Powerpuff Girls: Curses (Uncensored)

 CURSES 

Storyboarded and written by Tim Parson

Art direction by Paul Stec

Animation direction by Robert Alvarez, James Tim Walker

Directed by Randy Myers

Transcribed by Alan Back

Edited and uncensored by Madi Shinx Note: It is uncensored. If only this aired on Adult Swim..

(Opening shot: the city skyline during the day.)

Narrator: The city of Townsville! Where there’s always something cooking.

(Quick pan to the kitchen of the girls’ house. Dirty pots and pans are stacked everywhere, and we can hear other dishes being shuffled o.c. A small TV sits in the foreground, next to the sink with its screen turned away from the camera, and a female voice is heard—the host of a cooking show, sounding a bit like Julia Child.)

Host: All right, it’s almost time to put that turkey in the oven.

(The Professor hustles across the screen—he is the source of the clatter and mess, and he has put on an apron and rolled up his sleeves. A large turkey rests on a platter in his hands. The next several lines overlap.)

Professor: Turkey in the oven.

Host: Next we’ll tackle the vegetable stuffing. Now take your veggies and—

Professor: (hustling across) Right, veggies…Hold on! (More rattling of utensils.)

Host: —julienne them like so. Not very difficult. Now mix them in with the tomato coulis we prepared earlier.

(On the end of this, he crosses the kitchen again, this time with an armload of vegetables in tow. The distinct sound of creaking metal from the oven’s general direction combines with his next words to obscure the start of the host’s next sentence.)

Professor: (now o.c.) We prepared that earlier? (He backs into view.)

Host: —and stuff it into the turkey.

Professor: (puzzled) The turkey? But it’s in the oven already.

Host: See how easy it goes in? Everything should be running just smooth as silk.

(Of course, it is not. There is an o.c. explosion—the oven just gave up the ghost—that obscures her next few words.)

Professor: Oh, dear!

Host: Make sure you don’t set that temperature too high, or you’ll be putting out a three-alarm fire. All right, now sit yourself down and enjoy a nice cold beverage—

(During the previous line, the Professor runs o.c. away from the oven, then back toward it with a fire extinguisher. White clouds of carbon dioxide vapor drift back into view as he uses the thing. Cut to outside the kitchen door; smoke billows into the hallway as his panicked shriek rings out. Pan/tilt up to the door of the girls’ bedroom, then cut to inside. Buttercup floats up into view, with a building block in hand aimed for the top of a tower.)

Buttercup: Hey, somebody go down and see if dinner’s ready. I’m hungry. (She places the block; cut to Blossom, on the bed reading.)

Blossom: I’m busy. You go.

Buttercup: No, you go!

Blossom: No, you!

Buttercup: You!

Blossom: You!

Buttercup: You!

Blossom: You!

Buttercup: Fine. (adding another block) Bubbles, you go.

(The third sister is lying on the floor and working intently on a coloring book.)

Bubbles: I can’t. I’m in the zone!

Buttercup: Okay, then. (tossing another block away) Let’s rock-scissor-paper for it.

(Close-up of a point between the girls. Each reaches one hand into view and shakes it during the count of the next line, as you might do when playing this game.)

Girls: (from o.c.) Ready? One, two, three!

Blossom: (from o.c.) Scissors beats paper!

Buttercup: (from o.c.) Ha-ha. You lose, Bubbles. (Shift to frame all three.) Now go see what’s for dinner.

Bubbles: I always lose at this game!

(Back to the kitchen. A pot of something is boiling on the stove. During the next line, the Professor runs across with another armload of vegetables.)

Host: All right, let’s turn up the heat, shall we?

Professor: (from o.c.) No, please! (A great commotion; the veggies fly back into view, and he returns to the stove.)

Host: It’s time to check that sauce.

Professor: Sauce. Right.

(He shoots out one hand and grabs the pot’s handle. The sizzle of flesh on metal does not immediately register in his brain—but after a second his eyes bug out and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip to stifle a scream. Everything he ever learned about heat transfer has just come back to him in one agonizing instant. Finally he pulls free and regards his steaming appendage.)

Professor: Mother of all fucking shits!

(Cut to the boiling kettle on the stove. Pull back to frame the unfortunate man, sucking frantically at his scalded fingers—and Bubbles, floating unnoticed behind him with Octi in her grasp. Her face betrays her complete shock at what she has just overheard.)

