One, two, three, go!
Way there!
Sassy!
Man, I'm pretty!
Do the monkey with me!
Come on!
Hey there, baby!
Ow!
Yeah, whatever.
I'm pretty sure.
Relish.
Mail.
Breadsticks.
This means something, I know it!
Hey, Johnny!
Johnny!
You're right.
Sorry.
The animal class is with a vegetable.
What does this mean to you, little girl?
You discovered your artistic muse in the medium of sculpture?
I know!
Radishes!
Johnny, will you take me to the art museum today?
I'd rather be torn apart by dingoes.
Aw, that's too bad!
My favorite artist, Annie Amherst, is giving a free exhibition of her egg salad art.
Let me see that!
Hmm, nice form.
Nice contour.
And the paintings ain't bad either.
Rawr!
To the art museum!
Hey, look at all the geeks!
Shh!
Johnny, please try to act dignified.
Hey, look at all the geeks.
I'll delve.
No, but I'll take some of them tiny hot dogs.
Hey, where are you going?
I've still got space in this cheek, Frenchy.
I'm just gonna go over here now.
No problem-o.
I'll just blend in with the dorks.
Oh, so tactile.
Such wonderful, chiaroscuro.
Mmm, scratchity.
Sir, that sculpture is an abstract portrait of
foie, done by the great artist, René de Fusco.
Really?
I don't think he made your nose twisty enough.
Oh, sir, I'll have you know you're speaking to my wife.
Oh, poor guy.
Have some tiny hot dogs.
Johnny, hurry.
Annie Amherst is beginning her exhibition.
Light his egg.
An egg is the essence of all that is to become what is.
Bestill my throbbing heart.
Hey, baby, I love what you do with egg salad.
How about we go back to my place and you sculpt me a sandwich?
Man is an infant.
He pins his diaper with the Danish of ignorance.
You talk funny.
Hey, wanna see me drink while standing on my head?
It's like she can see into my soul.
Johnny, what are you doing?
You've ruined the whole exhibition.
Who's done this to my wall?
Uh, she did.
Such strength.
Such boldness of attack.
It's brilliant.
I did it.
I'll pay you huge gobs of money to produce works just like this one for my gallery.
Hmm.
I don't know.
Sounds like work.
I'll throw in those tiny hot dogs you like.
The art world is being taken by storm by newcomer Johnny Bravo, whose series of
colorful butt prints are being fought over by collectors everywhere.
I visited with Johnny on a typical day in this young Tyro's studio loft.
A hundred dollars.
A thousand dollars.
Seven hundred and thirty dollars.
Whoa, mama.
Hey, baby, if you're here to pose, you've got the job.
Johnny, tell us how the inspiration for your butt prints came about.
Well, Sandy.
Judy.
Susan, as an artist, I've often asked myself, how can I
best convey truth and beauty to the great unwashed masses?
And then it came to me.
I can dip my butt in shrimp sauce and slap it against the canvas.
And what do you have to say to your detractors, who call your art puerile and stupid?
Hey, look at me.
I'm one of my detractors.
Johnny Bravo.
Inspired visionary or big, stupid, lucky, dumb guy?
Only time will tell.
This is terrible.
I've got to save Johnny before he's consumed by the demon fame.
But first I'll get some cookies.
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.
Johnny, we have to talk.
Not now, kid.
I'm busy.
Mr. Johnny.
I told you, from now on, I'm to be known as the artist formerly known as Johnny.
And it's spelled like this.
Oh, so sorry, Mr. Um, uh, that.
But I have the designs for the new coffee mugs.
I hate it.
I love it.
I shall name you Rinaldo.
I hate it.
Oh, why am I so misunderstood?
Why does no one share my vision?
Johnny, you're miserable because you've forgotten what art is all about.
You used to make butt prints because you loved it.
Now you do it so people will give you giant bags of money.
Hey, you're right.
I forgot about my big bags of money.
Ka-ching, ka-ching.
Ha!
Johnny, you're making a mockery of the art world.
Oh, I get it.
You're jealous of my talent.
Well, you can just suck lemons tomorrow at my big new opening.
Then you'll see that I'm a profound and deeply artistic soul.
Look at me.
I'm that stupid neighbor girl.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the latest work by Johnny Bravo.
Hmm, I guess people really do like Johnny's butt art.
