- Time to get up, Dad. - Hmm?
You sleep all right?
People like milky coffee.
Why not put a little grease in your coffee?
No, Dad.
It sounds gross.
Why not put a little grease in your java?
Why not try it?
You're such a gross-out, Dad.
I think I might barf.
I'm not saying I wanna do it.
I just wonder why they haven't tried greasy coffee.
Greasy coffee?
Hey, you probably think I'm the Greasy Strangler.
I never said that.
Tell you a secret.
I am the Greasy Strangler.
Hey, I call bullshit on that.
OK.
I'm not the Greasy Strangler.
But you're a bullshit artist.
Yeah, I kind of am.
Now, who likes the Bee Gees?
Well, this is where they came up with that fabulous, spunky song,
"Night Fever".
What do you mean, "came up with"?
They wrote the lyrics while they were standing in this doorway.
Why were they standing in this doorway?
They were waiting for a friend to pick them up.
They were going out for Chinese and celebrating his birthday.
Can you verify that, please?
Trust me, I know disco.
I thought free drinks were included in this tour.
No, there's no free drinks. I don't know where you got that idea.
- It said in the brochure. - The information you got is bullshit!
We don't need even fizzy drinks. Just water would be enough.
You got false information.
We must have free drinks.
No free drinks!
- Free drinks now! - No free drinks!
Come on, we want free drinks.
- Free drinks. - We must have free drinks.
No free drinks!
Free drinks! Free drinks!
Free drinks! Free drinks! Free drinks!
No free drinks!
Frei drinken.
Nichts frei drink.
You must give me free drinks immediately.
Drop it with the free drinks crap.
We believe in the power of free drinks.
There are no free drinks,
and if you're trying to rip me a new asshole,
you're making a big mistake.
You are a shitty businessman. You know that, no?
And you're a bunch of fucking cunts.
Check my cheeks.
I'm sorry.
My dad can get cranky sometimes.
He sure has a temper on him.
Yeah.
He likes to shout. I like to smile.
You cheesy old cornball.
Yeah, that's what I am.
I'm a cheesy old cornball.
Yeah, you are.
But that's OK.
I kind of like it.
My name's Brayden.
Brayden?
Is that Scottish?
It's not Scottish. What's your name?
I'm Janet.
Hey, stop talking to the customer and help Dad with his shorts.
So, Dad, I think I've got a date with that hot girl from the tour.
No way! You're a bullshit artist.
No, it's official.
It's all been confirmed. She likes me.
- She's yanking your chain. Trust me. - No, Dad.
She likes my character. She said so.
And her name's Janet.
That's not right.
I need them greasy and this is nothing like greasy.
Do you understand?
Too much grease is bad for you.
I read it in a fitness magazine someone left on the bus.
That's horse shit. You're a bullshit artist.
We have an agreement.
You stay here, you cook greasy.
And this is not it.
Maybe you should just go live with your mum and Ricky Prickles.
Dad, don't keep saying that.
You know Ricky Prickles hates me.
Last time I was there, he called me Fatty Boom Boom.
First, there's this dry food.
Now you're telling me you got a girlfriend.
Next you're gonna be leaving the family business.
You must not like me very much.
Is that what this is all about?
I'm sorry, Dad.
I can add more oil if you want.
I'm not hungry anymore.
Dad, I don't wanna leave you.
But I guess I do like Janet.
She might not like me, though, not when she gets to know me.
If she gets to know you.
You ask it for chips and you get nothing.
Yes, you should tell management.
I pay a dollar for the chips, the chips get stuck,
the manager gets my dollar, and I get no chips.
Please tell me,
what flavour chips did you eventually decide upon?
Who cares?
They were paprika ridge chips.
I like the ridges.
I put the tip of my tongue between ridges,
because that is where the salty chip dust is.
Yes, that's so true.
I love ridges.
Yes, but what are these chips made from?
Potato.
Excuse me, what?
Potato.
- Can you say that again? - Potato.
Yes, but what are these chips made from?
Potato.
- Sorry, but what? - Potato.
I don't understand. Can you say that again?
- Potato. - Please, one more time.
Potato.
OK, this is embarrassing,
but, please, can you say it a little slower?
Potato.
I am very, very sorry,
but I need to know,
what are these chips made from?
