- Do your friends, do they make fun of you
for still having a babysitter?
- Yeah, but then they see her
and they get really jealous.
- Yeah, heck yeah they do. (laughs)
(upbeat rock music)
- All right, one, Kirk.
Two, Picard.
Three, Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum from Independence Day.
Five, Ripley and six, are you ready for this shit?
A Xenomorph egg.
- No way. - Yeah. (sucks)
(voice trembles) (suspenseful music)
(retches) (shouts)
- [Both] I'm gonna take this right foot,
and I'm gonna whop you
- on that side of your face. - That side of your face.
- [Both] Really?
- [Both] Really.
(pounds and thuds)
- I dare you to kiss everyone here.
(inhales sharply)
- I know it was you, Fredo.
I know it was you.
(fun, upbeat rock music)
♪ So sweet, you make my mouth water ♪
(licks aggressively) (all exclaiming)
- Why is he shirtless?
- That's your first question?
- I mean, how can you even ask that?
Just look at him.
(whooshes)
(light tapping)
(cash register dings)
Oh my God, does he not even see the mirror behind him?
We can see you cutting the rope.
(bangs) (shrieks)
- Oh, oh! (thuds)
- Oh my God, he shot me in the boob.
What kinda dick shoots a girl in the boob!?
Can we just stick a tampon in it or something?
(pulsating, suspenseful music)
- Wait until they've almost got you,
drop like a bag of rocks.
(pulsating, suspenseful music) (thuds and exclaims)
Kick him in the dick.
(crunches)
(both exclaiming)
(thuds and grunts)
- You missed my dick.
(kisses softly)
- The last guy I saw get kissed got stabbed
in the head by two knives.
I'm gonna put an end to this.
(fun, bright music) - What are you doing?
- Keeping you safe.
- Lock's on the inside, dumbass.
(dramatic, suspenseful music) (shatters)
(grunting)
- Knife, knife knife knife, well where's the knife?
(simple, echoing music)
Oh, dishwasher.
(panicked breathing) Mom.
- Are you the one that put the knife in the dishwasher?
- I think so.
- Can you not do that?
It goes in the butcher block.
(blade scrapes)
- Yoo-hoo!
Looking for this?
- Did you just ruin "Mad Men" for me?
- It's not even on anymore, you'll live.
- Still.
- I get it, I get it.
You're a weird little dude with a crush
on a murderous, fictitious babysitter.
That settles it, we just gotta get you laid.
(exhilarating rock music)
- This is our new transfer student, Phoebe Atwell.
(screams piercingly)
(exclaiming fearfully)
(breathes heavily)
- [Babysitter] That's a big bottle of lotion you got there.
- Huh?
Oh no, (stammers) this, it's 'cause I just have
(stammers) exceptionally dry elbows.
- Sexually dry elbows? - Exceptionally!
(knocking) - Knock, knock.
Oh hey, ah. (laughs)
I didn't mean to interrupt, I'm sorry, you guys--
- No, you're not. - This like an online hookup?
- No Dad, it's not like that, it's--
- Oh 'cause ya had the lotions out.
- Yeah, I have exceptionally dry elbows.
- But lotion's also used to masturbate.
- Dad, no, why!?
(intense, reverberant music) ♪ Whoa oh ♪
- Well, that's no fun.
- Come on, come on, come on, come one, come on.
Oh, whatchoo, oh, hey!
Ah, stop.
Hammer time. - I cannot
watch him grawl anymore.
- Come right for the nuts.
(grunts) Drop down low.
(grunting and slapping)
- You know, I think the trick to a perfect s'more is
to get the right heat balance between the marshmallow,
the chocolate, and the graham cracker.
I love s'mores.
♪ I eat them just for pleasure ♪
(exclamatory music)
(shrieks)
- Gut you like a fish.
- Silence, rapist.
(bursts) (yells)
(dramatic, suspenseful music)
(crunches) - Oo!
Finally found my dick, cool.
(exclamatory music)
(light tapping)
(pounds)
Easy, killer.
(spritzes)
Silly string, pretty lame.
- Pretty flammable.
(bursts)
(exclaiming) (yelling)
(splashes aggressively)
(swelling suspenseful music)
Boo!
(splatters)
Shit! - Oh.
That was not fun for either of us!
- You've gone loco again, Cole.
(creaks)
- I did not go loco. (swelling dramatic music)
- Where'd you get the crossbow?
♪ I don't want you, cook my bread ♪
♪ I don't want you, make my bed ♪
♪ I don't want you to be true ♪
♪ I just wanna make love to you ♪
(upbeat rock music)