WARNER BROS.
UH, YEAH,
LIQUOR IN IT.
FA-I-TH... AND BEGORRA,
THEN I'LL TAKE 1,000 QUARTS.
IT'LL BE DRUNKEN
FOR ALL OF DINGLE.
DEAL.
YO, DAVE?
JUST CAME IN.
IS GESTOHLEN.
HEY! HEY!
YOUR SPRECH-HOLE.
I NEED 1,000 QTs BY THURSDAY,
OR I'M GONNA BLOW
OUT OF THE AIR LOCK.
GOT IT? NEIN!
NEIN, GESCHSTUPID... GESTOHLEN!
IS GESTOHLEN.
I'M S...
MY BUTTER CHURNER.
YOUR CHURN?
JA, UND WITHOUT MEIN BUTTER CHURNER,
I'M NOT GOING TO BUTTER.
ALL RIGHT. ALL RIGHT. JEEZ.
FRIGGIN' AMISH.
BUGGY-DRIVING, BARN-RAISIN' SONS OF...
SPARKS. SOUND THE ALARM.
SEAL THE HATCHES.
MOVE, MAN, MOVE.
HANG ON.
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
SHORTAGE.
I'D SAY THAT.
IS MISSING.
WELL, MAYBE IT'S WITH MY MICROSCOPE.
HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?
FROM THE BIO LAB.
WELL, GET IN LINE.
I'VE GOT NO BUTTER
WHILE I EAT IT.
WAS BRAND-NEW,
OUT LOUD.
THE STUPID HAIRDRYER.
CAPTAIN, YOU'VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.
ROCKIN' PRIEST
IS GOIN' ON AROUND HERE?
A DIRTY, ROTTEN,
LOWDOWN, STINKIN' THIEF
ON SEALAB.
MY HAIRDRYER.
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.
HUH? WHADDAYA MEAN, WHAT?
SLITTING,
AND WE DON'T KNOW WHERE TO LAY THE BLAME.
I'M SURE THERE'S
THAT ARE MISSING.
YEAH... YOU TOOK 'EM.
WHAT? MY MICROSCOPE WAS STOLEN.
WELL, IT'S
YOUR OWN MICROSCOPE,
THAT YOU DID IT.
QUINN... TO ME IT IS.
COME ON, JUST 'FESS UP.
GIRL, WHAT ARE YOU TALKIN' ABOUT?
IT'S OBVIOUS THAT YOU DID IT.
OH, OK... I GET IT.
DID IT, HUH?
THE BLACK GUY, HUH?
NICE.
WELL, A MINUTE AGO,
TO BLAME THE LATINO.
NO, I WASN'T.
RACE CARD, QUINN?
IS THAT IT?
WHAT, SO LATINOS STEAL?
WE'RE JUST A BUNCH OF THIEVES, GRINGO?
SAID THAT.
YOU DON'T HAVE TO SAY IT.
I CAN SMELL IT ON YOU.
YOU DISGUSTING BIGOT.
SHUT UP!
I CAN'T BELIEVE
A JILLION TIMES.
WHAT?
FOR MARRIAGE.
HA HA. HA HA.
NO, NO, NO, NO.
NO-O.
ABOUT OUR SEX LIFE?
WHAT? ARE YOU ASHAMED OF IT?
FOR YOU, Q?
TOO HOT? AND SAVAGE?
A LITTLE WEIRD.
OH, WITH THE... THING?
YEAH. THAT WAS WEIRD.
I WAS DRUNK.
I KNOW. STILL WEIRD.
ENOUGH!
THE THIEF,
MARTIAN LAW.
UM, I THINK IT'S "MARTIAL LAW."
SILENCE!
UNDER MARTIAN LAW...
EXACTLY?
UNDER MARTIAL LAW,
HABEAS CORPUS,
A POSSE COMITATUS...
THAT'S CRAP.
MARS IS WILD, UNTAMED.
I'M FOUNDING A CADRE
MARTIAN LAW.
HUH?
KNIGHTS?
NOW WHO'S READY TO BEAT SOME ASS?
I'M IN.
SIR PHOBOS,
KNIGHT OF MARS, BEATER OF ASS.
BE A HITTER, BABE.
HEY, I WANNA BE A MARTIAN KNIGHT...
WITH YOU GUYS?
OF THEM BATS?
UGH! OH, MY GOD!
ARE YOU DOING?
SILENCE.
LAW OF THE RED PLANET.
IT'S NOT MARTIAN LAW.
IT'S...
SIR PHOBOS!
OW! MY HANDS!
MY HANDS!
OH, MY GOD,
WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE.
JUST BE COOL. I'LL TRY TO DISTRACT THEM.
SOMETHING'S REAL BAD WRONG IN MY PANTS.
PRITHEE KNAVE,
UNDER MARTIAN LAW?
UH, ANYTHING... ANYTHING YOU WANT.
CAN I MARRY PEOPLE?
I DON'T KNOW. YEAH. SURE.
DR. VIRJAY, PLEASE REPORT TO...
AAH!
OH, GOD!
MY LAST HAND!
UNDER MARTIAN LAW,
ARE FORBIDDEN.
NICE SWING, SIR PHOBOS.
THE KEY IS TO HIT REALLY HARD...
WITH THE BAT.
UH-HUH. OK.
QUINN. DEBBIE.
I BID THEE... GET OVER HERE.
CAPTAIN! I INSIST THAT YOU PLACE MARCO UNDER ARREST.
HMM. UH-UH.
HMM. HMM. HMM.
UH-UH.
HMM... NO.
