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Ripped By mstoll
Yep.
Yup.
(squeaky snarl)
Now that Joseph is 13
I'm teaching him the family exterminating business.
I've named this little fella Joseph.
To be an effective killer,
you must learn to first kill a little bit of yourself.
Well, I guess it's sort of good for Joseph to, uh...
learn the family trade.
It's a father-to-son heritage thing.
As a father yourself, Hank,
who has sired an heir on your woman, you understand
(loud cry)
(Sighs)
You're fine. Right, Bill?
I wish I had a son... to pass things down to.
(crying)
Boomhauer, can you get him a...?
(Sighs)
Dang it.
All right, Bill, let's hear again
how you're lonely and childless and whatnot.
Okay.
So I think that's the saddest thing about being alone.
Well, no, no. Actually...
Bill, stop it. You've got family.
You have your cousin Gilbert
in the swamp in Louisiana.
And that old fella in the iron lung...
Maybe he's still kicking. That's a start.
But we... And I bet there's more.
I hear you can hire a genealogist
that will find family members for you.
A genealogist can find them? Huh.
MAN: Lots of Americans
have ancestors who were royalty:
African princesses, Gaelic chieftains.
Tracing them just takes time and money
and a flexible definition of "royalty."
I have all three!
But I want to find my living relatives for a family reunion.
Find living people? All right!
Now, I assume you've already tried calling Information.
It's time to take it to the next level.
I'm going on a site called Google.
Oh!
And, if the fork comes out clean, your cake is done.
I did it!
I can bake! Yeah!
HANK: Bobby?
Are those... oven mitts?
Hank, this is not what it looks like.
Dad, I'm just going to come right out and say it.
I've baked a cake.
What? No.
I think cooking is something I could be good at.
It's just like shop,
but, when you're done, you get to lick your tools.
Shop is nothing like baking!
You can't live inside a cake you've built.
You... you can't cut your finger off with a pastry bag.
My family! 85 names.
Well, a lot of them won't be blood kin,
but I say, "It's a family reunion!
Invite 'em all, and let God sort 'em out!
85 people?!
That cable spool you call a dinner table only seats six.
You sure you can handle this, Bill?
I don't know, actually.
I'm making my family's traditional Cajun barbecue,
so I got so much to do...
Clean my house, order 15 whole pigs,
and get those little... What do you call
those little paper napkins they decorate with?
I've never celebrated anything before, Hank!
You have to help me!
(sighs): Don't worry, Bill. We're on it.
Oh, thank God.
Okay, now, remember, everyone,
we will be cleaning Bill's house,
so we got a lot of work and not much time.
Dale, you handle
the silverfish.
Boomhauer, you clean out the garage.
Peggy and Nancy, you tackle the bathroom.
(gasping)
Hank? I'm going to need a pit hand
to help with the barbecue.
We can be pit hands! Pit hands!
No. I thought Bobby could do it.
But I thought you didn't want me to cook.
It's not cooking, Bobby.
It's barbecue.
Mr. Dauterive, I'm so ready for this!
I want to make sauces and stupid mad vinaigrettes!
Well, that's great, Bobby,
but first we have to build a barbecue pit
and stock the fuel.
Oh.
So what do you want to do?
Stack bricks or haul wood?
I'll haul the wood.
Bill, we found that picture you've been searching for.
It's our last family photo. Oh!
That's Uncle Honore
after the swamp fever claimed his eyesight.
That's me.
And there's my cousin Gilbert.
What a time we had!
I would climb trees and swim,
and Gilbert made ball gowns out of old mosquito netting.
It's all so beautiful.
I can't thank you enough.
Well, it was close, but we pulled it off.
Bill, that is a well- made barbecue pit.
It's an old family design.
Wow, son. You helped Bill build that?
How did you keep your bricks so level?
Did you go with the Hansen pattern or the McCauley?
Well, you see, bricks have very brick-like, um
So when you have two bricks,
there's some stuff involved...
Sorry Hank. It's a family secret.
I swore Bobby to secrecy.
Right, Bobby?
Uh... yeah. I swore.
All right, then.
Well, I thank you all.
You've been like a family to me.
But now my real family is coming, so good-bye.
(doorbell rings)
Wait! Wait! Coming! Please wait! Don't go!
Guillaume... you are a vision.
And that necktie would be elegance itself
if it were knotted properly.
Ah! Gilbert! Bienvenu!
Uh... anyone else? Isn't there anyone else?
Only you?
Only me? Whom were you expecting?
I had... I had a... a list.
Alas, we two are the utter end
of the Dauterive blood.
