|Season One, Episode Ten|
Narrator: Michael Bluth was talking to his son about his latest test.
Michael: A minus, huh?
George Michael: Proud of me?
Michael: Very proud. Minus. Better go hit the books. Get up there.
Maeby: “C minus.” C m-i-n-e-s.
Lindsay: Did you even study?
Maeby: No, I didn’t.
Lindsay: Wow. How impressive is that?
Michael: Well, the bar for the refrigerator has been lowered.
Lindsay: Oh, grades are meaningless. Maeby’s last school didn’t even have them.
Narrator: Back in Boston, Maeby’s parents had enrolled her in a progressive school with its own system of evaluation.
Michael: All I’m saying, Lindsay, is that you know, you might want to push her a little bit because a kid without discipline can get into some pretty tough stuff.
Lindsay: So you think she’s going to suddenly turn to drugs because she got a C plus?
Michael: Minus. And yes, I think that without boundaries, a kid can get into trouble, and yeah, sometimes that can mean drugs.
Lindsay: Well, I think stress is what leads to trouble. You know the kind you put on George Michael, even when he gets an A?
Michael: Minus. And an A gets him ice cream. He knows that.
Lindsay: See, you’re as bad as Dad with his ridiculous lessons.
Narrator: George, Sr. had used his considerable means to stage intricate scenarios, to teach his children what he considered valuable life lessons.
George, Sr.: I need help.
J. Walter Weatherman: I’ll get my gear.
Narrator: Typically, these scenarios would involve a man named J. Walter Weatherman, a one-time employee who lost his arm in a Bluth Company construction accident.
Young G.O.B.: Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?
George, Sr.: We’re out of milk. I could have got it earlier if someone would have left a note.
George, Sr.: Oh.
George, Sr.: Why?! If someone had left a note, this innocent man would still have his arm! Why?!
J. Walter Weatherman: And that’s why you always leave a note.
Michael: Well, those lessons worked, didn’t they? I mean, we still leave notes to this day.
Lindsay: Oh, that’s what that was about. I thought he was trying to get us off of dairy.
G.O.B.: I need a favor.
Michael: What happened to “Hello. I need a favor”?
G.O.B.: I owe Hot Cops 500 bucks.
Michael: Hot Cops?
G.O.B.: It’s the stripping agency I used to work for. Cop uniform?
G.O.B.: You know, I might’ve been a little too believable.
G.O.B.: Police! Open up!
- End flashback
G.O.B.: Anyway, they’re claiming that I never delivered on the gig.
Michael: I’m not an ATM.
G.O.B.: Oh, Michael. I keep forgetting how hilarious you are.
Michael: Shh. Shh. You’re making it worse.
G.O.B.: Am I?
Michael: I tell you what. I’m going to give you the cash, but in return, I get to ask you for a favor sometime.
G.O.B.: My gut is telling me no. But my gut is also very hungry.
G.O.B.: All right. I’ll do it.
Narrator: Michael then left for his mother’s apartment, where she greeted him with some not-so-surprising news.
Lucille: I need a favor.
Michael: We ought to put that on our family crest.
Lucille: (Laughing.) Michael.
Michael: Spare me.
Lucille: The SEC is making me inventory everything I own. They want me to prove no new purchases have been made with company money.
Michael: And there haven’t been, right?
Lucille: Not after we doctor all these receipts.
Michael: I can’t help you, Mom. I’ve got a job. I’ve got to make some money so you can buy more things and destroy the evidence.
Lucille: You’re right. I’ll ask Lindsay.
Michael: Hey, Buster.
Buster: Hey, brother.
Michael: You headed over to your girlfriend’s?
Buster: Yeah. She’s down again.
Narrator: Buster’s girlfriend Lucille Austero, suffers from chronic vertigo, which she has been trying to fight without the use of medication.
Buster: And her nausea’s gotten really bad too. It’s really been difficult on us. It’s definitely taking its toll.
Michael: Well, you know, you’re free to go, pal. It’s not like you made a commitment to this woman.
Buster: Well, I didn’t make a commitment... I did refer to it as our nausea. But you know, that’s when we were going at it really hot and heavy.
Michael: Well, now it’s my nausea.
Narrator: Later, Lucille stopped by the model home to enlist her daughter’s help cataloging her valuables.
