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CAPTAIN: All aboard for safety and adventure on the rigid airship Excelsior, where the pampered luxury of a cruise ship meets the smoothness of modern air travel. Yes, when you fly Excelsior, you're flying in style and safety.
TIMMY: Safety? But isn't hydrogen flammable?
CAPTAIN: And how, Timmy. That's why Excelsior is filled with safe, natural helium. Why, it's actually flame-retardant.
CAPTAIN: And safe. So, whether you're enjoying excelsior's majestic vistas, duty-free shopping, high-stakes baccarat, dancing with your lovely wife, or even a cigar after a french gourmet dinner, you'll be enjoying them in style and safety. All aboard Excelsior!
ARCHER: God, who would want to put a bomb on that?
CAPTAIN LAMMERS: Well, that's what we're hoping ISIS can find out.
ARCHER: No, why bother? Some broad gets on there with a staticky sweater and, boom, it's "oh, the humanity!"
LAMMERS: No, no, that's—
LANA: Were you watching some other blimp commercial just now?
LAMMERS: Technically, it's a rigid airship.
MALORY: Filled with helium.
LANA: Which is nonflammable. Dumbass.
LAMMERS: I thought our promotional video covered that fairly well.
MALORY: Oh, and how. Sterling, it's totally safe.
LAMMERS: Well, except for the bomb threat.
MALORY: No, not to worry, dear. ISIS won't let terrorists blow up your lovely blimp.
LAMMERS: Rigid airship.
MALORY: My top two agents will be on board.
MALORY: And I will oversee the operation personally from what I assume will be first-class accommodations.
LAMMERS: Ooh, actually, we are fully booked.
MALORY: Well, if you think—oh, I don't know—this trudy beekman person can thwart a major terror plot...
LAMMERS: I suppose we could bump Mrs. Beekman—
ARCHER: Bump me. I'm not going.
LAMMERS: —If these two can share a cabin.
ARCHER: —Not going to let the terrorists win. We'll pose as husband and wife.
LANA: Nope! Cyril would totally freak.
LANA: Malory, come on, let me stay with you, and we'll do the whole Oprah/Gayle thing.
Malory: Nope! I need a stateroom to myself, in case I have a gentleman caller.
ARCHER: Mother, please.
LANA: Please. Do not make me do this.
MALORY: But Lana, think of the innocent lives you'll be saving. And also the fact that this is a direct order.
LANA: At least tell me it's separate beds.
Archer: Lana. Lana. LANA! LANAAAAAAAA!!!
Archer: Heh heh. Danger Zooooone.
CYRIL: Terrible, awful, just gut-wrenchingly bad feeling about this.
LANA: Baby, I really need you to trust me, okay? Now, is the cabin small? Yes.
ARCHER: And yet, surprising amount of storage.
LANA: Ugh. And I will hardly be in here, okay, because I've got a terrorist to find, and I doubt he's hiding under—
ARCHER: What's basically a twin bed.
ARCHER: Since it's all drawers under here because look how tiny this room is.
MALORY: Oh my god, it's like a broom closet.
ARCHER: And yet a surprising amount of storage.
MALORY: Oh, shut up. And Cyril, very eager to know why you're still here.
LANA: He was just—
CYRIL: Just helping Lana get settled.
ARCHER: Trust me, Cyril. She already settled.
MALORY: Hey! Disembark, Cyril. We're about to launch... or whatever blimps do.
[Cut to Cheryl and Pam]
CHERYL: Yeah, what does a blimp do, Pam?
PAM: Uh, kick your skinny ass! Now, come on, we got to get off this thing before—
CHERYL: Relax. God, we've got half an hour.
PAM: Oh, well then make me a double Campari and uh... I guess vodka?
[Cut to Archer, Lana, Malory, and Lammers]
LAMMERS: We don't normally drink on the bridge.
ARCHER: Well, I don't normally fly on the Hindenburg 2.0, so.
