Married with Children

Married with Children

11 year comedy about a man who sells shoes for a living, with his bon-bon Oprah watching wife, his ever horny son and dim-witted daughter along with the pesky neighbor and her two husbands.

Year:
1987
16,865 Views

Al Bundy:
Here, let's have a vote. Who wants me to get my money?

[everyone in the room is silent]

Al Bundy:
All right, let's try this... who does not want me to get my money?

[Peggy, Kelly, Bud, and even Charlene Tilton raises their hands]

Al Bundy:
That hurts, Charlene. All right... I now know what I have to do.

[Al takes off his shirt revealing his muscular, untoned build]

Peggy Bundy:
Oh Al, you're so cute. You're going to try to earn it by having sex with me.

Al Bundy:
No, Peg. I'm going to take my pants off next, get a lawn chair, and sit in my underwear... over at your college, Bud! Telling everyone there that I'm your father!

[both Peggy and Kelly laugh at Bud who looks down with dread]

Al Bundy:
And then... Kelly, I'm gonna go over to the diner where you work, sit at a counter, pull up my Haines underwear... telling everyone there that I'm your father!

[now Kelly looks down with dread with Bud as Peggy continues to laugh at both of them]

Al Bundy:
And then... Peggy, I'm going to go prancing around your beauty parlor where you hang out twice a week... telling everybody there that I'm your husband! Oh, did I mention that by then I woun't be wearing any underwear? [now Peggy looks alarmed with dread] And then... just for the heck of it, I'm gonna walk around with a big sandwich sign that says: "I've been using and Abdomatizer for two years... and this is what I look like!"

[Charlene Tilton turns away with dread along with the rest of Peggy, Kelly and Bud]

Al Bundy:
Now... let's vote again. Who want's daddy to get his money?

[intimidated, Peggy, Kelly, Bud, and Charlene Tilton all raise their hands]

Al Bundy:
Thank you! I knew you'd all be behind me!

[Lower Uncton, England, the year of 1653:
Al's great-great-grandfather, Seamus McBundy, is working in his blacksmith's shop, making a horseshoe. Old fat witch enters]

Poxilda:
Seamus McBundy, are ye done with me horse?

Seamus McBundy:
Ah, no, ma'am. I had to send out for extra parts, to reinforce its feet. Yeah, that and a sign to go around his neck saying, "I'm with Fatso".

[the witch gapes, angry and offended]

Poxilda:
You save your tongue for picking the flies off the pools that dance beneath your arms! Go to, I'm in an 'urry.

Seamus McBundy:
Oh? Is it the Festival of Pork Pies and Pigs' Waller you're late for? While you're waiting, I got a plump pony out back you can snack on.

Poxilda:
You be warned! I am a great and powerful witch!

Seamus McBundy:
Ah, not as powerful as yon mighty seams in yon dress, to keep yon belly off yon floor!

Poxilda:
That's it!

[the witch turns her back to Seamus while talking. Behind her back, Seamus makes funny faces]

Poxilda:
I curse thee, Seamus McBundy, and all thy male descendants. Henceforth, ye shall only shoe the large and ungrateful.

Seamus McBundy:
[sarcastically] Ooh, yikes! Saveth me!

Poxilda:
And so that ye and all thy male descendants will be hated in this place forever, Lower Uncton shall always be in darkness, though other towns nearby stand in sun.

Seamus McBundy:
[unimpressed] Eh? Will ye be floating above us, blocking the sun?

Poxilda:
Just for that, throughout eternity your feet will sweat. Aye, and verily smell!

[the witch leaves, cackling nastily. Seamus is not worried]

Seamus McBundy:
Eh... how could yon "Blubber Belly" curse me?

[Seamus makes a gesture of throwing an object]

Seamus McBundy:
I hurled the unspooning stone in the big game. Had I not married, I wouldst have turned pro.

[suddenly, it becomes dark all over the place although it is still midday. The witch's voice is heard:
]

Poxilda:
And so it begins! Ha-ha-ha!

