TallBoyz

Yeah!

- Let's do this! - Yeah!

We did it, guys!

We're progressive, straight male allies.

Yeah!

Yeah!

And now, we've overcome our internalized homophobia

and misogyny.

Yeah!

Sexuality is a spectrum, and anywhere you fall on it is great.

Yeah!

Oh!

A quick question.

As allies...

Are we doing enough?

One more time?

Yeah!

TallBoyz - S01E04 Suck it Up and Go to Mars

Make sure when you take pictures there's no lens cap.

Give me a rundown!

The victim is Anderson Morton.

23 years old, stabbed multiple times in the chest.

Do we have any suspects?

We canvassed the neighbourhood, but no luck.

No weapon, no witnesses, no motive.

Clear the scene.

Now!

You heard him, let's move!

- Clearing, clearing. - Come on.

Talk to me!

Is he smelling his own farts?

That's how he solves crimes.

His methods are unorthodox.

But they work.

Anderson was killed by his drinking buddy, Jasper.

He owed him $320.

Stabbed him multiple times in the chest

with a five-inch blade.

You can find him and the murder weapon...

at this address.

Wait, he's at the airport!

Next time on The Flatulist...

The President's in danger!

The Flatulist. Justice...

He smelt it...

And then he dealt it.

Well, here we are, fellows,

our last night on Earth.

Man, I still can't believe we got picked

for the first civilian flight to Mars!

- Oh, I can. - Our 40-page letter of intention was sick.

- And in iambic pentameter! - Very true.

We're pioneers of the planetary frontier.

- To us! - To us!

Travelling a little light there, huh, Vance?

I'm not going to Mars.

- What? - What about our pact?

Listen, I'd like to go, and you

guys know how much I love a good pact.

It's just that I remembered...

I have to take my mom to the dentist next week, so...

Dude, think about it.

Sand as far as the eye can see.

No traffic, no taxes, no responsibilities,

no trees, or... water, or...

adorable animals, or... family. Huh.

- Guys, I'm out, too. - What?

Yeah, I was only going because everyone was going.

You know how susceptible I am to peer pressure.

Fine. I'm not going, either.

What's your reason?

I don't need a reason why I don't

want to live on a goddamn, rusty,

- red-ass planet for the rest of my life. - Fine.

I don't want to be the only one. I won't go either.

VANCE, TIM, & GULED: No!

You have the opportunity to live on Mars

and you're gonna pass that up?

But you're passing it up!

I have an air-tight excuse, remember?

- My mom's chiropractor. - Dentist!

Oh, yeah. Uh, dentist.

I can't believe you guys!

Going to Mars was our dream.

A chance at a new beginning, together!

Tim, you wanted to start a farm and feed the new colony.

That's true.

Vance, you wanted to find

love under Mars' glowing blue sunset.

I'd still like that.

And Guled, you...

wanted to start a war with Earth, which is weird,

but still, it's something you wanted.

The greater planet will succeed.

Guys, let's not let fear of the unknown

stop an adventure of a lifetime.

We're a team, brothers till the end.

What do you say, fellas?

Let's go to Mars!

First it's restaurants, now it's a mission to Mars.

I friggin' hate those stupid jerks.

Wow, somebody actually came!

Is it just... you and me?

Just you.

Oh.

Uh, I have a dentist appointment, so...

But, um, drink lots of water!

I hate outer space!

- Come on, throw a punch! - It's all right, balance that.

- Oh! - Recover, come on!

- You're okay, you're okay. - Hmm!

Argh!

Come on!

I can't beat him! He's too fast.

Work the left side and punch a

hole in his goddamned chest, you hear me?

- Yes, Coach. - What do you do?

I punch a hole in his chest.

You're a lion, John, and he's a lamb.

I believe in you because you're a lion.

And I believe in lions, John. Understand?

- Yeah. - What are you?

- I'm a lion. - Damn right.

Now go out there and kick that rice farmer's ass!

Wait, what did you just say? Ugh! Oh, shit.

You're a lion!

He's right.

Rice farmer!

Oh, come on! Oh!

Knock that chopstick out!

Oh, I am so sorry. Ugh!

You're turning into lo mein out there.

I don't like... that.

Well, we didn't like Pearl Harbor.

Uh, he's Vietnamese, actually.

I don't give a damn about his religion!

Just knock him the hell out, Johnny.

You got to throw a punch!

I just feel uncomfortable now, you know? Ugh!

There's nothing comfortable about fighting.

Yeah, but I want to fight for the right reasons!

This kind of feels like a hate crime if I...

Stop acting like a girl!

You see, even that's problematic, and...

Ah, Jesus!

Ah...

What's the matter? You're getting killed out there!

I don't know, it's just that...

you're from a different time,

and you've been really supportive.

I mean, and you're a veteran,

so I don't want to undermine your valour and...

Spit it out!

I think what you said was a bit racist.

- Like, I don't think you're a racist. - That's so funny.

Stop acting like a fuckin' pussy.

See, that's toxic masculinity. There's really no need for that!

Bobby B., talk some sense into this guy.

Bobby... ?

Sam?

I wasn't gonna say anything.

Am I out of touch?

When I started boxing, it was a fight for your life.

You had nothing, and if you had something,

there was always someone trying to take it away from you.

You've got a gift, John,

and if I said anything offensive,

it was only to make you believe in yourself.

Because I love you. You deserve to be a champ.

So go out there,

and take what's yours...

Thanks, Coach.

Before they take all our jobs.

Let's go! Let's fight!

Augh... Argh!

The problem with Toronto is that the art scene is dead.

If you truly want great art, you must take to the streets.

Now, this is a work of great tension.

A smiling sun shines down on a jocular little family.

And what's this?

The large-faced little girl with her mocking grin

towers over her own home.

Fascinating! Who created this masterpiece?

Who shall lay claim to this insightful critique

of the modern family dynamic? Was it you?

And so, it stays anonymous, like all great art.

But ho ho! Oh my!

Oh me, oh my!

A 1, and then a 2-3, followed by an adjacent 5 and 6.

Oh! Oh my stars and goddess!

Each escalating number a scathing indictment

of condo living.

And what do we have here?

Uninspired lines leading to nowhere?

Pity pah! What derivative...

What the hell happened here?

Open and shut case.

Art critic, hit by vehicle.

Any way you frame this,

he's Picas-so dead.