They call me Ford Fairlane, rock 'n'roll detective.
l have the power to get into the hottest clubs,
the hottest dressing rooms and the hottest chicks.
l admit it all sounds pretty nifty in theory. Then why am l here?
Why do l wish the music industry and the rest of the globe would just suck my dick, Tracy?
l'll tell you why. lt all started five nights ago.
l didn't know it yet, but l was about to get a case of the Black Plague.
Not the disease that killed a billion peasants in the 1300s.
Something much scarier.
Hello, LA!
You see, this band, The Black Plague, were considered the new kings of metal.
l thought they were just some lucky assholes from Reseda.
Anyway, tonight, this guy Bobby Black was going to give the performance of his life.
l love you, Bobby!
l guess the poor superstar son of a bitch wasn't that lucky after all, hey?
ln the meantime, l was miles away,
checking out a tip on the case of the fanatic red-headed fan.
And making my entrance was unbelievable.
Was my fly undone?
l'm so terrifical l even had my own toll-free number. 1-800-UNBELlEVABLE.
Ford. l gotta ask you to put that out, dude.
Nobody smokes any more.
Thanks, man.
- You son of a bitch. - Another satisfied customer.
Call me.
What goes for my sister goes double for me.
Don't you remember? The Jacuzzi, Laurel Canyon - Guns N' Roses video wrap party?
Oh, yeah. The twins. But you're not identical, huh?
Hey, look. Write down my number.
- 555-6321. Got it? - Yeah. Yeah, thanks.
Wait a minute. 555's not a real number.
They only use that in the movies.
No shit, honey. What do you think this is? Real life?
- Hey, it's Ford Fairlane. - Easy money.
Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective.
Couldn't find a handle on a coffee cup.
And what are your names? Neil and Bob? Or is that, like, what you do?
- You guys driving tonight? - Yeah.
Why don't you take Mulholland? You'll love the curves. Now move.
Thank God for Don Cleveland. He was the best producer in the biz,
the only guy in the industry l could talk to without vomiting Day-Glo.
l hate that ''Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective'' bullshit, you know?
l'm a professional crime-fighter.
- l work for a living, you know that. - What are you looking at?
Some redhead's bothering that girl group, The Pussycats.
Been showing up at their concerts, saying he wants to rape and kill 'em. Not in that order.
Hey, you're that guy. The private eye.
You're a poet and didn't know it.
- You heard that Bobby Black OD'd, right? - Yeah. So?
So, do you suspect foul play and stuff?
l'll let you know when somebody pays me to give a shit and stuff.
My name is Melodi.
As in ''A pretty girl is like a...'' Here's my phone number.
Whatever you're doing tomorrow...
Cancel. OK?
You got to shave before you leave the house in a dress like that.
And l don't mean your legs.
Hey. You'd better have that sambuca milkshake ready.
Here comes Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective.
- Hey, Ford. - What's goin' on?
Harry. Shake me.
l hope you like it, Ford.
Precocious. Combustionable.
Harry... not thick enough. But you're getting better.
So how's Mutt and Mutt, huh?
Who's your friend?
l'm just some guy named Sam, asswipe.
Sam. How cute.
Reminds me of that story, Green Eggs and Ham.
''Will you eat them in a box? Will you eat them with a fox?''
Know The Pussycats? Big Doctor Seuss fans.
Especially the singer. What's her name?
- l'm drawin' a fuckin' blank. - Josie.
Boy. Wonder if this could be our guy.
Deceitful bitches.
Last dance,
Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective.
You're ten seconds away from the most embarrassing moment of your life.
Something from our wine list?
Come on, Ford. This shit's gettin' old, man.
Excuse me a moment.
So many assholes.
So few bullets.
Clint Eastwood?
l fucked him.
Do my dishes!
As if my alarm clock wasn't enough,
it was time for my late afternoon wake-up call from Jazz.
Jazz was my assistant.
Oh, thank God.
- Hello? - Ford. Do you know what time it is?
And the only woman l treat with sensitivity.
Wonk, wonk. You sound like Charlie Brown's friggin' teacher.
Why am l late? l was up all night eatin' Swedish meatballs.
- l was doin' my job. - That's a first.
- All right. l'll be in later. - OK. Don't hang up, because...
- Where are my shoes? - Hey, girls, what do you need over there?
- Come on. - Ford, we just needed to be held.
You got the bonus plan.
Hey. Wait. Stop.
l'm coming. Hey.
What's goin' on, kid?
Hey, Fairlane. You gonna find out who killed the lead singer of The Black Plague?
Tell me, Dr Watson. What makes you so sure he's just not another piece-of-shit overdose?
- Gut feeling. - Gut feeling, huh?
See those chicks? Girl Scouts. Took two boxes.
Hey. Get that outta your mouth! Don't you know those things are killers?
Don't you go to school, or listen to Smokey the Bear and all that kind of shit, huh?
You sick son of a bitch.
Have a Twinkie, snapper-head.
l can't breathe in here, Fairlane.
When are you gonna let me work with you? Why are you always fuckin' with me?
Excuse me! You say the f-word again, l'll bang you right the fuck out.
Do you understand me? Now get the fuck outta here.
l've got something serious to discuss.
Yeah, what is it? Premature ejaculation?
You know, Ford, sometimes you can be a real dick.
''Dick'', ''fuck''... What kinda kid are you?
Fairlane...
My office was at the Crossroads of the World.
The rent was high, but it was worth it for those chicks.
Those big, fat chicks.
- Hey, my man Slam. - Yo. What's happenin'? Cool coat.
Why don't you take it across the street to the 7-Eleven? l'm poppin' a fuckin' brain vessel.
lf your big gulp-head producer clients would dare to show a little brains,
they would sign my ass up on that tour and l'd be touring the world.
1990 would be a most glorious year, you know what l'm sayin'?
Hey, look. l'm only bullshittin'. You know l dig the new stuff. lt's fuckin' phenomenal.
Some people are claustrophobic, Fairlane. l'm allergic too.
So don't make it out like l'm some kind of weirdo.
