Looks like a liquid-mercury switch, but I can't move--
- Come on. Let me do it. - Hush. Now...
-...the liquid-mercury content... - Let me do it.
-...have to be at precise equilibrium or else-- - Come on. Let me do it.
- Stormy, you are not qualified. - I am. I am. I am.
I know from the training video. Come on. Let me do it.
- What training video? - Action Abe: Bomb Squad Rabbi.
Yeah. Yeah. Right after work. It's at the cleaners.
Look, Mom-- Mom, I can't talk right now.
- That was a movie, you idiot! - No, dude, I dreamed it.
You just said it was a training video!
I wonder if I'm dreaming this.
- Man, I hate being your apprentice. - You're not my apprentice.
Nobody else will work with you.
I'm fixing it, smart-ass.
Then you fix it, smart-ass.
"This is my dolphin, smart-ass."
- Let me do it. - Stop it! It might be booby-trapped.
- You said "booby." - Shut up!
- Dude, let me do it! - Stormy, don't--
You idiot!
- What the hell is so funny? - You said "booby."
Booby. Booby. Booby.
Yeah, my character is the cleric Regnor.
I got a shillelagh for busting heads and...
Yeah, like that. I'm only fourth-level now...
...but once I learn some more spells, then... Sparks?
- What? - Then I'll be fifth-level.
- Senior officers to the med lab. - Regnor away!
- How is he, doc? - Difficult, difficult case.
In the year 2021, the brain is still a mystery.
- Booby? - But it doesn't look good.
Hey, this stuff here, is that mostly swelling or just afro?
- Sir, please... - Because it's soft.
...stop doing that.
- Shut up. - Oh, my God. Oh, Quinn.
No, no, no!
- Booby? - They're right here, baby.
- He said "booby." - This is all your fault, you idiot.
Easy, Debbie. He's been through hell.
Now, what happened, you idiot?
It had mercury stuff...
...and it wasn't at precise equilibrium.
- Equilibrium? - Means "horses."
- Sounds like a Quinn word. - He's brain-damaged.
- Booby? - And yet I feel a great deal smarter.
How could Quinn get brain damage and Stormy suddenly turn smart?
Who knows? The brain, though composed mainly of cholesterol...
...polyunsaturated fats and water, remains a wrinkled mystery...
-...shrouded in fatty secrets. - Don't you know anything?
Well, I know what the brain is made of.
- You stupid bitch. - Yeah. I didn't know that.
I knew that!
Wait. How did I know that?
- Well, it's obviously brainswitch. - Brainswitch?
- Wait a minute. - There's no such thing as brainswitch.
No? Yeah, there is. Basically, that's the whole premise...
...of "Knights of Necropolis." My clan!
- Doctor, please. What's going on? - Does it even matter what I say?
Bueno, ya. Then it's settled. Due to brainswitch, Stormy...
-...you're the new science officer. - Yes!
- And Quinn? - Ooby.
- Oh, my God! - He's getting worse!
Hurry, Science Officer Stormy. Get the game on there.
I need silence to mind-meld with the Internet.
- Am I doing it? - I don't think so.
Okay... Okay, you close your eyes.
Okay.
Stormy?
Good Lord. He can teleport!
- Doctor, don't sugarcoat it. - He has regressed from "booby" to "ooby"...
-...to now, simply, "oob." - But will he still be able to...
-...you know, do it? - Oh, yes.
In fact, the head trauma has left him with a massive priapism.
A what?
--Penis.
- Quinn, I'll never leave you. - Ismell a coma wedding!
Hooray!
- They are. - Well, keep them closed...
...because when I teleport back in, there's a blinding flash.
Fire it up. I'm all braced.
Holy crap. That's awesome.
I'll show this bitch who's boss.
No, just keep him sedated and well-sponged...
-...and keep an eye on that priapism. - Oh, I will.
What if we jam it all back in and see if that works?
Good idea. Don't know how you come up with them.
No, you wouldn't.
Bet Quinn misses that big-ass brain of his.
He's all right. Debbie's got people reading to him.
And you understand the prenuptial agreement...
...granting my client, Ms. DuPree, full power of attorney?
