The We Like to Move It Crew presents:
seriessub.com
Feed the penguins. Two bucks.
Animals.
- Now, Skipper? - Not yet, Private.
You got to play hard to get,
Make'em beg for it.
- Over Here! - Hey penguins. That's the time.
I'm beginning to sense restless hostility from the crowd.
We're going to lose them.
Commence adorable high jinks.
Go. Go. Go.
Executing waddle with odd but somehow strangely endearing body shakes.
Pretending to lose my balance and face-plant into the pool now.
I call belly slide duty.
Let's make it extra cute and cuddly today, boys.
Perfect.
Look how beautitious you are.
And this apple here is looking pretty good too.
Not feeding the penguins time.
How am I supposed to enjoy my breakfast
with all of the savage, fishy-smelling fishes assaulting
my kingly senses?
The royal nose clamp.
There. That should do the trick.
Irresistibility reading.
The crowd's appetite for our enamoring antics is reaching optimal levels.
Beautiful. Hit them with the tail wags.
No mercy.
And cease tail wagging.
Always leave them wanting more.
We did it.
Fish are incoming.
Three, two...
Wake up your taste buds, boys.
What are these?
How's the catch of the day, gentlemen?
Looks fishy.
- Fish are supposed to look fishy. - No, I think he means "fishy."
Good fishy or bad fishy?
Definitely bad fishy, sir.
That's strange. There's no fish stank. Nothing.
You are right.
The fishy-smelling fish fumes are no more.
We shall wildly celebrate,
and I am talking about more than usual, you know what I mean?
But if it's not fish, what is it?
It appears to be some kind of molecular soy composite.
We're supposed to eat this chow?
We're penguins, man. We need fish, real fish.
Technically, these cakes do meet our nutritional requirements.
Boys, let's give it a shot.
Maybe it's more of an acquired taste.
Right.
We do again.
Again
Again.
Abort. Abort.
This has got to be some sort of freak experiment,
a one-time thing, right?
We're charming.
We're lovable.
We're hungry for real fish.
Three days, and I am loving this life, baby.
No fishy fish fumes fuming from the fish eaters.
You see, Mort, I am so happy,
I forgot for a second how disgusting you are.
Look at you.
Fish.
67 hours without the succulent,
salty tang of the sea.
He can't take much more.
Neither can I.
What I'm about to show you is highly classified.
Slide.
Sorry.
I don't know how the holiday snaps got in there.
This is our target.
One standard...
One standard restaurant-grade fish truck.
Where are we on cracking this code?
It's fiendishly clever inscription.
I've secured the services of a specialist for aerial surveillance.
- I get a cut of the haul, right? - You'll get your fair share, pinky.
No, never.
We cannot allow them to return the ferocious fishing fishy smell
to my kingdom.
Gather around.
Now, we need to be doing exactly what I say,
starting with paying strict attention
to me talking right now.
Right now.
Now.
This is Wiener One.
I am up and operational.
Target is on the move. Repeat, target is on the move.
Roger, Wiener One.
We are southbound, approaching rendez-vous.
Target turning east onto 23rd Street.
Eye in the sky is a go.
34 seconds until fish.
Prairie Dog Blue and Prairie Dog Red are in position.
Roger, t-minus five, four,
three, two,
one.
Stopping target.
You are go for insertion.
Go fish.
I want confirmation that there is food on that vehicle.
That's affirmative, but it looks like the food is us.
Help!
Hang on, Prairie Dogs.
Keep your eyes on the target.
I am locked on, Skipper.
This is Wiener One. Are we aborting mission?
Repeat, are we aborting mission?
Gentlemen, we are penguins.
We have a natural need to feed on the fruits of the sea.
That's the way momma nature built us.
Now, who wants to spit in the eye of momma nature?
That's what I thought.
We are go for operation.
Target is turning right onto Broadway. I am sending it to extraction point.
Locked.
We're in.
Job well done, boys.
We have enough fish to last forever.
Fish, fish...
fish!
One small problem.
We could not allow for you to return to eating
the savage-smelling, foul-fuming fishy fish.
I planned to come up with my own carefully planned plan,
to plan to steal the stinkies ourselves.
And my plan all went accordingly... to plan.
You see, we have the crates with the real fish
while yours are filled with only the phony fish cakes.
Nice try, ringtail,
but I know how much you hate the smell of fish.
I was expecting a move like that,
which is why I switched the crates before you even got back to the zoo.
But I was expecting you to be expecting that,
so we switcheroo-ed the crates on the pier
before the fish got loading onto the truck.
It doesn't really matter, because I just switched these crates
during your last flashback.
I switched them while you were saying you switched them.
And I switched them the last time you blinked.
But I pretended to switch them, so you actually switched them back.
- But I double switched. - And I triple switched.
- I million zillion switched. - I switched them to infinity,
so you have to shut up a little bit.
What you didn't see coming is that I am actually you.
Nicely played, but if you are me,
then by processing of elimination, I must be you.
Maybe. Maybe.
But if you are me, and I am you, then we must both be...
Enough.
Can we just crack these babies open and get this over with already, please?
Fish cakes? They're all the phony fish cakes.
So I am the winner.
Right? I think so.
Can we get an official ruling on this so I can better enjoy my gloating?
But where are the real fish?
I have a theory.
Sucker