Pep Streebeck: Are you crazy? Silvia Wiss wanted you!
Friday: Now let me tell you something, Streebeck. There are two things that clearly differentiate the human species from animals. One, we use cutlery. Two, we're capable of controlling our sexual urges. Now, you might be an exception, but don't drag me down into your private Hell.
Pep Streebeck: You've got a lot of repressed feelings, don't you, Friday? Must be what keeps your hair up.
Pep Streebeck: Hey partner. I tried to call you up till midnight. I didn't know the Christian Science reading rooms stayed open so late.
Joe Friday: Not that it's any of your business, but I spend the evening in the company of Connie Swail.
Pep Streebeck: Don't you mean "the Virgin Connie Swail"?
[Friday looks at Streebeck as the Dragnet theme starts]
Pep Streebeck: Wait a minute!
Pep Streebeck: [while interrogating Muzz and getting no-where] Joe, I could use some coffee
[turns to Muzz]
Pep Streebeck: You want anything?
Emil Muzz: [defiantly] Chewing gum... Snickers bar... and my attorney, badge kisser!
Pep Streebeck: [Friday leaves Muzz alone with Streebeck] Well... it's just you... and me... *your balls*...
[pulls open a desk drawer]
Pep Streebeck: and this drawer!
[slams it shut]
[Joe Friday arrives]
Pep Streebeck: Thank God, it's Friday!
Friday: Look out. Muppets!
Joe Friday: [looking at a lion who's mane has been shaved into a mohawk] Somebody must have wanted that lion's mane pretty bad to pull a twisted stunt like that.
Pep Streebeck: Although, as mohawks go it's not that bad. It'll grow back.
Joe Friday: Yeah, and how do you tell that to these kids here who have never seen a lion before and now probably won't have the desire to ever see one again.
Pep Streebeck: Kids, it'll grow back.
P.A.G.A.N. Ceremony Leader: For the final touch to our brew tonight... a pristine virgin in a gown of white. Evil bringeth here our plea, she's as pure as she can be! White and clean as driven snow, from Orange County, here we go!
Pep Streebeck: And if I may a toast... to Granny Mundy: may you live as long as you want but never want as long as you live.
Chemical Engineer: Basically, it burns the eyes, lungs and throat, causes vomiting and if continuously inhaled, death.
Pep Streebeck: [to Friday] Oh, sort of like your aftershave.
Friday: Can you tell me how much a monthly run of your "magazine" is worth?
Jerry Caesar: Well, let's just thay it's more money than you'll ever thee in your life. And I do that every month.
Friday: At least my money is clean.
Jerry Caesar: Tell you what you can do, Friday, before you go home and thtart polithing your pennieth. Why don't you go out there and get my magathineth back on the thtandth where they belong?
Friday: Listen, hotshot. I'm gonna tell you something right now. I don't care for you or for the putrid sludge you're troweling out. But until they change the laws and put you sleaze kings out of business, my job is to help you get back your stench ridden boxes of smut. And since I'll be doing it holding my nose, I'll be doing it with one hand.
Joe Friday: After losing the two previous vehicles we had been issued, the only car the department was willing to release to us at this point was an unmarked 1987 Yugo, a Yugoslavian import donated to the department as a test vehicle by the government of that country and reflecting the cutting edge of Serbo-Croatian technology.
[Friday's car was stolen]
Friday: With the exception of you and canned cling peaches I'd be hard pressed to find anyone or anything that doesn't know you should never leave your car keys in the ignition.
Pep Streebeck: It's called a mistake, Friday, but I don't suppose you ever make any of those, do you?
Captain Gannon: Friday, Streebeck, we got another one. Chemical train hijack down at the freight yards. Damn Pagans must be living on No-Doz!
Friday: Yessir, Captain. We'll roll as soon as we requisition a new...
Captain Gannon: Oh, one more thing. Police and fire departments all over the county have been reporting vehicles stolen. So keep an eye on your car!
Joe Friday: Alright, let's run through it again. You say you're a Pagan, but we caught you working for Jerry Caeser. That makes you a plant in my book. Why don't you just make it easy on yourself and lead us to the stolen magazines?
Emil Muzz: [Giving the finger to Friday] Jump on this and spin, cop! I'm not saying another word until my attourney gets here!
Pep Streebeck: Say Joe, wouldn't a couple of danishes go great with this coffee right now?
[as he says this, he opens the drawer he used on Muzz earlier, and Muzz looks horrified]
Pep Streebeck: [Friday is driving, speeding to the airport to rescue Connie] Be careful. This is a dangerous road.
Joe Friday: When are you worried about my driving, Mr. l-Like-Life-In-The-Fast-Lane?