The family tree can be safely
cut down, and used to build our coffins.
May I come in?
There's no one but us?
But what about Aunt Esme and cousin Violetta?
Aunt Esme died of fever,
Violetta died suddenly in her sleep.
The swamp takes what it calls its own.
Let me tell you of our ill-fated kin.
Consumption, drink, impostor,
madhouse, public madhouse,
barren, barren, barren.
Well, pretty much this whole left side,
leaving only us.
My whole life is a waste.
I'll never pass down anything to anyone.
You personally, no,
but the Dauterive name will live on.
'Dauterive's Monthly
A Southern review of arts and letters.
A small
but proud periodical I have founded
that will preserve our name for generations to come.
"Printed on acid-free paper."
Naturally.
Wow. How you paying for this?
Our land has been sold to be turned into either
a water park or a catfish farm.
Seems to depend on whether the Euro remains strong.
Hi, everyone! I brought you some barbecue
so it doesn't go to waste.
Oh, uh, thanks.
Are you sure you don't want this for yourself, though?
I mean, you usually like to eat a lot
when your plans are in ruins and whatnot.
No, everything's great.
Gilbert and I are starting a poetry magazine.
We're not going to be parents, we're going to be publishers.
Think about it.
A kid lasts only about, what, 80 years tops?
But literature goes on forever.
See ya! Enjoy!
(SNIFFS)
Well, it smells decent.
"Poetry magazine"?
I cannot freakin' believe this stuff!
Tell me we are not out of ribs!
No, thank God.
Mm, wow.
What smells so good?
It's your barbecue, son.
Oh, yeah.
And it is the best got-dang thing
I've ever tasted.
Come sit at the head of the table.
You earned it.
Dad, Mom,
I didn't help Mr. Dauterive.
Iran off because the work was too hard.
(sighs) Well, that's just more for us then.
Hey, you didn't work on the barbecue either!
But I also didn't lie about it.
I said I was sorry.
Shouldn't you reward me for telling the truth?
No.
Yep.
Mm, Yep-
I do declare.
Mm-hmm.
Oh, God!
So, Bill, what's you're, uh,
secret with this pork shoulder?
The secret? Well...
Yes, the recipe was honed by generations of planters,
country lawyers, gentlemen of fortune...
and their cooks and man servants and so forth.
Well, Gillaume,
as much as I shall miss the dazzle
of the local repartee,
I fear I must take my leave
and be off to Austin.
Leave?
But we were having so much fun.
There's a young poet there whom I hope to... publish.
But...
my family!
He just got here,
and now what if he gets hit by a bus or something?
Then I'll have no relatives and no legacy.
That's a lot of 'What ifs," Bill.
In the meantime, see what you did?
You made some dang fine
barbecue.
You, uh, think I could have some more leftovers
to bring with me to work?
Mine! Mine! Mine!
Mm, hot damn,
that is a flavorful rib!
It's like them bones never even existed, honey.
Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, sir.
I tell you something, ol' top.
If I knew this bad boy's secret,
I could make me a second fortune.
Might come in handy if my bastard son Ray Roy
ever gets hold of a competent lawyer.
Buck liked my barbecue?
Yep, and he wants to round up big investors
to take your recipe public,
so you'll have to make them a tasting batch.
Wow, Gilbert will preserve our name with his magazine,
and now I'll get to pass it down, too.
People will eat my food and say,
"Boy, those Dauterive's were something
It's a shame they're extinct."
I'll get right on it.
I'm sorry I ditched last time.
I want to help.
Are you sure, Bobby?
I don't cut corners with this recipe.
I'll carry bricks, hammer nails, pour cement,
whatever it takes to be a real cook.
Mr. Dauterive, there's a blender right there
with a "chop" setting.
I bet it could get through these onions in no time.
(chuckles)
Well, that's fine if I'm grinding up old sandwiches
for breakfast hash,
but as my Uncle Honore always said,
"Shortcuts taste like un chien mart! (spits) Eh?"
(both grunting)
Now we can add the marinade.
Huh, needs more garlic.
By family tradition,
we only light the fire
with a page of good news from the paper.
"Baboon arrives safely at Space Station."
Space monkeys are always good news.
You're on your way to being a real cook.
You do the honors, Bobby.
Well, Mr. Strickland should be here soon.
How'd my boy do, Bill?
I couldn't have done it without him.
He tended the pit for 20 straight hours
and only passed out once.
Well, all right.
There's my Cajunator.
Okay, boy, time to meet the team and jump through a few hoops.
There's quite a fete going on at my cousin's.
Oh, lawd, I still have my Austin face on.