Lindsay: I can’t.
Lucille: Why not?
Lindsay: Because I’m... Don’t want to.
Lindsay: Well, maybe I don’t feel like being criticized around the clock.
Lucille: I don’t criticize you. And if you’re worried about criticism, sometimes a diet is the best defense.
Maeby: Oh, hey, Gangee.
Maeby: D plus. Sign this.
Lindsay: This is a D minus.
Maeby: Well, either way, it’s above a D right?
Lucille: Another worldbeater.
Narrator: And Lindsay realized she needed to take a firmer hand with her daughter.
Lindsay: I’m not signing this.
Maeby: Fine, I will. Is Lindsay with an “A” or an "E"?
Lindsay: Okay, look. I know you got a crocodile in spelling, but this has gone too far.
Lindsay: I hate to say it, but Michael might be right. You need to learn a little discipline.
Maeby: Hmm. Nope. That doesn’t feel right.
Lindsay: No, no, no. I am telling you.
Lindsay: You are now punished. I punish thee.
Maeby: Are you serious? What could you possibly come up with that would punish me?
Lindsay: Oh, I have to come up with another thing?
Lucille: Oh, Lindsay? Before I go, I just have one word for you. Sleeves.
Lindsay: You’re going to spend the day working for your grandmother.
George Michael: No. No, that’s not the answer. What? No. You stupid jerk. Why don’t you... Dumb. Dumb. George Michael. Dumb. Dumb.
Michael: Whoa! Whoa! Calm down, you two. It’s just a math problem.
George Michael: Yeah. But if I fail math, there goes my chance at a good job and a happy life full of hard work, like you always say.
Michael: Maybe I’m pushing you too hard. You’re all stressed out. Your eyes are all red. Why don’t you take the night off. Just shut the book. Go ahead. Just close the book. Go ahead.
Michael: Your finger is still in the book. George Michael.
Narrator: Buster, meanwhile, was still worried about Lucille 2, whose condition seemed to be worsening.
Buster: You okay? How is your nausea?
Lucille 2: Our.
Buster: I mean, our, our nausea.
Narrator: He remembered a study he took part in on medical marijuana and its effects on nausea.
Narrator: The subjects took the drug in the form of a THC pill. Nausea was then induced with a day at the carnival, which is what attracted Buster to the experiment in the first place. Buster was found two days later trying to eat his way through this enormous plaster donut.
Narrator: So Buster went to the toughest, most streetwise kid he knew.
George Michael: Enjoy. Tell your friends.
Buster: Hey, nephew. I was looking for you at your home.
George Michael: Oh, yeah. Dad told me to take the day off so I decided to come in to work.
Buster: Oh! So I thought maybe you could help me get some weed. It’s not for me. It’s for Lucille 2, my girlfriend.
George Michael: She’s your girlfriend? Dad said you were her nurse.
Buster: Look, she’s sick. This could help her.
Buster: Pill form would actually be fantastic because I could put it on a little tea biscuit and I could just tell her it’s a marshmallow.
George Michael: Look. I have no idea where to get something like that, okay? What makes you think I would?
Buster: Well, you work here. This place is pot central, right?
Narrator: In the ’70s, the Boardwalk was the place to buy marijuana in Newport Beach. The stand served as a convenient meeting place because of the banana’s resemblance to a yellow marijuana cigarette. It had even inspired a song.
Music: / A Big Yellow Joint, a Big Yellow Joint / / I’ll meet you down at the Big Yellow Joint... /
George Michael: Look, I’m sorry. I can’t help you, okay? Why don’t you just ask Uncle G.O.B.?
Young G.O.B.: Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?
Buster: No. No. He’d never do it. Besides, he always makes fun of me for dating Lucille. Everybody does.
George Michael: That's horrible.
Buster: Look, maybe you could tell G.O.B. for me. But you can’t tell him it’s for me.
George Michael: I’m working.
Buster: You can’t tell anybody.
Michael: George Michael!
George Michael: Oh. Hey!
Michael: What are you doing here? I thought I told you to take the day off.
George Michael: Yeah. But there’s nothing to do. I mean, Maeby’s at Gangee’s...
Michael: Find something to do. Go make mistakes. Get in trouble. Be young.