Pep Streebeck: You just flew through a stop sign!
Joe Friday: It felt good.
Pep Streebeck: Look out for that bump! Don't you remember those films they showed us in high school? Red Asphalt. Blood on the Highway.
Joe Friday: You picked two of my favorites.
Pep Streebeck: [Returning to the driving scene] Come on, Joe. Slow down! What happened to those regulations on high-speed pursuits? I thought you were safety-conscious.
Joe Friday: Close your eyes and think of Christmas.
Pep Streebeck: Think of Christmas? Good King Wenceslaus looked out on the feast of Stephen. And the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel. When the poor man came in sight...
Joe Friday: Try Silent Night.
Narrator: On February 21, a trial was held in Superior Court in and for the County of Los Angeles. The Reverend Jonathan Whirley was found guilty on two counts of attempted murder, kidnapping, arson, obstruction of justice, and tampering with public utilities. He is presently in the men's correction facility at Chino, serving 43 consecutive life sentences, which makes him eligible for parole in seven years.
Joe Friday: [Closing scene, narrating] Monday, January 12, 8:43 a.m. As for Streebek and me, we're back on day watch at Robbery-Homicide, where he still exhibits a blatant disregard for departmental procedure. But I am somehow managing to keep this in its proper perspective.
Lady Motor Cop: [as she drops him off] Goodbye, Pep. Will you be coming over later?
Pep Streebeck: Yeah, I have to. I'm wearing your underwear.
Pep Streebeck: [Turning to Friday] Late night last night, partner? I thought the Christian Science Reading Room closed at 10:00?
Joe Friday: Not that it's any of your business, Mr. National Enquirer, but I had the pleasure of spending the evening in the company of Connie Swail.
Pep Streebeck: Wait a minute. Connie Swail? Don't you mean the virgin Connie Swail?
[Friday shakes his head No about Connie still being a virgin. Pep is startled]
Mrs. Gannon: [In their home, they're watching a movie together on TV. The phone between them rings, she picks up] Hello?
Pep Streebeck: LA Police! Captain Gannon?
Mrs. Gannon: One second.
[Hands the phone to Captain Gannon]
Mrs. Gannon: It's work, Dear.
Captain Gannon: [Taking it] Thank you.
Captain Gannon: Hello?
Pep Streebeck: [Frantically] Captain Gannon, this is Streebek. I'm up at the Ceas...
Captain Gannon: [Suddenly outraged] Streebek?
Pep Streebeck: Yes! I'm up at the Caeser Mansion and I'm surrounded by PAGANS! You need to send in reinforcements! They have a small ARMY UP HERE!
Pep Streebeck: [as they're chasing Muzz, Friday grabs the CB mike] What are you doing?
Friday: Calling for backup!
Pep Streebeck: Why?
Friday: Because there are specific procedures for high-speed pursuits, Mister, and we're going to follow every last one of them!
Pep Streebeck: [Takes the mike from him and puts it back] Forget it, Friday! This is *our* collar!
Friday: *Our* collar, huh?
Pep Streebeck: I think so!
Friday: Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Lone-Wolf, the proud men and women of the Los Angeles Police Department comprise of one big family! From my brother the traffic cop, to my sister the meter-maid! And when one of us makes a collar, we *all* make a collar!
[Goes to call, but Streebek quickly stops him]
Pep Streebeck: Friday, are you on any kind of medications that, as your partner, I should be aware of?
Friday: [Speaks into mike] 2-King-14! 2-King-14! I am requesting a backup...
[Streebek snatches the mike out of his hand again, and they briefly fight over it]
Friday: [Emil Muzz is in the drivers seat of the limo asleep. They approach showing their badges] Police officers. Emil Muzz?
[He doesn't respond, so Pep reaches in and blows the horn, and he wakes up]
Pep Streebeck: We need to ask you a few questions, Emil.
Emil Muzz: Blow it out your pants, cop.
Friday: Oh, good Muzz. Give yourself a hard time.
[At that, Muzz, without taking his eyes off them, starts the limo, puts it in Drive, then burns rubber away, inadvertently running over Friday's feet]
Friday: We had been advised to follow up on a theft at 8823467 Magnolia Boulevard. At this time of day, it took us 20 minutes to get there. The complainant was the landlady, Enid Borden. Some Pagan cards had been found.
Friday: [KNOCKS ON DOOR]
Enid Borden: What the hell do you want?
Friday: Police officers, ma'am.
Enid Borden: About time you pencil dicks showed up. Why couldn't you have gotten here before that big, bad stupid-Iooking piece of sewage breath stole my wedding dress?
Friday: Sewage breath would be your nickname for...
Enid Borden: Muzz. Emil Muzz.
