Uh, Rick. Is there anything you'd like to tell us about your relationship with this previously unknown galactic government? All the important points seem pretty clear, no? They think they control the galaxy. I disagree. Don't hate the player. Hate the game, son. I don't like it here, Morty. I can't abide bureaucracy. I don't like being told where to go and what to do. I consider it a violation. Did you get those seeds all the way up your butt? Yeah, Rick. Let's just get this over with, okay? I mean, these things are pointy. They hurt. Okay. Next through. Except you. You go over there. Why does he have to go over there? Random check. He's got to go through the new machine. What new— What new machine? It's a new machine. It detects stuff all the way up your butt. Run, Morty. Run! Hey! Red alert! I need to type in the coordinates to our whole world, Morty. Cover me! Oh, man. I mean, you know. I— I don't wanna shoot nobody. They're just robots, Morty. It's okay to shoot them, they're robots. My leg is shot off. Glenn's bleeding to death! Someone call his wife and children! They're not robots, Rick. It's a figure of speech, Morty. They're bureaucrats. I don't respect them. You know, in a lot of ways, I'm not a high school senior from the planet Earth. In a lot of ways, what I really am is a deep cover agent for the Galactic Federation. And you guys are a group of wanted criminals. And this entire building is, in a certain sense, surrounded. Holy— Come on! This way. The obscure planet known as Earth, formerly the hiding place of interstellar terrorist and fugitive Rick Sanchez, has just become the 6048th planet to join the Galactic Federation. I'd like very much to visit the memory of you inventing your portal gun. Yeah? Well, tough titties. There's no tougher titty than a psychotic break, Rick. Well, that depends on who breaks first. Me or the titty. Mission Control, you getting this? Holy shit! Yes. Yes! We got it. Thanks, Rick. I'll try to remember to shut off the brainalyzer. I have processed that you were in distress and have prescribed antidepressants, complements of the Galactic Federation. I feel better. Your debt is 7000 fed credits. Report to the Ministry of Employment and you will be assigned a function. Honey, I got a job! It's a trap! Abort. I'm still in his Shoney's! Repeat, we never left his Shoney's! Mission accomplished, boys. Pull me out. Roger that. Abort. We never left his— No! I tell you, the Galactic Federation taking over Earth? Best thing that's ever happened to this family. I just got my sixth promotion this week and I still don't know what I do. Who cares how high they promote you? Everyone just gets paid in pills. One thing still perplexes me. Why would Rick Sanchez turn himself in? Well, I'm just a dumb ass bug, but it's possible Rick knew he'd be interrogated at this facility where we not only keep our most wanted, but our most sensitive data. Anyone here with level nine access could, I don't know, collapse a government. I'm just gonna go take a dump. Is it cool if I use the level nine bathrooms? What's the level nine master access code again? Oh, that's easy. 83— Wait. What the f***? We just teleported into a galactic federal prison! I'm gonna go take a shit. And that is how you get level nine access without a password. Freeze! Employee of the month, ladies and gentlemen. So, what are you doing with level nine access anyways? Destroying the galactic government? Awesome. Whoa, cool! Are you going to set all their nukes to target each other? Or reprogram their military portals to disintegrate their entire space fleet? Good pitches, kids. I'm almost proud. Watch closely as Grandpa topples an empire by changing a one to a zero. Mr. President, the Blemflarck's value just dropped to nothing. What do you mean? I mean, our single centralized galactic currency just went from being worth one of itself to zero of itself. Oh, dear God. No. Calm down, people. There's a solution here you're not seeing. Give me your jacket! Give me those pants! He who controls the pants, controls the galaxy! My bosses are bugs, Rick. You killed the old ones. The new ones are half my age. They know if you're left alone, you're a non-threat. Congratulations Earth on being destroyed by the NX-5. Brought to you by Wrangler. Come on, kids. We have to go do a f***ing piece of s*** Star Wars. Attention, Zeta 99-2. We know you have a stolen ship. Stand down. Oh, am I not a non-threat now? Hey, you are not clear to land. We will open fire! Hold your ground, men. You'll be heroes. The NX-5 can't destroy Wrangler jeans. Like, it literally can't destroy them? Or it's programmed not to? Gee, what do you think? It's marketing. Like, uh, "The NX-5 destroys the whole planet except for the Wrangler jeans." 'Cause they're so tough. Tougher than the laser? Stupid. You're talking about it. Hmm, you're right. They— They got me. Hey, over here! Look at me! Did you just see a pants-less little boy run by? I'm not falling for that again. NX-5 corporate sponsor detected. Cannot penetrate Wranglers. Built too tough. Built too tough. Why can't I meet your parents? Are you embarrassed of me? No, of them. Aww.
