Thank you, everyone, for gathering here today.
As I mentioned in the email blast,
I have a big announcement to make.
Oh, hell yeah. We're doing The Purge.
Delmer, we are not doing The Purge.
Is Cirque du Soleil coming?
- Did they get my letters? - Not at all.
As you all know, every year,
Ketchikan brand sausage holds a Little Mr. Ketchikan
Canned Sausage Gentlemen's Pageant.
But for the last 30 years,
Lone Moose has been forbidden to take part
due to an unfortunate incident in our distant past.
But we've done our time,
and I'm excited to announce Lone Moose is back.
That's a spicy meatball!
That's right, Delms.
We're once again hosting a regional pageant
to determine which Lone Moose boy will go
into the final pageant in Ketchikan
for a chance to take home the greasy sausage crown.
Sausage! Sausage!
All Lone Moose boys between the ages of ten and 18
are eligible to compete.
And the boy who wins the Lone Moose pageant
will win a year's supply of canned sausage
for their family, go on to compete in Ketchikan,
and if they win there,
they get free sausage for the whole town.
This is my destiny.
I'd kill to win that sausage for our family.
It's so expensive, and we all love it so much.
Maybe I'll try to enter, too. I could pass for 18.
I bet I can still fit into my old OshKosh B'gosh overalls.
Okay, Ham.
Your application's all set.
Oh, wait, you forgot my middle name.
Oh, good catch. Ham Piercebrosnan--
- all as one word-- Tobin. - Wait, really?
- Mom had some wine during the birth. - Hey, Dad.
How was the bait and tackle sale in Death Cliff?
I misunderstood.
It was actually a bake and tackle sale.
I wound up buying 100 Rice Krispy Treats to help
the Death Cliff High School football team go to state.
Well, we're filling out Ham and Moon's applications
for the Little Mr. Ketchikan Canned
Sausage Gentlemen Pageant.
But-but Lone Moose is banned from that pageant.
Not anymore. The elegance of canned sausage
is returning to Lone Moose.
Ooh, Judy. Maybe we could coach them.
Coaching is where the real power is at anyway.
We'll be like Babitha and Margarine on Square Dance Moms.
Yes. I can't wait to ride the line
between tough love and cruel sociopath.
Mm-hmm. Every pageant participant needs a coach
who tells them they're not hot enough.
Moon, you're not hot enough.
I feel very motivated.
The pageant isn't about hotness.
That's not even part of the judging system.
Dad, do you know the pageant?
I myself was a link lad.
Of course my dad was grade-A stage candy.
It was 30 years ago.
I was the favorite that year.
I wore a perfect bratwurst suit
with all the fixings, handmade by myself.
My walk was perfection.
My talent, unmatched.
But then, we were down to the second to last event:
the blind sausage taste test.
Another contestant, jealous of my saug de vivre,
put fast-acting laxatives in my tasting sausage.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes. And yet,
I still went on to win.
Answering my character question perfectly
while in a completely be-pooped suit.
I won the Lone Moose pageant
and was all set to travel to Ketchikan for the big show.
But when the sausage company officials
heard about the shenanigans,
they declared Lone Moose's conduct
to be upsetting, gross,
and against the spirit of sausage.
I was forbidden from moving forward to win it all,
and our beloved town was banned from the pageant
for the next 30 years.
Whoa! So, your buns are the reason Lone Moose got banned?
Yes. So, enter if you want, boys,
but remember-- the meat can drive you to madness.
Well, it's not gonna affect us.
This pageant sounds like a fun thing to do with my brother.
And if I don't win, I want him to win.
Yeah, and if I don't win, I want Moon to win.
These brat bros got this, Dad.
And this sausage sib is gonna go ask Mayor Peppers
to raise the competition age so I can have a shot, too.
You know what they say--
nothing's sexier than a senior sausage.
Well, well, well, my sausage competitors.
I heard every boy in school is entering.
Oh, you guys talking sausage pageant?
FYI, if you're considering doing Gretchen Wieners'
monologue and song from Mean Girls the musical,
I would suggest shifting gears.
All right, I guess it's plan B then:
singing the alphabet backwards
while jumping on a tiny trampoline.
