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"WE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' CITY"
Written By: Pamela Hickey and Dennis McCoy
Produced By: Tom Tataranowicz
Directed By: Tom Tataranowicz
Executive Producer: Rick Ungar
INTRODUCTORY SUMMARY NOTE
"We Don't Need No Stinkin' City" introduces two new villains to the series who also happen to be two new Plutarkians: Hacker and Honker Loogey. The duo seems to be based on the "Saturday Night Live" characters Hanz and Franz. These two stand in marked contrast to Limburger--they're just as mean-spirited and nasty, but they're about two hundred times less refined. If nothing else, it's interesting to know that all Plutarkians aren't the same--or at any rate, have different levels of stench.
EPISODE SYNOPSIS
Our story opens in the Last Chance Garage, where our three humanoid heroes (Throttle, Modo, and Vinnie, for those of you without a scorecard) and their human pal Charley aren't fighting Limburger, aren't playing some souped-up version of an Earth sport, aren't eating, and certainly aren't debating the Constitutional validity of a censure motion. So what are they doing? Very simple.
Absolutely nothing.
"Man, what a night," Throttle mumbles as Modo blows a fly off his nose, perhaps the single most exciting event of the evening.
"Quiet," Charley adds.
"Restful," Vinnie sneers.
"BORING!" all three mice proclaim simultaneously. They're absolutely right. After all, an evening when you don't run the risk of getting your head blown off is an evening wasted.
Suddenly, Modo identifies the problem. The radio isn't on! He quickly slips the plug into the wall, and instantly, heavy metal music fills the garage. Finally, there is life. Charley probably preferred quiet, restful boredom to the mice raising a ruckus, but hey, at least it ain't dull.
"Yeah," Vinnie laughs. "That's music to get my torque-wrench cooking!" He kneels beside his bike and sets about a quick tune-up.
"You're cooking with too much grease, Vince!" Charley shouts, waving a hand in front of her nose. "This crank-case reeks!"
Vinnie protests ("I steam-cleaned everything!"), but now Throttle and Modo have picked up the scent as well. And Charley was right in her ascertatation.
"That's grease all right," Modo notes.
"Rancid grease," Throttle agrees.
"And that can only mean--"
"GREASEPIT! Be careful, you miscreant!" Dr. Karbunkle shrieks at the overly-oily (and similarly-muscled) buffoon at his side. "That bomb could flatten the Sears Tower!"
The bomb in question is slipping around in Greasepit's huge, clumsy hands. It's a small silvery box with what appears to be three sticks of dynamite strapped to the top. Just above them is a black digital readout (not yet turned on).
Greasepit is having a remarkably hard time hanging on to the thing thanks to his slippery palms. The bomb leaps crazily from hand to hand, like some metallic version of that terribly uncooperative Gingerbread Man.
"Don't worry, I got it, I got it!" Greasepit snaps--just as the bomb slips out of his hands and hits the ground. Karbunkle's outraged face turns every color of the rainbow, even after he realizes that the impact isn't going to set the thing off.
"You fool!" he screeches at his obviously less than competent partner. "You nincompoop! You fumbling stupid moronic--"
"Hey, youse is the inventor!" Greasepit interrupts. "I ain't the one that forgot the handle!"
The scientist grabs the goon by the straps of his overalls and shouts, "This is a bomb, not luggage, you babbling oil slick!"
I love a good working relationship, don't you?
This little tiff might go on for a few more minutes if not for the sudden (and suitably dramatic) appearance of the mice at the door of the Last Chance Garage. The identification of the location of Greasepit and Karbunkle's mischief-making makes the plan for the bomb all too clear.
"Well if it ain't the degenerate duo," Vinnie chuckles.
"Sleaze-brain and Sludge," Modo adds.
"You boys looking for something?" Charley asks smartly.
"Like trouble, maybe?" Throttle clarifies.
Knowing that they're as good as caught, and that a massive pummeling is probably in the cards, Karbunkle tries to lie his way out. He and Greasepit were just on their way to "the repair shop," he claims.
"That's it, yes," he adds quickly as they begin to slink off. He tells Greasepit to bring along the "toaster oven" just as Vinnie grabs the goon.
"Hold it, lard bucket!" he sneers. "You're not goin' anywhere!"
"Oh yes I is!" Greasepit laughs, suddenly slamming the bomb into Vinnie's chest. "But youse ain't!"
The second the bomb hits Vinnie, it shoots out a quartet of metal straps, two on either side of his chest. The straps anchor themselves into the wall, effectively trapping Vinnie against it.
Suddenly, the readout comes to life, flashing 0:60, 0:59, 0:58 as Karbunkle's pre-recorded voice ticks off the seconds.
"Whoa!" Vinnie laughs. "The Top Sixty Countdown!"
