- Torvald Utne. - The Olympic shot-putter?
The chairman of the UN Intelligence Committee.
Do you not even skim the briefings in your inbox?
- I have an inbox? - Utne decides which spy agency...
gets the insanely lucrative UN contract.
And as you may or...
- probably don't know, - for six years running...
the contract has gone to ODIN.
Ugh. The Organization of Douche bags In... In...
- Wait, I had something. - Douche-baggery notwithstanding...
- Nowheresville. - their ground floor isn't a laundromat.
- Wash-and-fold, technically. - ISIS needs that UN contract.
So I am going to woo Mr. Torvald Utne...
- Gross. - with a dinner party. Tonight.
- And you're uninviting me in advance. - Normally, yes.
But this party is different. And very important...
so absolutely nothing can go wrong.
Then we better keep Dr. Bellows away from Jeannie...
- No, no dates. - I Dream of Jeannie.
No one is bringing a date, so don't you bring a date.
I don't wanna get there and be the only one without a date.
And I don't want another one of your sullen whores using my medicine cabinet...
like a Pez dispenser.
Peggy, you will probably kill me for this...
but Senator, we now have a subway museum...
If... Are you still big into trains?
That wasn't her fault. Who puts OxyContin in a Xanax bottle?
- People with servants, idiot. - If they steal pills...
- how does it help to switch the labels? - Because they can't read English.
Ha, ha. I'm gonna leave you to think about that whole line of reasoning...
- You think. - And what scheme you're hatching...
- for this dinner party. - There's no scheme-hatchery.
Hello?
- Do you mind? It's the caterer. - Right. Okay, sure.
- Your instructions are clear? - Ja. No problem.
Oh, I have other call. Yeah, okay.
- Hello? Oh. - Hello?
- Da, da. - So your instructions are clear?
- Da. - Excellent.
- Uta, get dressed, we work tonight. - But Mani, what about The Fantasticks?
Tomorrow, liebchen, I promise, but to...
- You brought this ridiculous thing. - Is it so ridiculous...
- to ready my body for the baby? - Uta. Please do not start this.
Just ready your body for work, hmm?
Fine. What is the job?
Two jobs. The first, we make a big phony attempt...
- to kill Torvald Utne. - Okay. And the second?
We kill Torvald Utne.
Watch Movies, TV Series and Live Sports Signup Here -> WWW.ADMITME.APP
So your instructions are clear?
Drinks and fish balls. You ring first bell for dinner.
And on second bell, I come out, all John Wooey...
screaming crazy and shooting blanks.
Then I throw myself in front of Utne, shielding him with my supple body...
as you're gunned down by ISIS agents.
Who are also shooting blanks.
- Mm-hm. - And loud ones.
Because for Utne to buy it, everyone must act surprised.
- Oh, I'm sure they will. - Yeah, me too.
Mani, I have a bad feeling for this.
Why? Only I will have real bullets.
This is taking chocolate from a baby.
Oh, no, we won't give our baby chocolate.
- Ugh. - He can have carob.
Thanks for inviting us to your swanky dinner party, Ms. Archer.
- Yeah, I could get used to this. - Don't.
You're only here because I may need you to take one for the team.
- Torvald is an incorrigible poon hound. - Ha, ha.
- Those are enormous in size. - Oh, well...
- Uh, thank you. Kind of. - May I please cup one in my hand?
- Ooh. See, here's the thing... - We're actually together.
Cyril, go get some gravlax.
Torvald, feel free to cup anything in the room.
Uh... Oh, you were talking about my guns.
Strange that you wear them to a party.
- Normally I wouldn't, but Malory... - But that's ISIS for you.
Always primed and ready for action.
- This is good to know. - Yeah, how about that?
Which is why you should consider ISIS for the UN contract.
Our agents are highly-trained in many disciplines.
- Like Krav Maga, for instance. - My arm, my arm.
- You're breaking my arm. - Lana.
- Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt? - Yes, it hurt. What is wrong with you?
Nothing but too much enthusiasm for the opportunity to serve the UN.
- Oh, and hands like the Truckasaurus. - Hey.
- Gravlax, anyone? - No. No gravlax. I need painkillers.
- Cyril, in my medicine cabinet... Wait, no. - Aah.
I have to get it myself, just right after I get that.
- Hello. - You're late.
- What is that smell? - Gravlax and failure.
I think Lana just broke Torvald's hand.
- Truckasaurus. Ha, ha! - And we won't win that contract if...
Who on God's green earth dressed you?
Nobody, that's why I'm late. Woodhouse just disappeared.
Only temporarily, sir.