Mayor Peppers! I'm here to talk to you
about the pageant. I was wondering
if you could, uh, you know, raise the age limit.
'Cause sausage knows no saus-age.
Wolf, no. Lone Moose just got approved
to send a representative again,
so I can't have any shenanigans.
- But I do need a pageant emcee. - Okay, okay.
And, uh, what's the deets on that?
MC Hammer it to me.
The emcee gives a two-minute introduction to the pageant,
maybe a couple of jokes,
and then announces each pageant event.
Would that interest you?
Oh, yeah. I can do that.
Maybe this could be the beginning of my hosting career.
Honeybee's top three famous freebies
are all stand-ups and hosts--
Jim Gaffigan, Eddie Murphy,
and our one overlap, the Microsoft Paperclip.
Oh, you mean Clippy?
Yeah, I'd let that happen.
I'm ready to represent Lone Moose
on the hallowed sausage pageant stage.
Okay, sure, Wolf.
Can I point to random audience members
and say, "This guy knows what I'm talking about."
Get out of here before I change my mind.
You've been a great audience. Good night!
So, first,
there's the parade of sausage costumes,
then everyone sings the official pageant theme,
then there's the talent section,
followed by a sudden death blind sausage taste test.
And then everyone has to answer a character question,
like "how can the sausage industry create world peace?"
Easy. You stick a sausage
in the barrels of all the guns.
All right. Hit us with your ideas for sausage talents.
I could dislocate my shoulder and pop it back in.
Or...
I could sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
I was gonna sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
My God. Neither of you should sing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
Every boy in Lone Moose is thinking
of doing that right now.
Anyone can give them sausage.
You have to give them sizzle.
Please, Beef. Help one of your sons reclaim the sausage throne.
Look, to outsiders,
the Little Mr. Ketchikan Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant
may look like a clump of boys
marching around in sausage costumes.
But those who truly understand the pageant
know that its participants are noble Alaskan hunters,
seeking canned sustenance in our unforgiving landscape.
In the pageant, your hunting rifle is your charm
and your fishing pole is also your charm.
Boys, you're not a tube of meat.
You're a tube of dedication and honor.
Ham, Moon, let's see your sausage sashays
for the opening parade.
- Ta-da! - Ta-da!
Let me start by telling tell you
what you're doing wrong: everything.
Now, boys, remember what I told you last night.
Don't talk about our plans or costumes.
Or strategy with anyone at school.
Keep your brains in your buns for the next ten days.
Keep your meat lips zipped.
Ugh, that sounded terrible
but I nonetheless stand behind it.
- Hey, Wolf. - Oh, hello there, my lady.
Guess you, uh, uh, like to walk in doors, huh?
Might as well call you Christopher "Walking."
That's with an I-N-G. Burn.
- Wolf, what the hell are you talking about? - Aw, sorry.
I'm just working out the kinks on my emcee routine.
On a scale of Gaffigan to Paperclip, where am I?
It's, uh, perfect. I mean, what is it?
Great note. You remember when we watched
that Comedy Central Roast of William H. Macy
and Schwimmer said he looked like a big newsie?
Oh, boy, did he get Schwimmed.
Yeah, and Andy Cohen said his arc on ER flatlined.
He took it with grace, though.
Anyway, that's what I was thinking I'd do
to my fellow Lone Moosers-- roast 'em.
That's a great idea.
I can't wait to see my man onstage,
insulting everyone we know.
Try me again. I want to feel the heat.
Okay, here I go.
You, uh... uh, you look like a big newsie.
- Babe. - And your arc on ER flatlined.
Yeah, maybe you should go on out and get some practice, sweetie.
Great idea. I better pick up some sunblock
'cause this town is about to get burned.
I'm going as my mom's
boyfriend Jamie's
favorite sausage, chorizo.
He went to chef school for six months.
And he would have graduated
except for the professor chef was very jealous of him.
My mom stayed up all night
turning a Life Savers sleeping bag into a sausage costume.
It fits, but it still clearly says "Life Savers."
So, Moon, now you say what you're wearing.
Moon, are you serious?
We're your friends.
I thought we were doing this together.
My dad said you would say that.
Ugh. You're being ridiculous and you're making no sense.
