You have no idea who this person is.
- No. - Or what this is about.
Mm, no.
"Zissner, office, meeting, 10:00."
And you have no idea what that means.
I feel like I made that very clear.
Unlike this cryptic idiocy!
Why do you even bother to answer the phone?
Because you scream at me when I don't!
Volume! Jesus!
My God, Lana, you look like hell.
Like I've been saying for years.
Woman, you do not want to light this particular fuse.
A.J. was up all night with the croup.
Did you give her bourbon?
You know, I was going to, and then I realized
that, no, I wasn't going to.
Always worked for Sterling.
And you're just gonna...
- Yeah, too sleepy. - What is this?
"Zissner"? Wait, as in Don Zissner?
She has no idea.
(growls) Which, again, very clear on that.
He's a huge producer. He makes those massive, stupid, sharky blockbusters.
Sharknoid, Sharknoid 2, Sharknoid 3 In 3-D, Sharknoid 4, Shark...
- We get it! - Let me finish. Sharknoid Five.
(groans) Is that who we're meeting with?
Maybe.
Hm, "Zissner, office, meeting, 10:00."
That's all Carol told you?
Yes, we're to meet Zissner in his office at 10:00.
- But other than that... - We have no idea.
Or why she even bothers to answer the phone.
Well, otherwise Mother screams at her.
(elevator dings)
- Good morning. - Hi,
Cyril Figgis, Figgis Agency.
We have a 10:00 with Mr. Zissner?
- (coughs) Maybe. - I'm sorry?
I'm sorry?
I'm sorry. Is this the Figgis Agency?
- Maybe. - Then I think I have a 10:00 appointment.
I'm Barbie Zissner.
(together) Oh!
Oh, please forgive me, Miss...
- Mrs. - Mrs. Zissner, of course, yes.
Mrs. Donald Zissner.
- Yes. - (intercom beeps)
(Cheryl over intercom) Your 10:00 is here.
I know. Thank you.
- You're welcome. - (intercom beeps)
Gentlemen, thank you for coming.
First off, killer marketing campaign.
Goddamn it.
Second, you've each been given a non-disclosure agreement to sign.
If any of you repeat anything said in this room,
I will skull-rape you so hard, legally speaking,
that your great-great-grandchildren
will spend their short, miserable lives
as indentured servants to mine.
Is that clear?
- Yes, sir. - Okay.
Third... (sighs)
I'm not really sure how to put this,
so I'll just go ahead and say it.
(sniffles) I think my husband is cheating on me.
- That's so sad. - Oh.
I think my wife is cheating on me.
- (mumbles) - No.
And so I want to hire you.
To catch her in the act.
I'll need video confirmation, of course.
So you want us to follow him and...
No, not just follow her.
More than that. Much more.
There's just too much at stake here.
I have to be a hundred percent sure.
And so I want one of you...
- to seduce my husband and tape it. - To seduce my wife and tape it.
Aw, man. Lousy timing.
My bush looks like I'm sitting on Jerry Garcia's face.
♪♪
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Because A, it's super skeevy, and...
And B, possibly extremely lucrative!
She agreed to pay us $20,000.
And Zissner's worth God knows how many millions,
so if we can wedge ourselves into that divorce...
And he tells two friends.
And she tells two friends.
(together) And so on and so on and so on.
I thought you said the divorce business was shabby.
If it's poor people.
So what, you think you're literally gonna pimp me out?
- Who says she's pimping you? - Why does she get to get pimped out?
I'm sorry. Is there another option?
- Uh, boosh? - And-or kakow?
Pam, please, this is serious.
Uh, wha...
I am serious.
Cyril, come on. You can't do it.
Zissner wants us to prove his wife's cheating on him,
not that she's capable of aspirating her own vomit.
So what, you're going to do it?
Well, I mean, I think we should put our best foot forward here.
Or at least our best five inches.
Hey-oh!
Who are you, Wheeler and Woolsey?
- Who? - Typical.
So you're just gonna cheat on Lana.
Oh, right. Goddamn it.
I mean, even if Archer did basically cheat on me with Veronica Deane...
- Oh, please. - One kiss.
I refuse to stoop to his level.
Lana, it's $20,000.
I don't care if it's...
Okay, I almost said 20 million,
but obviously I would bang him for that.
Ah-ha! So you do have a price.
Yes, duh, but it's not 20 grand, Ron Measly, so you can count me out.