Throttle and Modo rush Greasepit just as Karbunkle springs up onto the goon's back (this could get really perverted in a hurry). The two mice manage to grab their larger adversary, but thanks to the thick layer of oil covering Greasepit's entire body, he and the Doctor squirt out of the bikers' arms like a two-headed jack-in-the-box. Rather luckily, they happen to land on Greasepit's three-wheeler, and squeal off into the night.
"Hey, the bad guys are bookin'!" Modo shouts (showing off his astounding grasp of the obvious).
"Nothing novel there, Modo," Throttle reminds him.
"Hey, bros!" Vinnie shouts as Charley tears desperately at the bomb. "I've got something kind of explosive I'd like to get off my chest." (Tonight, on a very special episode of "Biker Mice"….)
Charley, however, just isn't in a joking mood, for some odd reason.
"We've got less than a minute to get this off him!" she screams.
"Or Vinnie gets a one-way trip back to Mars!" Throttle concludes, a nervous note in his normally unshakable voice.
Once we get through the opening animation, we see that, in the course of those forty-five or so seconds, Charley just hasn't had any luck getting that pesky bomb off. Throttle and Modo are nowhere to be seen. It's just the mechanic, pitting her wits against some of the toughest technology Plutark has to offer.
Not that the seriousness of the situation is bothering Vinnie in the least.
"Just you and me, babe," he coos suavely. "In about a billion pieces."
Charley grits her teeth and snaps, "Will you stop it? I'm trying to concentrate."
"Just trying to be romantic."
"Well, Romeo, you need a lot more practice, and I'm not sure you've got the time."
Suddenly, the face of the bomb falls off, revealing its tangled-wire innards. Charley, who has apparently not had any training in defusing weapons of mass destruction, is unsure of what to do. She pulls on a few wires, trying to figure out which one is the right one to cut.
"Got a favorite color, wiseguy?" the mechanic asks grimly.
"Blue," he replies, pointing. "Like your eyes, babe."
"My eyes," Charley laughs, "are green."
"Whoops," Vinnie answers, shrugging a little.
Charley cuts the wire, and instantly, the countdown picks up, increasing in speed.
"Whoops is right!" she shouts.
Suddenly, Modo and Throttle zip around the side of the garage, shooting a pair of grappling lines out of the backs of their bikes. The hooks catch on the side of the bomb. Once these are in place, the two mice race off, trying to build up enough force to tear the bomb off.
"Ten seconds to destruction," the bomb informs Vinnie.
"This is such a rush!" he howls, delighted in the way that only Vinnie could be about imminent annihilation.
The chains on the grappling lines bounce and rattle along the pavement.
"Nine…" the bomb continues.
The lines begin to lose their slack.
"Eight…"
Vinnie grimaces.
Suddenly, the chain pulls taut, and as Throttle and Modo shoot over a hill, it rips the bomb out of the wall, freeing Vinnie. The two mice watch as the explosive goes flying through the air, still continuing its countdown.
"Too bad this ain't an Olympic event," Throttle chuckles. "That's pure gold medal."
"Guess ah won't get my picture on the cereal box, huh?" Modo asks with a grin.
"Four…" the bomb moans as it reaches the apex of its flight.
Greasepit and Karbunkle, meanwhile, are making their way back to Limburger Tower, eager to tell their boss about their success in killing at least one of the Biker Mice and destroying the Last Chance Garage.
"He's gonna be mouse-meat salad!" Greasepit laughs happily.
"Yes!" Karbunkle shrieks. He checks his watch and adds, "In exactly--"
Suddenly, the bomb lands right in Greasepit's lap. The goon and the scientist stare at it in horror as it finishes the countdown (that's gotta be a kind of a smack in the face for Karbunkle, considering that it's his own voice).
"One second! Bye bye!" the bomb chirps.
We see the explosion from inside Limburger's office back at Limburger Tower. The Big Cheese himself is sitting with his back to the window while he talks on the phone, so he doesn't see the giant smoke clouds or the streamers of flames behind him.
"Yes, as soon as those two dolts have returned," Limburger tells whoever happens to be on the other end of the line, "I want to see them in my office…."
In the background, through the window, the viewer can see Greasepit and Karbunkle flying through the air straight toward their boss.
Limburger remains oblivious to this, as he tells his secretary (I suppose) that when his two henchmen arrive, he wants to see them, "A-S-A--"
CRASH! Greasepit and Karbunkle smash through the window before Limburger can get out the last syllable (you gotta give those two credit; at least they're prompt). The threesome tumbles to the other side of the room, Limburger with a garbage can on his head.
"--P," he concludes sorrowfully.
"Hate to drop in on you like that, boss," Greasepit jokes lamely.
BAM! Limburger slams the garbage can down on Limburger's head.
The Plutarkian takes a step back, and glares hatefully at his inept assistants.
"Well, gentlemen, it would seem you have failed. Again. You have failed as you always have failed. Completely. Do you know what this means?"
"We get to go union?" Greasepit asks.
"No," the Plutarkian whispers pleasantly before screaming, "it means I have to pay for outside help!"
