Madre mia! The reactor's been hit!
Radiation leak!
- I'm sealing it off! - Good God, man.
You just wasted the lives of 20 good men.
Si, capitén! Twenty lives to save 200.
Those are odds I can live with.
How dare you gamble--? Gamble with.
- With their souls. - Their what?
- I can barely hear you. - Cut!
- Why would Murphy take orders from--? - I'm getting...
It's like there's a knife in my eye and you're twisting it, man.
Would Murphy even care about a bunch of nuked-out zombies?
- Hal. - I mean, come on.
- Hal? - What?
- Erik, buddy? - Yes, sir.
What can I say? I'm helpless, man. I love you.
- All right, baby. - Oh, please.
Let's pick it up at "20 lives," people.
- Places, people. - Rolling. Speeding.
Torpedo attack, take seven.
Cue lights and siren.
Okay, cue fog.
Fog! Fog!
The fog machine, idiot!
Ass.
And action!
Wardrobe got you set up. And listen, you are not a Martian.
You're from a super race of symbiotes.
- A little snake lives in your belly. - Since when?
Well, the writers were, you know, having trouble writing for urban characters.
- Urban, meaning black. - So now he's like Mr. Spock...
...but urban, like, "Get at me, dog."
- This show sucks. - Here you go, Mr. Butler.
- A spear? - Space spear. Shoots lasers.
Man. all I know is I'd better be getting points on these stupid dolls.
Where's my writer?
Okay, let--
- What are you wearing? - It's pretty tough, don't you think?
- Where's Erik? - Well, probably in his trailer.
You know, I don't have a trailer.
- I don't even have a chair. - Hal.
But what I want is a trailer in which to put my chair.
What I want is to make the most adrenaline-pumping...
...fogged-up, smoked-out action sequence since Hooper.
- So just do the scene! - But it just doesn't make any sense.
Oh, you know what doesn't make sense, actually, is you.
Because, like, I had you written as 30-ish and handsome.
Please tell the writer not to address the talent.
- What talent? Oh, you. Oh. Sorry. - Oh, yeah, cute.
Where's all this going, Adam Reed, writer of Sealab 2027?
God. Torpedo attack...
...then the alien cavemen kidnap Debbie...
...then they go back in time and join McHale's Navy.
- Love. - And then Sealab blows up. Somehow.
- Oh, yeah. Another punch-out ending? - Oh, God, no.
We pull out at the last shot to reveal a snow globe with Sealab inside.
- What? - And that is the end.
- It's layers upon layers, Hal. - It's awesome.
- That's Citizen Kane, you hack! - Do not call me a hack, okay?
You hole. I wrote for Carrot Top.
- What drew you to the role of Sparks? - Well, Sparks is just such a great character.
But I think the main impetus was my gundum told me to take the part.
Gun--? "Gun" what?
Gundum. He's my mentor in Astrotology.
- Oh. Right. The Hollywood cult. - It's not a cult!
- It's a religion. - Not according to the IRS.
Oh, there will be a day of reckoning for you, nonbeliever!
A totaling of sums and a snapping of necks!
And you will count yourself among the damned!
What's it like working with Estrada?
Never met him.
- Hal. Pretend you're an actor. - Hey.
- Shut up. - Okay, that's it.
- I'll be in my trailer. - Way to go, Hal.
All right, where are my cavemen?
Guys, we're a little behind, but I need you to keep that energy up.
Do not mess with me. Somebody go get Erik.
Hello? Mr. Estrada? They're ready for you, sir.
Man, I look good in khaki. Watch out! A drunk driver!
Go get them, Ponch!
This is seven-Mary-four. We're in hot pursuit.
- Mr. Estrada? Hello? - Buzz off, dude.
This is where my trailer would be, in this taped area, kind of right here.
I need to get these guys in some water.
- All of this area would be my trailer. - They're dying.
- I don't have time. - This chair with my name on it...
-...will go behind a costly desk-- - Get out of my chair.
- What the hell are you wearing? - Murphy's a captain, right?
Taking him in a new direction.
You have five seconds to be on your mark and in wardrobe...
...or I will personally climb inside your abdominal cavity...
...and make a little house in there for my dogs to play in.
Oh, your stupid mutts get a playhouse, but I can't even get a frigging chair?
Kill him! Kill him! Get him! Oh, yeah, beat the crap out of him! Kill him!
Damn it, Darlene! What did I tell you about the pills?
They need them pills to keep them peppy so's they can work.
- I got bills to pay, damn it. - Oh, yeah? The price of crack go up?
Oh, you don't talk to me like that. I'll sue your Hollywood ass.
- My bad, bitch. - Thank you, Brett.
Word up, homes.
That "urban" enough for you?
No diggity.
Okay, people, we get this shot, it's lunch.
Fajitas. I know you like that. Fajitas!
- Erik, are you ready? - Wait.
- Yes, let's do it. - Hal?
- You gonna be a buddy? - Oh, what's the point?
- Hal! - I don't even have a chair.
Okay. we get this shot, I'll give you Adam's chair.
- Dude. - Shut up.
- Hal, are we deal buddies? - No punch-out ending?
I mean, like that giant space-baby crap we did last week?
Some things just aren't funny.
- That Sealab show is funny. - Only sometimes.
[ENGLISH]