I can't keep it together, Dr. Venture.
I'm sorry about the TVC15.
Tom, I'm not worried about that tin can.
I'm worried about you.
You're not dying on me, and that's an order.
What's going on, Pop?
Everything is fine, son. You're having a nightmare.
Kano! Take Rusty downstairs and give him some warm milk.
I've got a message for the action man.
He's listening, Tom. Go ahead.
I'm happy.
Hope you're happy, too.
I've loved all I needed to love.
Don't talk like that, Tom.
You're gonna make it. Fight it!
I'm feeling very still...
and I think my spaceship knows which way to go.
Tell my wife I love her very much.
She knows!
Ground control to Major Tom. Your circuit's dead.
There's something wrong. Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me? Major Tom!
Ashes...
to ashes.
One more, Pop.
Need one with me next to the meta-sonic locator?
No. I need one where your suit isn't riding up.
Well, what do you want? It's terry cloth.
It acts like a towel.
Super bad idea, Doc.
You've never taken a night dive before...
or any dive.
Think about it, Brock.
There's fat greenbacks to be made on that flying saucer my dad lost here.
He never patented it.
One flyboy goes boom...
and he scrapped the whole project out of respect for the dead.
It's just sitting down there under eight hundred meters...
of pitch-black liquid funeral.
Wait. I need this.
Um... eight hundred meters of black liquid funeral...
lies between me and... no. Wait.
Eight hundred meters of cold embalming fluid...
lies between me and my sunken scientific trust fund.
Dean, I am now testing the two-way.
Can you read me? Over.
I sure can, Pop.
I read you loud and clear.
Dean?
Oh. Over.
The meta-sonic locator has been affixed and I am "go" for the mission. Over.
Journal entry one.
As my loyal family and bodyguard lower me toward the indifferent ocean...
One cannot help but think of a hangman's noose swinging like...
Hank, what are you doing?
Sorry, Dad. These controls are a little sticky.
I mean, we haven't done this since... ever.
Well, just try to be a little more gentle, please.
I'm already starting to...
I'm in, and I totally bashed my head.
Beginning my descent into... oh, I should record this.
The Bermuda Triangle... ocean of mystery.
Many have come to her before me seeking... stuff...
never to be seen again.
Dad is super serious all of a sudden.
Do you think he's really in as much danger as he says?
Oh, yeah. He's screwed.
I give him about an hour before he panics and begs us to haul him up.
OK, guys. I can hear all of this.
Journal entry 29.
I am about to switch on the meta-sonic locator...
a device of my own design...
that generates experimental hypersonic sound waves so extra-special...
they not only vibrate the water, they vibrate time.
Ingenious, I know.
- Brock. Come in, Brock. - Yeah.
- You had enough yet? - What? No! Stop that.
What is your status topside?
Yeah. It's fine.
Boys are finally asleep.
Think Dean might have a bladder infection or something.
He had to get up and pee, like, five times.
No way.
Hold on, Doc.
I think I see something that makes no sense.
Better check it out.
OK, but I was just gonna turn on my machine.
I thought it'd be cool for my journal if, like, your voice was in the background...
you know, saying impressive danger stuff.
Dean. Dean, wake up.
I think something's going on.
Brock's gone, and I just heard Dad say something about danger stuff.
So what?
Sew buttons. I'm gonna check it out.
Plus, I have to take a leak.
Do it off the heliport.
It makes this awesome arc.
Cool. Be right back.
Oh, damn it.
Brock! Pirates on the X-2!
Smooth, Hank.
I'm on it. Now keep quiet and don't move till I tell you...
- no matter what you see. - Brock, if pirates really exist...
that means Santa Claus and the tooth fairy can even be real, right?
It's like all bets are off.
Hank, nobody ever said pirates don't exist.
So you agree with me that this is impossible.
Ghost pirates!
Leave this ship at once.
Holy crap. He's getting his ass kicked.
Let's go save him.
You crazy? My sword's made of cardboard.
Enough!
Get off that man before he kills all of you.
I'm sure he doesn't want to see what his child is made of.
I mean, really what he's made of, not like a test of his mettle.
I mean, I'm gonna spill his...
Yeah. Got it the first time.
Silence! Your insolence will not be tolerated...
again.
Hey, is that guy dead?
Yeah, probably.
Come on. Was that necessary? Really.
Your scheme was very clever, very clever indeed, but he's no ghost.
Oh, you think, genius? What tipped you off?
Was it the huge zipper? Maybe the rubber mask?
But you had to kill him anyway.
If you played by the rules...
the ghost pirate rules...
and just ran away, none of this would be happening.
But no. You had to go nuts and kill a guy.
Take him to the brig!
I'm keeping the boy with me.
If you try anything funny, your son dies.
Uh, Captain?
Do we not need this now?
Fine! But without the fog, what am I gonna project the sea monster on?
Like trying to walk around inside a giant fat kid.
Journal entry 36.
I don't get it.