Potato.
- Please, one last time. - Potato.
I think he's trying to say potato.
Ah, yes.
Potato!
Potato chips.
What on earth is this man doing?
Hey, there are three of us and one of you, buddy.
Maybe he's not a man.
Maybe he's the boogie-woogie.
Is he the boogie-woogie?
My God!
This man is truly mad.
Who cares? On the count of three, we'll tackle him.
One, two, three.
I am a rich gentlemen.
I own a premium shipping business in Denver.
Let me live. I will make you the chief shareholder.
You will get a handsome salary with the attractive corner office.
Does that or does that not appeal to you?
I wanted some ridged paprika chips.
They weren't even for me.
Who cares? There is a girl in my room.
I met her tonight at a sports bar.
We tried to have sex but I couldn't get a stiffy.
Then my balls got sucked up into my abdomen.
Does it strike you as unusual?
Am I dead yet?
My name is Sidney.
Ronnie?
Is that you, Big Ronnie?
Oh, yeah, better believe it.
I heard screaming.
All OK back there, Big Ronnie?
Yeah, sure. I was laughing.
Oh, laughing, were you? Why, did your car get too greasy again?
No comment, but yeah, kind of did.
I like going through the car wash.
It's good to know my car is getting a good clean.
It's fun.
Oh, and here's ten for the wash.
And I'm gonna go use your bathroom.
Oh, you go right ahead, Big Ronnie.
Ronnie's back.
Let's go disco dancing again soon, Big Ronnie.
Yeah, that's not a bad idea. We could disco dance. Why not?
We used to disco dance all the time.
I guess you got too busy lately.
Ah, well, it's a little embarrassing,
but my son's having problems.
What kind of problems, Big Ronnie?
Between you and me,
I think my son's a severe manic depressive.
He should be on medication.
And did I tell you he still craps the bed most nights?
Oh, boy.
Uh-oh.
No, you did not.
Yeah, and he craps on the carpet.
I've found it in the kitchen.
Hell, he even crapped on top of the TV last week.
Anyway, thanks for the scrub.
OK, Big Ronnie. Catch you again soon, I hope.
Bye-bye, Big Paul.
Bye-bye, Big Ronnie.
Morning, Dad.
Go away.
Someone's a grouch today.
Oh, you don't care.
What does that mean?
Oh, now that you got a girlfriend,
you're probably gonna wanna move out.
Bullshit artist.
We haven't even had our first date.
Look, I know women.
She'll want you all to herself.
She looked greedy.
She looked nice to me.
You'll leave and I'll die of loneliness.
People do that, you know.
They get so lonely, their heart stops and they die.
But you won't care.
You'll be too busy making love.
Cut it out, Dad.
Quit goofing off.
I'm not going anywhere, Dad.
You know how I am with the ladies.
But seriously, I have something I need to tell you.
- Come here. - Go for it, Dad.
- Are you ready? - Yes. What is it?
I'm making these bacon rolls real greasy, Dad.
Bullshit artist.
Am not.
Bullshit.
You make this the greasiest feast
since that goose you cooked on Christmas.
Done and done, Dad.
And now, this very store here
is where Kool from "Kool and the Gang" worked
before he exploded onto the disco scene.
Anyway, this is the end of Big Ronnie's Disco Tour.
Thank you very much for coming and, er, come again soon.
So, where are you taking me tonight, Mister?
How about a sizzling Cajun hotpot?
What about me? Who's gonna cook for me?
- I'm hungry. - You'll have to go to a vendor, Dad.
- You'll have to go get a dog. - Not a real dog.
Yeah, don't bite into a real dog.
Don't bite into a... woof-woof.
Woof!
OK, you two can fuck off tonight.
Bye, Dad.
Bye-bye.
Bye-bye!
Fucking cunts!
I could feast on that queen's ass all night long.
Thanks, Big Heiny. Looking forward to a great meal.
Of course, of course.
I think I read once that these kinds of breadstick are called grissini.
Probably.
So, um, does your mum live with you too?
No.
She left when I was small.
She met someone new.
Well, that's crapola.
Yeah.
His name is Ricky Prickles.
He's a professional sports coach.
He's got the most defined six-pack I've ever seen.