A smart sausage keeps his spices in his sack.
That's not a saying.
It's sausage business, not sausage friends.
I think I will also go eat by myself.
Miss you guys.
Okay, Wolf,
you can do this. You are the new king
of Lone Moose insult comedy.
Go over there and light her up.
Hi, Mrs. Tuntley.
Oh, hiya, Wolf.
What brings you to the post office?
Your hair looks like spaghetti.
Roasted.
Uh, no, it doesn't.
Great point. Okay, well, uh, have a nice day.
Uh, hey, Santiago.
Uh, did you ever think how, uh,
your name starts with S?
S's look so weird.
It's like your name begins with a worm.
You're not the first person to say this.
They used to call me "worm-name" in school.
Okay. Well, that wasn't as fun as I thought it was gonna be.
Uh, enjoy your sausage.
Hey, Wolf.
Just about to drive these stools over to the VFW
for the big pageant. What can I do for you?
Oh, uh, this place, uh, sure is, uh...
filled with junk.
Cleanup on Kyle 4.
Uh, yeah. It's a junkyard.
Okay, bye. Great junkyard.
What the Jerry Sein-hell is wrong with me?
I'm so bad at insult comedy.
Well, we could only afford a couple basic hot dog costumes
from Costume Castle, but we'll spruce 'em up.
Now let's run through the official song.
Louder.
Smiles, please.
Wait. Are those really the lyrics?
Hello. It is I, your father, and I come bearing a gift.
What a stunning sausage.
Yes, Moon, this is my bratwurst with all the fixins.
But, Dad, didn't you poop in it? Like, a lot?
Yes, but I got it cleaned, many times.
And now I'm giving it to Moon, because it's exactly his size.
Oh, so Moon gets the incredible bratwurst, and I just wear this?
Its mustard just glistens.
Mm-hmm. Yeah. Sure does.
You're a chunk off the old tube, son.
Ham, it's not my fault it fits me.
Oh, isn't it? All that coffee you drink?
Stunting your growth for years?
I knew this would happen.
Pageant contestants always turn on each other.
I'm not turning on anyone. I'm cool.
I feel great in this stupid hot dog suit.
Yeah. And I feel great that Ham feels great
in his stupid hot dog suit.
Well, thank you, Moon, for being so supportive
of how stupid I look.
You know what? Perhaps it would be better
if me and Moon didn't work together anymore.
Maybe we should just stew in our own pans.
Son, you would never stew a sausage.
You know what, Dad?
Since Moon gets your sacred, pooped-in costume,
why don't you just work with him
and I'll work with, uh, Honeybee.
Sounds great.
You stay and keep coaching Moon
- so we can be rivals, too. - Gotcha.
Ooh, this is so much fun!
It is probably best
that I focus on the younger, more sausage-y son.
All right, Ham.
Let's storm off to the guesthouse in a huff.
Right behind you.
See you in sausage hell, Dad and Moon.
We are just two days away from the sausage event
of the century. Soon we will learn
which boy in town will take the sausage crown.
And now, a very different story
about a man who makes pillow forts for ducks.
I'm almost done with my sausage stretches,
and then we can practice some more, Honeybee.
Well, it's been fun having you stay with us, Ham,
because of your feud with Dad and Judy and Moon.
Oh, there's Moon now.
- Can you tell him he sucks? - Sure.
Hey, buddy, Ham says you suck.
Can you tell him he sucks worse?
No problem, buddy. Moon says you suck worse.
Ugh. "You suck worse."
That's the kind of magic I need to harness for this comedy gig.
But I'm afraid my roaster is on the fritz.
Don't worry, babe. You just got to keep doing it. Remember?
That's what Carlos Mencia said in his MasterClass.
You're right. Well, I'm off to do some more zingin'.
And I'm thinking maybe I try out a catchphrase,
like, uh, how's this: "Uh, ya think?"
I love a catchphrase.
Like when Kenny the Internet Guy said
"Somebody needs a reboot."
Uh, ya think?
Okay, Ham, just one more stitch on this pickle should do it.
Ow! My finger.
Mm. Got to grab a Band-Aid from the main house.
Tell everyone there I'll see them in hell again.