- You can't prove shit. - Shut up.
Good morning. She said, as the clock struck five.
Josie was hungry, so l sent The Pussycats for food. They've been waiting.
They're only a double-platinum band. They have nothing better to do, right?
Silence, Jazz. That tip paid off.
This is Sam the Sleazebag. Sam the Sleazebag, Jazz.
- My assistant. - Hey, Ford. A little late, huh?
l love you all.
That's him. That's the bastard who flashed us at the Amphitheatre.
- You bitches have no proof. - Shut up.
l think l could identify it. lt looked like a dick, only smaller.
All right, Sam. We're gonna let you go, OK?
- We just gotta keep the evidence. - What?
Now... you pay.
lt's called citizen's castration.
Next time, it'll be for real.
You stupid Sal's-Pizza- garlic-breath-smelling motherfucker.
Today is the last day of the rest of your life.
Take this, Ford, as payment for ajob well done.
lt's solid gold. lt'll make sure you're not late for other clients.
- No, money's fine, really. - Bye, Ford.
- You're our hero. - You're the greatest.
''Bye, Ford.''
Let me cheer you up, Ford. l've got the lNXS payment.
There you go. G'day!
They say it's worth three grand.
Fuckin' Australians. l hate that country. Continent, whatever the hell it is.
Don't we do nuclear testing there? What is that? Some kind of giant mouse?
Down. Down and eat.
Milli Vanilli paid us off in bicycle shorts and hair extensions.
Very scary.
Rock stars. l'm goin' out of my mind dealin' with rock stars.
l don't make money, l make gifts.
How am l supposed to pay taxes with bathtub compact disc players
and autographed drumsticks, you know?
l need cash, moolah, wampum. Dead presidents, Michael Jackson, Gerald Ford.
l think it's coming together. You need money.
Come on, Jazz. l got my balls in a bunch.
Your karate class costs money. Cavities cost money. Propa-pylactics cost money.
Know what l'm gonna do? l'm gonna take that food processor Neil Diamond gave me
and make koala burgers, with koala chips and koala dip.
- That's what l think. - You're breaking my heart, Ford.
Look. l think that we've got a case.
lf we can make it through this cavalcade of bimbos.
Hi, Ford. lt's Monica. Remember me?
l'm walking again. Call me.
- That's Bimbo No.1. - Hey, cut the play-by-play, all right?
Hi. ls this Chevy Nova? ls this the car l want to speak to?
Johnny Crunch here, KDRT. You know- K-DlRT, you schmuck?
You know, l'm the guy who had sex with your prom date the very night before the prom.
And then l became the hottest DJ in the west.
Well, l got a case for you. l don't want you to come here and say
''ls it a leather case or a vinyl case?''
No. lt's a case to solve. Come down to the station about six. Make it six.
Johnny Teitelbaum, calling himself Johnny Crunch. Knock me out, huh?
You know, we grew up together in Brooklyn. Came out here to become rock stars.
He's lying about the prom-date thing, of course. l hope he is. l took his sister.
You're friends with the most obnoxious asshole on the airwaves?
The king of the shockjocks?
- l'm shocked. - Don't worry about it.
He wants to see me at six. What time is it?
Take this. l think you might need it.
Hit pay dirt with K-DlRT.
That's for me. Radio contests? Really, Ford. How tacky.
So, what are you gonna do about this watch?
Keep it. lt's your paycheck this month.
That's nice. What about last month?
Come here. Come here.
Come here. l wanna tell you something. Come here.
Unbelievable.
When Johnny and l broke up our band, we drifted apart.
He started hanging out with all those rock star hairhead types, like the late Bobby Black.
And when they needed money to get high, they did Rock Against Drugs commercials.
You see what l'm sayin'? That's what l'm sayin'. What am l sayin'?
l don't know.
Hey, Pixie. l'm here to see Johnny Crunch.
Lucky you. Arnie.
Mr Crunch has a lot of fans who hate his guts.
Oh, Arnie. Sometimes when we touch the honesty's too much.
Sorry.
lt's Johnny Crunch here.
As always, if we call you and you answer the phone by saying ''Hit pay dirt with K-DlRT'',
you could win a cool million.
At K-DlRT, we play the kind of music your mother hates.
l know, because right now, she's naked under the desk swallowing my microphone.
She likes that. Oops. l broke it accidentally.
Seriously, l make jokes about your mothers,
but l know they're just pathetic sluts who have no lives and have sex with midgets.
Johnny Teitelbaum. Gettin' paid to be the asshole you always were, huh?
Suzuki Samurai.
You Bensonhurst piece of shit.
Here we are, still in Los Angeles, two rock 'n' roll dicks.
Only you're the detective and l'm just a regular dick.
lt was nice hearin' from you after you hit it big, you rat.
l guess your arms were amputated and you couldn't pick up a phone.
But this is not a social call. Here, take a look at that.
Yeah. Real nice. So?
She's my daughter.
She calls herself Zuzu Petals.
lt's the sickest thing. You see, years ago, l was in Jersey.
l meet this girl. She's a total pig, but l fucked her.
Yeah, l heard you started dating.
Well, she gets pregnant, she has the kid, the kid grows up, moves out here.
And, you know, typical story. She's screwin' with all the rock stars, takin' drugs.
And l lost track of her. And l want her back.
Cos she's my daughter, my pride and joy.
l don't take cases with foundations in bullshit. They're hard to walk around in.
- OK. You found me out. - Level with me, Johnny.
All right. She's my sister. She's my daughter. She's my sister and my daughter.
Look at the picture and find her and bring her back to me.
l've been told it might be hard to pay your rent with gold records and koala bears. OK?
Maybe this'll make it a little more attractive to you. $4,000.
- Zuzu Petals, huh? - Zuzu Petals.
So l hope you... Nah, l know you're gonna find her cos you're the best.
Guys like you, you do grow on trees.
You're OK, Johnny. Here's to you...
Sucking my dick.
Let me get outta here.
No dessert until after you finish your dinner.
Money, money, money, money, money...
How hard could it be to nail down one teenage blonde groupie in LA?