Ooh. Tell this girl more.
I went to stay with Mum and Ricky once.
He made me punch him in his six-pack.
He didn't feel anything because the muscles were so hard.
It was like punching a vacuum-packed bag of roasted sausages.
Then he made me do abdominal crunches with him.
I barfed all over his carpet.
My barf was real orange and tasted fizzy.
Ricky Prickles was so mad,
he smacked me twice in the face with the flat of his hand.
Ricky the Pricky.
Then he molested me.
Sexually harassed me.
How old were you?
Eighteen.
I had long golden hair and a soft moustache.
I've never been able to do muscle curls or abdominal crunches.
Not all girls like ripped-up abs.
Yeah.
Some girls like loyal hearts.
Janet, what's wrong?
Please, Janet.
The tourists I was with the other day were murdered.
Hey, hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
You're cute.
If I'm cute,
you're stunningly beautiful.
How can I help you, sir?
I wanna dog. Give me a dog.
One famous dog coming up. I'll make yours extra picante, yeah?
That'll be uno, dos, tres bucks.
What the fuck is this shit?
This is one famous chilli cheese dog.
No, this isn't right.
I need more grease on this. I need more oil.
Sir, I cannot do that.
It's against regulations. I could lose my licence.
I need this oily.
I need this to lubricate the world.
I need this dog to have some grease on it,
so when I eat it the grease will lubricate my throat.
Sir, I cannot do that.
It's not safe to use too much oil.
I could... I repeat, I could lose my licence.
You probably think I'm the Greasy Strangler.
That's why you won't grease my dog.
Hey, what are you doing?
You're not allowed to touch that. That's dangerous equipment.
You could burn yourself. I could lose my licence.
I'm gonna dunk Big Ronnie's dog all the way in.
This dog is fully dunked.
I wanna write fantasy novels someday.
Interactive fables with full colour illustrations
and fold-out maps of faraway realms.
I'd narrate the tales myself for the audiobooks.
I'd do all the voices for the characters,
even the dragons and trolls.
What will the book be called?
The first one is going to be called "The Amulet of Arg".
Arg is the reluctant keeper of the trolls' realm.
In the second book, he crosses over to the digital realm
to become the digi-troll.
In the third book, he fulfils his destiny as the Lord of the Three Realms.
He has the largest amulet.
I bet you have a pretty large amulet yourself.
I don't own an amulet.
You're a real change of pace for me after guys like Rico.
He was all fingers.
I didn't say you could do that.
Hey, where's my dad?
Ronnie? Is that you, Ronnie?
Why, yes it is.
It's me, Ronnie.
You must be driving some oily roads.
You're getting a lot of car washes these days.
What are you implying, Paul?
Oh, nothing.
Just making a pleasantry, that's all, Ronnie.
Just a pleasantry.
You ever hear those?
Next time keep it to yourself, OK?
I'm not the Greasy Strangler.
I never said you were, Ronnie.
I'm not the Greasy Strangler.
All right, Big Brayden.
- Hey, Oinker. - You ready to hit the Horror House?
Hey, you didn't tell me you were out tonight.
Two nights in a row is not permitted,
unless I come with you.
Or I could evict you.
Dad, I told you this morning.
- You were too groggy to pay attention. - Or too stoned on fart fumes.
Brayden told me you trumped a real humdinger the other day.
He said you cut the world's biggest cheese.
He said his eyes were watering.
I'm joining you at the Horror House tonight.
I'm free tonight,
so I'm coming with you to the Horror House.
But Dad!
If you don't let me come, I'm going to tell Janet
that you haven't even stuck one finger up a girl's pussy yet, OK?
Oinker, where did you get those shoes?
I'm renting them, and I'm absolutely loving it.
Very good shoes, Oinker.
Three tickets for the Horror House, please, Big Thaddeus.
Sure thing, Big Brayden.
Popcorn. I need a big bucket of popcorn.
No, this isn't right.
I need more grease on this.
Hey.
You! Hey, hey, hey!
Grease! Grease! Grease! Grease!
- Dad. - What?
Janet is coming over tonight.
We're making baguettes for dinner.
They're long French bread sticks filled with melted mozzarella
and lardons, which are ham cubes.
Janet went to France last year.
She fell in love with the food.
