(Rick is dissecting a rat.)

Rick: T-t-t-this is just sloppy craftsmanship.

Morty: Hey, Rick. Boy, sure is really especially beautiful out there today, huh?

Rick: Oh, yes, Morty. It's almost unbelievable, isn't it?

Morty: Yeah, you know? There's something about the air. And just the way the sunshine is.

Rick: Oh, sure, buddy. Yeah. Sure. B-brilliant. Very convincing.

Morty: Wh… convincing?

Rick: Oh! Responsive, too! In real time! I love it!

Morty: Uhhokay.

Beth: *robotic* I’m going to work. Morty, good morning. Dad, good morning. I am going to work. Goodbye. (Beth drives away.)

Morty: What's with Mom?

Rick: Oh, what's with Mom? So, you're saying that she's acting weird? How soph—*burp*—isticated. Careful, guys. You're gonna burn out the CPU with this one.

Morty: Okay, you know what, Rick? You're acting weird, too.
Rick: Whatever, quote-unquote “Morty.”

Morty: Alright, well I'll see you after school. (Walks into the side of the garage.) Ow! Oof! Ugh! Damn it! I'm all right. I'm okay.

[Trans. Morty’s math class]

Mr. Goldenfold: Alright, who can tell me what 5 x 9 is? (Students whisper.) Morty?

Morty: Uh, me?

Mr. Goldenfold: What is 5 x 9?

Morty: Um, you know, it's, uh, at least 40.

(Students gasp.)

Mr. Goldenfold: Morty, that's exactly correct! 5 x 9 is at least 40! Come up here.

(Students cheer.)

Jessica: Whoo! Way to go, Morty!

Mr. Goldenfold: Everybody, this is the best student. I want you to be the teacher today. *sits down at a desk* Teach us, Morty!

Rick: *spying from outside* Interesting…
Morty: W-w-w-what do you want me to teach you?

Student: Ooh, ooh! How do you make concentrated dark matter?

Mr. Goldenfold: Oh, that's a good question.

Morty: Concentrated huh?

Mr. Goldenfold: Concentrated dark matter. The fuel for accelerated space travel. Now, do you know how to make it?

Morty: Uhhh…

Jessica: Come on, Morty. Isn't your grandpa, like, a scientist?

Morty: Oh, yeah, but, you know, he told me that I shouldn't go around spouting off about, you know, his science and stuff.

Jessica: I bet you've seen him make concentrated dark matter a lot. You know, if you tell us, I’ll be your girlfriend.

Morty: Uh, y-you will?

Mr. Goldenfold: Seems like a rare opportunity, Morty.

Rick: *kicks open the door* Morty, u-uh, come on. There's a family emergency.

(Rick grabs Morty by one arm. Mr. Goldenfold grabs the other.)
Mr. Goldenfold: Stop right there! If he leaves, I'm giving him an F!

Rick: He doesn't care.

Morty: Aw, man! (Rick drags him to the locker room.) Rick, I have to go back! I think I was about to get married! *falls down* Ugh!

Rick: Take a shower with me, Morty.

Morty: What?!

Rick: Listen to me, Morty. Get your clothes off and get in the shower right now. *strips* Y-y-y-you got to trust me, Morty.

Morty: Ugh! I'm gonna get an F in class, Rick. *strips*

Rick: Morty, that's not class. T-t-t-that wasn't your teacher. This isn't your school. This entire world is not the world. We're inside a huge simulation chamber on an alien spaceship.

Morty: Wait a minute. W-what are you talking about?

Rick: It’s all fake *burps* Morty, all of it. Nanobotic renderings, a bunch of… crazy, fake nonsense, Morty. I couldn't say so until we got in the shower. They won't monitor us in here.

Morty: Monitor us?! *looks around and tries to cover himself* W-who?!

Rick: Zigerion scammers, Morty. The galaxy's most ambitious, least successful con artists. You know, it's lucky for us they're also really uncomfortable with nudity.

Morty: Aw, come on, Rick. If everyone’s just gonna be insane today, at least let me be insane with Jessica.

Rick: I can’t let you do that, Morty.

(Rick grabs Morty’s clothes and they begin fighting over them.)

Morty: Give it to me!

Rick: No! You give it to me!

Morty: G-g-give it!

Rick: Morty, come on! Morty!

Morty: No, Rick!

[View of simulated world expands out to reveal they’re in an enormous spacecraft.]

[Trans. Zigerion control room]

(Zigerions groan and look away from the monitors with disgust.)

Zigerion 1: Oh, god, sir! They're still naked! Ugh.

Prince Nebulon: Well, check every five quintons and tell me when they're not!

Zigerion 1: I think we should make Kevin look, sir.

Kevin: What?! No! W-w-why would you even say that?

Stu: Uh, sir, we have a situation over here.

Prince Nebulon: If there's a wiener on that monitor, I swear to god, Stu.

Stu: Something is drawing a lot of processing power. Oh, wait. No wonder. (Jerry appears on a large screen.) There's another real human in the simulator.