ARTICLE 934 STATES THAT IF...
SILENCE, VARLET.
GET ME OUT OF HERE.
YOU TWO.
OF ALL THIS SINNING.
WHAT? WHO?
ARES, GOD OF MARS.
SO, HITHERFORTH...
UH... SPARKS, CAN I MARRY PEOPLE?
YES, ANYTHING.
OK. SO HITHERFORTH, YOU TWO ARE MARRIED.
THAT WAY, ARES WILL
ON YOUR COUPLINGS.
NOW... COUPLE!
WHAT? WHAT!
YOU HEARD ME.
TO HER, DOC.
CAPTAIN, YOU ARE NO LONGER FIT TO COMMAND.
I AM RELIEVING YOU.
MM-HMM. OK. SIR PHOBOS!
RELINQUISH COMMAND THIS...
OH, MY GOD.
JEEZ! OH, CRAP.
WHAT?
UH...
I KILLED HER.
YOU ANIMAL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
MAN, THAT'S TOUGH.
AND EVERYTHING.
HOW ARE YOU HOLDING UP?
I'M CALLING THE POLICE.
NOT SO FAST, DR... QUINN, IS IT?
YES!
OR IS IT DR. "STEAL-EVERYTHING
RED MARS?"
IT'S QUINN.
EXPLAIN THIS?
WE'RE WAITING.
YOU SAY SOMETHING? NO.
YOU JUST SAID NO. THAT'S SOMETHING.
OPEN THE DOOR!
SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
SPARKS, THEY'RE INSANE! CALL FOR HELP!
I CAN'T WORK THE CONTROLS, QUINNIE.
HMM. THOSE HANDS?
TOTALLY USELESS?
YES. DEAR LORD, YES.
WELL, DON'T WORRY, SON.
WE'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU.
HERE ON MARS.
IT'S IN THE PLANETARY CHARTER.
CAN I...
OF THOSE BENEFITS?
STORMY,
GO FOR HELP! HURRY.
SIR DEMOS. THANK ARES YOU'RE ALIVE.
IS SIR DEMOS?
WHERE I PEE.
WALK IT OFF, SIR DEMOS.
I'M SENDING YOU ON A QUEST.
YOU... YOU'D TAKE A EUNUCH LIKE ME?
ON MARS, SON.
IN THE CHARTER.
STORMY, FOR GOD'S SAKE...
DON'T LISTEN TO THEM!
SIR DEMOS,
TO FIND QUINN'S ASS...
AND THEN BEAT IT.
WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING FOR A THIEF.
UGH! UGH!
TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY THIEF.
TAKE THAT, THIEF.
STOP IT! MY EYE!
DO TO MY EYE?
CHILL OUT, BABY, COME ON.
DAMN, DEMOS.
SPARKS, CALL THE POLICE.
ALL RIGHTY.
FOR HIS COURT-MARTIAN.
WE, UH... WE DON'T REALLY HAVE A DUNGEON, BABY.
OH, CRAP. SORRY, FELLAS.
EARTH, WIND, AND FIRE,
BACK TO THE SHIRE.
SEE YOU AT TREMENDOUS CON.
AHEM. COULD YOU HIT 2, PLEASE?
I'D BE DELIGHTED.
UH-HUH. OK.
NOW, WHAT THE CRAP
IN A COURT-MARTIAN?
UH, AS LORD REGENT OF THE SACRED RED PLANET,
BE YOUR CALL, SIR.
I KNOW THAT, YEAH.
SPARKS? CAN I MARRY PEOPLE?
AARGH... MY HANDS.
THEN, AS OF THIS MOMENT,
TO ADRIENNE BARBEAU,
QUEEN OF MARS,
TO THARSIS.
DR. QUINN SHALL BE DEATH...
BY SLITTING.
YOU'RE ALL INSANE.
SO, LET'S HAVE IT DONE IN THE GALLEY...
'CAUSE IT'S GOT
IN THE MIDDLE,
AND THAT'LL BE GOOD,
SINCE THERE'S GONNA BE
ALL OVER THE PLACE.
NO. PLEASE. HELP...
PLUS, WE CAN SACRIFICE
WHEN WE'RE DONE.
WAIT.
YOU CAN'T DO THIS.
KNIGHTS OF MARS... STOP...
TUNE HIM UP A LITTLE, WOULD YA?
SHUT THAT YAP OF HIS.
GOD! OH, MY OTHER EYE!
TO MY OTHER EYE?
JEEZIE PETES, KNIGHTS OF MARS.
I SAID, A LITTLE.
HE'S BARELY ALIVE ENOUGH TO KILL.
I SWEAR, I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS.
ALL OF YOU.
YEAH RIGHT.
COME ON, I'M OVER THIS.
SIR PHOBOS?
SURPRISE! SURPRISE!
OH HO! MAN, YOU
ON YOUR FACE. HA HA HA.
ALL RIGHT, BABY, WE DID IT.
YOUR HELP, BUDDY.
YOU DIDN'T KNOW?
OH, MAN! CRUSHED GONADS WERE TOTALLY WORTH IT.
HA HA HA. SO WAS MY FRACTURED SKULL.
OH, QUINNIE, IT'S PRICELESS.
CRUSHED HANDS! GET IT? GET IT?
FOR A SURPRISE PARTY?
HA HA! YEAH.
AND WAIT'LL YOU SEE THE BEST PART.
OF HOLES.
HIT IT, HESH.
WARNER BROS.
www.ncicap.org...
SERIOUSLY.
OF HOLES.
IT'S NOT EVEN MY BIRTHDAY.