Is it OK if she comes tonight, Dad?
OK, disco people, do you remember the Earth, the Wind and the Fire?
Did you know that all three of them lived in that apartment up there?
I've been making my own olive oil in my bedroom.
Extra virgin.
Like this?
Like this, Janet?
I don't know if I'm doing it right, Janet.
Like this?
Is this right?
Janet?
I don't know if I'm doing it right, Janet.
Like this?
- Good morning, Ronnie. - It is now.
Do you got any disco tours lined up for today?
Maybe.
Do you like oily grapefruit?
Hello?
Who's there?
Brayden, is that you?
No, it's Ronnie, Brayden's dad.
Oh.
Everything OK?
Yeah. I wanted to watch you go pee.
Peeing is private.
Yeah, usually.
But I got teeth to brush.
Go ahead, keep peeing. I won't look.
I thought you weren't gonna look.
Hey, beautiful Janet.
Oh, hey, Brayden.
Are we exclusive?
Because my dad said he watched you go pee.
Excuse me, I'm talking to you.
OK, I get it.
We're playing a sort of silent game, right?
Do you like me?
Are you a bullshit artist?
I don't know what to think about anything right now.
You're amazing.
I'm... dying.
I'm actually... dying.
Things are getting brighter.
Now they're getting slightly darker.
Sorry, mate.
I blacked out there.
Part of the dying process, I reckon.
Oh.
Fuck me, this is amazing!
I've been thinking I should spend some time with Janet.
Why, Dad?
I know women. I don't want to see you get hurt, OK?
I should spend some time getting to know her, alone.
Yeah, so you can be a smoothie to her and make her love you.
Bullshit.
I just know a lot more about women than you do.
Women like me.
Yeah? Why did Mum leave, then?
She left because you used to get into her bed and poop all over her leg.
That's a lie and you know it.
Sorry, it's not.
She yelled it from a moving car when she was leaving.
Bullshit artist.
You mean, meeting Ricky Prickles with his ripped-up abdominal muscles
had nothing to do with her leaving?
That's it for you, Colonel Crapper.
- Sergeant Shizzly, you're evicted. - Dad!
You've only got three and a half hours to vacate the property.
No!
OK, you're not really evicted, but you will be,
if you don't let me spend some time getting to know Janet.
But she seems nice. She seems like a nice, true girl.
I don't want this cunt to fuck you up and leave you lonely.
OK, fine, take her out.
I guess it could help.
I trust you, Dad.
I'm Big Ronnie and I'm back!
Where are you taking her?
Oh, this little night club I took your mother to once.
Is it romantic?
Put it this way. Is it exclusive? You bet it is.
Are there expensive high-quality crème cocktails?
What the fuck do you think?
I'm expecting to run up a formidable bar bill tonight.
15 bucks for a luxuriously creamy pussy-ass daiquiri, motherfuckers.
That's kind of pricey for a drink.
It's not a drink.
It's liquid sex.
Just don't be a smoothie with her.
I really like this girl.
You can be a smoothie with women.
Bullshit artist.
Dad, you're a smoothie.
- Am not. - Are too.
Well, kind of am.
You called bullshit, and you were right.
Tell me more about yourself.
I used to run a night club.
I booked all the disco acts. I knew them personally.
One time, I had to drive Michael Jackson to the airport,
and on the way we decided to stop at this little blues club,
because he wanted to kick back with a bottle of wine and a cigar.
It was a quiet night. He was eating these delicious nachos.
And I broke into the DJ booth
and I put "Smooth Criminal" on the sound system.
I wanted to boogie and so did Michael.
He got up and started dancing on the table
and this security guard came up and tried to take him down,
so I punched him the fuck out.
And then this other guy comes up and Michael hit him.
He hit him so hard, his hair fell out.
And then these two Korean twins came on to us
so we took them into the manager's office
and we started pumping away at them.
And Michael and I were just pumping and pumping
and then we sprayed them with hot, milky cum
and everybody applauded.
Then he gave me one of his gloves and I drove him to the airport.
He was going to Rome for some top-secret meeting.
Wow.
You must have had some amazing adventures.
I should have had more but I had Brayden to raise.
He was a horrible kid, crying all the time.
His mother left because he was so horrible.