Pep Streebeck: Not much of an improvement.
Enid Borden: That ass-wipe also stiffed me for two months' rent when his cheque bounced. Goddam puss-faced pimp stick. All that was left in his room... was a big box of these things.
Friday: Any idea where Emil Muzz could be now? Friends? Family?
Enid Borden: He was a Ioner. Took off in the middle of the night. Useless scum-lapping shitbag.
Friday: Just the facts, ma'am. He leave anything else behind?
Enid Borden: Yeah, a tape deck which I had to sell to make up for the lost rent. So there's nothing you can do about it, you slimy little jizz bucket.
Friday: Yes, ma'am. Although you could be cited for swearing at us.
Enid Borden: Says who, flathead?
Friday: The California penal code 314.1 covering obscene conduct in public. Good enough for you?
Enid Borden: Them magazines and papers were his down in the trash. No cheques or money. I looked. I should've thrown it in the river the day he left... but unlike some people, I have a heart, goddam it! That miserable bag of puke.
Friday: I think we're finished here, don't you, Detective Streebek?
Pep Streebeck: [He's sitting in a car being towed in by a wrecker, the door falls completely off and he steps out, dressed like a homeless bum] Sergeant Friday?
Joe Friday: Who want's to know?
Pep Streebeck: [Shows his badge pinned to the inside of his jacket] I'm Pep Streebek, your new partner.
Joe Friday: Not looking like *that*, you aren't, mister.
Pep Streebeck: [Scoffs] Oh really? What's that supposed to mean?
Joe Friday: It *means* I don't care what undercover rock you crawled out from, there's a dress code for detectives in Robbery-Homicide. Section 3-605.10, .20, .22, .24, .26, .50, .70, and .80. It specifies: clean shirt, short hair, tie, pressed trousers, sports jacket or suit, and leather shoes, preferably with a high shine on them.
[on a multi-lane highway, traffic all around is passing and sounding horns]
Pep Streebeck: You know, uh, Friday, we're allowed to go 55... On some occasions, even faster.
Friday: I'm well aware of the federally mandated speed limit, Streebeck. But, did it ever occur to you that, by going eight miles an hour slower, we might save some gasoline and ease the burden on the poor taxpayers out there who pay our salaries?
Pep Streebeck: Friday, a little extra gas isn't gonna put the city in hock; besides, this looks bad! Come on, live a little - it's the vertical pedal on the right.
Narrator: Your attention, please. The story you are about to see is true; the names have been changed to protect the innocent. For example: George Baker is now called "Sylvia Wiss. "
[Streebek hands over a broken phone to Friday]
Pep Streebeck: It's for you. It's the president.
[after bursting into a suspected drug factory with a tank that ruptures all equipment in its path, sticks out tongue to identify liquid spraying in all directions]
Pep Streebeck: I can't quite place it! It tastes like...
Joe Friday: Milk. Just like the sign said before you obliterated it. Fresh wholesome milk.
Pep Streebeck: You probably love this stuff.
Joe Friday: Vitamin D, calcium, essential for good strong bones and healthy teeth. But that's all Greek to you, isn't it, Mr. Gingivitis?
Enid Borden: [Friday knocks on her door, she opens] What the hell do you want?
Joe Friday: [as he and Streebek show their badges] Police officers, maam.
Enid Borden: 'Bout time you pencil-dicks showed up. Why couldn't you have gotten here before that big bad stupid-looking piece of sewage breath stole my white wedding dress?
Joe Friday: 'Sewage-breath' is your little nickname for?
Enid Borden: Muzz. Emil Muzz.
Pep Streebeck: [Looks at Friday] Not much of an improvement.
Joe Friday: [Friday addresses Whirley after he has entered a bathroom stall] Hold it right there, Whirley. Police officer, you're under arrest.
Reverend Jonathan Whirley: I beg your pardon, what is this? Some kind of a feeble joke?
Joe Friday: Oh, it's a real knee-slapper, friend, if you consider California Penal Code section 4A, 4207A, 597 and 217: Theft, Kidnapping, Cruelty to Animals, and Attempted Murder something to laugh about.
Reverend Jonathan Whirley: [seated on the toilet with his pants around his ankles] I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about.
Joe Friday: My partner and I witnessed that little torchlight picnic you threw last night, we're gonna put you where your kind always ends up - in a seven by seven foot grey-green metal cage in the fifteenth floor of some hundred-year-old penitentiary, with damp, stinking walls and a wooden plank for a bed. Sure, this city isn't perfect, we need a smut-free life for all of our citizens; cleaner streets, better schools, and a good hockey team. But the big difference between you and me, mister, is you made the promise, and I'm going to keep it.