The meta-sonic locator should've rolled back the curtain of time...
and revealed my dad's flying metal failure by now.
No, wait. That's crap.
Journal entry 36.
The meta-sonic locator, though performing admirably...
begs his master to increase the volume, a bidding his master gladly complies with.
I seem to have stepped into some sort of undersea chewing gum.
Because of this...
I can't move.
Oh, boy. This can't be good.
Abort! Brock! Come in, Brock!
Hank. Come in, Hank.
I'm here. Where are you?
Are you being keelhauled? Have they removed your fingernails?
Hank, please. I need your help.
- Really? - Yes, really. Where are you?
I'm near the heliport at the stern of the X-2.
It's dicey, but I could probably rescue you if you give me your coordinates.
Oh, Hank.
If there was ever a time in your life I needed you not to be Hank, it's now.
- Sorry, Brock. - Forget about it.
All right. You have to be my hands.
I'll talk you through it.
- Brock? - What?
This could be the single greatest moment of my life.
Focus, Hank.
Whatever you do, don't light a cigarette.
A good sniper can see a hot cherry for miles.
Brock, I don't smoke.
Good. Now's a lousy time to start.
We're not carrying gold or anything like that.
I don't want your treasure, kid. I don't even want your wallet.
I just want your boat.
Now just tell me where the keys are.
You have a pirate ship.
Sit on my lap, son. It's story time.
I don't want to sit in your lap.
Fine. Don't. I'll tell you anyway.
That pirate ship out there hasn't moved an inch in, like, forever.
We've been stuck in that disgusting sargassum...
which, by the way, no matter how you cook it...
still tastes like hot sargassum...
It's been, like, ten years.
- Wow! - Yeah, wow. Oh, sure.
In the beginning, it's lots of fun...
you know, set up the projector, turn on the fog machine...
and everybody is like, "Oh, no! Ghost pirates!"
And then you'd abandon ship like you were supposed to...
and then we'd help ourselves to the booty.
Treasure? Like gold doubloons and "pieces of eight"?
Think about it, kid.
Who ships doubloons across the Bermuda Triangle these days?
You want to know what our biggest haul was?
Shipment of I'Eggs eggs.
Some of the boys still wear the pantyhose as sashes and headbands.
- Did that hurt? - Not really.
Here. Lick your arm. I've got more in me pocket.
What the hell was that?
Oh, come on now.
I can't believe you think that old joke would work on me twice.
I'm totally serious. I don't know what that was.
Yeah, right.
I don't hear anything.
But you did, right?
There it is again.
I didn't hear...
I can't hear any...
Hold on a second.
You didn't just...
You heard that, right?
What am I listening for?
If you would just shut up for a minute!
OK. I see them.
I think they're drunk on rum because they're pirates.
Hey, I found your knife.
Leave it. You're not ready.
Now I want you to put your hand around your throat, Hank.
All right.
That tube you feel is your trachea.
Think of it as a handle.
Your thumb is on your carotid artery.
That's your button.
Now, remember... grab the handle. Push the button.
Repeat that back.
Grab the handle. Push the...
Let go of your own throat, Hank.
Journal entry 48.
The blanket of warm vomit that previously kept the icy chill at bay...
has hardened to a sticky shell.
Thankfully, the stench has faded.
Continued efforts to contact base have proved fruitless...
and the clam won't quit it.
All right. This is just getting downright spooky.
Come on. Just give me the key, Dean.
I really don't have the key, I swear.
I guess Brock might.
Who's Brock?
My dad's bodyguard.
Your dad has a bodyguard?
Why would he need a bodyguard? The guy's a tank.
Well, because...
So where is this Brock guy?
He's hiding...
and waiting to save me...
with guys.
You're not a very good liar, Dean, are you?
Maybe.
Yo ho, Mike. Do you copy?
We hit a Toys "R" Us ship a couple of years ago.
- Yo ho, Captain. - Yeah, Mike.
The guy in the brig might have the key, or there might be someone named Brock...
- Ioose on the ship with... - Guys.
With guys, Mike.
You are not gonna tell me you didn't hear that!
After the twist, you'll feel a snap, and the body goes rag doll on you.
And that will knock him out even more?
That will kill him.
Do I have to?
All right. Fine, crybaby.
Just tie him up and maybe, I guess, gag him...
But at the first sign of trouble...
I want you to at least break both his knees.
Hank, there's no reason to get upset.
I'll get you through...
Crap. Someone's coming.
Maintain radio silence and stay calm.
We need that key that starts your boat, Mr. Big Stuff. Let's have it.
It's up my ass.
Are you serious?
Why don't you check?
Well? Check.
What if he's lying?
If he were telling the truth, that would be better?
Journal entry 56.
I just learned that giant clams...
don't like the taste of exploding robot legs.
I've taken refuge in the forward compartment
and am now running on reserve power...
mobility hindered, morale low, no radio contact.
Oh, yeah.
I lost my locator, and, yes, I realize the irony of that.
No way!
Journal entry 57.
Oh, how they scoffed.