LAMMERS: It's not the Hi—
LANA: And Cyril doesn't normally storm off without even kissing me goodbye.
ARCHER: So we're all out of our comfort zone.
MALORY: Not me. My stateroom is gorgeous.
MALORY: That—what's her name?—Beekman, I bet she's just sick she got bumped.
LAMMERS: Yes, she literally vomited from anger. So if we could just focus on the bomb threat.
LANA: How about crew members? Anyone who might be disgruntled?
LT. KLAUSS KRAUS: Achtung!
LAMMERS: That's lieutenant Krauss. He and I were both up for command of the Excelsior, but—
LANA: You got it. Leaving him with motive.
KRAUS: Release the mooring cable.
ARCHER: Come on, it's not Larry Luftwaffe, that's—
ARCHER: Ugh, way too obvious.
[Cut to Cheryl, Pam, and Cyril]
PAM: God damn it! We're moving!
CHERYL: I know!
PAM: What happened to half an hour?
CHERYL: I lied.
PAM: Wha—why the—
CYRIL: Why the hell are you two still here?
CHERYL: Because I knew you'd be here because you don't trust Lana with Mr. Archer.
CYRIL: No! No, now, that is—
CHERYL: So ironic, Cyril, especially in light of recent...
CHERYL: ...Rug-burny events.
PAM: Oh my god! You two banged?
CYRIL: I, uh... See, here's the thing, uh... fruit basket!
PAM: Wow. You are just a dog in a manger.
CHERYL: I don't know what that means, Pam. I didn't grow up on a cheese farm.
PAM: Oh, for the— It's called a dairy.
[Cut to Archer, Lana, Malory, and Lammers]
LAMMERS: And even the slightest hint of a problem on our maiden voyage would kill Excelsior's stock price.
MALORY: So Lana, canvass the passengers and crew, learn what you can about Kraus—
LAMMERS: But, please, be discreet.
LANA: Hey, good advice! Which maybe I'll just sort of fold in with my twelve years of experience as a covert operative.
MALORY: Don't be snotty.
MALORY: And Sterling, if there is a bomb, captain, dear, where would it do the most damage?
LAMMERS: Probably in—
ARCHER: Uh, this new place called anywhere. This whole thing's a bomb.
LAMMERS: It's not—
ARCHER: Jesus! Want to blow us all to shit, Sherlock?
LAMMERS: For the last time, the Excelsior is filled with nonflammable helium! Although this is a non-smoking area, sir. Damn it, he's a prospective investor!
ARCHER: Not after that, I bet. Forget about Kraus. There's your bomber.
MULTIPLE: Who? Wait? What?
ARCHER: That guy. Beardsley McTurbinhead.
MALORY: You idiot. That's Sandu Singh, the billionaire investor. He's a Sikh.
ARCHER: Oh, so if he's not a Muslim, he just gets a pass? Well that's called profiling, Mother, and I don't do it.
LAMMERS: Mr. Singh is Excelsior's majority shareholder.
LAMMERS: If anything went wrong on this flight, he'd lose millions.
ARCHER: It's a perfect cover.
LANA: Just go look for the stupid bomb.
ARCHER: Relax, what do we have, like, four hours before we get to London?
LANA: Four hours?
MALORY: Sterling, are you joking?
LAMMERS: The crossing takes twenty-four hours.
ARCHER: Are you joking? What?
LAMMERS: Rigid airships combine the pampering of a cruise ship with the speed of—
ARCHER: Some other slightly faster ship? Uh, hello, airplanes? Yeah, it's blimps. You win. Bye. Oh, god. I hope you didn't invest in this.
LAMMERS: It'll be fine, though.
ARCHER: Blimps are terrible.
LAMMERS: As long as nothing goes wrong on this flight.
MALORY: Oh, captain, my captain; with ISIS on board, what could possibly go wrong?
[Cut to Cheryl, Pam, and Cyril]
CHERYL: Pick one. Either "A", I tell Lana what happened on that scratchy green office rug, or two, you get inside me.