Seamus McBundy:
Hmmm... early to be this dark.

[Seamus returns to work. The scene changes to Chicago, the year of 1992:
Al sits in the shoe store, his head buried in his hands]

Al Bundy:
[muses whiningly] This can't be my life. What am I, cursed?

Al:
Every day for the past 30 years you high-heeled pitbulls blamed us for everything. From not being able to go to Harvard to not being able to get into strech pants.

[the men agree]

Bob Rooney:
We've been called pigs.

Pete:
We've been called scum.

Jefferson:
We've even been called Ply wood bottoms.

[the men look at him wierd]

Jefferson:
Or at least I have.

Al:
But we're sick and tired of it. Now we have list of demands and if these demands are not met, we're going to take this masculine feminist and perform television's first sexorcism.

[the men in the audience cheered as a tied up and gagged, Jerry Springer looks shocked and tries to move his chair away]

Al:
Tell them what thist is Jefferson.

Jefferson:
[removes mask] My name's Hank.

Al:
Right. Sorry Hank

Jefferson:
That's ok Al.

[the men look at him wierd]

Jefferson:
Anyway if these demands go unheeded, not only we'll Jerry to watch hours of Pro Wrestling. But we'll force him to watch them in these.

[Jim reveals a stinky yellow under shrit and Pete shows a pair of boxers which reads "It's All Me."]

Jefferson:
A Stinky yellow undershirt and a pair of boxers which reads "It's All Me."

[the men cheered as the No Ma'am members shove the clothes in Jerry's face who tries to resist them]

Jefferson:
It's All Me boxers are coutesy of Bob Rooney. [Bob corrects him] I mean Dirk Rooney. Back to you A, Clyde. The hell.

Al:
Demand one, you gals want a ladies night, try having it in the kitchen cooking for a man.

Al:
[the men cheered and Jerry rolls his eyes] Demand two, don't put on a dress and ask us if it makes you look fat, we hate that. Besides it's not the dress that makes you look fat. It's the fat that makes you look fat. [cheering] Demand three, don't ask us to talk or cuddle after sex, or before sex or during sex. You're lucky we take our pants off.

Bob Rooney:
You take your pants off, how you get them over your shoes.

Jefferson:
Demand four, don't ask us to say "I love you" over the phone. It's hard enough to say it to someone we're paying a minute to talk to.

Pete:
Demand five, Stop talking about Fabio.

Al:
Anyway those are our fve demands. We had five more, but someone couldn't blow his nose without a hankey.

Al:
I'm never voting again. Like marriage, no matter who you choose it'll turn out bad. Unless your rich. They get everything they want. Well, fine. Let them have their birds, and their clean air... even their new presidents. But we cared about beer and they took it away from us. Yeah, sure, what do they care if a man who sells shoes, or fixes cars, or totes that barge, or spears that doody in the park has to use his whole paycheck to buy one beer? What do they care? They're at their outdoor restaurants eating their little pizzas and drinking some fine wine in the no-smoking section with their sexy, skinny second wives while we're breeding with peasant stock. No offence, Peg. One thing I know, we're never going to win through the system. Voting has never been the American way. We didn't get away from that pansy country England by voting. We did it by throwing their stinking tea in our American harbor. And why? Because Americans don't like tea. We like coffee. And Americans don't like wine. We like beer. Ice cold. Ice cold, best in a bottle, but find in any way you can get it, belching, burping, wake-up-in-a-pool-of-it beer. So let's show them how a man votes. Let's get blitzed and take it to the streets. Let's strike a blow anywhere they dine alfresco, anywhere they eat Brie cheese, and any way they wear their pants up high around their waist in the European way. The only thing Americans understand is mindless Tom and Jerry cartoon violence. So, let's go kick some elite butt. Give me beer, or give me death!

[a now-very large croud around Al cheers]

Al:
Or both! Now... let's pillage!


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