Childrens Hospital

Previously on Childrens Hospital...

Excuse me.

- Oh, baby! - I'm afraid I have some bad news.

We're going to have to slice off your son's c**k.

This part.

We got a school-bus crash at the 495...

Fifty kids, badly injured, broken bones, some of them retarded,

the whole deal, and they're coming here.

Glenn, stop. We're breaking up.

No, it's not 'cause you're Jewish.

Attention, staff.

Dr. Richie, please pick up your scissors from the autopsy room.

A hospital isn't a place for lazy people.

A hospital is a place for smart people who take care of people

who aren't smart enough to keep themselves healthy.

Oh, man, she is hot.

- I would like to bang her and her clumsy vagina. - Yeah.

But we all have brains,

and brains are messy things filled with jelly.

And although jelly is sweet, it made me do a silly thing.

- I broke up with Glenn. - What?

Why? He's the hottest doctor at Childrens.

I just can't imagine spending every Christmas with a Jew, you know?

Lighting candles all the time, telling knock-knock jokes.

Totally. Driving minivans, reading books.

Right?

- I'm gonna break up with Owen. - Why?

Well, you broke up with Glenn. We're roommates.

That would be totally confusing.

- Right. - Yeah.

How are you gonna do it?

I don't know. I need to think of a good lie.

Ugh! I wish he were Jewish.

Mommy, I'm scared!

- Bitches. - Blake.

Want me to tickle your arm?

- Yeah. Do it. - Okay.

- You're there, you're there, you're there. - No.

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

What's up?

Look, you're the attending physician,

so I need your permission. I want to cut this kid open.

- Why? She's got a broken arm. - Says who?

- The X-ray. - Please. I don't trust these,

They're not even in color. Look, I got to open her up.

What if it's something more serious?

What if it's AIDS? I don't know this kid.

I got to make sure she's got the right type of arm guts in there.

Am I supposed to trust some medical textbook

or some black-and-white space photo?

Come on. I'm a doctor. It's what I do.

Prep the O. R.

You better be right this time.

- There you are. - Hi.

You want to scrub in, watch me tear into a youngster's flesh?

- Uh, no. I want to break up with you. - What? Why?

- Are you Jewish? - Have you ever seen me drive a minivan?

No... Then, um...

I have a brain tumor.

- Oh, *****. - Yeah.

- How long have you known? - How long have I known...

How long have I known... Ugh. I can't lie. I...

I don't have a brain tumor. I just...

I couldn't think of a reason to break up with you.

Break up?

Not with you sick like this. I'm gonna take care of you.

No, no, no. Did you... I said I don't have a brain tumor.

- That's just the brain tumor talking. - Oh, my God.

No, listen to me. I don't have a brain tumor.

Shh. Go and rest your tumor.

I'd kiss you goodbye,

- but I don't want to get brain cancer. - Oh.

Hey, roomie.

I poured you a "grig. "

Well, how'd it go with Owen?

- I broke up with him. - Oh, babe. How'd you do it?

I told him I had a brain tumor.

Wow! That's a good one.

Babe... Hey, I don't want you to be sad.

I want you to dance it out.

- I don't know. - Yes.

Are you sure?

Oh. Uh-oh. What's happening?

Whoa. Unh-unh. Yeah. Come on! Come on!

Feel it! Shake it!

Sometimes no matter how smart you are,

you have to do what your brain jelly tells you to do.

Only problem is jelly is messy,

and you could get it all over yourself.

To catch a terrorist,

you need to think like one, act like one.

Terrorize someone.

I work for the National Terrorism Strike Force,

San Diego division.

Am I a white knight? Or a black checker?

- Perhaps... I'm like Jenga. - Tell me your future thoughts!

All I know is if you have to ask...

- Trick or treat. - you're on the wrong side.

- I quit! - I don't negotiate with terrorists...

because I am one.

National Terrorism Strike Force: San Diego: Sport Utility Vehicle.