Greasepit pulls off the garbage can and asks, "Is that bad?"
"It shall be deducted from your pay," the Plutarkian concludes coolly, pressing a button on a small remote control in his hand. Instantly, the part of the floor they are standing on begins to sink down. It's a hidden elevator, we discover, that is taking the three of them down to Karbunkle's lab.
Greasepit, disappointed, moans, for a moment before he hits upon a sudden realization.
"Wait a minute. I never get paid."
"And at that price, you're overpriced!" Limburger barks back.
The elevator stops, and they disembark. The three of them gather around the Transporter.
"My dear, diseased, degenerate doctor?"
"Yes, your cream cheesiness?" Karbunkle asks, obviously eager to get back in his boss's good graces.
"Activate the Transport. Set if for the lowest, the vilest, the most disgusting team of twisted evil enforcers Plutark ever produced!"
"Not the Smurfs!" Karbunkle screeches, horrified.
"Dismiss those small-timers from your mind. I'm speaking of the Scum of the Universe! Bring me-the Loogey Brothers!"
Cue dramatic organ sting.
"Not the Loogey Brothers!" Greasepit shouts, eyes huge. Karbunkle looks similarly aghast for a moment, then pauses.
"Who are the Loogey Brothers?" he asks.
"I don't know," Greasepit replies. "Say, do you get paid?"
But a little confusion doesn't stop Karbunkle from doing his job. He walks over to the Transporter and pulls the lever. Instantly, the Transporter booth begins to glow. Limburger laughs ominously as his face turns bright gold in the light.
"It's a perfect day for football here at Quigley Field," the game announcer calls out over the public address system. And he's right. A beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. The camera pans over the stadium as he continues talking.
"All of Damper Bay's fans are here."
We see two gentlemen in matching red coats, one asleep, one extremely bored, sitting along in the stands.
"Coach Mike Ditto and the Grizzlies have won the toss and have elected to receive."
A foot kicks the football and sends it flying across the field as the crowd gives an unenthusiastic, "Yay."
In the Quigley Field Scoreboard, however, there are three fans who are much more excited. All three Biker Mice are crowded into one of the windows (a score display panel), showing us that one of the obvious advantages of living in a major metropolitan sports stadium is never having to pay admission to get into a game.
"Nice kick," Modo comments.
"Oooh!" Throttle cries, wincing. "Hard hit, bros."
"No guts, no glory!"
"Well, that player was packed full of glory, then," Throttle mumbles, peering through a pair of binoculars as Vinnie jumps down off to the floor. "They're bringing out mops."
"Aw, should've gone long," Modo concludes, steadfast.
"Come on, bros!" Vinnie calls out from below. He's tossing a football in his hands, helmet on. "Let's show 'em how it's done!"
Modo and Throttle, as eager to bust each others' heads wide open as Vinnie is, quickly throw on their helmets and jump down to join their bro.
"Down and out!" Throttle shouts as Vinnie begins to run with the ball. He and Modo give chase, knocking over boxes, the television, and a footstool in their wake.
"Heads up!" Vinnie shouts, turning suddenly and throwing the ball.
Modo jumps and catches the pigskin, but the force of the impact is so great that it sends him flying through a wall! He lands outside the Scoreboard, amidst a pile of debris. Briefly, he catches the attention of a ballpark janitor. Modo stands up, and the two of them briefly glance at each other. Neither one says anything, so Modo simply goes back into the Scoreboard, making a hole in the wall separate from the one he made on his way out.
The janitor returns to his sweeping, mumbling, "Them cock-a-roaches make the biggest holes I ever seen."
In the Scoreboard, Modo is running in the touchdown, arm extended in a block, with his bros chasing after him as fast as their legs will carry them. Vinnie gives the play-by-play.
"He's at the thirty, the forty, the fifty!"
Throttle throws himself at Modo (no, not that way), trying to tackle him, but ends up being drug along as Modo crashes through a table and continues on his way.
"He's a tank!" Vinnie shouts. "Nothing can stop him! But wait, but wait! Heeeeeeere's Vinnie!"
Vinnie launches a flying tackle at his bros. This time, the combined force of himself and Throttle is enough to knock Modo off his feet--and right into Charley, who has just entered carrying a large tray of hot dogs and drinks. The food and beverages go flying as the mice and the mechanic crash to the floor in a large pile.
"Touchdown?" Modo pants.
Throttle pulls out a flattened football from beneath him and mutters, "More like a squash-down."
Meanwhile, Vinnie, never one to let the opportunity for flirtation go by unused, pulls his helmet off and slyly tells Charley, "I could make a big play for you, doll!"
"Oh, let me up, you lummoxes!" she snaps, rising to her feet. "You just sacked your lunch."
"Aw, we junked our junk food!" Modo moans, staring at the crushed trays and leaking sodas.
"Looks like it was quite a spread," Throttle agrees sadly.
