Rick Morty This Idea Was Tested in a State of the Art Simulation

This is a transcribed copy for the episode "M. Night Shaym-Aliens!." Feel free to edit or add together to this page as long as the information comes direct from the episode.

Transcript

[Open Int. Rick's garage.]

(Rick is dissecting a rat.)

Rick: T-t-t-this is just sloppy craftsmanship.

Morty: Hey, Rick. Boy, sure is really peculiarly beautiful out there today, huh?

Rick: Oh, yes, Morty. It's virtually unbelievable, isn't it?

Morty: Aye, you lot know? There's something about the air. And simply the fashion the sunshine is.

Rick: Oh, sure, buddy. Yes. Sure. B-brilliant. Very convincing.

Morty: Wh… disarming?

Rick: Oh! Responsive, also! In existent fourth dimension! I dearest it!

Morty: Uhhokay.

Beth: *robotic* I'chiliad going to work. Morty, good morning. Dad, good morning. I am going to work. Good day. (Beth drives away.)

Morty: What's with Mom?

Rick: Oh, what's with Mom? So, you're proverb that she'due south acting weird? How soph—*burp*—isticated. Careful, guys. You're gonna fire out the CPU with this ane.

Morty: Okay, you know what, Rick? You're interim weird, too.

Rick: Whatever, quote-unquote "Morty."

Morty: Alright, well I'll see you after school. (Walks into the side of the garage.) Ow! Oof! Ugh! Damn information technology! I'm all right. I'chiliad okay.

[Trans. Morty's math grade]

Mr. Goldenfold: Alright, who can tell me what 5 x ix is? (Students whisper.) Morty?

Morty: Uh, me?

Mr. Goldenfold: What is 5 x 9?

Morty: Um, you know, it's, uh, at least twoscore.

(Students gasp.)

Mr. Goldenfold: Morty, that's exactly correct! v x ix is at to the lowest degree forty! Come up here.

(Students cheer.)

Jessica: Whoo! Way to become, Morty!

Mr. Goldenfold: Everybody, this is the best student. I want you to be the teacher today. *sits down at a desk* Teach united states of america, Morty!

Rick: *spying from outside* Interesting…

Morty: Westward-w-west-what do you want me to teach you?

Student: Ooh, ooh! How practice you brand concentrated dark matter?

Mr. Goldenfold: Oh, that's a adept question.

Morty: Concentrated huh?

Mr. Goldenfold: Concentrated dark thing. The fuel for accelerated space travel. At present, do you lot know how to go far?

Morty: Uhhh…

Jessica: Come on, Morty. Isn't your grandpa, like, a scientist?

Morty: Oh, aye, but, yous know, he told me that I shouldn't become effectually spouting off about, you know, his science and stuff.

Jessica: I bet you lot've seen him make concentrated dark affair a lot. Yous know, if you tell the states, I'll be your girlfriend.

Morty: Uh, y-you will?

Mr. Goldenfold: Seems similar a rare opportunity, Morty.

Rick: *kicks open the door* Morty, u-uh, come up on. At that place'due south a family emergency.

(Rick grabs Morty by one arm. Mr. Goldenfold grabs the other.)

Mr. Goldenfold: Cease right there! If he leaves, I'm giving him an F!

Rick: He doesn't care.

Morty: Aw, man! (Rick drags him to the locker room.) Rick, I take to become back! I remember I was near to go married! *falls down* Ugh!

Rick: Take a shower with me, Morty.

Morty: What?!

Rick: Mind to me, Morty. Go your clothes off and go far the shower right at present. *strips* Y-y-y-you got to trust me, Morty.

Morty: Ugh! I'm gonna get an F in class, Rick. *strips*

Rick: Morty, that'due south non form. T-t-t-that wasn't your instructor. This isn't your school. This entire world is not the earth. We're within a huge simulation sleeping room on an conflicting spaceship.

Morty: Expect a minute. W-what are you talking about?