He's never had a girlfriend because he craps the bed most nights.
I was 16 when I had him.
I was a kid with a bed-crapping kid.
- I can't do that, mister. - Why not?
Oh, no reason.
I think I might be in love with your son.
You're in love with Brayden?
Yeah.
Huh!
Kiss my juicy cherry lips.
I can't do that.
It feels weird.
Bullshit artist!
Nothing happened, I promise.
I believe you.
We just talked.
He told me about his nights with Michael Jackson.
That wasn't the real Michael Jackson he was friends with.
That was an MJ lookalike who used to cruise Hollywood as a male prostitute.
He shot himself recently.
He put a gun to his head in the middle of the street.
They say the bullet folded his head in half.
Can I ask you something?
Is my dad a smoothie? Did he get smooth on you?
- Hello. - 'Oh, I got some bad news.
'Oinker is dead.'
OK, so now I'm shit scared, Janet.
That's him, all right. That's my best friend.
I need a time-out. Let's go to the table.
What are you thinking, Brayden?
I'm thinking I'm going to investigate the Greasy Strangler killings myself.
No, Brayden.
That's too dangerous.
I'm not afraid of dying, if that's what you mean.
I'm gonna find the Greasy Strangler.
He brutally murdered the Indian guy.
He brutally murdered Oinker.
I'm gonna make sure he never murders anyone else.
I'm gonna expose the Greasy Strangler. Then I'm gonna kill him.
What are you doing, Bray-Bray?
Gathering evidence.
I'm falling for you.
I'm falling for you hard and fast and I'm shit scared.
I'm shit scared right now.
I've got to expose the Greasy Strangler.
This is delicious. What's on this toast?
Just oil, like you normally have.
Bullshit artist.
This isn't the oil we usually use.
Is it?
Let's just say it's new oil.
Where did you get it?
I think you have an idea where I got it, Dad.
I think you know exactly where I got this delicious oil.
- 'Hello? ' - Janet, it's me.
- 'What's going on?' - Oh, nothing much, just losing my mind.
I think my dad might be the Greasy Strangler.
- 'Do you want me to come over? ' - No, don't come over. It's too dangerous.
I couldn't bear to lose you.
I yearn for you but I have to protect you now.
Let's have phone sex quickly.
Imagine me stroking your clitoris with a pink feather
and then you cradle my sack.
- 'I'm tickling your sack.' - Yes!
Come on, Rodney.
Play the game.
Oh, oh, oh...
Ooh.
'Aah.'
OK, bye.
Dad, we need to talk.
Dad?
Ronnie, is that you? I hope it is.
Let's disco.
Oh, yeah, the disco kings are back.
Yep, you called it.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Tonight we're going disco-dancing.
We're gonna hit the club circuit with a vengeance.
Can I come? I could use a boogie-woogie.
I've got the blues.
I don't know. What do you think, Paul?
Shall we bring my son along?
No way!
Absolutely not, Ronnie.
Sorry.
Yeah, I told you he was a manic depressive.
He seems very depressed.
Yeah, he needs to be on meds, you know.
He was on meds when he was a kid.
They were brightly coloured pills with fruity flavours.
Meds for sad kids.
'Hello? '
Come over now.
I'm shit scared.
I love you.
Oh, I feel so sexy.
But seriously, imagine if I farted now.
I'm scared, Janet.
Hey, you look deliciously sexy tonight.
Thank you.
- How was your night? - It was terrific.
We danced a lot and we had a lot of really creamy cocktails.
A lot of cows got milked so we could have fun tonight.
Their teats supplied the creamy milk that was in our cocktails tonight.
Trust me.
Oh, really? Did you spray any girls with that hot, milky cum?
Well, that's kind of top secret.
Wanna come in and do something sensual?
Feels good, ja?
I'm guessing we fucked all night.
Looks like a massive mouse's head.
I'm officially dating Janet.
We made it official last night. We sealed it with a kiss.
Bullshit artist.
Janet and I are exclusive.
There's no reason to talk of this anymore.
- Bullshit artist. - Bullshit artist.
- You, sir, are a horse-shit artist.
I call bullshit on that.
I'm detecting the unmistakable scent of...
Wait for it.
Horse shit?
No, your answer is completely wrong.
