[bars and tone]
Do not be alarmed. It is 1800 hours. Please place your youth
in front of the learning screen. [humming] Bless The Drill. Rash! What have I told you
about the singing? Oh, sorry. What? Wait. What– What are those
weird waning gestures your body was doing? I’m expressing myself, Skid. Look. [gasp]
-Huh? Are you trying to get us in trouble?! -Huh?
-Get rid of that thing! -Come on, before someone sees.
-Okay. Okay. [sigh]
Whew. Our ancestors found more
appropriate ways to express their dumb feelings. And that’s our lesson children:
Expressing Yourself. It’s time for The Remember Hour! [cheers] It’s The Remember Hour. [cheers] The Drill wants its faithful
to express themselves without using messy words
or feelings. That’s why, long ago,
they used emoshees. Ooh. Our ancestors captured these
flying demon creatures. They became expression servants. They were overworked
almost instantly. Feelings like “happy” or “sad” or “Oh no, our farm has crop rot!” Eventually all communication
was replaced with emoshees. But the humans didn’t know
that their emotional servants were silently feeding on their minds! When the humans realized
what was happening, they fought back in a great battle
called The Emoshee Mov-eee. [screams] Millions were lost. We salute you! [patriotic music] Our fallen brethren. That is, until a new wave
of mutants came and wiped the surface
in their own epic battle. [giggling] That’s right! The Splat War! This was fought by the offspring
of the deadly poet warrior, Mighty Moto! Ooh. He blessed his mutant squid kids
with a new kind of weapon, for a new kind of war. Having previously sent warriors, such as his picked men
and Italian pipe lord, Mighty Moto’s new switched-on warriors
used toxic, radioactive paint to fight. Wait, paint? Like from my limited edition toy can
for only 19 Drill Bucks? Available now. Anyways, these early warriors
formed units called Splatoons. Yes, Splatface conflicts went on and on, settling long-running debates like,
art vs. science. Science? Cats vs. dogs. Dogs? And cake vs. ice cream. Whoa, why are they even
arguing about that? Disgusting. I think I’m going to throw up. [gagging] Eeew. It was a terrible time. All that wasted paint. But hey, I have a better use for it. Let’s make art. Hey, that’s a good idea, Rash. Like the Splat Festival,
we will art and the kids will vote for the winner. Okay. Yeah. [cheering] [inspiring music] There’s no way
anyone can paint a better painting than this. I love the color, orange. [giggle] Oh, c’est magnifique.
(It’s magnificent.) It’s so beautiful. Let’s reveal our art expressions. Okay, my art is a tasteful piece
glorifying The Drill. [cheering] Bless The Drill. My art comes from the heart…
all four of them. [giggle] [music abruptly stops] [gasp] -Oh, Rash!
-Isn’t it beautiful? You got us in trouble, for sure! Oh! Oh, no!
[alarm sounding] Not-approved art detected. Someone is using their energy
for non-Drill-related activities and the Culture Inquisitors
have been summoned. Have a good day
and Bless The Drill. No! The Cultural Inquisitors?! Perfect, Rash! Your bad art
has doomed us both! [crying] Well, that’s it for this week, kids. We’ll see you next time…hopefully. Remember to express yourself only within the approved guidelines
sent by The Drill. [slight crying]
[banging on door] Intercom voice: Weapons live.
Full art purge. Breach the door. [banging on door] [crying] Goodbye, children! [crying] They’re going to hang you
by your head fin. What? Me?! Mmm hmm. It was all you! [stuttering] And I told you not
to call it a head fin! You know I’m sensitive
about that. Sorry. It’s–
It’s your hammer. It’s your hammer. It’s my big hammer. Your big hammer. Yeah! I’m a big boy. That’s right! My big hammer. We’re going to die like big boys. Yeah.