So, Ted, you ready to invest in hillbilly sauce genius?
Quiet, Kahn.
I'm running numbers in my head.
Okay, everybody, I'd like to introduce you all now
to the man behind this food,
Mr. Bill...
Guillaume!
What is all this?
Now hold on, Gilbert, we...
Sir, you are no kin to me, so I will have your silence.
Guillaume, explain.
People like our food so much, I wanted to pass it on,
just like the magazine.
And these rich fellas,
they want to make a line of barbecue sauces
made from the Dauterive recipe.
Are you mad?
We are a family of proud landowners.
Of state senators and literary men.
And you want to sell our family tradition?
For... money?!
Well... kinda.
(Spits)
Shut down this... whorehouse!
Uh... okay.
I'm sorry, everyone, but the kitchen is closed.
Bill, no.
What the heck are you...
Hank, he's my only relative. He's all I have.
I can't go against him.
Bye, everyone.
See you in...
See you later.
GILBERT: How could you do it?
Tell me that.
Tell me how, how, how?!
(Bill whimpering)
Bill does not deserve to be left alone with that...
Gilbert.
I'm going over.
I have sacrificed our land to preserve our dignity.
(whimpering)
What would you have done
with your streetwalker's gold, eh?
Bought more of these?!
"Double-Stuffed Chocolate Sandwich Cookies"?!
J'accuse!!
(Cries)
Say, how you doing there, Gilbert?
Bill, I brought you some coffee.
Sir, leave us. Let the Dauterives nurse their wounded pride in darkness.
Yeah, I keep hearing about the Dauterive pride.
But right now, all I see are a crying drunk and an angry sissy.
If you've got any real pride,
stop kicking a man when he's down.
You want to talk more about this,
you and I will do it outside.
Guillaume, I am returning to New Orleans.
(hisses)
Bill, why don't you forget this joker,
and let Mr. Strickland and his business partners invest in you?
When you were busy cooking, you were so happy and proud.
I was, wasn't I?
Okay.
I'll do it.
But I have to get Gilbert to agree.
AW, Bill...
I didn't make the recipe, my family did.
It's not mine alone to sell.
Hank, if I don't act honorably,
there's no point in preserving my name.
It's just a word that women have trouble remembering.
Ha-ba-hey.
Are you speaking to me?
Want to buy a (garbled speech)?
(wheezing)
(sneezes noisily)
I'm sorry.
Not at all.
I think it was Lucretius who said
"Nothing human disgusts me."
Yeah.
Lord.
Gilbert,
Mr. Strickland has a proposal.
Yeah. How do.
Now, I understand you a literary man from 'Ouisiana.
Now, you and me, we gotta do the Quarter some time.
Boy, I could show you some things, huh?
My word.
Anyone else want to give this a whirl?
If you let me sell the recipe,
I'll give you my share of the profits
to help pay for the magazine.
Can't be done.
A gentleman never reverses his decision.
Do look me up, though,
when you pass through New Orleans.
I could show you things as well.
Yeah... (chuckles)
Yeah, let's, let's, let's go, ol' top.
There ain't nothing more here to try.
Oh, please, please, let me do this.
I don't want to die with nothing to show for my life
and nothing to pass on.
Just say yes, and I'll never bother you again.
My dear cousin...
my only cousin...
my answer is still no.
Above all,
the Dauterives must go down to darkness
with their honor intact.
Trust me, one day when you're on your deathbed
all alone, you'll thank me.
(Cries)
And so, adieu.
Now, I have matters to discuss
with my new acquaintance.
You were saying...?
I gotta get me a (gibberish speech)
I'm not gonna open the door just yet.
Maybe I'll just stand here a while.
It'll give me something to look forward to.
Oh, what's the point?
(clanging)
Bobby?
Mr. Dauterive, I had a great idea
on how to improve the glaze.
I mixed cayenne pepper with the brown sugar.
What do you think?
Well, Bobby.
Ooh, it has an under-taste.
Bobby, that's very good.
Now when you hit the stores with all your sauces,
maybe you can call this your "Sugar and Spicy" version.
Bobby, I don't know how to say this,
but I can't sell the recipe.
I can't even sell the sauce.
There's no point in thinking about this anymore.
Oh.
But...
I guess there's no reason
we can't make it and give it away
at, say, a party for your Mom's birthday.
It's the 17th, right?
If you say so.
And you know, when you grow up,
there's no reason you can't
make it and give it away, too.
That'd be great.
But... I'm not a Dauterive.
Bobby, trust me.
I'd be honored.
Ha-ba-hey
Ripped By mstoll
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