The correct answer is...
What's the correct answer?
Wait.
Tell me the correct answer.
The correct answer is...
Horse shit.
- That's what I said, Dad. - Ah, bullshit.
You're covered in horse shit.
Bull-shit art-ist.
You're officially the world's biggest bullshit and horse-shit artist.
Bullshit. Horse shit.
Cat shit. Tiger shit.
Lion shit. Duck shit.
Walrus shit. Penguin shit.
King Penguin shit.
B, U, double L,
S, H, I, T,
new word,
A, R, T, I, S, T
spells bullshit artist.
I say again, bullshit artist.
Bully, bully, bullshit.
Janet was mine first. She loved me only.
Well, I call bullshit on that one,
because last night I claimed her pussy.
Oh, you claimed her pussy but you never claimed her heart.
Don't make me evict you.
I'm getting really close
to throwing your whiney ass out of my house forever.
This pasta is perfect.
This is officially the best meal you have ever cooked.
Just the right amount of oil.
Thanks.
You could serve this pasta
at any premium restaurant on the Sunset Strip.
Yeah.
It's called farfalle,
shaped like a bow-tie.
I know.
And the best part is,
it's fantabulously greasy.
Bravo.
I normally shoot about six ropes of cum
and dribble a little of the clear stuff,
but baby, I'm all about the ropes.
I'm the Spiderman of Cock Town.
Or the Tarzan of Cum Jungle.
Oh.
You're so much more than a hot, wet pussy.
You could be my forever love.
- Really? - Yeah.
You're a hootie-tootie disco cutie.
I'm a hootie-tootie disco cutie.
Hootie-tootie disco cutie.
Hootie-tootie disco cutie!
Hootie-tootie disco cutie.
- Hootie-tootie disco cutie. - Dad, please.
Hootie-tootie disco cutie. Hootie-tootie disco cutie.
- Hootie-tootie disco cutie. - Janet, no, not your ass.
Hootie-tootie disco cutie.
My girlie is here.
'Nick Lock shot the Rasta in the neck.
'The Rasta went flying through the wall and was dead instantly.
'Nick spun the gun around his finger and pointed it into the future
'till the Rasta came back to life.
'"You're under arrest, mon, for conspiracy to commit revenge,"
'the Rasta said as he lit a hand-rolled cigar
'in the scarlet sunset.'
Oh, hey, Janet.
Ah.
You're up late.
Yeah, I'm working on a novel.
The fantasy one?
No, it's an urban cyber thriller called "Revenge Incorporated".
It's set in a dark future where revenge is outlawed
but there's a company you can hire to get revenge for you.
I've been dreaming about you throughout these long, hard nights.
Do you miss me?
Yeah, I sort of miss you.
I'm lost and lonely for you.
Basically, I love you.
Don't say that.
Unless you mean it, of course.
Why is the sky blue?
Because blue is your favourite colour.
Oh, you cornball.
Yeah, I'm a cornball, remember?
I love you, though. I love you.
I've wanted to say it for so long.
It feels good to hear it,
if I'm honest.
Give yourself to me for all time.
Don't say that.
This girl's confused.
If I could write your name on the moon, I would,
with my own blood.
And also, I wanna marry you.
OK.
I loved you from the moment I saw you on the disco tour.
I'm a romantic at heart.
Ronnie?
Ronnie, are you there?
Now, that definitely sounds like Big Ronnie.
Big Ronnie, is that you?
Big Ronnie, are you in my car wash? How's the scrub working out?
Are the brushes stiff enough for you?
Take me disco-dancing, Big Ronnie.
'Hello?'
I'm calling because I think it just might be possible
my dad Ronnie is the Greasy Strangler.
'Tomorrow.'
Tomorrow is fine. We can meet tomorrow.
- 'Bye-bye.' - Bye-bye.
A detective is coming tomorrow. His name is Jody.
I am Jody,
and if your hunch is correct,
you are the son
of the Greasy Strangler.
Come on in, Jody. I like your jacket.
You see this oil, Jody?
Looks like the oil from the murder crime scene.
I can verify that.
This oil is scrumptious
and very good for the skin.
But that's evidence against the Greasy Strangler.
Did you know?
Jody needs to oil his glasses.