Jerry: Okay, Jerry, big pitch meeting. Make-or-break time. *trims nostril hairs while driving* You can do this.

Prince Nebulon: How did this happen?! Where's the Abductions Department?

Zigerion 2: Hey, man, Abductions just follows the acquisition order.

Zigerion 3: Don't put this on Acquisitions! We only acquire humans that haven't been simulated!

Kevin: Well, Simulations doesn't simulate anybody that's been abducted, so—

Prince Nebulon: Oh, I see! Oh, oh! It was no one's fault. Oh, okay. I'm sorry. Well, then, problem solved. Oh, wait no. *shouts* There's still another human in here! Who is he?

Stu: Rick's son-in-law, Jerry Smith. So far, he hasn't noticed he's in a simulation.

Prince Nebulon: *sighs* Well, cap his sector at 5% processing, keep his settings on auto, and we'll deal with him later. Rick Sanchez is the target.

[Trans. Jerry’s car]

Jerry: *inhales deeply* Gotta relax. It's just a pitch. Gotta relax.

(He turns on the radio.)

Radio: This is earth radio. And now, here's…human music.

(Repetitive rhythmic beeping.)

Jerry: Hmm. Human music. I like it. *rocks head side to side in rhythm with the music*

[Pan out to see Jerry’s sector of the simulation, followed by a transition to Rick and Morty’s.]

(Rick and Morty pant as they run naked down the street. Rick shoves their clothes into a sewer.)

Morty: Rick!

Rick: Uhp, uhp, uhp! Morty, keep your hands off your ding-dong! It's the only way we can speak freely. Look around you, Morty. Do you really think this world is real? You'd have to be an idiot not to notice all the sloppy details. Look, that guy's putting a bun between two hot dogs.

Morty: I don't know, Rick. I mean, I’ve seen people do that before.

Rick: Well, look at that old lady. She's, she's walking a cat on a leash.

Morty: Uh, Mrs. Spencer does that all the time, Rick.

Rick: Look, I-I-I don't wanna hear about Mrs. Spencer, Morty! She's an idiot! Alright, alright, there. W-what about that, Morty?

(A Poptart walks out of a toaster house and into a toaster car before driving away.)

Morty: Okay, okay, you got me on that one.

Rick: Oh, really, Morty? Are you sure you haven't seen that somewhere in real life before?

Morty: No, no. I haven't seen that. I mean, why would a Poptart wanna live inside a toaster, Rick? I mean, that would be, like, the scariest place for them to live. You know what I mean?

Rick: You're missing the point, Morty. Why would he drive a smaller toaster with wheels? I mean, does your car look like a smaller version of your house? No.

Morty: So, why are they doing this? W-what do they want?

Rick: Well, that would be obvious to you, Morty, if you'd been paying attention.

(Siren wails. Ambulance drives up to them and the doors open.)

Paramedic: We got the president of the United States in here! We need 10cc of concentrated dark matter, stat, or he'll die!

(Rick slams the ambulance doors shut and starts walking off.)

Morty: Concentrated dark matter! They were asking about that in class.

Rick: Yeah, it's a special fuel I invented to travel through space faster than anybody else. These Zigerions are always trying to scam me out of my secrets, but they made a big mistake this time, Morty. They dragged you into this. Now they're gonna pay!

Morty: Wait, wha, w-w-what are we gonna do?

Rick: We'll scam the scammers, Morty. And we're gonna take them for everything they've got.

[Trans. Ext. Ad agency]

(Trees flicker with a static noise)

Jerry: National Apple Farmers of America…

[Trans. Int. Ad agency]

Jerry: Welcome to our ad agency. I'm Jerry Smith. (Audience stares blankly.) Alright. I'll just get to the pitch. Um, simple question, gentlemen, *hoarsely* what are apples? *clears throat* Excuse me. *drinks some water* Ahh. *coughs, clears throat* What are apples? *pulls poster board to the front of the room* Apples are food. And when do we need food? When we're hungry. (Audience stares blankly.) With that, I give you your new slogan! (Flips paper to reveal sign saying “Hungry for Apples?” Audience continues staring.) Well, say something! Do you like it?

Mr. Marklevitz: Yes.

Jerry: You do?

All: Yes.

Jerry: So I sold it? I sold the idea?

All: Yes.

Jerry: Oh my god! Thank you!

All: *shaking each others’ hands* Thank you. You're welcome.

[Trans. Ext. Ad agency]

(“Baker Street” plays as Jerry slides down a handrail.)

Jerry: Hey! I just sold my first pitch!

Old man: Slow down!

Woman: Lookin' good.

Mailman: My man!

(Jerry dials on his cellphone. As he walks, he passes the same three people repeatedly.)

Simulation Beth: (at Simulation Smith house) *answers phone* Hello.

Jerry: Guess who just sold the apples campaign.

Simulation Beth: Who just sold the apples campaign?

Jerry: Me! I guess it wasn't a rip-off of "got milk?" after all. Guess someone was wrong.

Simulation Beth: Yes.

Jerry: Well, all is forgiven, because right now, I’ve got an erection the size of an East Coast lighthouse, and I’m coming home to share it with my beautiful wife.