Rick: It's all fake *burps* Morty, all of it. Nanobotic renderings, a bunch of… crazy, fake nonsense, Morty. I couldn't say so until we got in the shower. They won't monitor us in here.

Morty: Monitor us?! *looks around and tries to cover himself* W-who?!

Rick: Zigerion scammers, Morty. The galaxy's well-nigh ambitious, least successful con artists. You lot know, it'due south lucky for us they're likewise actually uncomfortable with nudity.

Morty: Aw, come up on, Rick. If everyone's but gonna be insane today, at least permit me be insane with Jessica.

Rick: I can't let you do that, Morty.

(Rick grabs Morty'southward clothes and they begin fighting over them.)

Morty: Give it to me!

Rick: No! Y'all give it to me!

Morty: G-thousand-requite information technology!

Rick: Morty, come up on! Morty!

Morty: No, Rick!

[View of simulated world expands out to reveal they're in an enormous spacecraft.]

[Trans. Zigerion control room]

(Zigerions groan and look away from the monitors with disgust.)

Zigerion ane: Oh, god, sir! They're still naked! Ugh.

Prince Nebulon: Well, bank check every 5 quintons and tell me when they're not!

Zigerion 1: I think we should brand Kevin expect, sir.

Kevin: What?! No! W-due west-why would you even say that?

Stu: Uh, sir, we have a situation over hither.

Prince Nebulon: If there's a wiener on that monitor, I swear to god, Stu.

Stu: Something is cartoon a lot of processing power. Oh, await. No wonder. (Jerry appears on a big screen.) There'south another real man in the simulator.

Jerry: Okay, Jerry, big pitch meeting. Brand-or-pause time. *trims nostril hairs while driving* You tin do this.

Prince Nebulon: How did this happen?! Where's the Abductions Department?

Zigerion 2: Hey, homo, Abductions just follows the acquisition club.

Zigerion 3: Don't put this on Acquisitions! Nosotros simply larn humans that oasis't been false!

Kevin: Well, Simulations doesn't simulate everyone that's been abducted, so—

Prince Nebulon: Oh, I see! Oh, oh! It was no ane's error. Oh, okay. I'm sorry. Well, then, trouble solved. Oh, await no. *shouts* There's notwithstanding another human in here! Who is he?

Stu: Rick's son-in-law, Jerry Smith. So far, he hasn't noticed he's in a simulation.

Prince Nebulon: *sighs* Well, cap his sector at 5% processing, keep his settings on auto, and nosotros'll deal with him later. Rick Sanchez is the target.

[Trans. Jerry's car]

Jerry: *inhales securely* Gotta relax. Information technology's just a pitch. Gotta relax.

(He turns on the radio.)

Radio: This is earth radio. And now, hither's…man music.

(Repetitive rhythmic beeping.)

Jerry: Hmm. Human music. I like it. *rocks caput side to side in rhythm with the music*

[Pan out to run into Jerry'due south sector of the simulation, followed past a transition to Rick and Morty's.]

(Rick and Morty pant as they run naked down the street. Rick shoves their clothes into a sewer.)

Morty: Rick!

Rick: Uhp, uhp, uhp! Morty, keep your easily off your ding-dong! It's the merely manner we can speak freely. Look around you, Morty. Practice you lot really call back this world is real? You'd take to be an idiot not to discover all the sloppy details. Look, that guy'south putting a bun between two hot dogs.

Morty: I don't know, Rick. I hateful, I've seen people practise that before.

Rick: Well, look at that former lady. She'due south, she's walking a cat on a leash.

Morty: Uh, Mrs. Spencer does that all the time, Rick.

Rick: Look, I-I-I don't wanna hear about Mrs. Spencer, Morty! She'southward an idiot! Alright, alright, at that place. West-what near that, Morty?

(A Poptart walks out of a toaster house and into a toaster car earlier driving away.)

