Watching television is amazing.
I haven't had a thought in my head for three hours.
And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
Radio Dj: Hello, you're on the air.
Man: I saw four aliens in a car.
- I think it was a Rambler. - Whoa, stylish.
- Everyone fully formed? - All: uh-huh.
- Yeah. - Everyone got 10 fingers and 11 toes?
- All: check. - Good. I guess we're in. Everyone comfortable?
I have three holes in my face.
Can anyone get your head to swivel to the rear?
- All: no. - Then how are you supposed to lick your back?
Dick's voice: our home for this mission is earth, a third-rate planet.
I got a teaching job at a third-rate university.
What is that?
It's you! You smell so nice.
Thanks. I try.
That had better be your nose.
- Good morning, Dr. Albright. - Nina, would you tell Dr. Solomon
he parked in my space again?
You parked in her space-- - I know, it was empty.
Would you tell him I'm going to have him towed?
Tell her I already have all the toes I need. I am fully formed.
That's my parking space.
Oh, so you have a car.
For future reference, I have a red Volvo.
Please, Dr. Albright!
We barely know each other.
What, are you from mars?
Mars?
Oh, no.
This planet both wipes
and sucks, in that order.
What is your problem?
Something's wrong. My transfer's not holding.
I'm growing hair, and my armpits smell,
and there's a constant circus in my pants.
It's really not fair. I can grow a pimple but not a mustache.
What's your secret?
Look. I got my driver's license.
According to this, you're a 55-year-old,
300-pound Asian woman.
And an organ donor.
You have so many facets to admire,
time prohibits my naming them all.
Shall I speak of your courage,
how you've led a ragtag crew of misfits across the galaxies,
fueled by your brave spirit?
Or shall I confess that your boyish good looks
are stunted only by your personal bigness?
Oh, where to begin
simply exhausts my feminine mind.
- What are you doing? - Lying.
- You like it? - It's incredible.
- I love it! - Really?
- Yes! How did you do it? - Anybody can do it.
I've just done it once, and here I am, whipping it out there.
Wow!
I've thought of a job for myself.
I can catalog the dangers
that surround us on this planet.
For example, getting your fingers crushed
in a car door.
Ow. Ow.
Sally, you're going to be late for your date!
I just don't know what to wear!
- Is this appropriate? - I would say yes.
Break the ice by telling him something personal about yourself.
Well, uh, brad,
once every lunar cycle, my uterine lining sloughs itself, thereby--
- whoa, whoa, whoa!
Oh, oh!
Sally, I want you to observe what women on this planet do.
- Why can't Harry do it? - Because you're the woman.
That brings up a very good question: why am I the woman?
Because you lost.
My god! What are you doing?
Apparently, I'm leaking.
Well, stop it!
This is your fault. I didn't want to be the woman. You made me be the woman.
You're a decorated veteran. I thought you could handle it.
Well, I can't. This is hard.
Women are trouble. I should know. I've been one for two weeks.
I know. Which brings up another point.
I command you to shave under your arms.
What do you think? They seem to have greater power when they collide.
I'm not wrong, am I?
Sally, will you excuse us for a moment?
Come on, girls.
Let's go.
How do I look?
Destroy all the mirrors now!
No! I've got to see!
Oh, my god!
I'm gorgeous!
I'll get you some tea.
What's this?
I'll be very quiet. You won't even know I'm there.
I think a man's presence would be inhibiting.
I said you won't even know I'm there!
What the hell are you trying to do, ruin me?
It will take me weeks to repair the damage left in your wake.
But I want you to have your own space. Go.
But I can't allow this breach of protocol.
I order you to stay!
Leave the nest. Fly.
I need your head. You come back here!
I'm sorry. Go. No, stay!
No, go! Stay! Go!
Stop!
You're tearing me apart!
- Dick? - I have a plan.
Remember, we're not allowed to liquefy humans.
Okay, I have another plan.
- What was that? - What?
- That squeaking. - I have no idea.
- What are you doing? - Tempting you with the great taste of bacon.
Wow!
- What was that? - I don't know, but I want another one.
Oh!
Oh, my head is throbbing.
- Me, too. - Mine's worse.
And my back is aching.
- Me, too. - Mine's killing me.
My breasts feel like
two hot steaming bowls of chili.
She wins.
- I'm going home. - Why?
Because I'm sick, that's why.
Really? What a coincidence.
You're getting sick just as I'm getting better.
Have a nice day.
The forecast for today is laughter.
Mary!
You came back!