"I just spent twenty minutes in line to get those hot dogs!" Charley shouts. "Just once I wish you fuzz-faces would go get your own munchies!"
Throttle glances in the mirror.
"Once good look at us would sure cut down the lines."
"Speak for yourself, bro," Vinnie says, bumping Throttle out of the way. He flashes himself a toothy grin.
"I'm sorry, Charley," Modo apologizes sadly, holding a squashed hot dog in his hand. He's so sincere it hurts. "It's all my fault." The gray-furred mouse smiles slightly and asks, "But, would you mind…?"
Resolve softened by Modo's honest plea, Charley scratches him behind the ears and tells him that she'll go get more munchies, but warns them to be more careful. She knocks on Modo's arm and reminds him, "Some of us aren't half metal, you know.
Meanwhile, a mysterious greenish-brown haze is moving closer and closer to Quigley Field, accompanied by strange laughter. A small bird flies through the noxious cloud, takes one whiff, and falls to the ground, nearly knocked out by the sheer stench. It lands next to the snack stand, where Charley has finally managed to get the snacks she set out for.
"Twenty hot dogs," she mutters, taking the tray from the vendor (who happens to be the same vendor that Vinnie rescued in "Rock N' Ride!"). "Great. Now how about some mustard?"
The vendor reaches out and squirts the dogs.
Charley smiles knowingly. This guy obviously doesn’t know who she's getting these for.
"A big bottle!"
The vendor hands her a huge, industrial-size bottle of mustard. Charley takes it and douses the dogs until they're all so heavily coated that it's almost impossible to see the individual red-hots. She then covers them in a similar fashion with relish and onions.
The mechanic picks up the tray, and starts to walk away. She pauses for a second when she scents an unusually awful odor on the air.
"Whew….what smells?" she wonders. Curiously, she glances over her shoulder and looks at the bottom of her boot, wondering, "Did I step in something?"
BAM!
Charley is suddenly knocked off her feet by a pair of what appear to be Plutarkians in dune buggies. The hot dogs go flying for the second time today, and land on Charley. She ends up covered in mustard, with hot dogs sticking out of her hair like grossly large barrettes.
But the mysterious fish don't stop there. They race through the stadium, spreading their noxious stench wherever they go and terrorizing the game-goers. The two of them jump out onto the field, and soon, all the spectators and players are evacuating the stadium (if you look closely at the crowd when the view is an overhead shot of Quigley Field, you can see that the pattern of the fleeing people spells out "HELP").
Modo looks out upon the scene.
"What's happenin' out there, big fella?" Throttle asks, joining him at the window.
"Ah dunno," Modo replies, "but if this is the halftime show, it sure stinks."
Vinnie tests the air and wrinkles his nose in disgust.
"Man, something does, anyway."
The sound of squealing tires draws their attention to the middle of the field itself, where the two Plutarkians have stopped.
"We know you are here somewhere, Biker Mice," one of them announces over a microphone. He has a thick, almost Austrian accent, and a long, pale blue face with a huge chin and a fin that curls at the top. "We know you can not resist a football game."
He draws himself up proudly.
"We are Hacker--"
"--and Honker," the other one, who looks similar to the other but with a longer neck, slightly elevated eyes, and no fin, adds.
All together now!
"THE LOOGEY BROTHERS!"
"And we want to tear you up," Hacker concludes after some absurd flexing, wagging a finger at his foes (even though he doesn't know where they are).
"We are the Scum of the Universe!" Honker declares proudly.
"Yeah, for three years running!" Hacker adds, holding up a small gold trophy in the shape of Plutarkian High Chairman Lord Camembert. The two of them laugh at their not-quite-a-joke, and so miss seeing the Biker Mice leave the Scoreboard, which would have given Limburger the location of their secret hideout. Oh well. Que sera.
"Swell," Throttle replies, catching the brothers' attention. "You can keep the title, boys."
"But nobody messes with our ball game!" Modo growls.
"'Specially Plutarkian stink-fish like you!" Vinnie snaps.
The Loogeys rev their dune buggies, pop wheelies, and come charging at the Biker Mice.
"Time to rumble, bros," Throttle informs his two compatriots. He palms on his helmet's screen, reminding them to use the Deep Space mode setting.
"Yeah," Vinnie agrees, turning his own on. "Keep the stink out!"
"Let's rock--"
"--N' RIDE!"
With that, the mice take off to meet their foes, racing down the staircase aisles. Throttle and Modo veer right, leading Honker across the rows of seats, while Vinnie keeps heading straight at Hacker, exchanging fire with him. One of Vinnie's blasts connects, sending the buggy out of control back down the aisle. Vinnie follows quickly.
Modo and Throttle, meanwhile, continue leading Honker on. They blast a hole in one of the walls and charge through to the causeway. The Plutarkian follows relentlessly. But when the two mice begin to do figure eight's, Honker quickly becomes dizzy and disoriented. He loses control of his vehicle and goes crashing through a snack bar/public restroom. Coming out the other side, Honker has a hot dog lodged in his nose, which he promptly sucks up.
