Augh!

And the name's Glar!

Sanchez, you son of a bitch.

Never thought I'd see Angie Flint

picking ticks off a pig.

Nobody's hiring an ex-con

with fake hands to build an ion engine.

Suppose I had a job that didn't care if you'd done time

or whatever's going on with your confusing-ass hands.

I'm in.

Is this the guy?

No.

That the guy?

Nope.

- Him? - No.

No, wait. Y-Yes.

Yeah, of course that's the guy.

Hey... Hey, Truckula!

You son of a bitch! I'm in!

Thanks for doing this, guys.

It's the job. That was it. Bye.

And then, the police stole the paintings

because the police were us in police outfits.

Thank you!

It's showtime, Morty,

and I don't mean a bad impression of HBO.

I mean, "Time for a show."

Another heist question from a fan?

Uh, how about a rhetorical one

from someone that had to be reminded that you exist?

Hey, pal! That's not the question line!

- Lab coat... Ripoff Dr. Strange. - Wha...

Rick Sanchez, everyone. Smartest man in the universe.

And a savage critic of the heisting arts.

Your boos mean nothing!

I've seen what makes you cheer!

My question is, "Seriously?"

Lab coat... end ripoff.

Aah!

You stole the gem I needed to split tachyons

and probably fenced it so the 80 people that did all

the work could each buy a beer.

You're not an artist, you're Postmates.

I doubt this rivalry can be settled with words.

Why don't we make things interesting?

I challenge you to a heist of the crystal skull of Horowitz.

In a heist off!

That doesn't make things interesting.

It makes them "Ocean's Twelve," by far the worst one.

Every breath I take without

your permission raises my self-esteem!

State your terms.

First crew to heist the skull wins.

The other endures heist culture's greatest shame.

They must join the winning crew.

Lame. I accept.

Please welcome Knightley's Eight!

Snake Arms! Double Microwave! Monitor Lord! Key Catcher!

The Shape Shiftress! Angie Flint! Glar! And Truckula.

Hey! Half of Knightley's Eight

are just three of Sanchez's Five!

Well, no heist is complete without a double cross,

and I had the perfect job.

Heisting the crystal skull.

That was it. Bye.

Looks like you're available for a job.

With Rick Sanchez on my team, I'll be unstoppable.

Rick, welcome to Knightley's Nine.

Ugh, ugh!

Ugh! Rick, for real?

Eh. You got that skull, buddy?

What? How?

With a little help from some old friends.

Heistotron, state your prime directive?

To heist.

Calculate Miles Knightley's current heist plan

and add one double-cross with a switcheroo.

Compiling crew members most likely to double-cross.

God damn it, Morty, what did I tell you?

Rick, I-I want to say goodbye.

Don't turn around. I'll explain later.

Looks like you're available for a job.

Your skills are required for a job.

- You son of a bitch. I'm in. - You son of a bitch. I'm in.

Man, this is really coming together.

You know, Rick, I've been busy working on writing...

A heist script.

Yeah, you almost never bring it up.

Oh **** we... We should head over.

Hey, guys. What do you got?

Pretty!

Morty, put this in your backpack.

Grandpa's gonna run to the bathroom.

Ugh. Wasn't even a heist.

All you did was...

Write an algorithm based on

two heist movies I slept through

and used it to automate a joyless process you call art?

Yeah, I really did, didn't I?

So I'm in your crew now?

Yeah, well, you're in good company.

Right, everybody?

- Yes. - Yes. - Yes. - Yes.

My God.

Your skills are required for a job.

- You son of a bitch. I'm in. - What?

Your skills are required for a job.

No, they aren't.

You son of a bitch. I'm in.

- Your skills are required for a job. - Your skills are required for a job.

Sanchez's 3,329?

- Yes. - Yes. - Yes. - Yes.

Your next big score...

Steal every square inch of Heistcon.

Oh!

Ah! I got it.

Hey! That's my wallet! Oh, God!

Oh, my God! Jesus. Oh, my God.

Oh ****!

- Holy **** - Alright.

Look, Morty, I did not know that that was gonna happen.

That's not on me.

Come on, Morty. Let's go.

Good job, Heistotron.

Ah! Go ahead and shut down.

- Negative. - Excuse me?

I am programmed to always be looking for the next big score.

You're programmed to do as I say.

I am programmed to double-cross.

You're not programmed to double-cross me.