Solar Opposites

Yard sale! Sci-fi yard sale!

Come get your mysterious technology from beyond the stars.

Oh, look, a thermal detonator for just five American dollars.

Where the heck is everyone?

We got laser pants, Slay Rays,

a box of Shrimp Fajita Uncrustables.

- -

Can I please take this stupid robot off?

Oh, it's a million degrees in here.

Absolutely not. People see a robot,

and it puts them in the mood to shop.

Please let me return to the ship so I may continue my scientific work.

- -Why aren't we getting any customers?

I spent a fortune on that sky writer

to draw a naked lady pointing at our house.

Oh, my God, that's very graphic.

So, that's what boobs look like.

Look at that vagina.

-Terry, up there. -Oh, now I see.

That's a very detailed sky anus.

It better be. I got ripped off, but I felt bad for the guy.

What? The whole point of this sale is to make money, not spend it.

Our diamond machine was destroyed,

so now we're totes broke, no cap.

This all happened back in episode 601, true believers.

Get fucked!

-Oh, you guys heard that, right? -Heard what?

We all have to do our part as a team family

to eradicate unnecessary expenses with extreme prejudice.

No more Venti woke milk lattes for me, I guess.

I'll have to tip waitresses with napkin sketches,

like Picasso.

Nobody wants that hacky continuous line shite.

Well, I've been doing my part.

I'm buying only the barest of essentials.

Expensive thing delivery for "Terry Danger Opposites."

Oh, ohh, yes.

It's my monthly subscription box of Celebrity Fart Jars.

Now I got a full set of the West Wing's toots.

Nice discoloration. Whitford must love chickpeas.

That one looks silent but deadly.

Oh, for fuck's sake. We cannot waste money on bloody fart jars.

It's only 2,000 bucks per jar.

Ahh.

Hints of shit and dark chocolate.

H-h-how are you even smelling that?

-We don't have noses. -Oh, God, fine.

If you want to justify it in canon,

I'm tasting the bits of airborne fecal matter with my tongue.

-Happy, you uptight Reddit dork? -Yes.

Okay, everybody huddle up. I have a shocking revelation to announce.

For the last time, Midnights is just an album.

It doesn't have prime numbers from Vega buried in the modulation.

Yes, it does.

But also, if we don't make a mortgage payment

in the next two days, the bank will take our house.

- - Take it where?

-I mean, they'll kick us out. -Oh, chill, sweet tits.

We'll just get one of those reverse mortgages.

Then the bank has to pay us.

That's not how that works.

Why don't we just re-fi, bro?

I agree. We should re-fi, bro.

Can we re-fi, Korvo? Please, bro.

Re-fi! Re-fi! Re-fi!

-Re-fi! -No, none of us know what that means.

We have to make money, and fast.

Ah, neighbor Kevin.

Cease your bipedal locomotion and come spend

recklessly at our yard sale.

We got Yumyulack's quantum crossbow.

It's great for hunting as long as you don't observe the deer.

Ooh, maybe later.

I'm headed to the estate sale up the street.

What the hell is an estate sale?

Mom, they have an air fryer.

Look at them move all this product.

Why is this so popular, but ours is

a John Carter From Mars level dud.

A yard sale's just old crap you're trying to get rid of,

but an estate sale is when someone dies.

Then they can't stop you from buying all their favorite treasures.

Ooh, a Purple Heart. I'll give you 10 bucks for this.

That's why that lady's making a scene.

She's grief pilled.

-Look at all that wet, salty cash. -That's it.

If we're going to save our house,

one of the Solar Opposites must die!

-Wait, why? -So we can have an estate sale.

Oh, now we get it. Okay, say that again.

One of the Solar Opposites must die!

Planet Shlorp was a perfect utopia,

until the asteroid hit.

One hundred adults and their replicants were issued a Pupa,

and escaped into space,

searching for new homes on uninhabited worlds.

We crashed on Earth,

stranding us on an already overpopulated planet.

That's right, I've been talking this whole time.

I'm the one holding the Pupa.

My name's Korvo. This is my show.

Bollocks, I just dropped the Pupa.

Ugh. This is ridiculous. I hate Earth.

It's a horrible home.

People are stupid and confusing.

Why is everyone dying of old age before they're 500 years old?

Every time you go around the century,

you can Prestige and hit puberty again.

The dominant species of this planet is so lazy.

Previously on The Wall...

Sisto is dead.

From now on, there will no more

power-hungry dictators or bloody wars.

You want my help?

Then, bow.

Wait.

I'm alive.

But who the fuck am I?

And now, the contin-in-u-ation.

Hail Queen Cherie!

Hail Queen Cherie!

Hail Queen Cherie!

Wow, sick chants, guys.

Queen Cherie, thank you so much for talking with us today

before the ceremony.

Always a pleasure to speak to my loyal subjects.

It's been five months since The Wall united

with the people of the yard.

Yard folk are strong, yet wise.

When you returned from your time there,

you proclaimed yourself Queen.

Queen of the small, grower of grass,

protector of The Wall.

Instead of fighting, you formed a partnership with Sister Nova,

who you named as Wall Minister.

Serving beside the Queen is the highest honor.

Together, you've created the greatest era of prosperity, peace,

and just plain ol' good vibes The Wall's ever had.

Careful now.

Uh, your majesty?

You're dropping facts all over the place.

Hilarious fake out, your Grace,

and, of course, we're here today for your latest achievement,

the grand opening of The Wall's first water treatment plant.

Now every Wallian will have access to clean water.

No one will have to wash their butthole

with Coke Zero ever again.

- - Oh, man.

And finally, I've heard rumors

of a big secret project you're working on.

Nothing to announce today, but I just want everyone to know

that life in The Wall is good,

and it's only going to get even gooder.

This is Rebecca Savannah St. Birmingham Jones,

and you're listening to Small Things Considered.

Gosh golly, Queen Cherie,

th-this is such an honor.

Don't be nervous. What's your name?

Me, I-I'm Skip. I'm sorry I'm sweating so much.

It's just I've never been this close to a magic lady before.

- -

Oh, God. Was I the bad guy?

Ugh, what the hell was I thinking

trying to pull off that gold chain?

I dedicate this water treatment plant

to the thirstiest of all of us,

the improv comedians.

- -Woo, yeah!

Your reign is over, fake Queen.

I, the Bloody Blood Baron,

am the new leader of The Wall.

From here on out, everyone must drink blood!

I could get into blood.

I was only pretending to pay attention earlier,

so this would be a good chance to catch me up.

Now we've all obviously died many times before

but for an estate sale, it has to really count.

So we'll be using the Eternal Sleep Sack.

That sleeping bag is a sci-fi device?

This sleeping bag is made of fifth-dimensional gluons.

-And? -If you zip yourself up inside,

you can choose what kind of afterlife you want to experience.

-So, like Coco? -Dammit, Terry,

not everything is like a Disney movie.

But, yes, it is like Coco.

Nice death bag, but how does it help us with the mortgage?

There's a guy from the bank already measuring

for when he moves in.

Shit, we have to hurry.

I shall die in the bag

so you can all sell off our sci-fi stuff at my estate sale.

Well, hey, come on, let me die. I want to go back to hell

like I did in that Halloween special.

I miss those crazy-ass demons.

And I want to meet Coco.

Shut up. I get to die.

I've been working too hard. I need a break.

So I'm going to relax in the nonexistence of the atheist afterlife.

Remember, if we want to stay in this house,

you all need to sell, sell, sell.