"Mmmmm! This is tasty!"
Suddenly, he opens his eyes to see Hacker coming straight at him.
"LOOK OUT!" he screams.
The two come to a stop within molecules of smashing into one another.
"That was a close one!" Hacker declares.
A laser pistol is suddenly shoved in their faces.
"This is closer," Throttle growls.
The two Plutarkians turn to see all three mice aiming their weapons at them. They gasp.
"Give it up, skunk-boys," Vinnie snarls.
But just when everything seems to be going in the Biker Mice's favor, Charley, still dizzy from nearly being hit by the Loogeys (and still fairly dripping hot dogs to boot) wanders in. The brothers see their chance and quickly grab the mechanic as they make a hasty exit.
"You are our hostage!" Honker announces (as if she hadn't figured that out already).
"Hey!" Charley snaps, annoyed.
The mice, unable to fire (lest they should hit Charley), watch as the Loogey Brothers shoot up the side of a wall in their buggies, powerful jets propelling them through the air and out of Quigley Field.
"We'll be back to stink…you…up!" they shout as they soar into the stratosphere.
"Let me go, you rotting carcasses!" Charley shouts, beating on Hacker, who is more interested in the hot dogs she's wearing. He plucks one off the top of her head, says, "Whatever you want, lady!" and drops her.
Several hundred feet from the ground.
"Not nooooooooooooow!" she screams, plummeting to the ground.
By now, however, the Biker Mice have made their way to the top of Quigley, and see their human consort falling.
"Charley's doin' the asphalt dive!" Modo shouts.
"Vinnie! Fire up!" Throttle orders.
"Bang!" Vinnie cries, turning on his jets. "I'm gone!"
He points his bike into the sky and shoots off, trying to catch the mechanic. But he quickly discovers that his trajectory is off, and that he'll miss her (in more ways than one) if he stays on his current course.
"Ready interceptor," Vinnie says quickly yet somberly as he sees the mechanic come into view. "This better work, or Charley's street pizza."
Vinnie gathers all his strength, then jumps from his bike. Charley tumbles right into his arms.
"Got ya!" he cries triumphantly.
"Wonderful!" Charley shouts. "So who's got you?"
"Don't sweat it, babe! This is standard hero work!"
He shouts for his bike to shoot out a grappling line, which it quickly does. Vinnie grabs it as it goes past, then turns to his favorite girl and says, "Make like a trout, Charley. We're gonna get reel."
With that, the bike begins to pull the two of them in. They land atop the bike just as it touches down on the street. The grappling line begins to reel itself in.
"Now I know how a flounder feels," Charley mumbles, looking very much on the verge of throwing up.
"Yeah!" Vinnie crows. "Ready to cook!"
Throttle and Modo pull up as Vinnie comes to a stop. Charley dismounts, and her white-furred hero (well, in his mind, anyway) invites them to meet "the catch of the day."
"Real glad you're not sidewalk soufflé, Charley," Throttle laughs.
"Yeah," Modo adds, stroking her cheek. "Would've made me sad."
"Besides," Vinnie butts in, "you owe us lunch!"
"Aw, you guys are all jerks," Charley replies halfheartedly. "But you're still the greatest." She slips her arms around Modo and Vinnie's necks, hugging them. Modo blushes bright pink, particularly his nose. Vinnie just grins.
"Hey, don't get too happy yet," Throttle warns, slipping his fingers through a puddle of liquid stench left by the Loogeys. He takes a whiff, head jerking back suddenly in revulsion. "Those putrid punks the Loogeys are still out there. No telling what sordid stunt they and Limburger are gonna pull next."
Back at Limburger Tower, the phones are ringing off the hook. No, the Big Cheese isn't being hounded by telemarketers--the calls are all from nearby citizens who seem to know that the squalid stench invading their city is coming from his tower. Everybody who can is fielding the phones, including Limburger himself, who has to pinch his own nose shut with a clothespin to keep from losing his own lunch in the heart of the malodor.
"Hello?" the Plutarkian answers civilly. "Uh, yes, yes, I'm very sorry about the smell. I'll look into it."
He presses a button.
"Hello?……Uh, no, no! I believe it's a sewer pipe. Perhaps we should evacuate the building."
Limburger punches another button.
"Hello?" he shouts. After a moment, he screams back, infuriated, "No! It's not me!" then slams the phone down into the receiver and throws it across the room.
"This really cheeses me off," he growls, pushing one of the buttons on his desk. Instantly, it sinks down into the floor, and Limburger is quickly taken to Karbunkle's lab. Here, the stench is strongest, with the mad scientist and Greasepit forced to work in gas masks. The Loogeys are nearby, stuffing their faces with hot dogs and all other manner of munchies.