Any teenage virgins, show up with a jar of petroleum jelly
right now, and ask to speak to Johnny Crunch.
l never even liked the bastard.
2,000 private investigators in Los Angeles.
So why did l pick the music industry? Well...
lt made sense to specialise.
l coulda been anything. l coulda been a fisherman.
Fishermen, they get up in the morning.
They fish. They sell fish. They smell fish.
Reminds me of this girl l used to go with, Yvonne. She smelled like fish.
Oh, my God! Someone shot my engineer. Hey.
Hey, let go of the mike. What are you... Hey.
Someone call the cops. Help me.
Please, let go of me. Let me go!
These LA drivers, man. How do they get their licence?
l'm being electrocuted! l'm being... Help me!
- lt hurts! - Call the cops. Johnny's being electrocuted.
- Oh, please. lt's just one of his stupid jokes. - Oh, fucking shit, my Christ!
Hey! He can't say ''Oh, fucking shit, my Christ'' over the air.
- Hey, Arnie. Your fly. - Please let go of me! That's hot!
They're hot! Please! Please! l'm being electrocuted! No! No!
Johnny!
Let's get another angle on this one.
Just a couple more.
lt was dead air for the DJ.
Friend of yours?
Yeah. And my client.
- l could cry. - lt's all right to cry, Ford.
Crying's good.
Oh, shit.
How'd Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective boogie his way in here? Anybody?
He discovered the body, sir. Lieutenant Amos, sir.
Oh, Fairlane, please confess. l'll do the execution myself.
Nice tie, Lieutenant Anus, sir.
Are you calling me an asshole, asshole?
l'm calling you an anus, Anus. But if you prefer...
You think you're so hot because you get in all the clubs
and have sex with great-lookin' women.
You think you're so hotjust cos you broke the Ensenada tape piracy ring.
- You gotta admit those are good reasons. - Get the fuck outta here, jerk-off.
Jerk-off? You're ajerk-off. That's what l think of you.
No, that's what l call you because you are ajerk-off.
- Jerk-off. - Get the fuck outta here.
l did every shit job in the biz before l became a superhero.
Roadie, publicist, Jimmy Osmond's bodyguard and personal secretary...
Hey, l may bitch about my job,
but a great clue can really take a nothing day and make it seem worthwhile.
''Art Mooney.'' This case is getting closed!
Ford. What are you running from?
You told me to get the fuck outta here.
Oh, if you're hiding something, oh, oh... l'll have so much fun.
Anus, what's the bug up your ass? Why do you hate me so much?
Why do l hate you? l'll give you a fuckin' hint. Two words.
- Disco Express. - Disco Express?
Are you dealin' in beads or what? l mean, that group blew dog, you know what l'm sayin'?
Hey, Anus. They had that...
That single, that real shitty single they wanted me to push during my publicist days.
- ''Booty Time''. - Yeah, with that lead singer,
the white Van McCoy lookalike with the six-inch platform shoes.
- You know, he looked like... - Like me.
Yeah. l was gonna say he looked like shit, but... He looked like you.
Unbelievable. l didn't think anything could cheer me up tonight, Lieutenant.
But that brilliant performance...
Jerk-off.
Booty time! Boot my balls.
Can't believe he won't be alive to piss me off.
Here's to you, Johnny.
Hey, you. Get off my cloud.
Really.
l'm hanging out with my best friend.
1962 Fender Stratocaster.
Original pick-ups, maple neck,
strung upside-down for a left-handed motherfuckin' genius.
- Jimi Hendrix. - Who cares, man? l got a case.
- Yeah, what? A 12-pack? - This ain't a social call, man.
A hundred bucks to find my dad.
What? What, did he just say what l think he said?
Man, don't worry. l got a clue. See this ring on my finger?
Well, before my old lady ran off to Baja, she told me my dad had this exact same ring.
Holy Colonel Mustard. Jeepers, you didn't mention the big clue.
Come on. l can't take your money.
You need it.
l don't need it that bad.
l can't believe l took the money.
- Ford Fairlane? - Yeah.
l'm Colleen Sutton.
l need your help.
l have a problem, and it pertains to the music industry. What is it they call you?
- Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective? - Please, save it. lt's too early.
Just make yourself comfortable.
- Some juice? - Please.
Sorry about the glass, the house and my breath.
Mr Fairlane, l'm very rich. The kind of rich that warps minds. Nothing offends me.
When l was 11, l walked in on my father and the Shetland pony he gave me.
- Does that excite you? - l don't know. l never met your father.
Oh, that? Don't take it personal.
He normally gets up a half hour before l do, you know? Come on. Down, boy.
Down, Stanley. Roseanne Barr naked.
Gone.
- Stanley? - Yeah. Stanley.
You know. Like the power drill?
l had to ask.
So tell me, who's your decorator?
Some fag. Charged me up the ass, you know?
Fag? Ass? l'm sorry, is that ajoke?
Yeah, in poor taste. Hey, l got nothing against homosexuals, you know?
l even got one of these friends, one of these trans-testicles.
Trans...testicle?
- l don't have a sense of humour either. Sorry. - No shit?
Well, now that we've broken the ice...
l need you to find my little sister. She goes by the name of Zuzu...
Petals. Yeah. l know. You want me to get her back
because you don't want her to become the biggest sleazebag slut on the Sunset Strip,
because she's your pride and joy.
How did you know?
- Here. Take this picture. - No, thanks.
l got my own.
Excuse me?
Let's see. You're her worried sister, right?
Yesterday, l met her worried father, who, by the way, is five years younger than you.
Then l capped off the evening by watching this guy go off like a pack of firecrackers.
They write about cases like this in the private eye handbook, honey.
Something about a ten-foot pole.
5,000 should satisfy any qualms you have about my family tree.
Yeah, but for now l only get a 20, right?
Actually, you may take it all now.
ls that real money?
- l got some questions. - l have no answers.
Thanks for the stain. Find the girl.
You know, speaking of stains...
l was just discussing bleaches with my friend Art Mooney.
Who?
Zuzu Petals.
