 and nanotechnology, I present, SmartPan. Almost done, Goddard. The secret weapon that'll make our parents run screaming from the school. I call it rebellion. It's a concentrated version of the hormone that makes kids challenge authority. One with this, and they'll run amok. Faced with such sheer raw mayhem, the parents will be forced to bail. Did you, um, notice when our brains were floating inside that thing together, which was disgusting, by the way. One of us was imagining us walking down a country lane holding hands and, um, kissing. So, Neutron's the best man? Yeah, more like best nerd. Put your eyes back in your head and let's get to work. Think, think, think. Made a colossal amount of static cling. I can capture my pants, destroy the nanochip, and still have time to get to the movies. Goddard, we've got to stop these nanobots before they destroy the whole town. But how? Think, think. Remote to control the Malibu death machine. Come on. Folding. Pretty soon? Oh, yeah, thanks for remind. Um, tonight's episode is Bahama Rama. Oh, don't want to miss that. Hey, does time fly when you're folding and hanging or what? Bye, Jeff. Fuck. Mr. Fusion, do you know the spy song? No, and I don't think I want to. But you can sing it because you're a spy. Ahem. You're a spy guy. Did I like no other day? Huh? You asked? Hmm, hmm, hmm. Cause I brought a new Ultra Lord action figure. Every day, Ultra Loser? Well, well, Miss Maiden of Wrongness. Evidently, you are not aware that this is the Ultra Lord action figure number three with factory gender error. Should I wear this dress to the prom? Ultra Lord soars majestically through the sky. Knowing he's made the world safe for a sheen kind. But hey, what's that icy wind blowing from the frozen layer of Dr. Nippy? Ultra Lord can't maintain... Son, must you belt your father with tiny flying men? Sorry, Dad, but flying Ultra Lord is all I have. Swimming Ultra Lord is rusted and tunneling Ultra Lord suffer the worm-related mishap. Look for Balby. We slap that every day. Like home. Slap, slap, slap. Clap, clap, clap. Slap, slap, slap. Clap, clap, clap. Slap, slap, slap. It's Balby time. Balby win contest with Yuri the musical cook. Fight it to talk with Jimmy Padoff. I should write a book. I think I will, and I'm gonna call it my little talk with Jimmy Padoff. Now, something this impressive surely deserves the cancellation of the cruel and unusual punishment of not being able to go to the movies. Well, your pants did get put away. All right. Zingo, let's have pie. Thank you. It's okay, everybody. Just a pie-based act. How long can we rank Byrne anyway? Am I right?