CYRIL: Or "C", maybe I just jam this mop into the engine and kill all of us.
CHERYL: I don't think that's how blimps work.
CYRIL: Darn! Right, we just sort of float around. Stupid, naturally safe helium.
CHERYL: But I am liking the jamming imagery. And the killing.
CYRIL: And are you just gonna sit there?
PAM: Yeah, until she tags me in.
PAM: I'm kidding! My back's all messed up.
[Cut to black. Cut back to Cheryl, Pam, and Cyril]
Pam: So, you're ruining Cyril's life because, in your dream-the-impossible-dream world, it'll make Mr. Archer jealous?
CHERYL: Oh, Pamela. You read me like a poem.
PAM: Yeah? What's the poem gonna be about when Cyril snaps and murders you?
CHERYL: I don't know. World's gushiest orgasm?
[Cut to Archer and Lana]
LANA: Can you just get out of the way?
ARCHER: What? Are you gonna shoot me again?
ARCHER: Oh. Well then hang on.
LANA: Cyril is already freaked out enough about us sharing this shoe box without you air-drying your unkempt bush.
ARCHER: Unkempt bush? Um, you're one to talk!
LANA: My vulva is smoother than a veal cutlet! What terrible timing.
CYRIL: Oh, really?
CYRIL: Did I interrupt something?
ARCHER: Uh, rehearsal with your commodores tribute band.
LANA: Archer! Cyril, what are you doing here?
CYRIL: I wanted to tell you something very important, but apparently you're too busy showing off your vealy vulva!
LANA: Cyril! You know, your whole trust thing— and I've tried to, okay? You know what? We are on a break!
CYRIL: Oh, yeah?
CYRIL: Well, that's fine by me!
LANA: Cyril, wait!
KRAUS: No running!
CYRIL: Shut up!
LANA: Oh my god, what have I—
ARCHER: What are you doing? Go after him.
LANA: Oh, you think I should?
ARCHER: Wha— Yes! We're almost out of fruit.
[Cut to Malory and Lammers]
LAMMERS: Which is why I find it strange that you're so incredibly calm!
MALORY: Well, that seaweed wrap just slurps out the stress. Can't wait to tell Trudy Beekman all about it. Uh, if, um, we ever meet.
LAMMERS: What about you? Anything on Kraus?
LANA: No. Shut up. Have you seen Cyril?
MALORY: Why would I have?
LAMMERS: And what the hell is he doing?
ARCHER: Hey, what did I tell you, huh?
GUY SMOKING: Oh!
ARCHER: Huh?! There! Go buy a nicotine patch! Gentlemen.
LAMMERS: No, no, no! What happened to discretion?
LANA: What happened to that bartender?
MALORY: Right? Guy sees an empty glass and all of a sudden he's Judge Crater.
LAMMERS: Oh, for god's sake!
SANDU SINGH: Nigel, some chips for Mr—
ARCHER: Archer. Sterling Archer.
BACCARAT ATTENDANT: The minimum bet is 10,000, sir— dollars.
ARCHER: Oh, I stuffed all my money in that guy's mouth, cause he...
SINGH: Well, perhaps we could play for something much more interesting.
ARCHER: Yeah, cause that was seriously, like, all the cash I had on me, so.
SINGH: So, if I win, I spend a night of passion with your exquisite wife.
ARCHER: My what? Oh, yes, my wife. Of course. Yeah, it's a deal. But if I win, you tell me where the bomb—
BACCARAT ATTENDANT: Baccarat!
BACCARAT ATTENDANT: Mr. Singh wins.
ARCHER: Wait, wait, wait. We were going?
SINGH: The Von Zeppelin suite. I shall expect her within the hour.
ARCHER: She's not gonna be happy about that. Um, what are you mostly paid in tips?
BACCARAT ATTENDANT: Almost entirely, sir.
[Cut to Malory and Lana]
MALORY: Well, whose fault is that?