Never seen her before.
And as for who would wanna kill Johnny Crunch, the line forms to the left.
l can tell you that he moved onto a sailboat at the Delta Marina last week.
Thanks.
Hey, great pipes, huh?
l've heard cats fuck with more harmony than this kid.
Tell me about it. The name's Kyle Troy.
What's with this freak of fuckin' nature?
How does Grendel Records sign such a wick-prick, huh?
But then again, Julie Grendel thinks Jethro Tull's one of the Beverly Hillbillies.
My mother always said that
if you can't say something nice about someone,
make sure they're out of the goddamn room.
Hello, Ford. l'm Julian Grendel.
Julie Grendel. Right. Right.
Hey, l'm sorry.
Do you realise we're gonna have to ship this ''wick-prick'' platinum,
just so the teenage girls will have a compact disc cover to get wet with?
Come on, you gotta know better than anybody that
there's a lot more to the music industry than actual music.
You just have to learn to tune it out. l recommend Stravinsky and Wagner.
l recommend Smith and Wesson.
l'm sorry to hear about Bobby Black.
Terrible thing.
But a great career move.
His records are really climbing the charts.
l just gotta make sure that this Kyle Troy... ls that his name?
Anyway, this Kyle Troy person is the next... big thing.
You know, l was just discussing this whole Troy thing with my old buddy Art Mooney.
You know him?
Nope.
No, huh?
What is this asshole smiling about?
Sorry, Ford, l couldn't help you with your case.
Ford? Ford?
Hey, Pavarotti.
- Hey, what's the hassle? - Hassle? What is this?
What is that shit, huh?
l could crack my knuckles with more rhythm than that.
You're killin' rock and rapin' roll, man.
Keith Richards is rollin' over in his grave. The friggin' guy isn't even dead yet.
- You're tearin' me apart. - Hey.
Hey. No, no, no. Rest your lips. Put down the earmuffs.
Go ahead. Go ahead. Good, good.
Rock 'n' roll. You know what rock 'n' roll is?
- What's Ford doin', man? - Guys, work with me, huh?
Kid... now that's rock 'n' roll, huh?
Jesus!
l coulda been a rock star, if only l wasn't banned from MTV.
Hey, it's a long story. Unfortunately, l can only do that one song.
Well, l also do a mean ''Puff the Magic Dragon'', but only in the nude.
lt's a longer story.
- You guys a band? - Sure.
- Got a name? - Yeah. Pain.
Pain. Kooky.
When Don Cleveland told me Johnny had a boat on the Delta Marina,
l forgot to ask the name of it.
l had a feeling Johnny had been hiding from someone.
So the name of the boat was gonna be something different from his personality.
Well, maybe not.
Johnny was the only guy who could out-disgust me.
When we were kids, we'd have gross-out contests.
l'd cough a pile of phlegm on the table.
He'd say ''Nice try'' and then pull out a straw.
Love boat, takin' another run...
The dumb bastard got involved with something or someone he shouldn't have.
''Collie and me.''
l'm a big Lassie fan, so l figured l'd take a break.
l hope it's the one where...
l'm a pit bull. l'm a pit bull.
l'm a bad pit bull. Where's my Queen Colleen?
Queen Colleen's here.
What is this, the Rob Lowe channel?
- Oh, yes. Yes, yes. - Oh, what a cute little doggie.
''l'm very rich. Nothing offends me.'' Come on. Nothin'? No shit, honey.
You got a whip stickin' out of your ass and a guy that's fuckin' barkin'.
Bad dog. Bad dog. Down. Down.
Sit.
Why was Colleen so interested in Johnny?
Maybe they had the same taste in antiques.
Hello, hello.
You're ten seconds from the most embarrassing moment of your fuckin' life.
Fuck!
Damn.
l felt like l'd just played water polo in a urine tank.
Who was that smiling snapper-head?
Why was he trying to scare me off the case? Who's he working for?
More important, l got a school of guppies in my underwear now. Nobody believes me.
- Hit pay dirt with K-DlRT. - Hey, Jazz. What's goin' on?
Bimbos and bill collectors. You?
- Took a late-night swim, you know? - How refreshing.
l got a party l want you to come to tomorrow. Could be interesting.
lt's at Colleen Sutton's Bel Air estate.
So dress nice, OK, honey?
- OK. - Love you, baby.
Oh, man, do l hate the rich.
Robin Leach?
l fucked him.
- So you want off the case? - Not quite.
l've got a code, Queen Collie.
l never, ever drop a case.
Besides, l used all your money to pay my bills, so l sort of owe you.
l don't need money. What l need are questions answered.
Question number one.
Can l have some money?
l'm only kidding.
Hey, look.
Johnny Crunch was a good friend of mine.
He didn't bark like a dog for me. However, l want to know why he had to die.
Look. No one told you to solve a murder.
Just find a girl.
Excuse me a moment... honey.
Jazz, l told you to dress nice, not nice. l mean, what did you think this was? A date?
All right, look, sweetheart. You look beautiful.
Afterwards, l'll take you out, throw a burger down your throat...
You're truly a man among men. What do you want from me?
Look. This Colleen Sutton chick l was just rappin' with?
She's full of surprises and full of shit, OK?
l want you to secretly keep tabs on her for me.
All right. Good. Hey, wait. Hors devors.
Snapper-head. Hey, food boy.
Where the hell are you goin'?
Stop following me.
- Excuse me. l was... - Give it up, girl.
Just take this.
l can't afford to have it right now.
Hello, Ford.
l'm hip.
Well, l must say, you're an island of reality in an ocean of diarrhoea.
lt's good to see you too, Julie. Say hello to my assistant, Jazz.
Hi.
Ford. l think that somebody's trying to rip my company off.
l've tried the Yellow Pages. Now l think it's your turn.
Shark is served.
l guess now is a bad time to discuss it. l'm such a big fan of shark meat.
- So nice to meet you. - Nice to meet you.
See you.
Come on, Ford.
Your shark steak, sir.
What are you lookin' at? What's the matter with you? Hey, Jazz.
