A.P. Bio

Hello, Whitlock students. I'm Mr. Pugh.

And I'm very excited to invite you

to join the Toledo chapter

of Ohio Naturalists.

The program offers hands-on learning

and a chance to become a citizen scientist.

Oh, hello, Mr. Bee.

Oh.

Looks like somebody wants to get on camera.

Uh, this year, we're going on an overnight field trip

to Swan Creek Preserve Metropark...

The bees are back. Ah.

Brought a friend. Or two.

Uh, you know, bees are actually...

They're very friendly.

They... they know not to attack

unless they're feeling threatened or...

Bananas!

Got me.

Sometimes they get confused, but...

Owee.

Oh, well, uh...

We will, uh, embark on a variety of activities.

Uh, from bird counts to stream sampling.

Plant identi... Please go away from...

Oh, no.

I stepped on a goose nest.

Oh. Its babies.

I squished them. Oh, no.

Go away!

Aw, God. Would you please stop?

I'm nice.

Mr. Pugh asked me to edit that out,

but I do not know how to do that.

Okay, Rams.

Get ready to grab the day by...

When you're in the wild,

if you need to heighten your sense of smell,

you lick your fingers and wet your nostrils.

Like so.

Like, if I'm a wolf?

And I wanna sniff out a fat bunny?

Hm.

All right.

Begin shutting your mouths up.

I cannot believe I'm saying this,

but Sarika is now my favorite.

Yeah... her aunt wants to publish my book,

"The Pursuit of Happiness Through Societal Regression."

We're meeting for dinner tonight at Mansy's.

Mansy's is very romantic.

I took Sarah, my college girlfriend, there.

Oh! You gave her a name!

Nice! But this is not a date.

Besides, my aunt only goes for guys who drive BMWs.

Not driver's ed cars.

And Heather's back to being my favorite.

Don't call it a comeback.

Okay. Yeah.

So I guess the only question that remains is

how should I pose for the photo

on the back cover of my book, you know?

Oh. Maybe I'll hold this skull.

Like Hamlet. You know?

But it'd be like this child's skill,

so my hands look bigger.

You know, so my hands look bigger.

Right. Let's hold off on that.

Oh, okay.

I read the first chapter of your book.

You're clearly a good writer.

Oh. Thanks.

Yeah, I write to discover what I know.

That's Flannery O'Connor.

Cool.

Now, perhaps you've heard of my client,

best-selling author, Robin Schwonk.

The final book in his "Rock Bottom" trilogy,

"Disgraced," is set to be released in three weeks.

But he's having a personal trauma,

and hasn't written it.

His beloved Pekingese has Psoriasis.

Sorry, the elbow rash stuff?

On a dog?

We need "Disgraced" ASAP.

We have 50,000 pre-sales, and I have spent the money.

I finally had my shoulders done.

Oh, good... good. Yeah, no... sorry.

What does this have to do with my book?

This is your book.

I want you to write "Disgraced."

Uh...

"A brilliant but emotionally stunted psychopath

"is disgraced and moves home to the Midwest.

His intense shame drives him to murder."

I mean, the main character is basically you.

No, I... I don't relate to that character at all.

Excuse me, sir. Is this your child's skull?

It is.

I just got chills.

You're perfect.

Sarika told me you were fired from Harvard,

and live in your dead mother's apartment.

Townhome. You are "Disgraced."

Sorry, I live in my dead mother's townhome.

You'll be paid, of course.

And if you nail this, I will do everything I can

to get your book published.

Okay.

I'm in.

Ow, ow, ow, ow.

Oh, oh. Shoulders.

Right.

Oh. Good morning, ladies.

While you were out buying

paintings of wine bottles at TJ Maxx,

I pulled one over on the rubes who buy books at airports.

I wrote a Schwonk. Whoa.

You wrote a book for Robin Schwonk?

Mm-hmm. Dang.

I still remember reading "Bone Freaks" when I was 13.

That's where I learned the word "areola."

Oh.

Anyway, I think you guys are gonna be

the perfect audience for this, I do.

Check... check this out.

"I woke up in a seedy motel."

"What was left of the desk clerk stared back to me.

"Eyes vacant..." Oh, God, stop!

That's giving me the creep sweats.

Hey, creep sweats are the panties thrown on stage

of horror writing, so.

Jesus, Jack.

It's 8:00 in the morning.

Yeah, oh, sorry. I haven't slept.

Uh-uh. You know what you see.

That is exactly why he's listed in my "If I Go Missing" kit.

What's an "If I Go Missing" kit?

So it is a kit that you make for the police

in case you go missing.

And inside it has all your passwords,

your DNA, a recent photo of you for the news,

and a list of men you think might wanna kill or kidnap you.

Every lady needs one.

Except me because I'm microchipped.

However, I did make a "If Durbin Goes Missing" kit.

And just for your information, it is in this drawer here.

And it is always locked.

Nope. Not locked.

All right. Let me show you.

Ooh.

Very top secret.

I've got a blood sample.

I won't tell you what hole that came out of.

Michelle, the point is

you needed a kit like yesterday, okay?

Like, watch a "Dateline."

Well. Kiddos.

This weekend, I crapped out a Robin Schwonk novel.

Uh, all due respect, boss.

Robin Schwonk doesn't use ghost writers.

Well, this is a one-time thing, Heather.

He's in a dark place right now.

Apparently his dog. Has Psoriasis

Millie? Oh, no.

Mm-hmm.

Hello? Jack Griffin.

Hey. Robin Schwonk.

I just finished reading your draft of "Disgraced."

You did? Great.

Mm-hmm. Yeah.

No let me ask you something.

Do you like messing with me?

'Cause I just finished wiping my ass with that pile of shit.

Have you even read any of my trilogies?

'Cause this is nothing like my work.

I'm not gonna put my name on this, you little piggie!

Next. Hold on.

Hello, sweetie.

I'm here to pick up Psoriasis cream

for Millie Schwonk.

Say, where's Margaret anyway?

Oh! There she is.

I didn't see you back there, doll.

How are you?

Well, sweetie, you look great with a tan.

Hawaii? Oh, well.

I gotta change my line of work.

Hello? Wh...

Yeah, Jackie.

Let's fix this. Okay, bud?

Let's get it done.

Okay. Bye-bye now.

Oh...

Well.

There's eight hours of work down the drain.

So he hated it, huh?

Well you did say you crapped it out, so,

you know, that had me worried since Jump Street.

Marcus, go stick your hand in the window sill.