- Oob? - Okay.
Come on. What's taking so long?
It's just-- You look so beautiful.
- I know, right? - My father would be so proud.
- Make sure that-- Wait, what? - This was his dress.
Wait. Do that again.
Nope. Nothing.
My smart stick's not working.
- Hey, let's make smoothies. - For science!
No, no, no. This all goes. I'm thinking more Martha Stewart...
...meets East Village. And with kind of Pan-Asian undertones.
It's like you've stolen my mind, and you're looking at it.
And get rid of that damn cat.
- Hey, give me some more champagne. - Yeah. Hey, ho, what's the dilly-o?
- Because we're kicking it, boo! - Hush, now!
- Fa' shizzle, dizzle! - There's somebody out there.
What? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?
A little bit.
- Why isn't it doing it? - Look, you'd have to go to Harvard...
...for, like, a million years to understand any of this.
They teach karate there?
I don't know.
And you're paying for this how? Because I'm not cheap.
I don't know if you thought because of my shirt--
Oh, no, no, no. Quinn's paying.
- He's got this kind of money? - You kidding?
All those patents? Oh, remind me to call the patent office.
You're a complete dirty whore.
- Hey, no, wait. Does this look like smoothie? - Get out of the damn way!
Yeah! Fritters!
I no can stand to see you like this, Quinn.
- What are you doing? - Oh, hi!
I-- Hi. I was-- Hi.
I-- Hi.
I was just trying, you know, get this...
...pillow off his face.
There we go. That's got it.
- Just take the damn screwdriver! - Quit shoving it!
Okay, Action Abe. Here.
- I said flathead. - You said Phillips!
I'm just saying, it's suspicious that a black man gets blown up...
...by a white man and that same white man gets promoted for it.
God, you're beautiful when you're militant.
Child, you better get your foot off me.
- Hey, look. We got to send it-- - I can figure this out!
-1-- 1 can't feel my legs. man! - Okay., go get help, Django.
What the hell did you do to his head?
Just some scientific stuff.
- Are those fuses? - I don't know.
Oh, man. My head. Damn it.
Where is everybody?
And why the hell am I wearing a wedding ring?
Hello? Hello?
- And do you, Debra--? - Yes, let's go.
- Can we really do this without the groom? - Maritime law, Padre.
- Let's go. Come on. - Mazel tov.
Not if he's surrounded by bananas. I mean, look at him.
- He's in heaven. - No, look, he's doing it.
- He's going for help! - No, he's not.
- He's not getting help. - Django, put that down.
I told you he'd find it.
Anybody know what the hell's going on around--?
- Oh, my God! Django! - Hey, Quinn!
Django, what happened to your head?
- And what are you reading? - He-- He ain't reading.
What did you do to my monkey?
Well, now, technically that monkey belongs to the science officer.
- Which is me, punk. - Punk? Boy...
-...get your ass out that box! - Now, Django!
Django, how could you?
Don't you worry, Quinn. We've got a nice new job for you.
Quinny doctor, good doctor. Very smart.
Very smart indeed. Stun gun hurts. Stun gun hurts Quinny.
- Quinny monkey bad. Bad monkey-- - That's right.
Roll them up, bitch.
Quinn good. Quinn good. Holly. lolly. Roll. loll. IOll.
Quinn, silverware roll. Knifey, knifey, fork, fork, booby, booby...
-...spoon, spoony, spoon... - Well, you were right, doc.
Yes, with the proper stimuli, even a genius like Dr. Quinn...
...can be driven insane, and I remain the only doctor left.
- Science is cool. - Once we even put a mental patient...
...in charge of an underwater research--
Subject 934, do not compromise the experiment!
Hey, hey. Shark in a lab coat.
Haven't seen that a million times.
- I think it works. - Yeah, because you wrote it.
Come on, Regnor! No, no!
- Shillelagh! Shillelagh! - Lightning bolt.
- No! No, no, no! - Lightning bolt. Lighting bolt.
Regnor? Regnor?
Man, this 2HOT4U is good.
- I think it works. - Hello. Telegraph office.
- Joke coming. - Man...
- Shut up. - You shut up.
Suck.
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