Saturday Night Live Transcripts
Season 7: Episode 8
At Home with the Psychos
written by: Michael O’Donoghue
Mrs. Psycho…..Christine Ebersole
Mr. Psycho…..Bill Murray
Bob Davis…..Brian Doyle-Murray
[ open on title card over footage of nuclear reactors, zoom in on suburban house at base of reactor ]
[ dissolve to living room filled with Christmas decorations, as mohawked Mrs. Psycho chugs from bottle ]
Mr. Psycho: [ entering ] Honey, I’m home!
Mrs. Psycho: HOME?! I’ll give you HOME! [ she fires her rifle at him ]
Mr. Psycho: This bulletproof suit I bought is the best darn investment I ever made. [ he removes his jacket and walks across the room ]
[ Mrs. Psycho cocks her rifle and fires another shot at him, as he covers his head ]
Mr. Psycho: Hey, what’s eating you?
Mrs. Psycho: I’ll tell you what’s eating me! [ she holds up her photo on the newspaper ] They stole my soul!
Mr. Psycho: Ohhhh, they haven’t stolen your soul. They just took your picture. “Psychos Won’t Leave Nuke Site”. It’s just another crackpot story about us. [ he kisses the blad part of her head, then continues to leaf through the newspaper ] Well…
Mrs. Psycho: Why is your fly open?
Mr. Psycho: [ changing subject ] Let’s see what this big, crazy, wonderful world of ours is up to! [ he opens the newspaper ] A-ha! “The World Is Coming to An End: WW3 Just Around The Corner.” Just a couple of days until the BIG one, honey!
Mrs. Psycho: What about your zipper?
Mr. Psycho: There’ll be TOTAL destruction of the Earth and we’ll be on Easy Street, Kitten!
Mrs. Psycho: Will you please explain to me why your big fly is open?
Mr. Psycho: [ he looks down ] Oh! Oh… well… uh… [ he zips up and chuckles ] I’m glad you noticed, actually. A couple of people from… “Venus” took me up in their Mother Ship, and… demanded a sperm sample. [ he shrugs ] I guess, according to their standards, I am some incredible specimen. They called me “Type F”, which is very, very good.
Mrs. Psycho: Mmm-hmm. I waxed the floors today. So how did it go at work today, honey?
Mr. Psycho: [ whispering ] Sometimes I think there is a conspiracy to deny the very existence of the blowhole…
Mr. Psycho: There’s no point in whispering, they can hear EVERY word we SAY!
Mr. Psycho: [ yelling into various corners of the room ] I said, Sometimes I think that there is a conspiracy to deny the very EXISTENCE of the BLOWHOLE!! Certain TOP government officials… are trying to SUPPRESS teh fact that, after World War 3, we WILL develop a new HOLE in our body! This post-nuclear orifice shall be known as… THE BLOWHOLE!! Likethat of a whale! And it’s gonna be HERE! [ he points to his bellybutton ] Or HERE! [ he points to his shoulder ] Possibly, HERE! [ he lifts his leg and points to the back of it ] The important thing is that I hold the exclusive franchise for a COMPLETE line of personal products to service the blowhole! I’LL make MILLIONS! But, no, you won’t let me!
Daughter: Daddy! Did I hear my Daddy? [ she stumbles over the couch ]
Mr. Psycho: I’m over here, my little ballerina! [ she prances around the long end of the couch ] No, over here. Okay, go that way, then, alright. Go, go, go, go, go! Past that… Left, left, left, left! Warmer! Warmer! Warmer, warmer, warmer! Red-hot! Red-hot!
[ she falls into his arms ]
Daughter: Oh, Daddy!
[ they make out passionately ]
Mrs. Psycho: Why do you keep encouraging this HOPELESS dream of hers? She could be some kind of TOUCH-TYPIST! She could be on an ASSEMBLY LINE! She could be a PIANO TUNER! She could be THOUSANDS of things she could be, but a BLIND BALLERINA is NOT one of them!
Daughter: Oh, yeah?! [ facing the wrong direction ] Well, I’ll show you, Mom! I’ll show them ALL!!
[ she performs “Swan Lake” and crashes into the Christmas tree ]
Mr. Psycho: Alright, don’t move, Princess! I’ll help you! I’ll help you!
Mrs. Psycho: No, no, no! Let her get up by herself! You’re spoiling her ROTTENm, she just needs attention!
Daughter: [ standing ] I’m an artist! Dancing is my life! And you can’t see that, can you, Mom? You’re just another bourgeois housewife!
Mr. Psycho: Now, just a minute, young lady… Who do you think you’re talking to like that?
Mrs. Psycho: [ holding up bloody hands ] My hands!! I’ve got the STINK again!!
Mr. Psycho: Now, look what you have DONE!! You’ve set off Mommy’s stigmota!!
Mrs. Psycho: I hope you’re satisfied!! How do you expect me to fix dinner with these things!! And one time, why don’t you clean up your room once in a while?!! But, no!! You can’t see that you’re BLIND!!!
[ dynamite-covered Son enters ]
Son: Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! [ mumbling to himself: ] 52 hostages… 52 days in a year… 52 cards in a deck. It all adds up to something, don’t it?