Welp, guess I'm gonna need a bucket of ice
and a roll of gaffer tape.
- For? - D-I-Y Brazilian.
When it's this bushy, the clippers just get stoved up.
- Ew. - Pam!
Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know I was going to get called up
- to the big show. - Nobody's calling you anywhere.
I don't know. I think Pam's got a better chance
of seducing Zissner than Gluella DeVil over here.
Are you insane?
No, I'm dead serious.
I'll bet you my share of the 20 grand
that Ray can seduce Barbie Zissner before you.
What're you... I'm not in this!
If we win, you get his share.
- That's almost $7,000. - I...
- Where'd you get 7,000? - I divided 20 by 3, Cyril.
Come on, this is pretty basic stuff.
Three. Tuh... what, we're just not telling the women about this?
Why would we?
- Hm? Hm. - Yeah, screw them.
Ray, come on. Be a team player.
We can drink you through this.
Would you have sex with a man for $7,000?
I would if it had a negative impact on Cyril.
Wha... You hate me so much
that you would actually have sex with a man.
I would date him.
And I wish y'all every happiness,
but I am not sleeping with that woman, so...
- So then Krieger! - What?
My share against yours.
I bet Krieger can seduce Barbie Zissner before you.
(chuckles) You are on!
Yeah, I am all over that action.
Ha! Then it's a bet.
- I got I got Krieger... - (Gillette) I got Cyril...
I've got Pam. And you've got Cheryl.
Oh, please, Carol couldn't seduce a Spaniard.
Me, on the other hand...
(chuckling) Only if Zissner's into archeology.
You little... All right, Lana, you have a bet.
I'll take Carol, and we will laugh all the way to the bank.
- And we're not telling the men? - Why would we?
- Well, yeah. - Mm-hm.
(Pam laughing) Oh, man.
I'm gonna seduce the dick off that dude.
(tape ripping)
Oww!
Yes, what mere mortal could resist
that cornucopia of nature's treasures.
(chuckling) Exactly.
- (tape rips) - Ow!
Okay, so if anybody asks, it's Cyril's birthday,
and he asked us to take him to a strip club.
They'll buy that. It's so sad and pathetic and Cyril-y.
Uh, first of all, I dated Lana for three years.
She knows when my birthday is.
I think you wildly overestimate that relationship.
With who, Veronica Deane?
With whom. And, no, not Veronica Deane,
who, by the way, Lana, kissed me,
and also when is Cyril's birthday?
Uh, how should I know?
- (sighs) - Trick question. It's today.
And we're taking him to a strip club
because he is both sad and pathetic.
- Typical. - Oh, man.
Give my regards to all the molestees.
Wait. Where are you guys going?
None of your collective beeswax.
Wow, that was way easier than I thought it would be.
Although, I guess so is everything.
Krieger?
Krieger. Krieger!
- (door closes) - (Krieger) Yep! Yep, yep, yep!
Hey, guys.
Shut up and brush your teeth, comb your beard,
and get some cologne on those balls. You're coming with us.
Done, done, done, done,
and where exactly are we going?
Well, first to buy you some clothes.
And then... wait. Where are we going?
Uh, let's see. Zissner said she'd be
at the "The Swindon Hotel for happy hour."
The Swindon? Nice. Sunset Lounge or main bar?
Uh, let's see. It says here... "main bar."
So, hey, should I get some new clothes?
Cyril, the answer to that question is almost always yes.
You know, Thoreau said, "Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes."
Krieger, nobody gives a shit about Doonesbury. Now, come on, chop-chop.
Ooh, chop-chop what? What are we chopping?
Nothing. You're going to have sex.
With a... person?
- What are you... - I'm gonna double the bet.
- What bet? - No, shut up.
I would think "person" was implied.
Yeah, no, I just didn't wanna get in that head space
and then, you know...
No, I don't.
- Double it! - No!
- What bet? - (groans)
Okay, if you can seduce this woman...
- Whoo. - Yeah.
And if you seduce her before Cyril does,
you get five, uh, hundred...
- Whoo. - (together) Thousand.
- (laughing) Whoo-hoo... - Goddamn it. Dollars.
I'm in. I can use the money
to finish my Voight-Kampff machine.
Or... not that.
Forget I said that.
Now, remember, Carol. The key here, as with most things,
is confidence. Which Pam's got by the shitload.
