American Dad!

What's up, Stan?

Wanna go to the mall

and accidentally bump kids into the fountain?

Not a chance.

I got the day off and nothin' to worry about.

Gonna spend it relaxing right here.

Nothing to worry about? In this house?

I give it five minutes before one of us ruins it for you.

The only question is, who will it be?

Hey, dad!

Oh, it's gonna be Steve!

I made a new friend on the edge of town.

He won't tell me his name!

No, that's an inappropriate friend!

And then there's Hayley and Jeff.

Dad, I need a pregnancy test,

and Jeff and I are too high to drive to the drug store.

Getting high helps me prolong our lovemaking.

How's your worry-free day goin', Stan?

Look, we all know what the results

of the pregnancy test is going to be.

Jeff smokes so much weed --

How much weed does he smoke?

That -- that there's no way he could get a girl pregnant?

I mean, it's... it's not really a joke.

But -- but I could think of one!

Oh, you lost them, Stan.

Look, if it's not this,

your family will hit you with something else.

I mean, you haven't even heard what I'm up to this week.

I'm trying to get our house included

on a list of potential World Cup sites.

Oh, no. That -- that's, like,

the biggest sporting event in the world.

Picture it -- in our backyard,

120,000 horny soccer hooligans,

each of them hornier than the last.

I know it sounds crazy, but F.I.F.A.'s narrowed it down

to either soldier field or where our pool is now.

Look, Stan, you can't even see

the pack of lightbulbs I'm stealing.

We can afford those!

That's what I'm trying to tell ya, Stan.

You can't relax around us.

Mr. S., I got us dancing coke cans.

Did you get the pregnancy test?

You're silly, Mr. S.

I'm a boy. I can't get pregnant!

There's no escaping us.

Dad, can my friend have dinner with us?

I won't be any bother.

I'll just eat from your boy's plate.

Wait. What?! What does this mean?

It means you are going to die

unless you lower your blood pressure.

Oh, god! How do I do that? There's only one way.

You have to reduce your stress or...

You'll perish.

Oh, paper towels.

I should probably get a roll for the World Cup.

You know, for messes.

All right, everyone, as the great Humpty once rapped,

"stop what you're doin' 'cause I'm about to ruin..."

whatever it was that you were doing.

Computer, engage.

Last night, the C.I.A. mainframe was hit by a cyber terrorist.

They acquired a lot of valuable information.

And if you know anyone undercover in Bolivia,

you don't anymore.

Now all evidence suggests

this attack was carried out by cyber terrorist Max Zegarra.

And we know exactly where he's hiding.

So the boring stuff's done.

You need someone to do the fun part?

Grab him and bag him?

That's one way to go,

but last night I was watching "Point Break" on TBS

when I realized, what if this attack

was pulled off by a pack of renegade surfers

trying to fund an endless summer?!

Sir, that's crazy! Jackson gets it!

Now, all I need is someone to infiltrate

the local surf community

and bring the law breakers to justice.

Is surfing that sport that happens at the beach,

the most relaxed place on earth,

nowhere near your stressful family?

Oh, ho! Look who knows everything about surfing!

Smith, my friend, the assignment is yours.

Perfect. Now I just have to blend in.

Out of the way, Haole! You're on my line.

Aah! Aah!

What's up, Haole? This beach is for locals only.

What's your zip code, bitch?

And don't...lie.

Hey, leave him alone!

Back off. The beach is for everyone.

Says who?

The city bylaws.

Yeah? Well, I'm gonna go down to city hall

and talk to the head of the records department.

And then we'll see about your little "theory."

You're lucky, Haole. This isn't over.

Whoa! Thanks! Yeah, no problem, man.

Don't worry about those guys. They just don't like outsiders.

How could they tell I'm not local?

Well, trying to surf a rowboat's a pretty big red flag.

You don't really have a beach vibe.

A beach vibe.

It's so simple.

Do I have it now?

All right, tell you what --

come back tomorrow, and I'll show you.

By the way, I'm Kai.

I was named after one of the Hawaiian islands.

Which one? Maui.

The best one. Nice!

Not sure how you get "Kai" out of that, but nice.

Buon giorno.

I am from F.I.F.A.'s World Cup site selection committee.

Ugh. Roger!

But I must make a mistake.

This is no stadium. This is a house.

Actually, it's more of a home...

Home of the future World Cup.

Clever.

But being clever is only 60% of the selection process.

Let's talk security infrastructure.

Oh, yes, of course. Business before pleasure.

But before that, pleasure.

Ants on a log?

The ant.

The ant...

is amazing.

Oh, thank god. But...

I have not tried the log.

All right, that's it. I'm out.

The log...

she is incredible.

I'm telling you, a-a Ferrari is faster than a cop car.

Steve, a cop car can catch a Ferrari. Trust me.

Dad, can you believe this guy?

Ugh. This is still happening?

I-I gotta -- I-I gotta go to the beach.

You know why I love surfing, Stan?

It's all about learning to let go.

You know, I fathered six kids in three different countries,

and I just let 'em all go.

I can't let go.

I have to be responsible for my family.

If I let go, all hell would break loose.

Stan, make me a promise.

The right wave is gonna come, dude.

And when it does, you're gonna let go of your worries.

Just go with the flow.

Whenever.

This one! P-paddle! Paddle, Stan! Now, now, now!

Stan, hamburger buns were on sale, so I stole 600.

When I have a baby, I'm gonna name it, "Recycling."

Dad, me and my mysterious friend

are blood brothers now!

Stan, FIFA says the downstairs bathroom's

gonna need 70 urinals.

It'll work if we move the hamper.

Remember, Stan! Let go!

I'm doing it!

Ahh.

Looks like you're startin' to get it.

I feel so...relaxed.

Whoa, is that a soul patch?

Huh. It must've grown in during my ride.

Stan, it looks really good.

I didn't know we got a hammock. When did we get a hammock?

Oh, sorry. Didn't see you on the phone.

All good, Klaus. I'm just listening to the surf report.

4-foot swells and glassy as hell.

Sounds like glassy is where it's at, bro.

Tap it.

Ooh, I like surfer Stan. He's the chillest.

Dad, my new friend needs to stop by his ex-wife's house

to pick up some stuff, and he asked me to be lookout.

Can we take your car? He's not allowed to drive

'cause the state's a bunch of assholes.

Yeah, do your thing. That worked?

Go, Steve, don't question it. Just go.

Oh, hey, Stan, good news.

We've been approved for a liquor license

for the World Cup.

We can sell beer, wine, and soju.

We can make soju cocktails.

They taste like normal cocktails except they suck

and they taste like nail polish.

Sounds dank, bro.

Relax, Stan.

Wait. What's wrong with you?

I got a quarter million-person liquor license

for the stadium I'm building in your backyard.

There are gonna be Costa Ricans on your property.

That doesn't worry you?

Guess you didn't get the memo.