- What? You got your panties in a bunch? - Shut up. Look down the back of my dress.
- This party's pickin' up. - Come on, come on.
- Where'd you get this? - A gift from the ice queen, Colleen.
And it's not even my birthday.
l wouldn't trust that babe as far as l could bowl her.
Found out she'd been nailin' Johnny.
Don't even ask about Zuzu Petals.
Play that funky music, white boy.
lt's a computer disc. Let me check it out.
l knew Colleen had something up her sleeve.
You did good.
Why don't you make eye contact when you say that?
l can't. That dress. l mean, why don't we just...
Celebrate? Like when we solved the case of the Bad White Bluesman? Forget that, man.
Jazz... Come here.
Maybe l should be thankful that was a foodless kiss.
We had such a great weekend, you know. You had a good time, l had a good time...
OK. Why don't you just stop, before you make some crude reference to Stanley.
Hey, Stanley had a good time too, you know.
Yeah? Well, that weekend was a mistake.
Hey, look. l'm sorry l made you clean the toilets and the bathtubs.
l mean, who did all the work in bed?
Jazz! What'd l say? Come on.
Chicks.
Some people play hard to get.
l play hard to want.
l'd always loved Jazz, cos she despised me for who l truly am.
Like that time we were at her parents' wedding anniversary and l told that joke:
''What's the definition of vagina?''
''The box a penis comes in.''
l was stuck with a case where Zuzu Petals and Art Mooney were battling out
for the ''Lamest Clue of My Career'' award.
lt's just me and you tonight, honey.
What are you doin'?
Look at the mess you're makin', huh? Who's gonna clean that up?
l'm Kurt Loder on MTVNews. Police say that Black Plague singer Bobby Black
was not the victim of a drug overdose as was at first suspected.
Police have no suspects yet and are asking all Black Plague fans
not to show up at the funeral, which will be held at the Hollywood Cemetery at midnight.
Right now, as a tribute, here's the last video by Bobby Black.
Would you look at that?
So Zuzu Petals was a groupie of Bobby Black's.
What did Bobby's friends Johnny and Colleen want from her?
l'd hoped to find out at Bobby's funeral, cos this case was gettin' closed.
All right. That's 100 each. Come on.
Let's go, let's go, let's go. Right. Get in there.
Got those Plague invites here.
Scalpin' at a funeral. You're a pretty sleazy guy.
Thanks. You interested? lt's festival seating, so...
- How much? - 300.
- 300? You charged the chicks one. - Hey, they blew me.
300 comin' up.
Bobby!
Jeez. Am l the only one that paid full price?
Ever see this chick before? Ever see this chick?
He was so good.
He was one of the greats. Ever see this chick around?
ls this a trick question?
Zuzu Petals? Zuzu Petals?
Yes! Who killed Bobby Black?
Who killed Johnny? Who's Art Mooney?
- Talk to me. Talk to me! - l don't know.
l'm so scared. Help me.
Hey, baby. A simple thank you would suffice.
Fluck you!
Oh, fluck. Fluck. Stanley, talk to me.
Hello, hello.
Damn.
- Hit pay dirt with K-DlRT. - Hello, hello.
Radio contests, Ford.
- Come on, man. - Hey. Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Why don't you come back, you chickenshit?
Oh, Ford. l wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.
Watch out. Get out of the way.
- God, l love this job. - And l thought all we got was a dental plan.
- Hey. - Hey. He took Lydia.
Mom...
Watch out.
You ain't smilin' no more, asshole.
Oh, but l am, Ford.
Oh, shit!
No, thanks. l've got my own.
Fuck you, you dirtbag sack of shit.
And a good evening to you too, kind sir. Sorry to interrupt.
Thought you might like to know that the CD is coming up worthless.
And l also found out why Colleen Sutton is so damn rich.
Besides the Sutton Estate, she also gets a little additional green à la alimony from
dramatic pause... your pal Julian Grendel.
- Her ex-husband. - That explains a lot, but l can't talk now.
- You're with one of your bimbos, aren't you? - lt's a little more complicated than that.
Look... Hold on. l got another call. Hold on.
Yeah, hello? Smiley? l'm sorry. That was my assistant.
Your assistant is quite special.
l look forward to raping her at your funeral.
Wait. Hold on, Smiley.
Come on, get. On second thought... l'm only kidding. Come here. Come here.
Damn, baby. l hope you filled out some organ donor cards.
Excuse me. Excuse me, driver?
Driver? Hi. Now, l know this is, like, a car chase, but l have got to go wee-wee.
So if we could just pull over, it'd be great, at any...
Hang on, baby, here we go.
Come on. Come on, Smiley.
- Bobby! - Bobby!
Oh, there's Bobby. Hi, sweetheart.
Shit.
Boy! You morticians really know how to party.
- Are you mad? - No, l'm ecstatic.
Get outta the car!
OK.
l can't believe anybody could have so much fuckin' fun at a funeral, Fairlane.
- You do Bar Mitzvahs? - The son of a bitch you want's in this limo.
Yeah, sure, whatever. You know, l really wish l could get mad at you, Ford.
But guess who just found out who killed Bobby Black and Johnny Crunch?
A psycho groupie killer. l got an anonymous letter says she killed the both of them.
l hate to interrupt, but l think you spent too much time in discos during the '70s.
The Village People rotted your brain.
That's the difference between a great investigator like me
and a piece of Spam like you.
Spam.
You're a piece of Spam. That's what l think of you.
No, l call you a piece of Spam because that's what you are.
Spam.
See, you look at this picture, all you see is the beauty.
- l see the beast. - Lieutenant?
Yeah, there's no one in the limo, sir.
What?
All right, l'll talk to you later. But don't try finding this girl on your own.
Trust me on this one. This broad is lethal.
Yeah. Whatever you say, boss.
You can get cream to try to kill whatever that is down there.
Keeping Zuzu away from the disco duck wasn't too fuckin'hard.
But l'd have to wait to interrogate her.
Colleen's on a revenge trip against her ex-husband.
Julian Grendel told me his company's been gettin' ripped off.