LANA: I— you—
MALORY: Prancing around in your Fiacci knockoffs, blathering about your vulva?
LANA: Hey, first of all—
MALORY: I'm just saying, you're driving Cyril straight toward another woman.
LANA: Cyril? With another woman? Malory, seriously. Look at me.
[Cut to Cheryl, Pam, and Cyril]
CHERYL: Look at and choke me! Oh, yes, yes! Oh! My! God! Yes!
CYRIL: Oh, my god, what am i doing?
PAM: You're ruining your life, you idiot! And making it hard to drop a deuce.
[Cut to Archer and Lana]
LANA: Uh, I'm sorry, what?
ARCHER: You. Now. Led Zeppelin suite.
LANA: You have no proof Singh's the bomber.
ARCHER: He hinted, Lana.
LANA: That's profiling.
ARCHER: That the proof was in his cabin.
ARCHER: Yes! So go down there and find it while I go find the bomb.
MALORY: Ugh, bombs, bombers, vulvas. You people are just ruining my trip.
MALORY: Well, don't stand here gaping at me! Go thwart something!
[Cut to Archer]
KRAUS: No running!
ARCHER: Zip it, zipperface!
ARCHER: Oh, kidding, sorry. Hey, have you seen that nerdy fruit-basket steward?
KRAUS: Uh, check the Kaiser Wilhelm suite.
ARCHER: Man, you really need new names on the— Hey, what were you doing in there?
KRAUS: Things for authorized personnel only, so don't go in there. It's verboten!
ARCHER: Ah, okay. Probably merits a follow-up.
CYRIL: Archer, I need your help. I think I'm losing it here, man.
ARCHER: What gave it away? My mother's r— Why are you Wearing my mother's robe?
CYRIL: I can explain this!
ARCHER: I don't think I want you to.
CYRIL: See, it all started when you and Lana—
ARCHER: Cyril, you should tell her this.
CYRIL: I tried! But you were naked, and it was all vulva this and vulva that.
ARCHER: Yeah, and as you stand here, dick and/or balls caressed by my mother's robe—Ugh!—Lana is waiting for you.
CYRIL: Really? Where?
ARCHER: The Led Zeppelin suite.
CYRIL: There's a Von Zeppelin suite.
ARCHER: Which I'm sure is what I meant, so go!
CYRIL: Thanks, archer. You're the best.
ARCHER: I know.
[Cut to Cyril]
CYRIL: So, yes, the bottom line is that I was unfaithful to you two, well, three times, I guess, if a dry-humpy choker counts. And if you can't see it in your heart to forgive me, I will forgive you. Because that's what love is, Lana. It's forgivey. Which is not a word. Come on, Figgis! All right, here we go.
LANA: Oh, why?
CYRIL: So, that's your idea of a break, huh?
LANA: Oh, Cyril, it's not what it looks like.
[Cut to Malory, Pam, and Cheryl]
MALORY: Well then, what is it?
PAM: Okay, so, Cyril got in over his head.
MALORY: Jesus God, did he kill her?
PAM: No, no, no. He ran from her to go confess to Lana. But, so then this one starts freaking out, and long story short, I kind of had to drown her in the tub.
MALORY: So you killed her?
PAM: Apparently not, so... good news.
LANA: Shut up, Pam. And did Cyril run by here crying in a woman's bathrobe?
MALORY: Well, it wouldn't surprise me. You're driving him stark raving mad.
LANA: What'd I do?
MALORY: What you do? Running around all up and down this stupid blimp—
PAM: Against the rules.
MALORY: Half-naked, tits bouncing around like you're at a rodeo, then going back to some billionaire's suite?
LANA: I was trying to stop a bomb plot.
MALORY: Oh, my god. There is no bomb!
PAM: More good news.
LANA: And just how do you know that?
MALORY: Ugh, because I made the bomb threat. Trudy Beekman booked the very last ticket on this flight, so it was all, "Meh, meh, meh, I'm Trudy Beekman. I'm on the co-op board, and I'm going on a blimp. Meh!" So, yes, I made a phony bomb threat.