Tobin residence, you got the Bee.
Hi, Honeybee, it's Brian.
I had a last-minute meeting in Ted's Folly
and thought I'd stop by before I head out.
Is my brother around?
He's probably hiding from me.
The whole family's in a big feud because Moon and Ham
both entered the Little Mr. Ketchikan
Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant.
I'm sorry, but did you just say the Little Mr. Ketchikan
Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant?
I did say the Little Mr. Ketchikan
- Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant. - Oh, God.
Honeybee, meet me at the Russian Restaurant in one hour.
I have to tell you something very important
about that pageant.
- You're scaring me, Brian. - Good.
Oh, my God, I love this.
That's what Beef told you, huh?
Yes. He got poop-attacked by some nasty rival.
What Beef didn't tell you was that this nasty rival was me.
You diarrhea-ed your own brother?
No. I was framed.
- By who? - By Beef himself.
What? Oh, do go on.
There were two favorites that year-- Beef
and myself. Beef wanted to win so badly,
but then he slipped during his sausage sashay.
And that slip gave me the edge.
Beef saw the trophy sliding away,
like ground-up intestines on a conveyor belt.
And that's when the evil idea hit.
Beef had been eating so much sausage, his constipation
was out of control.
He had to carry a large bottle
of liquid laxative with him everywhere he went.
And so he chugged down the whole bottle.
And then stuck the empty container in my backpack
to frame me.
It was a brilliant plan, but then the whole town
was kicked out of the pageant
and banned for 30 years.
Are you telling me this because you think
we should pull Ham and Moon out of the pageant
before it tears them apart?
Oh, not at all.
I was thinking we could laxative Moon,
but with less laxative, so we don't get fully banned.
Or Ham frames Moon, and...
Brian, no.
Okay, fine.
But at least let me stay in town for the weekend
and help you and Ham.
Oh, I brought you something.
Is that...
My old costume? Frig yeah.
Welcome to the team, Uncle Brian.
Thanks for coming, guys.
I really need to test out my emcee material.
Here goes.
Welcome to the Little Mr. Ketchikan
Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant.
Tonight's pageant is dedicated to the canned sausage.
And you know what else is canned?
Mr. Golovkin, 'cause he canned teach.
Incredible.
Oh, now, he's a good man, Wolf.
Tonight we'll see our town's boys compete,
but before this, we all mostly competed
to see who could pass Delmer on the road.
'Cause he drives slow. 'Cause he's old.
Zing-ah, zing-ah.
Wolf, I know edgy stuff is popular,
heck, I'm a huge Bones fan myself,
but there could be some hurt feelings if you do these jokes.
But funny hurt feelings. People love that.
Huh. I guess I just need to workshop this some more.
Be less mean, but also absolutely brutal
at the same time.
It's a very delicate dance, but I can do it.
Well, back to the comedy lab I go.
And thus
concludes my talent,
fully frosting a sausage surprise cake in three minutes.
He's ready.
All right, son, let's get in there and moon the competition.
Brian? Have you been working with Ham?
You bet your bratwurst I have.
And we're here to win, so eat it and weep.
Or should I say eat it and poop?
- Too soon. - Too soon?
It was an inside job. You made yourself poop.
Why don't you take your link and leave?
Make me, meat man.
Guys, no. We just got unbanned.
You two, separate now.
Oh, I'm not here to cause trouble.
I'm just here to see one of my nephews
destroy my other nephew during a sausage contest.
Standard uncle stuff.
And I'm just here to support my son.
- Me? Oh, right. - Not you, Ham.
All right, you two are to sit on opposite sides of the room.
And I can't believe I'm having to say this to two adults,
but no giving laxatives to the children.
We don't need laxatives to win. But...
Ham would need the judges
to take blindness pills.
- Dad! - Father! - Beef!
I warned you all that
this pageant made me crazy.
Besides, it's just sausage talk. Grow up.
You should grow up. Moon is a garbage boy.
Uncle Brian! Moon,
- you are my enemy... - Right.
- and I do hate you... - Same.
but you are not garbage.
All right, everyone inside.
The sausage show must go on.
Welcome to the Little Mr. Ketchikan
Canned Sausage Gentleman Pageant.