"Karbunkle, my dear deviant," Limburger asks, voice rising to an angry pitch, "what in the name of Plutark are you doing? And why, pray tell me, are those flatulent failures still polluting my building?"
"A two part question," Karbunkle purrs, voice muffled by the mask. "My favorite kind!"
This guy has got to be the Antichrist. That's all I've got to say about that.
Karbunkle motions toward a large, complex piece of machinery with all sorts of dials and readouts.
"Well, this machine is measuring the Loogeys'…..um….intense odor. Apparently, their stench rises in accordance to the amount of Earth junk food they eat.
"As to part two of your question, they won't leave because they love Earth junk food."
The Loogeys, oblivious to Limburger's presence, continue scarfing down hot dogs, candy, and other snacks. When Greasepit innocently reaches for a single hamburger, Hacker pitches him halfway across the room.
"It's a vicious cycle, to put it mildly," the doctor concludes. "At their current rate of consumption, they could literally stink out the entire city!"
Limburger muddles this over for a moment, then shouts, "No! No no no NO! We have to do something! I'm a Plutarkian, and even I'm ready to lose my lunch!"
"Oh, yeah!" Hacker groans, stuffed, pushing a green-stained bowl forward. "Fill 'er up!"
"Mmmm, yummy nums!" Honker agrees.
The two of them then belch loudly and noxiously right in Limburger's face. Call me crazy, but this does not seem like the best way to make a good impression on your employer.
"Do you see that?" Limburger asks Karbunkle in disblief. "That's the most disgusting, abhorrent, odious--"
He pauses for a moment.
"Yes….Yes yes YES!"
Limburger puts an arm around Karbunkle.
"Oh, pardon me, my dear Doctor Karbunkle," the Plutarkian purrs, voice now soft and mellow. "Did I hear you say that they could stink out the entire city?"
He leaps gleefully into the air.
"Eat up, my lads! You're eating for Lawrence Limburger now!"
But just before Limburger can begin to cackle madly, the typical transition between the "Limburger's got a plan now" scene and the next, he's overpowered by the Loogeys' most recent burst of….unpleasantness and faints.
Soon, a large red van begins racing through the Windy City (speaking of which, where's a good strong breeze when you need one?), spreading a noxious green cloud of Loogey-stink everywhere. Everywhere this vehicle of vileness goes, people begin coughing and hacking (and puking as well, I'd imagine), unable to stand the smell.
Inside, we see Limburger watching the whole extravaganza through a periscope. Karbunkle sits nearby, either monitoring the Loogeys' stench (just out of scientific curiosity, I suppose) or making them more snacks. The Loogeys' themselves sit in the center of the rear part of the van, belching into the pipe that spreads the stench out. Greasepit is up front, driving.
"It's working!" Limburger giggles happily. "Oh, I'm a genius! But of course, I already knew that."
He peers through the periscope and watches huge, congested lines of cars attempting to get out of the city.
"Yes! Oh, run! Run, you fools! Flee the diabolical genius of Lawrence Limburger! And while you're all running to Peoria, I'll gut Chicago!"
Okay, now the mad cackling we missed when he fainted.
The van continues on its way, passing the Last Chance Garage. Inside, the Biker Mice are making repairs to their bikes, refueling and replacing ammo and missiles that they lost in their previous scuffle with the Loogeys. It's Throttle, replacing one of his bike's rear missiles, who firsts scents something on the wind, followed quickly by Modo.
"I smell something," the leader of the mice announces, rising to his feet.
"Well, don't look at me!" Vinnie mumbles.
"Yeah, ah had a bath last week!" Modo snaps defensively.
Throttle shakes his head.
"No, no. This smells like…trouble. Big trouble, like--"
Suddenly, the stench cloud enters the garage. Immediately, Charley and the mice begin coughing, so overwhelmed by the stench that they're only just flirting with consciousness. They sink to the floor, unable to catch their collective breath.
"Oh, reek city, rollin' bros!" Throttle moans. "Grab your helmets!"
Dazedly, the mice put on their helmets and quickly turn on the face-shields. Instantly, the filters and oxygen within (or something to that effect) help them breathe. They all take a deep breath of fresh air.
However, Charley's helmet is not equipped with this Martian technology, and, more to the point, she didn't get to it in time. Don't worry; she's still alive, just unconscious.
"She's out for the duration, guys," Vinnie says softly, holding her in his arms.
Modo walks outside and glances at the long lines of cars (that weren't there a second ago, when the truck went past).
"Well, we can't wait. Somethin's rotten in the city of Chicago."
The mice quickly mount their bikes and exit the garage in search of Limburger and the Loogeys, leaving Charley back at the garage to recuperate (though nobody thinks to shut a door or turn a fan on or something to help get rid of some of the stench. But as Charley herself said, "Typical guys. Running off to save the world by blowing up everything in sight." Sometimes, you just can't let yourself be bothered by trivial little things like common sense).
Greasepit, meanwhile, is still lamenting his less-than-stellar salary.