PAM: Good for you.
LANA: And yet you lecture me. Lovely.
ARCHER: Mm, yello!
MALORY: So, what would you say if I told you that your mother made a phony bomb threat just to get a free ride on a blimp?
ARCHER: I'd say that's fairly classic her.
MALORY: Oh, shut up.
ARCHER: And then I'd just sort of laugh at the, uh, um—the whatchamacallit, irony?
LANA: There's actually a bomb on board? Archer? Archer— oh, what the hell? Where the fuck are you going?
ARCHER: I got to get my turtleneck.
LANA: What the...
ARCHER: I'm not defusing a bomb in this.
KRAUS: No running!
ARCHER: Shut up! Oh, and, Lana, maybe you ought to grab the Kraut. He's the bomber.
KRAUS:[As Lana points her TEC-9 at Krause] Gott im himmel! [scene gose to the bomb] What is this?!
LANA: You know what it is, fritz. So shut your schnitzel hole and disarm it.
KRAUS: Ah, I get it. The German guy mit the scar must be the bad guy. Well you know how I got this scar? Saving a Jewish girl from a gang of skinheads.
LANA: Oh, jesus.
KRAUS: Yeah! Und so Kraus gets a curb party.
LANA: Wow, now I feel like an asshole.
KRAUS: Your words.
LANA: But could you be a lamb and disarm it anyway?
KRAUS: Yeah, probably.
ARCHER: Okay, I got the turtleneck and my wire cutters. Now, where are we?
LANA: We're at you just shot the guy who could disarm the bomb, jackass!
ARCHER: I didn't shoot him! You think I'd bring a gun on this firetrap?
LANA: Well, then who did it?
LAMMERS: I did!
LANA: Captain Lammers?
ARCHER: Nice read, Velma.
LAMMERS: "Keep your 401k in company stock," they said. "The price can only go up," they said. Well, guess what.
ARCHER: Um, it didn't?
LAMMERS: Who the hell wants a two-day blimp ride to London, which is our only route?!
ARCHER: Okay, so it's a niche market, but still you—
LANA: Blowing it up will send the stock ice down to zero!
LAMMERS: Yeah, that's why I shorted it.
LANA: But what about all the other employees?
LANA: See, it's that kind of selfish shit—
ARCHER: Lana, no! You'll kill us all!
LAMMERS: For the last time, you idiot! It's not hydrogen! It's helium!
LANA: And what about that are you still not getting, exactly?
ARCHER: Well, obvious the core concept, Lana. Sorry I didn't go to space camp.
LANA: How about bomb-defusal camp?
ARCHER: No, actually, Lacrosse camp, if that helps. I mean, a lot of those skills are universal.
LANA: Shut up. Agent Gillette, please.
ARCHER: Oh, great.
RAY: Come on, people, talk to me! What are we thinking? What are we doing?
BILBO: What are we wearing?
RAY: My crisis vest, Mr. Fat Face. Lana? Hey, girl. You there?
LANA: Yeah, I'm—Hey, can you see me?
RAY: I see your knock-off Fiacci drawers!
LANA: You are such a bitch.
ARCHER: Hey, ray.
RAY: Ugh. Let's see that ignition, girl. Got it? East German crap. Probably a gk-31 or 32. So, uh, so on the side of the timer, there should be a serial number. That'll tell me which wire y'all need to cut. You got it?
ARCHER: Yeah, I see it. Ready?
RAY: Since first call.
RAY: T-X-X? Two X's?
ARCHER: No, X-S, like inxs.
RAY: Jesus, use the NATO phonetic alphabet.
ARCHER: Uh, what?
LANA: Christ on sale! Is it "S"?
LANA: Sierra. Ray, it's Niner-3-4 Tango-XRay-Sierra.
RAY: Thank you, doll. Now, there should be a dash followed by two letters.