I'm Wolf, your hostess with the roast-ess.
Tonight is dedicated to taste.
And you know who's got no taste? Londra.
Hey!
Wait.
'Cause she lost her sense of taste
in a chili pepper accident.
And she has our empathy and respect.
Thank you, Wolf.
Uh, ya think?
There is it, babe.
Tonight, we'll see our town's boys compete
for a year's supply of sausage.
And you know who else is always giving it away? Alyson.
- What the... - And by "it" I mean attention...
to those in need, by teaching free art classes
at the Old Moose Senior Home.
It's true.
I also have sex with a lot of people.
What a roller coaster ride of feelings you're creating, Wolf.
Thank you, Santiago.
And you know why the Moose in our town is Lone?
Because this town absolutely blows...
other towns out of the water.
Thank you very much. Tip your waiters.
And now let the sausage parade commence.
Are you crying? I'm crying.
My name is Gretchen, Gretchen Wieners.
And I used to be a mean girl.
But only because I didn't feel like a seen girl.
But maybe the new girl Cady is right.
We shouldn't be mean girls anymore.
Let's be nice instead.
Russell, we need an ingredient.
Um, tarragon?
Ham?
Mm. Paprika.
Correct. Moon?
- Butt. - Yes. Henry.
Rhubarb. No. Rhododendron.
Ham, we need an ingredient.
Um, xanthan gum?
Nailed it. Moon.
Hydroxynated butylatazilone?
- Ha! - No, I'm sorry, that ingredient was outlawed in 1997.
Ham Tobin takes the tasting round.
Good game, Ham.
- Don't you talk to him! - Beef.
Sorry.
Welp, Ham's gonna win.
Don't give up. There's still the interview.
Either way, we're looking at a full year
of the champagne of sausages going right down our gullets.
- Ah. Cheers, baby. - Cheers.
Hey.
- Pretty wild about Dad and Brian, huh? - I guess.
Sorry I've been so competitive.
I just want you to know that I would never
make myself poop on stage and then frame you.
I wouldn't either.
I know everyone else is enjoying our rivalry,
but I've missed hanging out with you.
This was supposed to be a fun thing
that we did together.
Maybe we don't have the right sausage spirit.
Or maybe we do.
What are you talking about?
I'm talking about showing Dad and Uncle Brian
and the whole town how these boys are made.
And that's why we have to go to war with Winnipeg.
Thank you, Russell.
And now, give it up for Ham.
Guys, uh, what's...
Moon and I are not competing against each other anymore.
That's right. We're one sausage,
pressed through the same grinder.
- Moon, no. - Oh, come on, Ham.
I'm sorry, but according to the pageant rules,
you can't compete in the same costume.
Please go backstage and unlink yourselves
into separate sausage costumes.
No. The thing about sausages is they are linked.
And as siblings, we're also linked.
Everyone in this room is linked.
And that's the real message of the pageant.
You may now applaud.
Guys, I said no shenanigans. We just got unbanned.
Yeah. This is Alaska.
The lesson is secure the meat for winter
so we all don't die.
Sure, me and Beef got the town banned from the pageant
for 30 years, but we went down fighting.
Go backstage, change into your sausage costumes
- and finish this. - Yeah!
Okay. Geez.
Everybody just calm down.
We honestly thought you would like this.
They just blew it, huh?
I don't know. Maybe one of them could still win.
I'm a hero.
I feel like I just saved Private Ryan,
whoever she is.
That's my best friend up there.
You know what? It was for the best.
Drama John's gonna bring it home for the whole town.
And I was able to steal these sausage cans
off the sausage truck.
Clutch move, Uncle Brian.
I'm sorry if I was absolutely bonkers
the last few weeks.
I love you both equally.
And that is why I'm saying this to both of you.
Next year, you boys really have to be more serious.
Oh, yeah.
I think if I start stretching tomorrow,
I'll be able to do the splits by next year for sure.
Ooh. And what about putting Moon in a real meat suit,
- like Lady Gaga? - Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.
And just a thought--
we could poison the other competitors.
Now you guys are getting the hang of it.
Captioning sponsored by BENTO BOX ENTERTAINMENT
and TOYOTA.
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org