Buster: Yes. I totally agree. Make a mistake.
Michael: Now here. Here’s 20 bucks. I want you to close up shop and go crazy. Go find yourself something to buy that you don’t need.
Buster: Absolutely. Here. Take $225 from me.
Narrator: Maeby, meanwhile, was working with her grandmother.
Lucille: And this is from when your Pop-Pop yelled out “Oh, Melanie!” when he was making love to Gangee.
Maeby: This is so much fun. I can’t believe my mom thought being here would be a punishment.
Lucille: Oh, she thinks I’m too critical. That’s another fault of hers.
Lucille: Ah, yes. The week we had the au pair. You know, your mother always wanted this brooch.
Lucille: Do you want it?
Maeby: I do now. That’ll show her for trying to punish me.
Lucille: Oh, pretty. It’ll distract from the freckles.
Narrator: George Michael nervously approached the family yacht G.O.B. had been staying on.
George Michael: Uncle G.O.B.?
Narrator: When he saw the yacht was empty, George Michael, as he’d been trained to do since childhood, left a note for his uncle. Back at the model home, G.O.B. showed Michael the note he’d found at the dock.
Michael: Oh, no. This can’t be from my son.
G.O.B.: Well, it is his handwriting. Plus he left me $200. $100. 100— I accidentally said 200.
Michael: This is impossible. Why would he do this?
G.O.B.: I know. You know? I was shocked. I mean, really, $100. You can’t get good weed for a hundred bucks. Anyway. Here you go. Now we are even on you paying off that Hot Cops thing. Might just be a few stems... but it should be pretty good.
Michael: Get that the hell out of this house! What’s the matter with you?
G.O.B.: Maybe you should save the lectures for your son. If he can remember them.
Michael: Man, I speak to Lindsay one time about her stupid hippie parenting and I end up with a hippie.
G.O.B.: Yeah. It does seem pretty quick.
Michael: For all I know, this has been going on forever. You know, he’s been stressed. His eyes have been red. His grades are dropping.
G.O.B.: I heard about the A minus.
Michael: All right, I’m going to go find out what’s going on.
George Michael: Hey.
Michael: Hey, what are you doing?
George Michael: Nothing.
Michael: No? So, uh, listen.
Michael: Your Uncle G.O.B. seems to think that he saw you down at the docks today. Was that you?
George Michael: No. No. Maybe it was the other George Michael. You know, the singer-songwriter.
Michael: Yeah, that makes sense.
George Michael: Yeah.
Michael: What did you do with the, uh... the money that Buster and I gave you to go have fun with?
George Michael: I put that in my savings account.
Michael: Is that right?
George Michael: Yeah. Save up.
Michael: Okay. Thanks for being honest. (To G.O.B.) He’s lying to me. Can you believe that? Where the hell is this family’s morality?
G.O.B.: I don’t know.
G.O.B.: It’s cold out here.
Michael: So what do I do now? If I confront him, he’s just going to lie to me again. Should I yell at him?
G.O.B.: Didn’t Dad teach us that we don’t yell in this family?
Young G.O.B.: Why ain’t you getting up, Buster?!
J. Walter Weatherman: Tell me before you hit the gas!
George, Sr.: I can’t hear you! The kids are yelling.
J. Walter Weatherman: Tell me before you hit the gas!
George, Sr.: I guess you’re saying... “Hit the gas.”
J. Walter Weatherman: No, wait! No. No! Ah! Ah! My arm! Ah!
J. Walter Weatherman: That’s why you don’t yell.
Michael: Yeah, yelling is not a good way to go. I got a better idea.
George, Sr.: You want to teach George Michael a lesson?
Michael: Yes, I do. And it’s got to stick. He’s getting into drugs, Dad, and he’s lying to me.
George, Sr.: That doesn’t sound like the boy.
Michael: I know it. I know it, but it’s my fault. I’ve been pushing him too hard. It’s just dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Michael. Dumb.
George, Sr.: Hey, hey. Shh. I forgive you.
Michael: I don’t want your forgiveness, Dad. I want the guy with the one arm and the fake blood. J. Walter Weatherman. How do I get ahold of him?
George, Sr.: Uh, he’s, uh, dead. You killed him when you left the door open with the air conditioner running.