That new talent canvas jockey has upstaged me for the last time.
Johnny, look out!
It's brilliant.
Little girl, your rotten tomato paintings will take the art world by storm.
Cool.
Hey, kid.
Can we, uh, work together sometime?
Uh, maybe.
Why don't you have your people call the people who work for my people?
What?
Oh, blowing me off, huh?
Just walking away like a bunch of fickle,
fickle people who swim in their own fickleness.
Well, I don't need you.
I can make it on my own.
And when I do, I'll have really great barbecues and none of you can come.
I'll show you.
I'll show you all.
Butt prints, five cents.
Get your prints.
Everyone a beauty.
Wanna buy a butt print?
Yeah.
Oh, I'm so excited.
Oh, our first day at the Double Chin Dude Ranch.
Let's see, what do we do first?
Poodle wrangling?
Dirty line dancing?
Prickly pear loofah rub?
Oh, I can't decide.
What do you think, Johnny?
Johnny?
I'm not coming out.
I look stupid.
Don't be silly, dear.
You look like a little buckaroo, all full of pep and giddy-up.
But I can't let anyone see me like this.
First of all, my velour neckerchief clashes with my fur chaps.
Oh, that's craziness.
I saw the exact outfit on page 54 of Cow Guy magazine.
But these rattlesnake briefs are starting to ride up.
Now go play, Johnny.
Mama's off to her wranglerobics class.
Yee-haw!
I don't care what she says.
I look like High Plains Dipstick.
A quick trip to the changing room and I can ditch these duds.
Boy, excuse me, sir.
I... I had no idea the stairs... Ooh!
Ooh!
Look out!
Ooh, ah!
Nice!
Ooh... Whoa!
Whoa!
Whoa, boy!
Don't worry about me.
The bleeding is just the beginning of the healing process.
My poor little Diablo, did that stupid man hurt you?
Well, circle the wagons.
Love's on the warpath.
What kind of jerk tries to ride a horse he doesn't know?
Well now, who'd keep a horse in a stupid changing room?
I keep Diablo on the ranch in hopes of finding a man who can tame his wild name.
Now, why would a guy want to risk his life taming a wild horse on the off chance that
you'll fall in love with him and smother him with... Oh, hey, oh boy!
Look, I'm gonna go.
You know what you need is an expert horse
trainer, at which I happen to be one of those.
Funny, you don't look like a horse trainer.
What?
You kidding me?
I even know all the fancy terms, like, uh... Dressage?
No thanks, I'm still full from breakfast.
All right, mister, I'll give you a chance, but you better be careful.
Diablo's a killer.
Don't worry, I have a way with stupid beasts.
They sense my strength, my confidence, my quiet
intelli-Oh, of course the process may take a day or two.
All right, Diablo.
I don't like you and you don't like me.
But it's time to show you who's boss.
Let the staring contest begin.
I did it!
I won!
You're just a stupid horse and I'm a human being.
Get down on your hooves and worship me for I am man, the pointy tip of the food chain.
Glad to see you're having fun, Johnny.
Can't talk now, I'm off to my cactu-puncture session.
Okay, he's got my scent.
Now to win his trust.
They say that music can charm the soul of man and beast.
To me, that means just one thing.
Carioca!
Yeah.
Well, pee in the saddle, wreath up slob, cow in the saddle, how chop chop chop chop.
When I get singing, I can't stop.
If you don't like it, you can call a cop.
Swing your partner!
Yee-haw!
Don't send a letter at my...
Wait, no!
Don't hurt me.
Here, take my wallet.
Take the burrito I was having for lunch.
I've done it!
I've tamed Diablo!
Let the montage begin!
Such was the pride.
Such was the prejudice.
Why, I don't believe it.
The last person who tried to read Jane Austen to Diablo got his head bit clean off.
Twas nothing.
Now, how's about letting me show you how the West was won?
Slow down, cowpoke.
Why don't you put Diablo through his paces, and
if he's tame as he looks, my heart is yours.
Uh-oh.
Out of burritos.
Ah, no matter.
Our relationship is based on love and mutual respect.
Right, Diablo?
Whoa!
Run away, horse!
Oh, boy!
Oh, nice donkey!
Whoa!
We'll help here, huh?
Whoa!
Hey, Meatloaf.