- (curtain rolls back) - For reasons known but to God.
Well, a lot of it's the Brazilian.
They really make you feel sexy.
At least until the ingrown hairs turn me back into Bumplestiltskin.
- B-ugh. - I want to double the bet.
- (curtain rolls back) - Deal.
- Damn. - Just damn or daaaaaaamn!
Whichever is worse.
Damn, Cyril!
Really? You don't...
- think it's too much? - I... You know, I think it would be.
- I wanna double the bet. - No.
- Give you five-to-two odds. - No! Krieger, get out here!
(curtain rolls back)
- Goddamn it. - Five to one!
Dude, take it! I feel amazing.
And confidence is the key.
And Thoreau was a (bleep) idiot.
- Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! - (groans)
No, Lana dear, listen.
All this nonsense about doubling the bet.
What, are you trying to welsh on me?
- Huh... Well, now who's a racist? - That's not racist.
- It is if you're black. - There are black Welsh people.
- Name one. - Uh, Shirley Bassey.
- Name 20 more. - No, the bet stands.
(exhales) And that is just fine with us.
Damn.
I know. I look like a whore.
As a matter of fact,
I'm willing to double it again.
Um...
Psst. Lana, come here.
Come here, come here, come here, come here.
Take the bet. Double it.
Is this mirror not working or...
Don't be shitty. I'm in progress.
And plus, Jerkleton, I've got this.
(sighs) Spanish Fly.
- Right? - Pam, that shit doesn't work.
Yes, it does.
We just need to mix it with some mole's blood.
So... hey, what were you saying about un-doubling the bet?
Not a word.
I'm serious, Ray. I'm about to punch you
in the face with your own fists.
First of all, you are a mean drunk on germicide.
It's blue Curaçao, you dumb idiot.
Giuseppe keeps it in the back for me.
Well, then you're a mean drunk on blue Curaçao.
I know. I'm actually banned for life from Willemstad.
Well, their loss. Now, come on. Put your money where your fat blue mouth is.
No, we're not doubling the bet.
Come on. Don't you have faith in your man?
Shoo, shoo!
- Shoo, shoo, shoo! Shoo! - Krieger!
(slow motion) Shoo. Sh...
I do not, no.
- Well, I've got faith in mine. - (continuing)
Cause he is lookin' muy Rico Suave.
Oh, well, gracias, amigo.
Pff. More like Rico... not Suave.
He said like a drunk jealous bitch.
I'm not drunk! Wait, I am drunk.
Cyril, you need any last-minute pointers?
Ha! From you?
The quarry may change but never the hunt!
Hm, let's see.
Oh, here's one. When do I start negging her?
"Negging"? Jesus Christ, what grade are you in?
Why don't you try putting some Spanish Fly in her Brass Monkey?
(chuckles) I think you mix it with mole's blood.
What're you... Where the hell would you get mole's blood?
Why, you need some?
I need you to get your big, bushy Bob Ross-ian head
out of your ass, because we've got a bet to win!
And also, Giuseppe, I'm pretty sure this is actually germicide, so...
- What? - Damn it, Archer.
Yeah, that's... not great.
Although, silver lining... bet I could eat a whole big bowl of germs right now.
(belches)
Okay, let's go seduce this broad.
Okay, let's go put some stank on it.
Yes, I suppose this is as attractive
as these two are ever going to be.
- Unless we can find some mole's blood. - No.
- I have some. - No!
Oh, wait. This is vole's blood.
I swear to God, you people.
Taxi!
(Archer groaning) Man, I don't feel so great.
- (belches) - Wonder if that's got anything to do
with all that germicide you drank.
Honestly, even if it had been Curaçao,
I bet I'd still be a little oogy.
No shit, you killed all your good flora.
Hey, Spirou, where's the main bar?
- Through the lobby to the left, sir. - Thanks. Cyril, tip the young man.
Oh, uh...
Darn. (chuckles) I must've left my wallet in my other clothes.
- Uh... - Typical.
Here you go.
Here you go, ladies. Hotel Swindon.
Well, it's about time. Pay the man, Lana.
Uh, I don't... uh, Pam? I'll get the next one.
Yeah, me too. Pony up, neckbone.
Yoo-hoo, bellboy, which way is the Sunset Lounge?
Fair's 18.50, Miss.
Okay, so, do you have change for 10... let me finish... drams of vole's blood?