Mr. Psycho: It certainly does, Son.
Son: [ clutching hand grenade ] I don’t want to be called “Son” no more. I want to be called “Mr. Tibbs”!
Mr. Psycho: Sure.
Mrs. Psycho: Anything you say, Mr. Tibbs.
Mr. Psycho: So… [ he steps closer ] How was your trip, Mr. Tibbs?
Son: It was nice! They gave me the whole First Class section to myself!
Mr. Psycho: Did you have a chance to chat with the president — Bud Noland? Get across your “slant” on things?
[ a siren comes closer ]
Son: No, Pop… he was always two shopping malls ahead of me.
Mr. Psycho: It’s a tough break, Mr. Tibbs.
[ the doorbell rings ]
[ Mr. Psycho steps behind his son to reach for the door ]
Son: Don’t step in my SHADOW!
Mrs. Psycho: I’ll get it!
[ she opens the door, as Bob Davis rushes in amidst the sound of a nuclear siren in the background ]
Bob Davis: Uh — Bob Davis, Evacuation Supervisor. Mr. Psycho, my people are worried about Number Five there… [ he points to the nuclear reactor outside the window ] You see that jagged, glowing line? It runs down the main casing? That’s what we calla “fissure”. Now, we haven’t been altogether successful in patching it up, and, uh… Well, we think that core may blow any second. So if you nd your family will follow me — I’ve got a van waiting outside.
Mr. Psycho: Well, let me tell you something, okay, uh, Mr. Davis?
Bob Davis: There’s no time for talk! We’ve GOT to run!
Mr. Psycho: [ he grabs him by the jacket ] LISTEN to me, Mister! Alright? Just for fun! just for fun! [ he pulls him down to the couch ] Why don’t you listen to my story, okay?
Bob Davis: We’ve only got SECONDS!! [ he tries to rush past Son ]
Son: [ clutching his hand grenade ] You better sit down and listen to my Daddy, or I’m gonna splatter your BRAINS, man, all over this room!
Bob Davis: [ he sits ] Of course, I’m eager to hear your viewpoint.
Mr. Psycho: Honey, give me my briefcase. [ she hands it over, as he opens it ] Mr. Davis? This is the blowhole. The survivors of World War 3 will have at least one of these. Right here… [ he grabs the back of his neck ] Or here… [ he grabs his lower back ] Possibly, here. p he grabs the bottom of his foot ]
Bob Davis: Are those teeth?
Mr. Psycho: The key thing to remember is that I’ll be the only one selling a complete line of blowhole cosmetic products. For example: [ he holds up a giant cue-tip ] This cleans the blowhole… [ he holds up spray deodorant ] This deodorizes the blowhole… [ he holds up lipstick ] This beautifies the blowhole… [ he holds up a toilet brush ] And this makes the blowhole happen.
[ a second alarm goes off ]
Bob Davis: I really should be going!
Mr. Psycho: [ grabbing him ] Why don’t I put you down for an order?!
Bob Davis: Sure… why not…
Mr. Psycho: Great! Terrific! [ he grabs paperwork ] You can sign it right now.
Bob Davis: I’ll be glad to…
Mr. Psycho: Could you sign here?
Bob Davis: Sure, glad to… [ he signs quickly ]
Mr. Psycho: Or here?
Bob Davis: Alright, fine… [ he signs ]
Mr. Psycho: Possibly, here?
Bob Davis: Yeah….
Mr. Psycho: And, if you wouldn’t mind, initialing this?
Bob Davis: Okay…
Mr. Psycho: okay, thank you.
Bob Davis: Thank you!
Mr. Psycho: [ grabbing him ] Wait, just a second! [ he laughs ] Your copy. [ he hands a sheet over, as Davis runs out the door ] Thank you!
Mrs. Psycho: Nice seeing you!
Mr. Psycho: [ proudly ] We won! They pushed us out of the Love Canal, but they aren’t pushing us out of here!
Mrs. Psycho: And you finally made a sale!
Son: Hey, look — Mama’s hands stopped bleeding!
Daughter: Daddy! I can see! [ she rushes forward and falls over the couch ]
Mrs. Psycho: [ looking out the window ] It’s a full glow tonight, honey!
[ Mr. Psycho jumps over the couch to look out the window, then kisses Mrs. Psycho ]
Mr. Psycho: They called us crazy! Sure, we’re crazy… we’re crazy enough to believe in the future of America! We’re the Psychos! We’re the warped… the twisted… weird! [ the kids sit in front of their parents on the couch ] Ever wonder who’s still buying those Chryslers?
Psychos: WE ARE!!!
Mr. Psycho: …Or who wants to keep Tommy Snyder on the air?
Psychos: WE DO!!!
[ a Christmas chorus blends into the background sirens ]
Mr. Psycho: Whenever you hear about people talking about limited nuclear war… or a $60 billion MX missile system… well, that would be us! That’s right! We’ew the one-hundred per cent… ZONED OUT… AMERICAN NUTCASE!! AND WE ARE GONNA REDLINE THIS COUNTRY RIGHT INTO THE 21ST CENTURY!!!
Son: Merry Christmas.
[ pull out, fade ]