"They think this stinks?" he asks rhetorically. "They should try workin' without pay for awhile. That's what stinks."
Suddenly, a bright blue laser blast takes out one of the side-view mirrors on the van. Stunned, the goon looks into the spare mirror, and sees the Biker Mice just behind them.
"More oppression of the working class," he sighs, before shouting to his boss that the Biker Mice have arrived.
"Well then, dear boy," the Plutarkian answers via a small radio, "exterminate them!"
"Do I get paid for that?" the goon asks hopefully (at least he's learning to look out for his economic interests).
Surprisingly, Limburger answers in the affirmative.
"I'll double your salary," he replies. "Now move!"
"You got it, Mr. L!" Greasepit cries happily, stepping on the gas. "Wow! I used to get paid nothin'! Now I'll get twice as much!" (For anyone who, for whatever reason, doesn't get this, keep in mind that 0 times 2 is still 0. That's your math lesson for the day!)
From behind, Throttle notes that the van is speeding up.
"Oh please!" Vinnie laughs. "Ain't no one who can outrun the baddest motorcycle mamajammer from Mars!" He shoots ahead a few feet. "That's why they call him…." Modo sings.
"…the leader on the track!" Throttle chants. Both of them twist their fists in the air as if giving their bikes gas and go, "Vroom, vroom."
"Hustle up, bros," Vinnie groans.
Throttle and Modo do indeed catch up, just as a pair of gun barrels emerge from the back of the van and begin firing on them. The mice dodge them easily, but it soon becomes apparent that Greasepit is headed for the freeway.
"He'll have to do better than that!" Modo remarks as the mice follow the van up the ramp and onto the thoroughfare.
"I was born ridin' the freeway!" Throttle shouts in agreement (that must have been hard on his mother).
"Not like this!" Vinnie cries, pointing down the road. As it turns out, Greasepit, showing his typical lack of intellect, led them onto a one-way road--and the mice aren't exactly moving with the flow of traffic, if you get the drift. They find themselves having to leap over cars and trucks--and right into more traffic!
"The wrong way?" Throttle asks as they jump over a truck.
"On a one-way?" Modo queries.
"No way!" Vinnie shouts.
Fortunately, the Biker Mice aren't about to let a little thing like going in the opposite direction of every other car on the road stop them. They swerve around other vehicles, deftly avoiding collisions.
Abruptly, however, Vinnie finds himself unable to avoid an oncoming car. So instead of moving to avoid it, he uses it as a ramp and jumps over it. Although he lands safely, Vinnie's touchdown is jerky and he nearly falls off his bike.
"Don’t kiss the pavement," Modo teases.
"I never kiss on the first date!" Vinnie laughs.
"Yeah, like I believe that."
A long line of trucks approaches. Modo swerves hard to the left, while Vinnie jumps on top of them and begins to leapfrog from one to the next.
"You take the high road and ah'll take the low road--" Modo sings (off-key, of course).
"--and I'll save Chicago before ya!" Vinnie answers, also in song (and also off-key).
"Those rotten rodents are actually gaining on us!" Limburger cries, watching it all through his periscope. In fact, they're right behind the van.
Frustrated, Limburger puts up the periscope and snaps, "Loogeys! Get out there and stop them!"
But the Loogeys will be of no help. They've stuffed themselves so fully that neither can move. Their stomachs are jutting out so far that they look as if they're about to give birth (boy, that'd be one messed-up kid). And the combination of foreign food overload and constantly weaving in and out of traffic is not sitting well with these two.
"Can't move," Honker moans. "Too many roast poodles."
"That's 'hot dogs'," Hacker belches weakly, "you bloated Scum of the Universe."
As the van collides with two other vehicles, Limburger orders Greasepit to get them off the freeway immediately.
"But I'm losin' the Biker Mice, boss!" the goon protests.
"JUST DO IT!"
Hacker, looking particularly ill, mumbles, "I think I'm gonna--"
He belches, but this time, there's a note of gurgling to it. A sick splashing sound follows. Limburger tries to waft the odor away (and he's wearing a gas mask).
"And look for a car wash," the Big Cheese adds sadly.
The van begins to skid wildly out of control, and abruptly breaks through the guardrails and goes flying off the elevated freeway. But the Biker Mice are used to jumps off skyscrapers, so this is nothing to them. They easily hit the pavement and continue their pursuit.
Greasepit's driving, however, is no better off the freeway than on it. He plows through a flower stand, and soon is within a hair's breadth of hitting an old woman on a bicycle.
"Holy moly! Senior citizen splatterfest!" Modo shouts.
The gray-furred mouse gives it the gas, and manages to snatch the old lady from the jaws of death (or at least, from the jaws of months of agonizing pain and huge hospital bills). Her bicycle, however, is utterly destroyed.
"You okay, ma'am?" Modo asks, genuinely concerned. The woman nods yes. Our favorite gray-furred Boy Scout sits her down on a bench as he pulls to a stop.