Did he say to the right or to the left?
- I thought he said right. - He said to the left.
- Thanks, Lois and Clark. - It's Lewis and... oh.
- See what I did there? - What are you doing here?
(overlapping exclamations)
I'm gonna assume it's some sort of costume birthday party?
It's not my birthday!
Then why's Krieger dressed up like Evil Nazi Bob Ross Knievel?
Why are you dressed like a prostitute?
- It's for work! - Wait, what are you all doing here?
- Lunch? - It's 5:30.
- Dunch? - Mother, what the hell is going on?
I could ask you the same thing.
- Oh, my God. - What's he doing here?
- Mr. Zissner? - What's the deal here, Figgis?
Wait, you two know each other?
Uh, well, um...
- Donny? - Babe.
- Wait. - Uh, what? - What the...
Why aren't you in the bar?
I heard all this commotion out here.
Why aren't you in the Sunset Lounge?
Okay, obviously there's been some sort of misunderstanding here, so...
- Wait a minute. - I think the best thing at this point
is for everybody to...
- un-clump. - Did he hire you to bang her?
- Uh... - Hey, no!
Before you answer that, remember you signed
an extremely punitive non-disclosure agreement.
(belches, laughs) Yes. And also tape it.
- Goddamn it! - Shut up.
And you were just going to do it?
Not me. Cyril or Krieger.
Ah! As if.
- I mean, maybe blondie here. - As if.
Wait, but she hired us to seduce him.
- And tape it. - Shut up!
Why would anyone do such a thing?
(sighs) It's your basic cuckold fetish porn.
How is that basic?
In fact, I bet they do these hookups in the same hotel
at the same time so they know the other one's doing it.
Stop talking!
And they each go upstairs with whoever,
make a tape, and then go home
and watch them together.
Goddamn, I wish I was married!
(Zissner growls) You are all so frickin' sued!
Shut up. And you were just gonna do it?
- Not me! - Wha... Mother?
No, you idiot! One of those two.
(laughs) Who?
Scarrah Fawcett and Baby Huey?
Hey! Whoa-whoa-whoa...
- (sobbing) - Uh-uh.
Bitch, you better 'pologize!
- (Pam bawling) - Or what?
Or this!
(all yelling)
(roars)
- (men grunting) - (Pam yells)
(grunting)
Aah!
Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! Sha! Sha!
(Pam screams)
Szhee!
Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!
(screams)
(giggling)
- (crunches) - (screams)
(growls)
Come on, Lurch. Let's see what's in that belly of yours!
Shoo! Shoo! Sha! Sha!
(woman screams)
Enter Sandman.
My eyes!
Ow!
Ow...
Damn it. What is this, a chair factory?
- Get everybody down here! - (people groaning and grunting)
Baby! Baby, come on. We gotta get out of here.
- Okay, honey. - Paparazzi. Paparazzi!
- Aah! Damn! - Shoo! Shoo! Sha! Sha!
- (thuds) - (groans)
- (all groaning) - I gotta say,
I think that went about as well as it could have.
Tell that to Carol!
- Whoa, gross. - Oh, God.
Oh, this is vole's blood.
- I hope. - That's disgusting.
Well, whom or whatever's blood it is,
I vote we go rinse it off with a mojito.
- Come on, we can still catch... - (guns cocking)
- (police radio chattering) - Uh... happy hour.
(radio chatter continues)
Seriously, worst happy hour ever. And I hate to do it,
but I have to trash you guys in my online review.
Thanks. And also sorry, but I don't feel like you've earned a tip, so...
Will you shut up and come on!
Wasn't six hours in this hell hole enough?
That bail is paid, and now I would like to go home, please!
Okay! I'm not the one taking all night to give me back my stuff!
No, you're just the one
who started the brawl that got us all arrested.
First of all, that brawl started
when Carol messed up the messages.
No, I did not.
Zissner, meeting, office, 10:00?
What, were you being intentionally vague?
- Eh, duh. - What?
I wanted to see what would happen.
- Oh, goddamn. - Really?
Well, excellent work.
You just ruined our entrée
into the world of high-priced Hollywood divorces!
Which, come on, we're better than that.
Shooooo, wahhhhh...
- Are we? - I am.
I drank a whole big thing of germicide.
- Shooo... - What?
That would've killed a normal man.
Shooo, whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo...
♪♪
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