Another Period

Well, I met a boy I like.

Laverne Fussleforth the fifth.

What do you say about getting married in, oh, I don't know,

the next 45 minutes or so?

- We'll have to wait for Bertram.

I can't have a wedding without my grandson here.

- How wonderful to finally meet you, Grandma!

I might be in love with Hortense.

- What could you possibly see in Hortense?

- Well, I suppose I don't see much of anything

on account of my glaucoma.

- Earthworms don't change into butterflies, Chair.

Someone took photos of us.

Sexual photographs, Beatrice.

You're no longer welcome here.

Oh, Frederick!

Get ye to a nunnery!

Mother?

Beatrice, I live here.

May I have the ring, please?

Put it on my finger.

Everyone just relax.

Laverne's just taking a nap.

Give him some air!

I am a registered Red Cross lady of the Perpetual Watch.

- Oh, oh, I think he's just playing charades.

Sack of onions!

Dead industrialist!

Does anyone else have any guesses?

Oh, my God.

Laverne has passed.

No!

You think you're "no"?

I'm no!

No!

- Laverne is in a better place now...

Not engaged to Lillian.

- Oh, but this still counts though, right?

Listen up, everyone.

There's something I must confess.

Laverne was...

very old!

Yes, it is true.

I've known for some time.

But let me say this:

Grandpa loved life, but more than that,

he loved love,

and I love you...

Hortense.

Where's Grandpa's ring?

- Here it is. - No, that's my ring!

- Well, seeing as you never actually married Laverne,

I am the legal heir to his possessions and fortunes,

so technically it's my ring.

But actually, it's Hortense's ring

if she'll have it.

Wait, is this even legal?

- I don't know. I'm ship captain.

Yes!

I will marry you!

Wait!

You've never even seen her.

By Job, you're right.

I want to see my beautiful bride.

- But should we check with the doctor

before you take those off?

And how necessary is it really to see the bride

before one's marriage?

Oh, foo-fah!

I want to see your face, damn it.

So bright.

So clear.

I can see.

Oh, my heavens.

You're Hortense?

You're...

much more...

beautiful than I ever could've imagined.

No!

I'm so happy!

I'm so happy!

God.

- Oh, God. - Yes.

- Beatrice, you do not need to flagellate yourself

to get into heaven.

This is the fifth time I'm telling you this.

Oh, I know.

I was doing it just in case.

This may sound dramatic,

but I really don't want to go to hell.

My dear...

Sit down.

You are not going to go to hell.

Only people who don't believe exactly as we do

are going there.

Right.

Except for people I like.

- No, people you like will be going to hell.

A lot of them.

- What? - Oh, yes.

One day you'll see someone you love,

and that's really wonderful, but the next day,

just know that they'll be drinking and smoking

and eating taffy at the gates of hell.

- Drinking and smoking and eating taffy

at the gates of hell?

God works in mysterious ways,

but the devil works in plain sight.

Well, what about Lillian?

She's not going to hell, right? - Tell me about this Lillian.

- Well, she sins all the time and she doesn't believe

in anything, but deep down, she's really pretty.

She's gonna go to hell.

- Oh, no. - Oh, yes.

- Maybe I should flagellate on her behalf.

No.

- Yeah, no, I don't think that'll help.

You cannot save another person.

If that were the case, then the Lord would save all of mankind

and no one would go to hell.

Why doesn't he?

Well, because.

Oh, yeah.

- The best thing you can do for those you love

is forcefully push your beliefs upon them.

Thank you.

Oh.

Sweet Dodo,

may I have this one...

last dance?

Oh.

Tits on a frog!

Oh, we've done it!

It's official:

the Bellacourt fortune has been saved.

- Yes, and now it's time to make us official.

Oh, you're right.

To love.

To money.

I'm a simple girl.

All I want is a little RBP:

rubies, beluga, and property.

- And here we go, you retched, horrible creature.

Soup for you, you hideous old child.

Eat up, old hobo.

Gee, thanks, missus.

'Tis the best bowl of soup I ever did eat, I did.

Oh, I almost forgot.

You've been served.

They're divorce papers.

You are not an easy woman to track down.

Shit on my tits!

- Brunch, did you recently catch obesity?

Oh!

You're fat.

- Well, sir, it's Blanche, and no, I am with child.

Oh.

Well, that would be adorable

if not for your chilling lack of a partner

and basement-level social standing.

It's sad.

- My husband and I are going to raise this child together.

- Victor, would you ever want to have a child?

Sometimes I hunger for a womb of my own.

Yes.

Yes, I think with my thin, aristocratic blood

and my familial propensity towards large-scale violence,

this child would have sure footing in this life.

- I'd be willing to rear my own spawn

if it had almond-shaped eyes

and dressed primarily in sailor suits.

Mm.

- Forgive me, but don't you both have multiple children already?

Oh, my God.

Are you brain damaged or just organically stupid?

- Not from our wives. Love child.

Yeah.

A child who would have mud-brown hair, very straight spine.

His name would be Tiberius and he would only communicate

through dance.

Tiberius, handsome name.

Like the proud Roman emperor who oversaw

the administrative apparatus that killed Christ.

Oh!

I have a wonderful idea.

We will take her child and raise it as our own.

- Mm. Well, what if it's a girl?

- Well, we do live next to the Atlantic Ocean.

We can teach her to sail with the old heave-ho.

We would drown her.

- Hi, Mother. - Oh!

It's me.

I stowed away like a piece of luggage.