Sealab 2021

Yeah, I guess you could put liquor in it.

Faith and begorra. Then I'll take a thousand quarts.

It'll be drunken buttered potatoes for all of Dingle.

Deal.

Yo, Dave. Big order just came in.

- Mein butter churner is gestohlen. - Hey, hey. Shut your sprech-hole.

I need a thousand qt': by Thursday...

...or I'm gonna blow your ****ing ass out of the air lock.

- Got it? - Nein. Nein, geschtupid.

- Gestohlen. My butter churner is gestohlen. - What? I'm--

- Someone is stealing my butter churner. - Somebody stole your churn?

Ja, und without mein butter churner, I'm not going to have butter.

All right. All right, jeez.

Frigging Amish. Buggy-driving, barn-raising sons of...

Sparks. Sound the alarm. Seal the hatches. Move, man, move.

Hang on. Somebody stole Amish Dave's butter churn, and, meanwhile, I gotta--

No churn? Well, where the hell am I supposed to get my fix?

I mean, this one's cashed. Sparks, I can't go back to margarine.

- Relax. I'll figure something out. - Screw it. We've got bigger problems...

...than a butter shortage. And I never thought I'd say that.

But the Murphmobile is missing.

Well, maybe it's with my microscope.

- What does that have to do with anything? - My microscope is missing from the bio lab.

Well, get in line. I've got no butter and no Murphmobile to drive while I eat it.

That hair dryer was brand-new, for crying out loud.

Shut up about the stupid hair dryer.

Captain, you've got to do something.

What in Judas-rocking-Priest is going on around here?

There is a dirty, rotten, lowdown, stinking thief on Sealab.

- Somebody stole my hair dryer. - And my Hummel collection.

And my...

...back massager.

Back massager. Yeah, right.

- Looks like we're all missing something. - That's the whole point.

We don't know whose throat to slit.

What do you mean, "What?" A throat needs slitting...

-...and we don't know where to lay the blade. - I'm sure there's a rational explanation...

-...for the missing things. - Yeah, you took them.

What? My microscope was stolen.

Well, it's pretty obvious that you took your own microscope...

-...to cover up the fact that you did it. - Quinn.

- To me it is. - Come on, just fess up.

- Girl, what are you talking about? - It's obvious that you did it.

Oh, okay, I get it. So the black guy did it, huh?

Automatically blaming the black guy, huh? Nice.

Well, a minute ago, you were all ready to blame the Latino.

- No, I wasn't. - You wanna play the race card, Quinn?

Is that it? What, so Latinos steal?

- We're just a bunch of thieves, gringo? - Inever said that.

You don't have to say it. I can smell it on you.

You disgusting bigot.

- Would you shut up?! - Ican't believe I had sex with you...

-...ajillion times. - What?

You told me you were saving yourself for marriage.

No, no, no.

No.

- Could we not talk about our sex life? - What, are you ashamed of it?

Was it too dirty for you, Q?

Too hot. And savage.

That one time was a little weird.

- Oh, with the thing. - Yeah.

- That was weird. - I was drunk.

I know. Still weird.

Enough. Until we find the thief, I am declaring Martian law.

I think it's "martial law."

Silence. Under Martian law--

What are my powers, exactly?

Under martial law, you could suspend habeas corpus...

-...empower a posse comitatus-- - That's crap.

Mars is wild, untamed.

I'm forming a cadre of Martian Knights charged with enforcing Martian law.

- Martian Knights? - Now, who's ready to beat some ass?

- I'm in. - Idub thee Sir Phobos, Knight of Mars...

...beater of ass. Be a hitter, babe.

Hey, I wanna be a Martian Knight.

With you guys.

Maybe get one of them bats.

- Oh, my God. - What are you doing?

Silence. I am enforcing the sacred law of the Red Planet.

It's not Martian law.

- It's-- - Sir Phobos.

- My hand! You crushed my hand! - Oh, my God. We've gotta get out of here.

Just be cool. I'll try to distract them.

Something's real bad wrong in my pants.

Prithee, knave, what else can I do under Martian law?

Anything. Anything you want.

- Can I marry people? - I don't know. Yeah, sure.

Dr. Virjay, please report to--

Oh, God. That was my last hand.

Under Martian law, doctors and other wizards are forbidden.

- Nice swing, Sir Phobos. - The key is to hit really hard.

With the bat.

Okay. Quinn. Debbie. I bid thee...

-...get over here. - Captain...