Makes total sense.
Bobby and his friend, Colleen's lover Johnny Crunch, find out about her little scheme.
She has 'em killed.
lf that's so, who the hell are you?
Zuzu Petals.
Don't talk to me any more.
Talking to Zuzu was like masturbating with a cheese grater.
Slightly amusing, but mostly painful.
Zuzu!
Zuzu?
Zuzu. Zuzu. What happened? Come on, honey.
l'm so sorry about everything l said.
Come on, just be all right. Talk to me, honey. Come on.
That's it. Keep chewing.
- That's it. - Fluck!
Great video, huh?
- Are you OK? - OK? l just blew up.
l feel orgasmic.
My guitar.
My axe.
My axe!
Colleen fuckin' Sutton.
l knew it!
Ford? You got something cooking in the microwave?
Get out!
- Get out. - Oh, wait, wait. My purse.
''Wait, my purse''? Get outta here. Come on!
Jump, nitwit!
Well, maybe it was just a potpie.
l guess not.
l tried to stop 'em, man. l'm sorry.
Hey. Hey.
Hey. Who did this to you?
These two guys in real long cowboy coats and real nice suits. l think Armani.
They went through your stuff. l did what you would've done.
- Yeah. Run to a phone and call the cops. - Fuck that. l mean, to heck with that.
l kicked their ass. l tried. There were two of 'em.
All right. Let's go to the hospital.
- l tried to help you. - Hey, l appreciate it.
Hey, where's my dad? Have you even looked for him yet?
- l've got some leads. - You're a liar, man. You don't care.
You don't care about nothing.
- Where you goin'? - He seems nice.
Shut up. Just... just shut up.
Ford? Bad news.
l chipped a nail.
Hey, the boys in the garage brought my baby back.
Oh, my God!
Why the music industry?
Why not Ford Fairlane, the fisherman's detective, huh?
Wouldn't that be great? How tough could it be?
''Ford, somebody switched the lures in my fuckin' tackle box.''
''Hey, Ford. Somebody sabotaged my bait.''
- OK. Here comes... - All right.
All right.
- Hey. You need a lift? - Yeah.
- Fuck you! - Motherfucker.
Hi, private-eye guy! Remember me, Melodi?
Oh, wow. Hiding out from cold-blooded killers. The sisters are going to die.
So, this is my sorority. l think you'll really like the girls.
Hey, troops. Here's the rock 'n' roll detective l told you about.
Hi.
Maybe l did die in the explosion, you know?
- Ford Fairlane. - Hey, Jazz.
Ford?
You would not believe what l went through today.
Colleen's thugs tried to kill me. You believe that? They left her hat as a goodbye kiss.
You know? l'm callin' from the Ai Eta Pi sorority house, huh?
They blew up my house, my car...
And let me tell you something. My koala bear's not in such great shape either.
- That's too bad. - ''That's too bad.''
''That's too bad'' she tells me. That's all you can say?
Yes, Ford. That's about all l can say.
Well, look. Stop playing games over there and come here. l gotta see you.
So anyway, Springsteen says to Madonna ''Who could fuck in this weather?''
- Does Van Halen sleep in the nude? - Does Debbie Gibson sleep with Van Halen?
- Rub my neck, huh? - ls Sting really an asshole?
lf Axl Rose was reincarnated as a black woman, would it be Jody Watley or Aretha?
Sisters! Sisters, would you chill out? Give Ford a break.
What do you say we induct him as an honorary member?
Yeah!
lf either one of you ever has a son, l hope his dog dies.
You really shouldn't have said that.
Yeah. lt's a tough business.
- Bye-bye. - See ya. One...
Two...
Three!
Qantas, jujubes, salcido, Ford Fairlane.
Everybody blow.
Where are you going?
Move!
- Hey! - Come on!
Come on. lt's cut-our-losses time, man.
Oh, man, look at that! Goddamn!
Dudes. They executed my Vette.
Need a... lift?
Jazz!
- What happened? - Why do you have to have
an office on the second floor?
- l came to warn you. - l'll fuckin' kill them. Are you OK, huh?
- Yes. - You all right?
They tried to get this worthless CD, but l had it hidden in a special place.
Once again, l came through.
Damn red-numbered bullshit CD.
Look, l have one. Bobby gave it to me the night that he passed away.
lt's good. lt's really avant-garde. You can dance to it.
Does yours go, like...?
- Zuzu? - Yeah, right. Birdbrain? Shut up, please.
- Melodi, take Jazz to the hospital, OK? - OK, sure.
Wait a second. l want to see if this is better than the last one.
l don't need no CD to tell me Colleen Sutton's behind this whole thing, all right?
- Let's go. - Come on.
l'll be at Julie Grendel's to see if he knows what a whore thief his ex-piece-of-shit wife is.
Come on, move. Come on, would you, please? Stupid!
Why have you come to my planet, huh?
You're pure scum.
Colleen, you're a drag.
Julie, baby! What's goin' on, huh?
Queen Colleen. You're here just in time to see me do what l refer to as solving the case.
lt's cute. l think you'll like it.
Colleen's been ripping off her ex-husband here's company.
And she's been murdering to keep it a secret.
That's a pretty nifty theory.
Colleen!
Colleen.
- Nice dress. - Wait. My purse.
- Ar... - Aardvarks?
Julian's smuggling aardvarks into the country?
- Art... - Artichokes?
Art... Mooney... stupid!
Thanks. l needed that.
You sick, confusing motherfuckers.
Gimme the three discs, Ford.
Bobby's, Colleen's and Johnny's.
Three CDs?
Shit. Just start torturin' me, man.
l didn't even know Johnny had a disc.
l'm not in the mood for any of that ''Don't play games with me, Mr Fairlane'' bullshit.
Don't play games with me, Mr...
Did you say you don't have the...?
Torture you?
l'm not gonna torture you, Ford.
Not her, Ford, but your best friend.
A 1962 Fender Stratocaster with original pick-ups and maple neck
and strung upside down for a left-handed genius - Jimi Hendrix.
- That's something else entirely. - No!