(Back to the bedroom. As Blossom continues reading and Buttercup waits impatiently with another block in hand, Bubbles floats along the balcony to the doorway. Her expression has not changed.)

Buttercup: Hey, Bubbles. What’s for dinner?

Blossom: Hey, Bubbles…Bubbles?

(She floats across the room, paying no heed, and stops near Buttercup and the tower of blocks.)

Buttercup: Hel-lo? Earth to Bubbles! Dinner?

(Cut to the coloring book on the floor. Octi hangs into view from above, still held by Bubbles.)

Buttercup: (from o.c.) Bubbles? Bubbles! (Octi is dropped.) Oh, I give up.

(The owner of said octopus descends into view and picks up a crayon to start in on her coloring again. She seems rather distracted, however, and the crayon breaks in her hand. Cut to her sisters; she rises from the ground.)

Bubbles: (suddenly angry) Stupid fucking crayon!

(This outburst has drawn the attention of the other two in a hurry.)

Bubbles: That was my favorite color!

(Buttercup lets a block slip from her grasp, while Blossom forgets about her book altogether. Now Bubbles settles happily down to her work as her sisters approach during the next line.)

Bubbles: Well, I guess my unicorn will have to be pink.

Buttercup: What was that you said?

Blossom: Where did you learn that word?

Bubbles: The Professor. I think it’s pretty.

Buttercup: Yeah. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds cool.

Blossom: It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? It’s gotta be an adjective. That’s used to lend emphasis to words. Like “great” or “fantastic.” (Cut to her sisters; she continues o.c.) I’m guessing it can be used for good and bad things.

(Bubbles and Buttercup smile at each other; back to Blossom.)

Blossom: Like, you can say “great,” “super-great,” or fucking ”great.” (More yowling from outside, mixed with a dog barking.)

Bubbles: Kitty?

Buttercup: Fucking Cool!

Bubbles, Buttercup: Shit, that makes sense.

Blossom: Fucking trust me. I know what I’m fucking talking about.

Bubbles: I fucking love it!

Buttercup: I wanna fucking try it! Hey, I fucking did it!

(In an instant, they are circling the ceiling light fixture.)

Girls: We love fucking shits! It’s such a great word! We love fucking shits! It’s such a great word! (jumping on bed) We love fucking shits! We love fucking shits!

(They collapse on the mattress in a giggling heap. Fade to black.)

(Fade in to the exterior of Pokey Oaks Kindergarten during the day.)

Ms. Keane: (from inside) Okay, children. Before you go to recess, I want to hand back those quizzes you took yesterday.

(Inside, she passes the girls’ desk and lays a paper in front of each as she goes. L to R: Blossom, Bubbles, Buttercup. Cut to just behind Blossom’s head and pan left to show all three papers. She has an A+, Bubbles a B, Buttercup an F.)

Ms. Keane: (from o.c.) I was pleased with the results—for the most part. (Close-up of each in turn.)

Blossom: (happily) Oh—

Bubbles: (ditto) Oh—

Buttercup: (disgustedly) Aw—

Girls: —Shit!

(Everyone else is caught flat-footed by these words; Mitch Mitchellson is first to speak up.)

Mitch: (laughing) They said shit!

(Ms. Keane gasps and faints. Snap to black.)

Blossom: (voice over) Ms. Keane?

(A horizontal crack splits the blank field and widens as if an eye were being opened—this is the teacher’s perspective as she regains consciousness. The view, of the worried girls, starts out a bit fuzzy but soon comes into focus.)

Blossom: Ms. Keane, are you okay?

(Cut to just behind them, the camera pointing straight at Ms. Keane’s face. It takes her a moment to get herself entirely composed, and her first action is to point angrily o.c.)

Ms. Keane: Corner! (Pull back; she sits up, and the girls float slowly that way.)

Blossom: What did we do?

Ms. Keane: You know very well what you did. (smiling) The rest of you can go to recess.

(Cheering kids rush past her. The girls, meanwhile, are in the aforementioned corner.)

Bubbles: But, Ms. Keane, what did we do?

Ms. Keane: Zip it! (They do so and turn their faces to the wall. Pause.)

Bubbles: (to her sisters) So this is what a time-out is like.

Buttercup: Ah, you get used to it.