Morty: Okay, okay, you got me on that ane.

Rick: Oh, really, Morty? Are y'all sure you haven't seen that somewhere in real life before?

Morty: No, no. I haven't seen that. I mean, why would a Poptart wanna live inside a toaster, Rick? I hateful, that would be, like, the scariest place for them to live. You know what I hateful?

Rick: Yous're missing the bespeak, Morty. Why would he drive a smaller toaster with wheels? I hateful, does your car look like a smaller version of your house? No.

Morty: So, why are they doing this? W-what practise they want?

Rick: Well, that would be obvious to you lot, Morty, if you'd been paying attention.

(Siren wails. Ambulance drives up to them and the doors open up.)

Paramedic: We got the president of the United states in here! We need 10cc of concentrated dark matter, stat, or he'll dice!

(Rick slams the ambulance doors shut and starts walking off.)

Morty: Full-bodied dark thing! They were asking about that in course.

Rick: Yeah, information technology'southward a special fuel I invented to travel through space faster than anybody else. These Zigerions are e'er trying to scam me out of my secrets, but they made a big mistake this time, Morty. They dragged you into this. Now they're gonna pay!

Morty: Expect, wha, w-w-what are we gonna do?

Rick: We'll scam the scammers, Morty. And we're gonna take them for everything they've got.

[Trans. Ext. Advertizement agency]

(Trees flicker with a static noise)

Jerry: National Apple tree Farmers of America…

[Trans. Int. Ad bureau]

Jerry: Welcome to our advertizement agency. I'm Jerry Smith. (Audience stares blankly.) Alright. I'll merely get to the pitch. Um, simple question, gentlemen, *hoarsely* what are apples? *clears throat* Excuse me. *drinks some water* Ahh. *coughs, clears pharynx* What are apples? *pulls poster board to the front of the room* Apples are food. And when exercise we need food? When we're hungry. (Audition stares blankly.) With that, I give yous your new slogan! (Flips paper to reveal sign saying "Hungry for Apples?" Audience continues staring.) Well, say something! Do you like it?

Mr. Marklevitz: Yeah.

Jerry: You practice?

All: Yes.

Jerry: So I sold information technology? I sold the thought?

All: Aye.

Jerry: Oh my god! Give thanks you!

All: *shaking each others' easily* Thank you. You're welcome.

[Trans. Ext. Ad agency]

("Baker Street" plays as Jerry slides downward a handrail.)

Jerry: Hey! I just sold my starting time pitch!

Old human being: Ho-hum down!

Woman: Lookin' good.

Mailman: My man!

(Jerry dials on his cellphone. Equally he walks, he passes the aforementioned three people repeatedly.)

Simulation Beth: (at Simulation Smith business firm) *answers telephone* Hello.

Jerry: Approximate who just sold the apples campaign.

Simulation Beth: Who just sold the apples campaign?

Jerry: Me! I guess it wasn't a rip-off of "got milk?" afterward all. Guess someone was wrong.

Simulation Beth: Yep.

Jerry: Well, all is forgiven, because right now, I've got an erection the size of an Due east Coast lighthouse, and I'1000 coming home to share it with my beautiful wife.

Simulation Beth: Okay.

Jerry: Wait, really?

Simulation Beth: Yes.

Jerry: Yes! See you in 10 minutes! *hangs up, shouts* Hey! I'm going to make love to my wife!

Woman: Lookin' expert.

One-time man: Slow downward!

Mailman: My human! *glitches into a tree*

[Trans. Backstage]

(Rick is decked out in chains and adjusts his apparel to look more disheveled.)

Morty: Aw, geez, Rick. I-I don't know if I like this program,you know? I mean, crowds, t-t-t-they take a tendency to make me really nervous.

Rick: Morty, relax. It's just a bunch of 1s and 0s out there. You're gonna be fine. (Lowers Morty's pants slightly and puts a lid on him.) Just follow my atomic number 82. (Rick and Morty fist bump.) Yo, disk, drop that beat.