That looks... Whoa!
Ah-oh!
Oh, ah-oh!
Hi, sweetie!
Whoa!
Uh-uh, I hate the West.
Whoa-ho-ho-ho!
Boom!
Uh-oh-ho-ho!
You're no horse trainer.
You're just a gussied-up, snake-tongue city-slicker.
Thanks for noticing.
Now let's say you and me strap on the feed bag of love.
So, Johnny, how did you enjoy your day at the Dude Ranch?
Well, Mama, I'm reminded of the words of Horace Greeley when he said, Medic!
Excuse me, your shoe's untied.
Dumb cartoon guy.
Repeat, we've got better.
We're a lean, mean, baking machine!
Donuts!
Now peanut butter me and we're home free!
Right!
Hey, where's the peanut butter?
Johnny!
I haven't seen it, I swear.
Please, Johnny, we're trying to practice for the Bake Off Championships tomorrow.
Mrs. Bravo's a shoe-in to win first prize
for her peanut butter upside-down donut cake!
If I win, I'll get my photo and recipe published in the Happy Glutton Cookbook.
That'll show that Sadie Hoffman and her honey-glazed rumbles!
But I'm bored, Mama!
Well, why don't you help us, dear?
What?
Are you kidding me?
I can't be seen baking a cake.
It ain't manly.
Now, which one of you girls is gonna teach me how to throw a football?
Well, I guess we could take a small break.
One big honking Hail Mary pass!
And then back to work!
Bayon!
Schenectady!
Boca Raton!
Hike!
Get ready!
This one's coming from last week!
Downtown kids, downtown!
It's a bomb, baby!
And... Ow!
Oh, my bursitis!
I'm open!
Hmm.
Must have been intercepted.
Flower?
Check!
Eggs!
Check!
Peanut butter!
Uh... Johnny!
Concentrate, Johnny!
With my whisking arm on the Fritz, you're gonna
have to help Susie at tomorrow's bake-off.
Right.
I'm all over it.
Good.
I'll just yell out instructions from the recipe card.
No need, Mama.
I took in the whole thing with my keen powers of observation.
Just follow my lead, little girl.
This contest is in the bag.
Say win, Mama.
And... Hit it!
I'm blind!
Maybe it would be better tomorrow if you just read the instructions.
You've got the recipe card, right?
And don't forget to boost me for the egg flip.
Whatever.
Now, the sugar is coming right at you.
Do you feel good?
Do you feel focused?
Do you have the recipe card?
For the 26th time, I have the dadgum recipe card.
What do you think I am, stupid?
Stupid is such a strong word.
Whoa!
Chef Johnny sees a side dish.
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees, baby.
Your filet mignon has arrived.
I'm really rather busy at the moment.
That's okay.
I have base to my own natural juices.
Look, would you please go away?
Hey, if you want my number, just ask for it.
Wait, hold on.
Aw, that ain't right.
I think... Yeah, I carry the four and... Done!
Johnny!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm coming.
The starting bell's gonna go any second.
Blah, blah, blah.
Say, I'm starving.
Where's the peanut butter?
Okay, quick, Johnny.
Read me the recipe.
Aw, recipe, right.
Uh, now let's see.
Uh... Johnny!
I didn't lose it.
I just put it someplace I don't know about.
What are we gonna do?
Now, don't panic.
We'll just make a new dish using whatever ingredients we have lying around.
Quick, empty your pockets.
And in 16th place, Mama Bravo's Bubble Gum Pine Nut Beef Jerky Jamboree.
Yes!
Hey, 16th place.
That ain't so bad.
There were only 12 contestants.
Oh.
Johnny, Susie, I'm so proud of you.
Aw, I'm sorry we let you down, Mama.
Oh, pish-tush.
I'm sorry that my overwhelming ambition and craving for validation allowed me to
deprive my favorite person in the world of his Johnny time.
Besides, who needs to have their name and picture in some silly cookbook?
Bunny Bravo, your recipes are just what my publishing company is looking for.
Count me in.
Get it while it's hot?
Mama Bravo's Book of Gourmet Doorstops.
A barbell of goodness in every meal.
Is it an anchor?
A paperweight?
Or a hearty entree?
Okay.
You decide.
Boom.
Ah.
Look out.
A bar.
Mercy.
Mostly.
Whatever.