- Why are you here? - Actually sir, I'm with Carina.
- Who? - Carina.
- Ugh. - I changed it again.
I feel that Carina better captures my sensual womanhood.
Yeah, she so totally does.
- You said no dates. - I said no such thing.
- Well, your mouth did. - Well, your mouth better get over there...
- and make Torvald happy. - Um, phrasing?
Regale him with exciting tales of ISIS exploits.
Take his mind off Lana's huge, Johnny Benchian fingers.
- Can we get off my fingers? - Yeah, they are pretty big.
- First time I've heard you complain. - Hi-ho! Ha, ha.
- Seriously, who wants gravlax? - Sterling, go. Regale him.
- I think he's already being regaled. - Meatballs!
- Oh, for... Torvald. - Bet you get that a lot, huh, Torvie?
Swedish meatballs.
Get away from me, you disgusting woman.
- Wow. So even Pam got a date. - A man, even.
But suave master-spy, Sterling Archer, stands alone.
Just like the cheese.
- I have a... - And a very handsome cheese, at that.
I don't even know how you got out, Woodhouse.
- Alone. - And I do have a date.
- You do? Where is she? - She is parking.
Oh, yeah? What's she driving? A Snuffleupagus?
Uh, oh, wait. Uh, with all that...
- sexy European lingerie modeling... - Mm-hm?
To pay for her European med school that she's going to...
she probably never had time to learn to drive.
She sounds fabulous.
- Gravlax? - Thanks, no. I'm allergic to cat piss.
Go away.
- So your instructions are clear? - Oh.
Why must you micromanage everything? Yeah, yeah, okay.
You know what second-hand smoke does to a fetus.
Uta, after we kill Utne...
we need to have a very long and serious talk.
No. I need a painkiller, not a...
- Torvald. - What is that? A calcium supplement?
- Trust me, dear, these work wonders. - Okay.
But what I have seen...
ISIS is a distant second to ODIN. Very distant.
What about the groundbreaking work...
Dr. Krieger is doing for ISIS in our Applied Research Division?
- Yeah, tell him about the sex-robot. - The what?
- Yes... The what? - I call him Fister Roboto.
- But it doesn't just fist. Tell him. - Pam!
He's a fully-integrated multi-fetish artificial being.
- That is the most disgusting... - Shut up. Shut, shut. And the best part...
- is that he's learning. - ISIS clearly is not the agency for us.
Rotten gravlax, sex-bots, and, uh...
except for the Negress, the women are...
Willing to do whatever it takes.
- Still gross. - And such rudeness.
- Fister Roboto wouldn't take that. - He's just too damn sensitive.
As also am I. So if you will excuse...
There, there. Let that calcium citrate seep into your bones.
What about Trinette? She said that?
How about Jade? Oh, no, never mind.
Destiny? No, she's not passable. With that Adam's apple...
she looks like she swallowed a Rubik's Cube.
- Excuse me, sir. - I...
- You are looking for a date? - Are you working?
Mm. You could say that, yes.
Then we need to lock down your cover story. And, uh...
I need to hit an ATM.
Torvald, please, don't go yet.
- You haven't even tried the fish balls. - No need.
There is plenty of fishiness going on at ISIS without your balls.
Maybe I should go say something.
Where's the damn fish balls, already? I could kill for some food.
- Sure it wouldn't be the first time. - Lana.
No, I just meant like she literally killed somebody.
Then ate their corpse. I saw where you were going.
- You know... - When I served in the King's African Rifles...
the local Zambezi tribesmen called human flesh...
"long pig."
Never much cared for it.
Torvald, at least stay for dinner.
- I think you'll be very surprised by... - I detest surprises.
Which is why the contract will remain with ODIN.
Mani, do something. Utne is leaving.
Okay, okay, we go ahead of schedule.
Find some Tupperware, we take food to go.
But you promised me Ruby Foo's.
Yeah, I also promised you a baby. How's that working out for you?
- Hey, does that cook seem weird? - Normal-weird or German-weird?
Now, good night, and good...
Evening, you beautiful girl.
- Hello. - You're not, um, leaving, are you?
No, not if you are staying, Miss?
- Oh, um... Yup. - Hübsch.
- Elke Hübsch. - A pleasure, my dear.
- I am Torvald... - Utne, I know.
- I am a great admirer. - You know he's not the shot-putter, right?
Of course he is not the shot-putter.
But I am sure he is very strong.
Ha, ha. Unlike these drinks. Come, my dear...
let us find something potable.
- Whoa. Wait a minute. Hey, Utne. Utne! - Would you shut up?