RAY: Okay, so now I want you to cut the blue and white wire.
ARCHER: Which one? There's two of those.
RAY: No— one's blue with a white stripe, and the other one's white with a blue stripe.
ARCHER: Yeah, and both are identical!
RAY: No! They're not!
LANA: Uh, Ray, hon? They're really similar.
RAY: One's a teeny bit blue, honey.
ARCHER: Which one?
LANA: I guess that one. Maybe?
ARCHER: So, wait, which one do I cut?
RAY: The teeny bit blue one!
RAY: Okay? Wait! stop! You said the two letters after the dash were Oscar-Kilo.
ARCHER: Who? What?
RAY: O.K.— Oscar-Kilo.
ARCHER: No! "Okay"! Like, "Okay, now I'm gonna tell you what they are."
RAY: Yeah, and then you didn't!
ARCHER: I thought we skipped that part!
RAY: Skipped a step in disarming a bomb.
ARCHER: Yeah, which I thought was pretty irresponsible on your part!
RAY: Why do you always do this?
ARCHER: Why do you always not shut up?
RAY: On the radio, when we answer in the affirmative, we say "roger."
ARCHER: O—Roger. Sorry. Ray.
RAY: Now, in the serial number, what are the two letters following the dash?
ARCHER: ...You ready?
LANA: Goddammit, Archer!
ARCHER: The first letter is B.
ARCHER: Thanks. Second letter is N.
RAY: M as in Mike or N as—
ARCHER: As in Nancy. God. You of all people.
RAY: Archer, me of all people what?
LANA: Ray, hon?
RAY: Okay, so—
ARCHER: You can say "okay"!
LANA: Oh, my god! Ray, can I shoot him?
RAY: In about five seconds, honey.
ARCHER: Lana, be careful! Jesus, the helium!
RAY: Right after he cuts the solid green wire.
ARCHER: The green color is solid or—
ARCHER: O— Roger. Cutting the green wire.
ARCHER: Jesus! God! What?
RAY: That's how annoying you are.
ARCHER: Your mom's annoying! How about that?
RAY: Oh, yeah. Let's go there.
LANA: Let's go here, where, Archer, shut up and cut the goddamn wire, already!
ARCHER: You shut up, and I'm doing it! God!
LANA: Oh my g— Ray!
RAY: What's going on?
LANA: The timer sped up!
RAY: Did you cut the green one?
ARCHER: Yes! Roger! Steven! Whoever!
RAY: What were the last two letters?
ARCHER: B as in "Butthole".
LANA: What do we do here?
ARCHER: And M as in "Mancy".
LANA: M as in what?
ARCHER: Mancy. What did you think I said?
RAY: Nancy! You idiot!
ARCHER: Oh. Yeah. I can see how, uh, and then i was like, "you of all—" Ah! Ah, ah, ah! Exact! Same! Spot!
LANA: Ray? Ray, tell me what to do!
RAY: Do y'all have parachutes?
RAY: Well, that would be, you know—problem solved!
RAY: I don't know! Push it off with your big-ass hands! Good luck, honey.
LANA: Oh, it's too heavy! Archer!
ARCHER: Ah! Ah! Ah!
LANA: I cannot do this alone!
CYRIL: You're not alone!
LANA: Baby! You came back to me!
CYRIL: Well, I really— Lana, there's a lot you and I need to talk about.
LANA: And let's do that, right after we shove this huge bomb off the blimp.
CYRIL: Okay, but then we seriously need to—
CYRIL: Sorry. Here we go.
CYRIL: Lana, we're not gonna make it!
LANA: Yes, we are, Cyril! We are gonna make it!
CYRIL: Oh, my god! Lana, we made it!
ARCHER: Hooray for metaphors!
CYRIL: I told you.
LANA: Okay, now, then, what did you want to talk about?
CYRIL: Um, well, uh, a lot of stuff, really. Starting with the fact we just bombed Ireland.
LANA: Um, pretty sure that's wales.
[End of Skytanic]