Enid Borden: The magazines and papers were his down in the trash. No cheques or money, I looked. I should have thrown it all in the river the day he left but unlike some people I have a heart, goddamnit, the miserable little bag of puke.
Joe Friday: I think we're finished here, don't you Detective Streebeck?
Pep Streebeck: [In the interrogation room, there's a close-up of a pack of cigarettes, a hand goes to grab them. It's Emil Muzz, and Friday shoves him back in his chair] Siddown, unless you're growing!
Pep Streebeck: Look Muzz, we've got you on 87 violations of the motor vehicle code, it's only a matter of time before we tie you into one of those PAGAN jobs, not to mention that you stole your landlady's wedding dress which so far is the only endearing thing about you. So why don't you talk to us?
Emil Muzz: [after blowing a nasty spitball that splats right on Friday's face] Shove it, you pawn! My attorney is on his way, and we both know I'll be out of here in 20 minutes on bail. So take off these cuffs, and open the door!
Joe Friday: I wouldn't worry about the door, Muzz. The kind of scum that would represent you would just ooze right under it.
Captain Gannon: [after waking Capt. Gannon and briefing him in the middle of the night] Friday, do you have any idea what time it is?
Joe Friday: Yes sir.
[looks at his watch]
Pep Streebeck: Oh, don't ask him that, Captain.
Joe Friday: It's 4:27am, sir.
Pep Streebeck: He lives for that. It's in his blood.
Pep Streebeck: You know, Friday, I think you and the Commissioner would make a cute couple. I like the way you both keep your jaws locked. Plus the two of you do share that same curious affection for hats.
Joe Friday: May I remind you that only this morning Commissioner Kirkpatrick threatened to turn me into a... civilian?
Pep Streebeck: Yeah, I know. There was was a gleam in her eye, though...
Joe Friday: [reading from notebook during high speed chase] "Reckless endangerment of human life, willful disregard of private property, failure to signal for a... "
Pep Streebeck: Yeah, he's really raking up the violations, isn't he.
Joe Friday: Not him, you. This is your one way ticket back to civilian life, Mr. I-Like-To-Throw-The-Book-Out-The-Window.
Pep Streebeck: That's a good idea.
[throws book out the window]
Joe Friday: [about Reverend Jonathan Whirley] And he'd better tell me where Connie is or I'll shove that collar so far down his throat I'll have to take off his shoes to ring his neck!
Pep Streebeck: Friday, listen to yourself! You're not thinking like a cop any more, you're thinking like a man in love!
Pagans: [chanting] Kill the good! Kill the good! Kill the good!
Joe Friday: [to the crowd, showing his badge to them] You are all under arrest!
[They keep chanting]
Joe Friday: Each of you has the right to remain silent! If you waive the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!
Pep Streebeck: Oh for crying out loud!
[Pulls out his gun, cocks it, and fires warning shots in the air, which finally disperse the crowd]
Jerry Caesar: Reverend, you've got balls as big as church bells.
Friday: But that's all Greek to you, isn't it, Mr. Gingivitis?
Friday: [on a motorcycle with Pep] Streebeck, there's no road here!
Friday: [to Pep] They ought to transfer you to Missing Persons, Streebeck. You know everybody.
Pep Streebeck: Oh Joe, you never had these feelings before, have you?
Joe Friday: Almost. I had a kitten once.
Pep Streebeck: Yeah, it's going to be a little different. Connie is not going to be sleeping in a box, or meowing all night, or clawing up your drapes. Or maybe she will. I mean, you're both kind of starting from scratch with this.
Joe Friday: [after realizing Whirley is the mastermind behind PAGAN] How do you see yourself going down in history? Pagan or reverend, devil or angel?
Reverend Jonathan Whirley: Why, both, of course. One can't exist without the other. Without the Jerry Caesars, there'd be no moral outrage. What's the good of moral outrage... unless you have something tangible to direct it against? By this time tomorrow, thanks to that poison gas you've been tracking like some flu-ridden bloodhound, Mr. Caesar will be sitting in that big Jacuzzi in the sky, and I'll control both sides of the equation.
Joe Friday: Sure, but like every other psycho in this city with a foolproof plan, you've forgotten you're facing the finest fighting force ever assembled.
Reverend Jonathan Whirley: The Israelis?
Joe Friday: Try the decent, hardworking men and women of Los Angeles.
Reverend Jonathan Whirley: Forgotten about them? My dear Sergeant, I'm absolutely counting on them.
Pep Streebeck: Pick me! Pick me, I want to live on damp cement."
Caesar Mansion intercom: Oh, thank God, vibrator repair!
Friday: No, ma'am, LAPD. Sorry.