[Trans. Stage in park]

(Hip-hop beat plays. Crowd cheers.)

Rick: Uh-oh, Morty. This crowd looks too minor for one of our famous rap concerts. I don't think we can perform our new song, "The Recipe for Concentrated Nighttime Matter," for a oversupply this tiny.

Morty: You got that right, Rick.

(Hordes of people appear from all directions and congregate in the park.)

Rick: Now that's more like information technology! Morty, hither we go. Let me hear everybody say "hey-oh!" aye! (Crowd thank you.) All the ladies say, "yes!" (Ladies cheer.) Everybody over 30, do this with your hands! Everybody with a scarlet shirt, jump up and downward! (People kickoff glitching.)

[Trans. Smith house]

Jerry: *kisses Beth, who is all the same in front of the phone* Mm. Mm. Mm. Yeah, don't move. Mm, mm, mm, mm! Mm!

[Trans. Park]

Rick: Yo, anybody whose first name begins with an "Fifty" who isn't Hispanic, walk in a circle the same number of times as the square root of your historic period times ten! (Simulation freezes. Rick and Morty spring offstage.) Run, Morty! Before the arrangement reboots!

[Trans. Ext. Smith house.]

Jerry: Yep! You like that? Now who's unremarkable? You lot hungry for apples? Are you hungry for apples?!

[Trans. Beth and Jerry's sleeping room.]

(Jerry lies in bed abreast Beth, who is frozen in place.)

Jerry: Oh, my god. That's the best sex I've ever had in my life. It's… it's too good. I don't deserve this, Beth. I'm a fraud.

[Trans. Rick and Morty running through frozen simulation.]

Morty: Oh, human being, Rick! W-westward-w-where nosotros running to?

Rick: Out of the simulation, Morty. Ordinarily, the sleeping room operates like a treadmill, with the virtual world disappearing behind u.s.a. and being rendered in front end of u.s. as we move through it, but while it'southward frozen, Morty, we can become to…the edge. Here nosotros go. *jumps off the edge*

Morty: Holy crap!

Rick: Come on, Morty.

Morty: *jumps off edge*

[Trans. Control room]

Zigerion: Sir, they're over the edge.

Prince Nebulon: Yes, they are. Just equally planned. *evil laughter, others join in* Oh, this is going to be such a mindfuck!

[Trans. Corridor in spacecraft]

Rick: Continue your eyes peeled for the central processing room, Morty. That'south how we're gonna scam these idiots.

Morty: So, hey, why practise these aliens keep coming after you lot, Rick, if yous're so much smarter than them?

Rick: It's an obsession for them at this point. The Zigerions accept been trying to outsmart me for years, Morty. Every time they do, I'grand ane pace ahead of them. *finds cardinal processing room* Aha! Here we go. *starts collecting chips* Grab equally many processors as you lot can conduct, Morty. These guys aren't practiced at much, but they're really good at making these chips.

Morty: I've got and so many, I tin barely hold them all! *holding chips in his shirt* Await at, await at this. Oops. I dropped one.

Rick: Don't worry about it, Morty. There'south enough of them, you petty goofball. (Both laugh and toss chips at each other playfully.) Come here, Morty! Oh, I gotcha!

Morty: Come on, quit information technology, Rick! Quit it!

Rick: Zippo incorrect with just a piffling bit of horseplay every at present then, little fella.

(They sneak towards the escape pods. Rick throws a scrap and distracts the guards while they steal a pod and wing away.)

Morty: Wow. What practise yous know? Huh. That was easy.

Rick: Totes malotes, dawg.

Morty: Merely kind of difficult to believe, you know?

Rick: Believe it, Morty. And again, I'g flying away with everything I can acquit, and the Zigerions got naught of mine.

[Trans. Jerry's boss'south office]

Jerry: Mr. Marklevitz, do yous have a minute to talk?