That's the same sound your koala bear made when we hung it.
Don't you think this guitar would look better with Ford's name carved in it?
- Come on! - Oh, yeah!
Rape!
Come on! OK. OK.
Boy, you guys are tough. OK, you got me.
All right, l got your discs, asshole.
They're in a very safe place, with instructions that they be sent directly to the police
if l don't make a call by seven o'clock.
So, if you'll excuse us...
Well, it's 7.30, Ford. You really should get a watch.
Ford, Ford, Ford.
How about a last drink? l'm running a little late.
We're giving a party tonight at the club to introduce Kyle Troy to the world.
Everyone in the industry's gonna be there, including our friend Don Cleveland.
- Yeah? What about Don? - Before Kyle Troy does his first set,
Don will have his head blown off.
Next week, the newspapers will reveal
that Don was partners with Bobby, Collie and Johnny in the Grendel Records scam.
And he killed 'em to pay off some debt to the Mob or something lame like that.
And then he got iced. lt's a lot more tasteful than it sounds.
You know, l cannot believe that you guys actually hung a koala bear.
That is just so graphic. You know, l am still in shock here.
- ls she for real? - l'm afraid so. You want her?
- ..but that was just a dream. l don't think... - Shut up!
You know, Julie, you're the goods.
And even though l might be perturbed you're gonna kill me, l gotta salute your toughness.
Julian Grendel, guys like you do grow on trees.
Here's to you, buddy... suckin' my dick.
Take a free shot, boss.
Sure.
Moron.
Zuzu.
- Zuzu, are you OK? - Oh. Another trick question, right?
Open the window.
Shit.
- Hello? - When l say ''now'', you run for the door, OK?
Eugh. What...
Kill him.
But not quickly. Ciao, Ford.
Anybody else in this situation would shit a Miata.
- Come on... - But l had a plan.
Not the greatest plan, but hey.
The old ''gum on the earring in the socket'' trick never failed me.
l'd never even tried it.
Now!
- Out this way. - No. This way.
l'd blown the case wide open.
lt's too bad that my clients were dead and that l had no actual proof against Grendel.
And now l'm on top of the Capitol Records building?
So much for climbin' down the fire escape shit.
Johnny and Colleen were lucky to be dead, barkin'in that big chuck wagon in the sky.
At least they knew who the fuck Art Mooney was. l'm losin'my mind!
Top of the world, Ma!
- l left my purse. l... - Fuck the purse. We're gonna die!
And you say l never take you anywhere.
Ah, shit.
There is something so wrong with you. Come on.
Come on. Here, here. Come on, you can do it.
You all right? Come on. lt's all right. lf you fall, l'll make it.
OK.
- Move, stupid. - l made it. OK?
Here.
The building is a symbol of the music industry,
a business where anything can happen.
And usually does.
- Bull's-eye. - Oh, ick.
- lck. - What did you throw the gun away for?
- ltjust, oh... Yuck. - Come on.
- Hello, hello. - Hold me!
Ford, help!
Hello, hello, fuckface.
- The ring! - What ring?
lt's the kid's father. l can't.
Who do you think you are, Ford? The tooth fairy? Kill! Kill! Kill!
- lt's a long story. You know the kid? - What kid? Oh, the kid.
- The Flintstone ring? - The nice one?
Yeah, the nice kid l hang with.
My hair. My hair.
Hey, Zuzu.
- Don't worry. l'll work it out. - OK.
Excuse me while l kiss the sky!
Hey, Zuzu, l found my guitar! l found my guitar!
lt's all scratched up.
lt's all scratched up, Zuzu.
- Ford? l'll take her with me! - Get off of me!
- l swear l will. - Oh, Ford!
You're tearin' me apart!
l'm sorry, Jimi.
What the fuck...?
Say hello to Liberace, asshole.
Come on. Come on. Come on, you can do it.
Come on. Come on.
Thank you.
Thanks. Because, l mean, l know how much that thang meant to you.
Well, hello, Mr Tongue. What a perv!
Yeah. You wish.
- Don't look down. - OK.
'Scuse me. Could you tell us how to get to Mann's Chinese Theatre?
- Go back to Michigan, asswipe. - No, we're from Wisconsin.
Yeah, and l'm from my dad's penis. Get outta here.
How'd it go? Did you get more proof against Colleen?
Colleen's innocent. And dead.
Well, l figured something out.
These binary discs?
They've got hidden bits that can be revealed when interfacing with a third CD.
Oh, Ford! Look how cute. Your friend's got his own star.
What friend?
You know, that Art guy.
Art. Art Mooney!
Art. Art, baby!
Art!
Art, baby. Third CD, anyone, huh?
Hey.
Julie! You sure know how it's done.
Thank you, Don. Could l talk to you in private a moment?
B-i-n-g-o. And Bingo was his name-o.
'Scuse me, but all l see is a condom factory in Johannesburg, South Africa. Now what...
l believe the word you're lookin' for is ''proof''.
lt's a front for a pirate disc operation.
Grendel's secretly counterfeiting his own company's stock.
We're dealin' with a very sick puppy here.
Oh, my God. The door's locked. We're gonna have to crawl down.
No. l knew it. l knew it.
Psych!
Moron.
What can l say, Don? You're a great producer. You're a great friend.
l'm gonna miss you.
What can l tell you? lt's business.
With friends like you, who needs enemas?
Dump the body in, shall we say, Chinatown.
Hey, Don.
- How's the high blood pressure? - Wait until the last minute, Ford!
Can somebody tell me what the fuck is going on, like, slowly?
You see... it all started... with this condom factory...
l'll write you a letter. Come on.
All right. You threw me through a plate-glass window.
l hit you with my car. l think that made for a fair fight.
Maybe not.
The truth is, there's a lot of love in this room tonight.
But l... l've...
- l've talked long enough. - Oh, no!
Now the moment you've all been waiting for. l'd like you to meet the voice of the '90s.
Ladies and gentlemen, Kyle Troy.
Shit, man.
l used to be just like you.
Abusing women to hide my emotional insecurities.
