The Adventures of Sam & Max: Freelance Police

Not again.

This is the third time this morning.

Whew.

Hello.

Somebody call for a refrigerator repair?

In here.

Hello there, young lady.

Is your mommy home?

This isn't my home.

It's my lab.

And my mommy didn't call you.

I did.

Well, aren't we all grown up?

You must be Darla Gugenheek.

Please.

My friends call me the Geek.

Ah, the Cool Spot Super 6.

Dandy of a unit.

What seems to be the problem?

Well, for starters, it's possessed

by some unearthly presence, it sneaks up behind me a lot,

and it doesn't keep my soda cold.

Sounds like a power surge.

I'll have her fixed in a jiffy.

Right.

That's what the last two repair guys said.

No!

Darn you.

Darn you all to --

What, another one?

Well, this has just gone too far.

Computer. Working.

Put out an urgent call to Sam and Max.

Who?

Sam and Max.

Sam and Max.

Sam and Max.

Sam and Max.

Sam and Max: Freelance Police.

Last time on Sam and Max:

Boy, those were fun times, he said wistfully.

You can say that again, Max.

But like all dry spells and peach pits,

this too shall pass.

I sure hope so, Sam.

It's been at least five minutes since my last brush with death,

and I'm getting light in the head.

Try eating a cookie.

I got it!

I got it!

Yes, uh huh.

10-4. Affirmative.

Roger. Miller.

Gotcha. Check.

We're on it.

Was it the Commissioner?

Not exactly.

It was someone not unlike the Commissioner,

with all the intolerant intones of the commissioner, who

sounded the remarkably like the Geek,

and therefore could very well have been the Geek.

You have a long, black hair growing right out of your nose.

She says there's bad trouble down

in the Subbasement of Solitude.

It's a case.

To the lab.

Having fun, little pal?

It's curiously unsettling.

Well, Secretary General, there are no easy answers

to the global warming problem, but if you're asking

my opinion--

Incoming.

Incoming.

Ah, geez.

Can't they ever take the stairs?

Catching some air.

Going for distance.

It's a new world record.

Gee, I hope this wasn't anything important.

It looks like an incredibly virulent form of the plague.

But tastes like butter.

Look, Sam.

The Geek fixed our car.

It's got new headers, and lifters,

and retractable headlight howitzers, and everything.

She's too good to us.

You can say that again, little buddy.

I love having a Subbasement of Solitude

with our very own genius girl to think of wildly

improbable stuff for us.

Like this exploding Max decoy with realistic action banter.

Death from above.

Death from above.

It's what I've always wanted.

Thanks, Geek.

Keep it down, you guys.

I'm on the phone to the United Nations.

Doing a little moonlighting for the world powers, I see.

I had some free time.

Secretary General, I'll look into that ozone thing

right away.

Over and out.

What took you guys?

My fridge is really acting up.

Golly, Geek, we had a hankering for something

a little more dangerous.

Life threatening, even.

Hm.

So far, it's absorbed three innocent repairmen.

Now you're talking.

OK.

On my signal.

Three, two, open the door right now.

Chill, fridge.

Freeze, unit.

I can't believe I shot at an innocent vegetable.

I can't believe I said chill.

Oh, well.

Nothing spooky or untoward inside.

It's not fair.

Give it a minute to warm up.

It's an old fridge.

Happy now?

This is definitely a job for the freelance police.

The light. Go into the light.

This is no time to mock the paranormal, little pal.

We need to look into this. -Check.

Ooh. Aah.

It was at that point they met Yukon Cornelius,

Scallywag of the North.

Max, snap out of it.

What did you see?

I saw what can only be described as a gateway

to some wondrous parallel dimension.

Great.

But did you see any Fudgicles in there?

Look way in the back.

Stop it, Sam.

You're making it mad.

Oh, Max doesn't mind.

Do you, Max?

Whoa.

I'm just tossing darts in the dark here,

but I'd say this whole trans-dimensional mess

is the combined result of you storing

toxic oozes in leaky zippy lock bags

in a freezer that's about as neglected as Quasimodo

at a Sadie Hawkins dance.

Can you guys just do something about this, please?

Sure, but do you have any sage scientific advice

before we venture into this presumably hostile unknown

dimension?

Well, it's unknown and presumably hostile.

I'd be careful. -Thanks, Geek.

You're the best.

There's no place like home.

Well here we are in the hostile parallel ice

dimension contained inside the Geek's freezer.

And me, without my lip balm.

And you, without lips.

But enough of this.

(SINGING) In the morning, in the evening,

ain't we got fun. La la la la.

La la la la.

La la la la. Oh!

Quickly fashioning a makeshift sled using

giant French fries and spit.

Mush, Max, mush.

If we ever hope to find those repairmen

and get home in time for a huge self-congratulatory hoagie,

we've got to find the source of all

these multi-dimensional shenanigans.

Woof. Woof.

Scarecrows.

Crude, but effective.

How so?

There's not a crow in sight and the corn hasn't been touched.

I'm thinking maybe these scarecrows are here to scare

off more than just crows.

Perhaps whoever lives down there can provide the answer.

What's the password?

And if you say, swordfish, I'll lose it.

The password is haggis.

-Boiled...? -Haggis!

No signs of life, Max.

Still, I can't shake this uneasy feeling

that we're being watched in a cliche kind of way.

Yeah, it's just like in those cheesy teenage gore flicks.

Don't strip for a shower unless you want to buy the farm.

And speaking of cliche movie moments--

Freelance police.

Nobody move.

Good work, little buddy.

You can un-hogtie us now.

-Not until you say cheese. -Cheese.

Sorry about that back there.

We thought you were the Thing.

The Thing?

A shape-changing entity of unfathomable evil

that's been stalking us.