We just need to keep Torvald happy...
- until dinner. - And what about my happiness, Mother?
- Well? - Oh, was that not rhetorical?
The Needle? Why is she here?
Oh, that Russian prick. He sent two teams again.
And if the Needle kills Utne, we won't even get our per diem.
But what if you kill them both?
Oh. Yeah, I could do this.
- Hey, help. - Ah! Help with what, sir?
No, I was addressing you as "help." What's the story on those fish balls?
- Coming right out. - Hurry it up. All I've had today is, like...
six gummy bears and some Scotch.
- This is why I don't get you nice things. - Not that. Him. Uta, that was Duchess.
- That was Duchess? - Yeah, the deadliest agent there is.
Oh, my God.
I can't believe they fell for that.
But if he's on the plan of Frau Archer...
What if her plan is a big fat set-up? What if they mean to kill us?
- Oh! Mani, the baby. - Ah.
Okay. So now we go to Plan Manfred.
- And then Ruby Foo's. - Well, we will see.
Really? A European lingerie model.
Only to pay for European med school. Ha, ha.
- Like to get a physical from her. - Or with her. Ha, ha.
- Ow, ow, ow! - I wonder if Dr. Panty Model knows...
how many pounds it takes to snap a collarbone?
- She probably uses the metric system. - Yeah, what do they use? Kilowatts?
- No, in this case it would be pascals. - Ugh. Hey, Europe, be gayer.
- Lana. Release him. - As you wish.
- I find your lack of faith disturbing. - I find your mannish hands disturbing.
I think they're kinda sexy.
- Excuse me? - They're fingers, Pam, not kielbasas.
But keep them limbered up. I have a big surprise planned for dinner...
and I need you ready, locked, and loaded.
Yeah so, do you maybe want to let us in on your little scheme-hatchery?
- No. - Oh, if I were 20 years younger.
- I can make you feel like you are. - Mm.
I would like I think that very much.
- Well then go find an ATM, - I'm sorry?
Oh, me too. I must leave for a moment.
- Excuse me. - Yeah, sorry, don't mind me.
- Hey, are you having a good time? - Oh, I am. Ha, ha.
Good to hear. Please excuse us. Mm-hm.
Keep her out of the medicine cabinet.
One more dead body in here, and that bitch Trudy Beekman...
will have me right back in front of the co-op board.
You don't get along with your neighbors anywhere.
Who could with a woman who wallpapered her guest bathroom...
with vintage New Yorker covers?
Yes, Major. I am in position...
and ready to eliminate the target.
Excellent. ODIN will find it much harder...
to bribe a dead man for the UN contract.
And I will find it much more enjoyable...
to work with the woman who runs ISIS.
- What do you mean "with?" - Against. Obviously. Duh.
Obviously. And so I still think...
you should let me kill everybody here.
Nyet. Under no circumstances are you to harm the hostess. Who, um...
- Whose name I have no way of knowing. - Hey. What the hell are you doing?
- Uh, Botox. - Not from the medicine cabinet. No.
Don't use this. She switches all the labels on her medicine.
- Why? - I think there's, like, a racial component.
But for all we know, this could be insulin.
- Oh, your mother is a diabetic? - How should I know?
Why don't you just pour it on everybody's?
We are not to harm the hostess.
But her I want to poison most of all.
- Are you lazy Huns ready, or what? - Oh. Ha, ha. Hello, yep.
- Good. So on the second bell... - I come out shooting blanks. See?
Uta is just, uh, polishing the gun.
Give me that. Some idiot dropped a fish ball on my Azerbaijani rug.
- I am that idiot. - Ach.
Why are you so immature?
I'm 19.
Elke? Is everything all right?
Wunderbar, Tovald.
- How are you? - I am fantastic, my dear.
Those calcium supplements are amazing.
You're gonna need some calcium, after I...
do something bad to your bones.
- Hello? - Hello?
- Can you hear me? Come in. - What? Wait.
- What the hell? - What is the frequency?
- Kenneth? - Turn off. Turn off. Turn off.
What? I can't hear you, tiny man.
Oh, great. Thanks, Mother, for replacing the baby aspirin with LSD.
God, that is just...
hmm, classic her.
Places, everyone.
- Is everyone comfy? - Relatively.
Sterling and Lana?
You both have a clear line of...
- sight to the kitchen? - Yes?
- Sure, I think so. - Well then let's eat. First bell.
- Wow. Forgot how much I hated that. - Oh, that's right.
I kept it on the nightstand to wake Nanny whenever Sterling wet the bed.
- Ha-ha-ha! - I... Mother!