Blossom: (suddenly worried) I wonder if this will go on my permanent record! (The hotline starts to buzz.) It’s the hotline!

Bubbles: But we’re in time-out, and Ms. Keane says we have to stay here and think about what we’ve done. I don’t know what that is, but—

Buttercup: (flying o.c.) Oh, I’ll get it. (Cut to her at the phone; she answers.) Hello, Mayor?…An emergency?…We’ll be right there. (hanging up) It’s go time, girls!

(The exterior of the building; they take off through the roof.)

Bubbles: What about time-out? (Just inside the closed door of the Mayor’s office; they open it.)

Blossom: What’s up, Mayor? (They approach him at his desk.) What’s the crisis? Another monster on the loose? Mojo Jojo? Fuzzy Lumkins?

Mayor: Girls, it’s a crisis of epic proportions. (Cut to them; he continues o.c.) It’s lunchtime and I can’t open my pickle jar!

(He holds it up on the end of this line, then starts to shake it back and forth. The girls are irked.)

Mayor: (from o.c.) Can you open it for me, please? (Cut to him; a sandwich on a plate and a glass of milk are set before him.) I mean, what’s a PB-and-J without a pickle, I tell you?

Buttercup: (grabbing jar) The pickle jar, Mayor? The pickle jar? I can’t believe you called us here for this! I can’t fucking believe this!

Blossom: (grabbing milk) You’re such a fucking baby!

Bubbles: (grabbing sandwich, plate) You’re not fucking nice!

(Cut to behind the girls. The remains of the Mayor’s lunch are splattered across his desk.)

Buttercup: What do you have to fucking say for yourself?

Mayor: (from under desk) Oh, my. (He reaches up and turns on the intercom.) Ms. Bellum, could you, uh, step in here a moment, please?

(Wipe to the girls in flight, with healthy dollops of foam around their mouths—the trusty assistant washed them out with soap. After a moment, they wipe the residue away.)

Blossom: Blech!

Bubbles: That was yucky!

Buttercup: Yeah, what’s with all the fucking soap in the mouth?

(An alarm brings them up short, and they zip down toward it. Cut to the source of the clangor: a bank that is being robbed by two men. One is fat, the other thin, and both are masked and armed. The thin one has his gun on a teller and is holding a sack. A customer stands behind him.)

Thin robber: Fork it over, cupcake—or else! (A crash marks the girls’ arrival; the teller and customer smile.)

Blossom: (from o.c.) Or else what?

(Cut to them, near the front entrance. A security guard sleeps in a nearby chair.)

Blossom: It’s not fucking nice to pick on the fucking citizens of Townsville!

Fat robber: (stunned, to thin one) Dude! Did she say what I think she said?

Blossom: (to thin one) You’re a fucking man!

(Cut to a group of three other customers, man, woman, and boy, who are looking on. The two adults are flabbergasted, but the boy is smiling at the proceedings; however, the man promptly leans over and sticks his fingers in the youth’s ears. The latter is not happy about this. Bubbles and Buttercup start belting the fat robber back and forth.)

Buttercup: That’ll teach you, fucking meanie! Eat my shit!

Bubbles: Yeah, you shit!

(Close-up of the teller, who now looks as if she wants to remove her ears and soak them in straight Lysol overnight.)

Blossom: (from o.c.) Leave these fucking nice people alone!

(A small sign marked OPEN sits in front of her window, but she turns it around to say CLOSED and ducks out of sight. She has just gone off duty. Cut to another group, all horrified: a woman with her hands over her baby’s ears, and an elderly man.)

Buttercup: (from o.c.) You want another **SMACK** one?

(Cut to the girls, who are looking up at the source of a growing shadow on the floor. The robbers drop into view and crash senseless to the floor.)

Blossom: That’ll teach you!

(Cut to outside the bank entrance. Two cops stand by their cruiser, with cups of coffee in hand, and the girls address them. One is thin, the other fat. A construction worker is poised over his jackhammer in the fore.)

Blossom: Hello, fucking officers. The fucking crooks are inside. (as the girls take off) Have a fucking nice day.

Thin cop: (tipping his hat) You have a fucking nice day too.

(Cut to an old woman at a busy intersection. She begins to cross the street against a “don’t walk” signal and steps into the path of an oncoming truck. As the driver leans on his horn, the girls whisk her away and set her down safely on the sidewalk.)