You're seconds away from the most embarrassing moment of your life.
Sam the Sleazebag to the rescue.
You said something about three CDs?
Ford... l'll do anything, man. l mean, we don't...
And may l suggest for dessert... the copies l made?
- Fuck me. - Yeah, maybe later.
But first, why don't you tell me why you're rippin' your own company off?
l read Billboard.
l couldn't believe how much Grendel Records made and how little Julie Grendel got.
lt's amazing how much you gotta pay the actual artists who create the music, huh?
Those ingrate bastards really take a bite.
Look, Bobby Black found out about your little African bogus disc company.
Stole your computer records. Wanna tell me about it?
Bobby was stupid. He got angry. His friend Johnny was more stupid.
He got greedy. Tried to blackmail me.
Me! Colleen knew better.
She knew what a monster l could be.
Poor Colleen just wanted no one to get hurt. That's why l waited so long to kill her.
Face it. Making money is the only art form left open to innovation.
Anybody says they're in this industry cos they like music is a lying,
pathetic piece of shit!
Or a total idiot like this Kyle Toy, or Troy, or whatever the hell his name is.
l've dedicated my life to making sure that this industry is so disgusting,
so sleazy and so corrupt it would have to self-destruct.
Two sambuca milkshakes.
l even pissed in the punchbowl!
You're a hell of a guy. You know that, Julie?
Since you're on a roll, anything else you wanna talk about?
Why? You hiding a mike or something?
No. l am.
You little bitch.
Well, Mr Rock 'n' Roll Detective.
- You're out of the business. - Ford!
Shake me, Jazz.
''ln-A-Gadda-Da-Vida'', baby.
You're fired, Julie.
Ford.
Look. Look who l found. lt's Damion Flemm.
He loves me, and he's taking me to Japan.
lt's Disco Appreciation Night at the Coconut Teazer. The one night...
Sorry, sir, but we got a report that the psycho-killer groupie was here.
- Take good care of her. - That shouldn't be too hard.
- Yeah, sure. - There she is with Fairlane.
Harbouring a fugitive, Ford?
You're goin' down.
Sexual favours won't help, baby.
Happy viewing.
Jerk-off.
- What'd you say? - l didn't say nothin', man.
Shit, man! You're the lead singer of Disco Express.
''Booty Time'' is the only white disco song as far as l'm concerned.
- There's more where that came from, man. - l'm listenin'.
- lsn't Sam great? - Do you wanna come out with us?
l can't. Anybody see my assistant, Jazz?
She left. She said something about you being a real asshole.
Right, right.
That sounds right.
Jazz is gone and l got the blues.
A lot of fuckin' things are gone and l got the blues.
l'll tell you, bein'an ultra-cool rock 'n'roll superhero...
lt sounded a lot better in the brochure.
l can't believe it took a bunch of phoney CDs to make me lose all my self-worth and shit.
l was just gonna take a nice long... nap.
Hello, hello.
l don't believe this.
Why did l pause before l pushed you, huh? You know, if you weren't that kid's father...
- What are you talking about? - The ring, man.
What about it? l stole it.
From some idiot in Fresno that l strangled last year.
Perfect end to a perfect evening, huh?
Un-fuckin'-believable.
l mean, l start by having my koala bear hung, and my house and car blown up.
That was just the beginning of the evening. Just getting started.
Then l get to climb down the Capitol Records building. Great exercise. l recommend it.
Then my guitar, my axe - the one thing l love, next to Stanley -
is now toothpicks for the Hollywood homeless.
And then after l torch your boss, my girlfriend leaves me.
She leaves me, hey? Terrific.
And now... now l get to die.
You're breakin' me heart.
What's the point?
The point is l wanna go out man-to-man. Just me and you.
Put down the gun, let's go at it. Come on, you fuckin' sissy.
Are you afraid of me? Come on, mano-to-mano.
Fisticuffs, baby. Let's go at it, just you and me. No one's around.
Come on, l've fuckin' had it. Let's go!
All right. Any way you want it.
You crack me up, you know that?
What kind of idiot throws his gun down? Use your head.
ls there somethin' wrong with you or what?
l mean... Look. Look what you did.
Thanks for workin'.
Thanks for bein' ajerk-off. l mean, ''man-to-man'', ''mano-to-mano''.
What the hell does ''mano-to-mano'' mean? Use your head.
Snapper-head.
So here l am.
The bad guys are dead, my life's ruined, and the case is closed.
Hey, what else can l say? At least things can't get any more depressing.
So... did you find my dad?
Un-fuckin'-believable.
l got some good news... and l got some bad news.
The good news is, l found him. The bad news...
lt's me.
What kind of sentimental bullshit is this?
Hey, a guy tries to make a commitment, l gotta eat shit?
Well, just tell me who my real father is.
He died. No bullshit.
But he loved you a lot and he wants me to take care of you.
Come on, put it there.
That's it.
l mean, l got a heavy caseload, you know what l mean?
Ford. Ford!
Come on.
Ford, l can't take this crap between us any more. l'm sorry.
- l'm quitting. - Dismount.
l love you.
- What kind of sentimental bullshit is this? - That's exactly what l said.
Jazz, look.
l'm sick of the hot clubs, the hot cars, the hot chicks.
l'm sick of it. All the fun...
l want you.
You're saying l'm not fun?
You told me to say this stuff.
Look. l'm crazy about you, all right? You know what l'm sayin'.
No. l really don't know what you're saying.
But l like the tone of your voice.
l really like the tone of your voice.
lt's a beautiful thing.
Hit pay dirt with K-DlRT.
This is Bobby Ouch, K-DlRT's hottest new DJ!
You've won the K-DlRT million-dollar giveaway.
- No shit. - Hey, you can't say ''shit'' on the radio.
Oh, shit, now l just said it.
Oh boy, l love the music industry.
Especially the tacky radio giveaway part.
What? You didn't really think we'd kill the flucking koala bear, now, did you?
Look at this. The sun, the sea.
Un-fuckin'- believable, heh?
Visiontext Subtitles: Yasmeen Khan
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