The Monarch launches his newest assault on the Venture Compound, ensnares Rusty with his Scarionette Cannon, and forces him to dance like a puppet, suspended in mid-air. However, Rusty's beeper goes off and he informs the Monarch that it's Wednesday night and time for therapy. There's a new Guild clemency clause and Rusty tries to show him the note from his doctor. Once he does, the Monarch is happy to note that he's driven his arch-nemesis insane. He calls in his troops, including Henchman 21 who was on the verge of killing Sgt. Hatred...Read the full recap
Wonderboy: Beep boop.
Lance Hale: What was that?
Wonderboy: I just turned off the radio in my utility belt like he said to.
Action Johnny: You said "beep boop" with your mouth.
Wonderboy: No I didn't. Leave me alone.
Action Johnny: My dad's lab was like a pharmacological candy store, so I started real young. Next thing I know, I'm blowing lines of voodoo powder off the back of a monkey's paw I bought in Calcutta. Now I'm all out of wishes.
Dr. Venture: What happened? Did I just kill Premature Ejaculation?
Action Johnny: Dudes, get back! That is a Vietnamese Two-Step Viper! One bite, and you're dead before you take two steps.
Dale Hale: There's no such thing.
Action Johnny: Yeah, I'm making it up. It's right there, dude! That ain't a *bleep* fucking hologram or an old lighthouse keeper in a rubber mask, okay?
Dale Hale: I mean there's no such snake. That's an urban myth.
Lance Hale: Bro's right. I Googled it.
Dr. Venture: Hey, Encyclopedia Brown-Noser, can you Google this thing away from me?
Dr. Venture: Well, Daphne, I believe. She got around quite a bit. But Velma? I always thought she was a...
Action Johnny: Everybody did. But I got a pack of herpes that says otherwise.
Action Johnny: Hey, how are those balls doing, Rust?
Dr. Venture: Spirit is up and roving, but opportunity hasn't come back on-line yet.
Action Johnny: You're gonna tell me you didn't send your flunky to murder our therapist with a Vietnamese Two-Step Viper?
Dr. Z: Bah! When Dr. Z harasses you, you'll know it. A giant metal crab would tear the roof off of your trailer. No less than six suicide assassins would spring from its belly! I would never stoop to striking at you through some civilian proxy. And I certainly would not do it with a made-up snake!
Dr. Z: So, a snake kills your psychiatrist, and you fly all the way down here in the middle of the night to beat up an old man because of a matchbook.
Dale Hale: Yeah, sounds kind of sloppy when you say it.
Dr. Z: We never had children of our own, you see. We married late. And though my lover's mountains are both beautiful and bountiful, I'm afraid the valley below is quite barren.
Mrs. Z: I thought we could not have kids because I was your beard.
Dr. Z: Ahem-ahem.