Blossom: There you go, ma’am.

Buttercup: Boy, you need to look out. That fucking truck almost ran you over.

(The old woman shudders at what she has just heard and swings her purse into Buttercup’s face.)

Buttercup: Hey! (The woman chases the girls, waving her cane.)

Old woman: Why, you fresh little whippersnappers!

(Cut to Bubbles, up near a tree’s topmost branches. She has rescued a cat from its acrophobic perch and is carrying it down to ground level. Tilt down to follow her; we are in a girl’s backyard, and she is waiting eagerly for her pet Bubbles hands the animal over.)

Bubbles: Now remember, when you take your kitty outside, be sure to keep him on a fucking leash.

(The girl starts wailing at the end of this bit of advice; Bubbles joins her sisters in midair.)

Buttercup: What was everybody so mad about?

Blossom: I don’t know. Everybody is acting so weird. (Loud cursing from o.c.)

Bubbles: Do you hear that?

(Building level. Extreme close-up of the source of this yelling as it stalks across the screen and panicked screams rise from below. It is a gigantic toilet, with eyes near the flush handle and its seat cover partially open for a mouth. Sharp teeth ring the seat and cover. Back to the girls.)

Bubbles: Holy shit! Somebody’s using our new word!

(Back to the rampaging monster, the camera pulled back a distance. Now we see that the toilet is only its head; the body is reptilian and colored in light shades of blue.)

Narrator: Looks like the girls aren’t the only ones in town using colorful language. (On the end of this, pull back to frame them.)

Blossom: Let’s go, girls! (They charge.)

Monster: (stopping) Huh?

Blossom: Hey, you! Mr. Monster! (Grumbling response.) Where did you learn that word?

(The creature goes into an extended explanation, in like manner to its previous profanities. It seems to make sense to the girls, though.)

Blossom: Interesting. I, uh, don’t know what some of those other words mean.

Buttercup: But they make you sound fucking tough!

(Cut to a street corner. As the monster curses a blue streak in the background and people run everywhere, a nun stands in the foreground and prays. From this vantage point, the monster’s tail is visible—a roll of toilet paper attached to the hindquarters, with a long streamer of the stuff dangling free. Pan from the nun to two hoodlums; one is big and muscular, while the other is undersized and has his hands over his ears.)

Big hoodlum: Man! That’s some rough language! (Back to the girls.)

Bubbles: Connect fuck to shit word and it becomes fucking shits.

(A tattoo parlor, where a fellow is having some ink done. The intelligible swearing is clearly audible even from in here, so much so that the artist stops his work and both men take notice.)

Customer: That sure is naughty. (The girls again.)

Blossom: It can also be used as a verb.

Buttercup: Yeah, like fuck.

(Down in the street, two bikers are ready to put it in gear. One is a good bit older, judging from his white mustache.)

Older biker: Let’s roll. I can’t take it no more. (They peel out. Back to the girls.)

Blossom: (addressing herself o.c.) No. She wasn’t telling you to fuck!

(The monster disagrees vociferously—this is an argument with him. In a prison cell, an inmate clutches the bars.)

Inmate: Make it stop! My delicate ears can’t take it no more! (The girls.)

Buttercup: And what if I did fucking mean it?

Bubbles: Now you’re just being fucking rude! (The monster shouts at them, shaking a fist.)

Buttercup: Well, we’re gonna fuck!

Blossom: Fuck!

Bubbles: Shit!

(Cut to a slow pan across a group of totally speechless observers—all they can do is gasp in horror as the audible cursing continues—then to the girls and the monster. Pull back on this shot to frame more of the street, which is clogged with cars that are the source of the honking. The Professor is stuck in the traffic jam.)

Professor: Oh, what the heck is the holdup? I’m never gonna make my three o’clock manicure. (sighing, leaning forward) What’s going on?

(He smiles at the sight of the girls confronting the monster.)

Professor: Oh! It’s the girls! (getting out) Always doing good deeds and being model citizens. Oh, I’m so proud. I am so proud! (Punches start to land o.c.)

Blossom: (from o.c.) Take that, you fucking monster!

Buttercup: (from o.c.) Eat my fucking fist!

Bubbles: (from o.c.) I’m gonna teach you a fucking lesson!