"Sorry about that rude driver, ma'am," he says gently. "I'll take care of him. 'Cause as my dear-old gray-furred momma used to say…."
Modo pulls out a large laser pistol.
"…'Courtesy is the rule of the road'."
He pops a wheelie and rides off, shouting, "RIDE FREE, CITIZEN!"
The old woman jumps to her feet and cries gleefully, "Waste those wicked mamajammers, bike boy!"
Modo rejoins his bros, who are still following the van closely.
"Playtime's over," Throttle orders. "Flank 'em and skank 'em!"
Throttle and Vinnie ride up to either side of the van. Throttle breaks one gun barrel off with a single punch, while Vinnie yanks off the other with his tail. Both of them then shoot out a grappling line to hold the van steady.
"We're in place, Modo," Throttle tells him through their helmets' radios. "Hit 'em with your best shot!"
Nodding, Modo shoots out his own grappling line, which hits dead center between the van's doors. His bike safely secured and stable, he backflips up onto the top of the van (Rimfire's agility must come from his mother's side of the family, eh? Hope I didn't confuse anyone with that).
Greasepit hears the thud on the roof.
"Hey, what's that?" he asks.
The goon adjusts one of his mirrors, and suddenly, Modo's face appears in it.
"Day of reckoning, grease-face!" Modo shouts. He's directly outside the window, using Throttle's grappling line for a food hold. The mouse grabs Greasepit by the straps of his overalls and jerks him up.
"Now I want you to be a good boy and apologize to that nice old lady you almost ran down," he growls. "Like right now!"
Modo pulls Greasepit out the window and throws him out of the van. The mouse then smoothly slips into the cab and takes the wheel.
"Greasepit!" Limburger cries through the microphone. "What's happening out there?"
"'Fraid Greasepit had to step out for a minute, Limburger," Modo replies, grinning.
"So we're your designated drivers," Vinnie catcalls from outside.
And perhaps, not surprisingly, they're driving him straight into Limburger Tower. Modo jumps out and onto his bike, and all the mice tear their lines loose and let the van plow right into the skyscraper. It crashes through the front lobby and crashes into a wall, utterly destroying the truck--but not Limburger Tower, which remains, for the moment, standing. Sparks fly from the wreck.
As one of the Loogeys falls out of the vehicle, Limburger pops his head out of a hole in the roof and asks dazedly, "Excuse me. Were there any messages while I was out?" He then falls back into the van through the hole and (presumably) passes out.
"Just one, fish-face," Vinnie answers, leaning in through the window. "Adios!"
He gets back on his bike quickly, and the Biker Mice race away from the scene just as the gaseous stench of the Loogeys ignites and explodes. The reaction is so violent that the Tower actually lifts off the ground and begins shooting into space.
Charley watches it all from the Scoreboard (where she apparently went to look for the guys upon regaining consciousness).
"That's my guys," she laughs. "Always goin' for the big finish!"
The Biker Mice are no less pleased with their work.
"Ain't no bigger blast than a blast-off, eh, bros?" Throttle asks.
"Yeah!" Vinnie laughs. "A great launch makes me hungry for lunch."
Modo agrees.
"Yeah, there should be plenty of hot dogs now the Loogeys are gone. What do you say?"
"What else?" the mice's leader asks as they shoot off through the city streets. "Rock--N' RIDE!"
Greasepit gazes at the airborne tower from the hole he landed it in after Modo threw him.
"Whoah!" he shouts happily. "I guess this means I can take the rest of the day off--with pay!"
But before he can begin enjoying his leisure time, he abruptly finds himself getting his just desserts--the old woman that he nearly hit is back, and she begins beating the goon over the head with her umbrella. She chases him off into the sunset, the goon "ouch"-ing all the way.
(Actually, since this episode ends with a cymbal roll, I wouldn't feel right ending the summary with my usual "duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh!")
MY FEELINGS ON THE EPISODE
"Stinkin' City" has always been an old favorite of mine, although it's much funnier now that I've made the Hanz and Franz connection. The idea of two villains whose single greatest job skill is that they stink worse than just about anything else in the entire cosmos is comical at the very least. The puns on Tampa Bay and Chicago's football teams are also pretty good. And the joke about Vinnie not kissing on the first date is priceless. While not in the "if you only have enough money for food or the tape this episode is on, buy the tape" category, "Stinkin' City" is still worth a viewing.
If you're interested, like the other first season episodes, "We Don't Need No Stinkin' City" is available on videocassette. The tape is named "We Don't Need No Stinkin' City", and also contains the more impressive "Test of Friendship." E-bay is a great place to pick up the first-season tapes, usually at a bargain price. Simply enter "biker mice" in the search field, and a listing of available Biker Mice products will be given. Amazon.com is another good place to go looking. Searching through Yahoo and AltaVista might also turn up video sources online. You won't regret your search. Good luck!
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