True, in light of certain setbacks, I even began to doubt myself...
but through perseverance and no small amount of ingenuity...
I've located the saucer!
I can't believe I got to swab the poop deck.
And remember how you complained when we hit that Red Cross ship?
"What are we gonna do with twenty crates of rubber gloves?"
Totally take it back.
Hey, buddy,
I'd kill for one of those right about now.
My last pack.
It'll help me relax.
Dude, give him one.
Please.
No. Screw him.
Pirates don't give people cigarettes.
They take them.
My friggin' hand!
My elbow! My arm!
Let go of my arm with your ass!
Your ass is clamped to my arm!
Mike? Yo ho?
What's going on with that key already?
Hey, Captain, I got your key.
Hope you're hungry... 'cause I'm gonna feed it to you.
I told you what I'd do for one of these.
This is all wrong.
This is not the way this is supposed to go down.
Wow. I've never hot-wired a hydrofoil before.
That was easy.
Wait! What about my dad?
Kid, who do you think's the reason I'm hauling ass out of here?
Did you hear him? He sounded scarier than...
Than whatever the hell that is.
And as I prepare to open the long-submerged saucer...
I must pause for a brief aside...
for once again, where my father failed, I, Dr. Thaddeus S. Venture, am about to...
Whoop.
No, no, no, no! Now you try to help me?
Cancel mission-abort command.
Rebort. Do you copy?
Take me back over to the thing.
Seriously, Brock, what the f...
You OK?
Oh, my God. Am I bleeding?
It's a little red.
Thought we cut the anchor chain.
Well, here's your trouble right h...
What's going on here?
Aw, come on. Who did this?
Like these guys haven't had it bad enough tonight.
Guess you weren't lying about that Brock guy.
I guess I wasn't.
What kind of expert bodyguard ties men up with big bows?
- That came from the bow. - Told you.
A real ghost?
Gaar! That's...
That... wow! No way!
Hank, don't move.
- I can't. - Shoot it.
This thing came from the same ship we got the walkie-talkies.
It's plastic.
And that's a ghost!
Well, do something.
You're a grownup.
All right. I'll save your dad's bodyguard.
I guess I deserve this.
You live by the ghost, you die by the ghost.
Uh, it doesn't seem to want to kill us.
It doesn't seem to want to do anything except that.
Dr. Orpheus, master of mysticism.
Oh, hello, Hank.
How is your father?
Well, I'm busy at the moment.
Pumpkin's due home from tennis, and I'm making my famous frittatas.
What is that yelling in the background?
It's kind of what I called about.
We have a ghost problem.
Who's that he's talking to?
Well, he's a necromancer. He lives in my backyard.
Hank, are you certain it isn't just a guy in a rubber mask messing with you?
I see.
No. I can hear it.
Listen, Hank. Can you hang on a sec?
What's he saying?
I'm on hold.
I think he's astroprojecting or something.
Journal entry whatever.
All attempts to contact the ship above me have failed.
The only warmth I feel stems from moderate hypothermia.
All I can do now is wait for death's casual hand...
to finish the job that fate began at my uneventful puberty.
All right, Hank. Are you there?
I went through your grandfather's records.
My garage has piles of them, but I have it figured out.
A Major Tom was tragically lost on that very spot...
in the nineteen hundred and sixties.
That's your man. I can feel it in my soul.
So what do I do?
Oh, please. You've seen "Ghost"?
The rest is cake. Do you have a pen?
To use as a magic wand.
To use as a pen, Hank.
Take this number down.
Hello?
Hello, Mrs. Tom?
Oh, I didn't know this thing still worked.
Marvelous.
Mrs. Tom, it's about your husband.
He's in trouble.
Jeanie? Jeanie, what's happening?
Rodney? He's right here.
Do you want to speak with him?
Dude, no. I want you to talk to your husband so he'll shut up.
No offense, Mrs. Tom, but he's a real pain.
Beg pardon?
Tom, it's your wife, sweetie.
You're dead now. It's time to go.
Leave the Venture family alone, honey.
It's working.
Give me that. Tom, it's Rodney.
You know, the action man.
It was sure good times we had back then...
But that was almost thirty years ago.
You're dead. Jeanie's remarried...
to me, actually.
Well, we could've done that.
Final journal entry.
Perhaps someday my own sons will find it and learn from my mistakes...
When they return to this spot to get rich...
off of discovering my father's flying saucer...
and my meta-sonic locator.
If you're listening to this, boys, I just want you both to know...
His eyes!
Crazy eyes!
Accusing!
Who are you?
All right, Brock. I know this sounds crazy...
but just hear him out.
Can we have a ride home?
- What? - No.
Do it like you said you were gonna.
I'm really, really sorry about this whole mess...
and, you know, the whole pirate thing is behind me now...
and plus, you kind of killed Steve and burnt my ship.
So if you could give us a lift out of here, I figured we'd just call it squaresies.
- All right. - Go, Team Venture!
I don't know. They just do that.