Blossom: (from o.c.) You fucking want another fucking taste of fucking me, shit?

(Throughout the previous four lines, the Professor’s quiet pride in his girls gives way to shock and utter mortification. Cut to the girls and the monster; it shouts a few more unprintable things at them. The Professor, meanwhile, has got himself back under control, and he is not happy.)

Professor: BLOSSOM!! BUTTERCUP!! BUBBLES!! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!!

(Back to the girls on the end of this line. They are spoiling for more action, but this summons snaps them out of it.)

Girls: Professor?

Blossom: Could you excuse us for just a second, Mr. Monster, sir?

(A grumbled reply, and they zip down. The creature stomps off to raise more of a ruckus.)

Blossom: What’s going on, Professor?

Buttercup: We’re a little busy.

Professor: I am very angry with all three of you. (A crowd starts to gather behind him.)

Girls: What for?

Professor: That word you’re using is not a good word. It’s naughty. (The girls start to play dumb.)

Blossom: What word?

Bubbles: We used a lot of words today.

Professor: You know—that one you keep using over and over. (tapping his head) Think real hard.

Buttercup: “The”?

Bubbles: “You”?

Blossom: We used both of those a lot.

Professor: No, not those. Those are great. It’s that other one.

Blossom: “Bad”? That’s not good. Is that it?

Professor: (clapping hands to head) No, that new one.

Bubbles: Ohhh! You mean **HONK** ! I learned that from you, Professor. (Cut to the now-angry crowd; she continues o.c.) You’re always teaching us new stuff. (Back to the family.)

Professor: (chuckling nervously, glancing toward crowd) Oh, well, that can’t be right. (hustling girls o.c.) Uh, let’s go over here and figure out where you really learned that word. Must be cable. (poking head into view) We just got cable.

(He approaches the girls, who are now gathered by a stopped car, and forces a cheery tone into his voice—even though he knows exactly what started all the sailor talk.)

Professor: (over shoulder) We’ll get to the bottom of this. (kneeling, sotto voce) Now, girls, I need to explain something to you. I should never have used that word. It’s very bad, and I’m very sorry. It’s not the kind of language you girls should ever use. (loudly, over shoulder) Uh, I don’t know where you heard it, but it’s a naughty, naughty word!

(The crowd is nonplussed; he lowers his voice and turns back to the girls.)

Professor: What that word really means is…

(As he starts to whisper, cupping a hand to his mouth, they float in closer to hear more clearly. After a moment, their eyes go so wide that they look as if they might pop from the sockets.)

Girls: (totally horrified) No! (The Professor stands.)

Bubbles: Oh, no! I’m a potty-mouth! (The monster starts to curse and rampage o.c. again.)

Buttercup: We have some unfinished business, girls! (It is sitting on a building, grumbling and holding out one hand as if to say, “Bring it on, jerks.”)

Blossom: We need to teach that potty-mouth a lesson!

(The girls charge. Parked on the street is a big rig bearing the logo of the Super Sudsy Soap Co. This is hoisted away by Bubbles and Buttercup. Blossom rushes in and lands a blow to the monster’s midsection, causing it to let off a fresh string of foul language. Her sisters stuff the truck into the open mouth, after which it swirls down the spout as the toilet is flushed. Pink suds start to bubble over the sides of the bowl, and the creature—now looking rather ill—lets off a belch.)

Blossom: That should be a lesson to you, Mr. Monster, that certain words are inappropriate.

Bubbles: Especially for nice girls like us.

Blossom: (pointing o.c.) Now, you get a time-out to think about what you’ve done.

(Cut to an unoccupied patch of land at an intersection. Two of its edges face the sidewalks, while the other two are formed by very tall buildings that stand nearby. The monster clumps into view, its back partially turned to the camera, and stands facing this “corner.”)

Blossom: (from o.c.) When you realize your mistake, you can come back and we’ll discuss a proper punishment. (It grumbles halfheartedly over its shoulder. Back to the girls.)

Buttercup: Less talking, more fucking thinking!

(The background for the end shot comes up.)

Narrator: And soap once again the day is saved—

(The girls appear: Blossom and Bubbles in their usual poses, Buttercup sulking with a fresh mouthful of soap spilling down her chin.)

Narrator: —thanks to the Potty-Mou—er, I mean the Powerpuff Girls!