Sam, what's going on in there?
Is everything alright?
Oh.
Everything's fine, dude.
Just looking for a little privacy.
Oh, totally.
Totally.
What do humans do in the bathroom anyways?
God, what is it with you?
Is a little privacy too much to ask?
Good.
Now that you're up, we can finally get started on my itinerary.
Yay!
Yeah, I'm not doing any of that.
Computer, lock doors.
Enter voice password.
Password accepted.
Oh, why can't I know your p-word?
That's what besties do.
They share things like p-words and pants and hot goss.
My p-word is my b-word.
As in my business. Word.
I tell you stuff.
I told you about the majestically rare
albino space worm that lives on my undercarriage.
Right.
"The magical creature I'll never see,"
where your secret weed stash grows that I can never smoke.
On my undercarriage!
Don't call it that.
Look, for three months, it's been nonstop friendship bracelets and Sudokus
and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Ever since I crash landed on this—
You!
I need a break.
I'll see you later.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
Who is the king of my junk?
Alright.
Physics.
Boundaries, bro.
Personal space, dog.
My p-word is my b-word.
Invalid p-word.
Please try again.
Oh. Wait.
It's Mr. Computer.
I think I've got an idea.
Earth place. Hmm.
Seattle?
Invalid.
Toronto?
Invalid.
Ohh! The—
Invalid.
Wow. He was right.
Secret weed stash!
Is it that German word for taking joy in
witnessing other people's misery?
Maximum p-word attempts reached.
Commence self-destruct procedure.
Oh.
Darn.
Damn it, Planet, how could you?
Why is it so hard to open up to your best pal?
I'm not like you, okay?
I don't go around talking about my birth stone.
Ruby!
Or my favorite color.
Beige.
Or the title to my unfinished memoir.
By the way, "Dark Side of the Moon."
No good?
Eh. It's been done.
Oh, sure.
It's bad to open up to your friends,
but it's totally cool to steal the secret weed
right off their undercarriages.
Any word!
Literally any other word!
Ten. Nine.
Fine.
Eight.
Fine. You wanna know so badly? I'll tell you.
Six.
I'll tell you. It's ...
Four. Three.
It's ...
Two. Audible gasp. One.
Password accepted.
Oh, Sam.
I knew we were best friends.
Tongue hug!
Please, God. No.
What is that?
Body spray?
What? No good?