Michael: For God’s sakes, Dad. He’s not dead. Listen, I need to do this soon. Down by the docks, I’m going to make it look like a drug deal went bad or something.
George, Sr.: Tonight? No, it’s Yontif, the first night of Yom Kippur.
Michael: Dad, that’s just one night, and it’s back in September. That’s okay. You’ve only been a Jew for about two days.
George, Sr.: Just try to talk to him.
Michael: Like you talked to me when I was growing up?
George, Sr.: I thought you hated those lessons.
Michael: I did, but they worked, and they will work again.
George, Sr.: Well, I’m done with them. Because it was wrong, Michael.
Michael: Come on.
George, Sr.: Your son is a timid, thoughtful boy. He’s a scholar like his grandfather.
George, Sr.: What time is it? Oh, almost sundown. I have to prepare for the Sabbath.
Michael: It’s Tuesday.
George, Sr.: Shh.
Narrator: Lindsay went to see how her own attempt at parental discipline was coming along.
Lindsay: So, having fun? Where’d you get that brooch?
Maeby: Gangee. Nice, huh?
Lindsay: That was supposed to be for me. She was my au pair. I’m the one who cleared my throat and pointed to the laundry room. Ma! You know I wanted that.
Lucille: I know. But it’s an elephant. And I didn’t want to invite the comparison.
Lindsay: In any event, your punishment is over. Come on, Maeby. Let’s go.
Lucille: She’s not going anywhere. We’re having fun. Here, Maeby, try this on.
Lindsay: I see. Fine. I was going to take her out for ice cream, but if you’d rather stay here. Well, that’s just fine with me.
Maeby: Well, we can go get some ice cream, Gangee. That would be fun, right?
Lucille: I don’t think so. That chubby little wrist of yours is testing the tensile strength of this bracelet as it is.
Narrator: Maeby decided that perhaps she’d had enough of her grandmother.
Lucille: Maeby. Maeby?
Michael: Hey, G.O.B. It’s Michael. Listen, I figured out a way for you to repay that favor. Dad wouldn’t help me teach George Michael the lesson, so I need your help and your Hot Cop friends. I want to fake a drug bust.
G.O.B.: Michael, these guys are real dancers. You know, they’ve never done any “hot” policing.
Michael: Well, they don’t even need to be hot. They just need to show up in those uniforms.
Narrator: And so Michael’s plan was put into motion.
Buster: Where have you been? I am like a caged animal. My old lady’s on the floor, man. I am not essing around.
George Michael: Yeah. G.O.B. just called. He’s got the stuff at the yacht.
Buster: Great. Let’s go.
George Michael: No. No. I think my dad’s on to this. I’m out. I’m not...
Buster: Whoa! Whoa! Come on. G.O.B. will never give it to me. My woman is sick. Please.
Narrator: Later that night, Michael made the final arrangements with G.O.B.
Michael: All right, G.O.B., is this gonna be believable? I want him scared. I love this kid.
G.O.B.: These guys are pros, Michael. They’re gonna push the tension till the last possible moment before they strip.
Michael: They’re not going to strip, are they?
G.O.B.: I told them not to, but I can’t promise that their instincts won’t kick in.
G.O.B.: Anyway, trust me, it’s gonna be totally real, all right? This kind of thing goes on all the time out here. Boats wait offshore, lights are flashed, a guy comes over and drops off a bag. It’s gonna freak the little bastard out.
Narrator: Michael went off to hide, while nearby, Buster and George Michael arrived as planned.
Buster: I really appreciate you doing this for me. You’re making a very miserable person happy.
George Michael: She really feels awful, huh?
Buster: Oh, I was talking about me. But yeah, she’s a mess. Be careful.
George Michael: Uncle G.O.B.?
G.O.B.: George Michael. You weren’t followed, were you?
George Michael: No, I don’t think so.
G.O.B.: All right, kid... let’s deal some drugs.
George Michael: What are you doing?
G.O.B.: Flashing the lights. So the dealer knows what’s going down. Now we wait.
George Michael: How long?
G.O.B.: Who knows? An hour... maybe five.
Derek: Drug delivery. You wanted some marijuana?
G.O.B.: No, uh, not me— my nephew did.
Derek: Show me the money.
G.O.B.: Show us the pot.