Now, we shall go downstairs and discuss the case.
But first,
Jody needs to wash his face.
Your dada may well be the Greasy Strangler.
Unfortunately, I cannot proceed with this case any further
as there is no evidence.
Please end all enquiries here.
What about the oil on his floor?
Circumstantial evidence is meaningless.
Please end all enquiries here.
So we're on our own?
Please end all enquiries here.
Come on, Jody, please.
Please end all...
Enquiries here.
Correct.
Please end all enquiries here.
Great.
Well, you've been most helpful, Mr Jody.
I know my dad's the Greasy Strangler.
I guess I'll have to expose him on my own.
Not on your own.
Jody needs to go now.
I'm really glad I met you, Brayden.
That relationship with Rico left me in a real bad space.
Like, the worst.
That sounds horrible.
Brayden, can I tell you something?
Is it about Rico?
No.
It's about love.
I love you.
Holy shit. Will you marry me?
Yes, I will, mister.
Dad!
- Were you here the whole time? - Yes.
Don't hide under Brayden's bed.
Hey, you're my girlfriend.
And by the way, he wouldn't even exist
if he hadn't flown out of my long, juicy prickus.
And as for you,
as your father I forbid you to marry.
And one other thing, you're evicted,
so it's time for you to fuck off.
We're leaving right now and we're leaving gladly.
Brayden will move into my place. He'll be happier there.
He can twaddle my twat any time that he wants.
And, I don't care if he craps on the bed. I'll rub it on my tits.
Yeah, Dad, we don't need you.
And it kills you to think that Janet loves me.
But guess what? I love her.
And you were right about one thing, though, Dad.
She is a hootie-tootie disco cutie.
Hootie-tootie disco cutie.
Just so you know,
he tried to impress me with a loud fart once.
He put his legs behind his head and shouted,
"Someone's cutting the cheese."
Instead of just gas, a big glob of turd flew out of his butt like a rocket.
It did a loop-the-loop near the wall and landed on the bed.
So if anyone's a bed crapper around here, it's him.
- That must have been tough. - Yeah.
It looked like a big, brown finger.
It was pointing right at me.
If he really is the Greasy Strangler,
you have to kill him.
I can get greasy too.
I can be a Greasy Strangler too.
You're not the only Greasy Strangler.
I'm the Greasy Strangler too.
You're all right, Brayden.
Thanks, Dad.
That means a lot, coming from you.
We never really got along, though, did we?
Yeah.
By which I mean, nah.
It wasn't always like that.
You were a cute baby. I used to love cradling you.
You cheesy old cornball.
Well... you were a baby, a tiny baby.
You probably won't remember this, but when you were small,
we stayed on John Travolta's luxury yacht in the Caribbean.
We sailed around the islands from Port-au-Prince to Montego Bay.
Wow, I really don't remember that.
You called it.
Yeah, and John said you were a good kid
and you had good energy.
OK.
John Travolta talking about Brayden.
I'm kind of trying to process that.
Me and John were busting our butts on a big business deal.
That's kind of amazing, Dad.
Yeah, he offered me a chance to move to New Orleans
to open a big disco with very expensive drinks,
a billiards room,
a cherry-coloured, funky dance floor.
There was going to be a pink limo to cruise the Big Easy
and pick up those hot dancing mamasitas.
It was gonna be called "John and Ron's Dance Jungle".
But you were small.
I really didn't wanna leave you with Mum and Ricky Prickles.
Are you glad I moved in with you?
Hey, I'd rather be here with you than in New Orleans with John Travolta.
But you really annoyed me.
Your food was dry, and you made it really hard to score ass.
Look, I'm being honest here.
Fair enough, I reckon, mate.
That's probably why I screwed your girlfriend up the butthole.
I reckon, mate.
She was disgusting, wasn't she?
Yeah.
She was gross.
Gotta say, she was kind of gross.
Her pussy hair was like dried grass.
Yeah, like the kind you see on those African wildlife shows,
sort of all dry and orangey.
She faked all her orgasms with me.
She definitely did with you.
We don't need her.
Let's kill Ricky Prickles.
Let's kill Ricky Prickles!
Fuck you, guys!
I am professional sprinter!
I am Ricky Prickles!
You'll never catch me!
Oh, fuck.