Sissy bed-wetter.
- Wait, whose bed? - It was always "don't ask, don't tell."
- Woodhouse. What are you doing? - Uh, sitting down, sir.
- What, at the table? Like people? - Sterling.
- What? Look, he thinks he's people.
This Archer is a gigantic douche bag.
Oh, Torvald.
- Who cares about him? - Oh.
Woodhouse, dear, please have a seat.
- Very kind of you, ma'am. - Shut up.
- Torvald, a toast? - Sure, go crazy.
- Oh... - Then, um...
- Hooray. Dig in. - Wow.
- And what is this we're eating? - It smells vaguely poisonous.
It does smell vaguely poisonous.
- Are you sure she has the right plate? - Pretty sure.
- Oh, Uta. - What? I am pretty sure.
Don't worry, this is a normal smell.
- This is called Janssons frestelse. - Frestel?
Yes, frestelse. It means "temptation."
Oh, Torvald. I am very tempted.
Yes, and I am tempted to give ISIS the UN contract, Malory.
Hmm? I mean, you are?
- Well, it depends on your frestelse. - Mm.
Tell me, my dear, is it tempting?
Elke, what is the matter? Are you...?
- Um... - What?
That's the wrong plate, Uta.
Uta.
That's how you talk.
- Perfidy. - No, Torvald, there's no perfidy.
- You poison my food over a contract? - Torvald, I swear I didn't...
When I am finished with ISIS, you won't be able to get a contract...
- for a pre-paid mobile phone. - No, no!
I will tear you down brick by perfidious brick.
- It's okay. - Aah!
It's okay, they're just blanks.
- Oh. - Well, see, you say that.
- But they were blanks. Weren't they? - Uh, only if the back of his skull picked...
- that exact moment to explode outwards. - What?
- Ugh! - Oh, my God.
- Damn it. Where are those Germans? - What?
I should not do this in my condition.
What condition? Your only condition is that you are a stupid crazy girl.
Do not speak to me like a child, Manfred. I hate when you do that.
I think you like it. Ja.
Because I think you have some serious and unresolved issues with your father.
Yeah? And maybe that is why I date...
a wrinkled old man like you.
- Wow. - I didn't mean that.
- No, no, it's okay. I think we both knew it. - Oh, Mani.
Just strange to hear it out loud.
- Oh, for shit's sake. - And they didn't do one dish.
- This is funny to you? - I ate a bunch of that LSD...
- you had labeled as baby Aspirin. - That was baby Aspirin.
- Oh. - Hey, guys?
- Wait, what? - What, uh?
- What's the plan here? - I shall fetch a rug.
No you will not. That rug was a gift from the Azeri Khan himself.
And besides, we're not going far.
Is that hard to do? With those big old ballpark frankenfingers?
Shut up.
Hurry, the Beekmans will be back any time.
And nobody touch anything.
God, Cyril, would you go?
- Unh. I should be carrying her. - Cyril, I paid her, I get to carry her corpse.
- See? Just look at this bathroom. - I kinda like it.
Exactly. All right, drop them there...
next to that awful Louis Quinze repro.
Now then. We want this to look like a classic hooker-murder-suicide...
so, Cyril. Take Sterling's gun...
- and pump a round into his prostitute. - Wait, what?
Everyone shoots the chippy. That way, we're all in it together.
Think of it as a team-building exercise.
- ODIN gets to go on Outward Bound. - ODIN can suck it. Now shoot.
Oh, Jesus.
- You're next. - Cyril, that was pathetic.
- Come on. Everybody shoots. - Hey, I wanna go. Bam!
Now, Sterling, drop your gun between the bodies, and...
No. Have you never seen CSI? This is already, like, Clue Town.
- Not for long. Dr. Krieger, dear? - What? Oh.
Cyril, call 911 from their phone and leave it off the hook...
- and Sterling. - But this gun, it was a gift.
Oh, please. Nobody gives you gifts.
You don't know.
Whatever you say, dear. Dr. Krieger?
- Now, then... - Still didn't get the contract.
Oh, but I will. And I'll get to see Trudy Beekman...
try to explain this little barbecue to the co-op board.
That smell takes me back.
- Just like a Zambezi feast. - Yeah, I'm kinda hungry.
- Is that weird? - It would be weirder if you weren't.
Well this torte's a winner, Malory.
- What was the name again? - Kladdkaka.
Stop it.
I'm sorry. That... That's a funny word.
Oh, I thought we were laughing at the dead people we set on fire.
Um, sorry.
Watch Movies, TV Series and Live Sports Signup Here -> WWW.ADMITME.APP