Derek: I got it right here.
George Michael: Oh, my God.
Derek: Nice, right?
G.O.B.: Okay, you can put your shirt down, Derek. Just give him the stuff. (Loudly.) So... we have a deal.
Derek: (Loudly.) We have a deal.
Marcus: He’s ruining his life!
Hot Cop #2: Freeze! Police officers! Freeze!
G.O.B.: What? Oh, no! It’s the cops! Oh! And a construction worker.
Hot Cop #3: Let’s get this party started.
G.O.B.: Aren’t you guys gonna cuff him?
Hot Cop #3: You wanted handcuffs?
Michael: All right, George Michael... hope you learned your lesson, pal.
All: Yeah! Yeah!
Michael: Okay, all right, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
George Michael: What is this?
Michael: This is a lesson, and maybe I pushed you into this, but... I love you too much to see you ruin your life with that crap.
George Michael: But it wasn’t for me.
Michael: Then who was it for? Who? Give me a name.
George Michael: Okay, it was for me. Yeah. I was gonna smoke the marijuana like a cigarette.
Michael: Well, now you’re looking at a nice, big, fat punishment.
Buster: I’m sorry. Excuse me. I’m sorry. Ooh!
Michael: What are you doing here?
Buster: The, uh... the boy was looking out for me.
Buster: It-it’s for my girlfriend. She’s sick.
G.O.B.: Why don’t you just wait it out? She’s gonna be gone soon.
Buster: Oh, that’s it. Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?
Michael: Hey! Hey! Hey!
Buster: Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?
Michael: What’s the matter with you? Easy. Is that true? Why didn’t you tell me this?
George Michael: Well, you’re always telling me to do the right thing. Family first.
Michael: You know, it is unbelievable that you’d ask my son to score you pot. Why don’t you drive him home, and you and I will talk about this later. Go ahead. Go with Buster.
George Michael: I’m sorry.
Michael: Hey. What are you guys doing?
Drug Dealer: We got your signal. You flashed the lights. We got the drugs. You got the money?
Michael: No, no. No, no, no, no, no, no. We’re all good.
Drug Dealer: We just want the money. You want to make this ugly?
G.O.B.: We were just teaching the young fellow a lesson. We don’t want any trouble with you, governor. Thanks very much.
Drug Dealer: You know who you’re dealing with?
Police: (Over loudspeaker.) Drop the boxes!
Police: Put your hands in the air.
Drug Dealer: What is this?
G.O.B.: We had nothing to do with this!
Drug Dealer: You set us up!
G.O.B.: No! These are just strippers! Look how hot they are!
Michael: Everybody take a breath!
J. Walter Weatherman: Oh my God, my arm!
Michael: Oh, my God, this guy’s arm! Just... came off and landed on the dock.
Narrator: Michael realized that his father had, once again, taught him an elaborate lesson.
J. Walter Weatherman: And that’s why you don’t teach lessons to your son.
Michael: How could you do that to me?
George, Sr.: I told you, he’s a good kid. You should try talking to him when you think he’s in trouble. Don’t make the same mistake I did, you know, teaching lessons.
Michael: So you taught me a lesson not to teach lessons?
George, Sr.: (Sighs.) It was my last lesson.
Narrator: Back at the model home...
Lindsay: Back from your wonderful time with Gangee?
Maeby: Well, actually, it wasn’t so wonderful. She could be kind of nasty. But I’ll tell you something. I’m glad you’re my mom. Oh, um, I got you something.
Lindsay: You’re giving me this?
Maeby: You deserve it. I can’t believe you have to put up with her your whole life.
Lindsay: Honey... Oh, this is so sweet. Let’s sell it and go shopping.
Michael: You knew the whole time, didn’t you?
George Michael: Kind of. One of the Hot Cops is my choir teacher.
Michael: Buddy, I’m sorry about all this. It’s just, you know, you were so stressed out, and I guess I got scared. I should probably learn to talk with you a little bit more.
George Michael: Well, I think we’re okay.
Michael: We are. I mean, you know that there’s nothing that you can’t be totally honest with me about. I mean, you could say anything to me, you know? Anything at all.
George Michael: Like, say I had a crush on my own cousin.
Michael: Hey. (Laughs.) You just taught me a lesson. All right, we’re even.