Simulation Beth: Okay.

Jerry: Wait, really?

Simulation Beth: Yes.

Jerry: Yes! See you in 10 minutes! *hangs up, shouts* Hey! I'm going to make love to my wife!

Woman: Lookin' good.

Old man: Slow down!

Mailman: My man! *glitches into a tree*

[Trans. Backstage]

(Rick is decked out in chains and adjusts his clothes to look more disheveled.)

Morty: Aw, geez, Rick. I-I don't know if I like this plan,you know? I mean, crowds, t-t-t-they have a tendency to make me really nervous.

Rick: Morty, relax. It's just a bunch of 1s and 0s out there. You're gonna be fine. (Lowers Morty’s pants slightly and puts a hat on him.) Just follow my lead. (Rick and Morty fist bump.) Yo, deejay, drop that beat.

[Trans. Stage in park]

(Hip-hop beat plays. Crowd cheers.)

Rick: Uh-oh, Morty. This crowd looks too small for one of our famous rap concerts. I don't think we can perform our new song, "The Recipe for Concentrated Dark Matter," for a crowd this tiny.

Morty: You got that right, Rick.

(Hordes of people appear from all directions and congregate in the park.)

Rick: Now that’s more like it! Morty, here we go. Let me hear everybody say "hey-oh!" yeah! (Crowd cheers.) All the ladies say, "yeah!" (Ladies cheer.) Everybody over thirty, do this with your hands! Everybody with a red shirt, jump up and down! (People start glitching.)

[Trans. Smith house]

Jerry: *kisses Beth, who is still in front of the phone* Mm. Mm. Mm. Yeah, don't move. Mm, mm, mm, mm! Mm!

[Trans. Park]

Rick: Yo, everyone whose first name begins with an "L" who isn't Hispanic, walk in a circle the same number of times as the square root of your age times ten! (Simulation freezes. Rick and Morty jump offstage.) Run, Morty! Before the system reboots!

[Trans. Ext. Smith house.]

Jerry: Yeah! You like that? Now who's unremarkable? You hungry for apples? Are you hungry for apples?!

[Trans. Beth and Jerry’s bedroom.]

(Jerry lies in bed beside Beth, who is frozen in place.)

Jerry: Oh, my god. That's the best sex I've ever had in my life. It's… it's too good. I don't deserve this, Beth. I'm a fraud.

[Trans. Rick and Morty running through frozen simulation.]

Morty: Oh, man, Rick! W-w-w-where we running to?

Rick: Out of the simulation, Morty. Normally, the chamber operates like a treadmill, with the virtual world disappearing behind us and being rendered in front of us as we move through it, but while it's frozen, Morty, we can get to…the edge. Here we go. *jumps off the edge*

Morty: Holy crap!

Rick: Come on, Morty.

Morty: *jumps off edge*

[Trans. Control room]

Zigerion: Sir, they're over the edge.

Prince Nebulon: Yes, they are. Just as planned. *evil laughter, others join in* Oh, this is going to be such a mindfuck!

[Trans. Corridor in spacecraft]

Rick: Keep your eyes peeled for the central processing room, Morty. That's how we're gonna scam these idiots.

Morty: So, hey, why do these aliens keep coming after you, Rick, if you're so much smarter than them?

Rick: It's an obsession for them at this point. The Zigerions have been trying to outsmart me for years, Morty. Every time they do, I'm one step ahead of them. *finds central processing room* Aha! Here we go. *starts collecting chips* Grab as many processors as you can carry, Morty. These guys aren't good at much, but they're really good at making these chips.

Morty: I’ve got so many, I can barely hold them all! *holding chips in his shirt* Look at, look at this. Oops. I dropped one.

Rick: Don't worry about it, Morty. There's plenty of them, you little goofball. (Both laugh and toss chips at each other playfully.) Come here, Morty! Oh, I gotcha!

Morty: Come on, quit it, Rick! Quit it!

Rick: Nothing wrong with just a little bit of horseplay every now and then, little fella.

(They sneak towards the escape pods. Rick throws a chip and distracts the guards while they steal a pod and fly away.)

Morty: Wow. What do you know? Huh. That was easy.

Rick: Totes malotes, dawg.

Morty: Just kind of hard to believe, you know?

Rick: Believe it, Morty. And once again, I'm flying away with everything I can carry, and the Zigerions got nothing of mine.

[Trans. Jerry’s boss’s office]

Jerry: Mr. Marklevitz, do you have a minute to talk?

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Look, I’m a fraud. I mean, let's face it. "Hungry for apples" is just a rip-off of "Got milk?" It's almost identical.

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Okay. I deserve that. Um, I guess I'll just pack up my desk.

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: *crying* Oh my god. Wait. You know what?! No! The milk people don't have a patent on simple rhetorical questions! Y-You— There's not even a single word in "Hungry for Apples" that's shared by "Got milk?" It's a completely different slogan. It's different! And I shouldn't be fired. I should be promoted!

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Yeah! Wait. Really?

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Yes! I mean, it may be derivative, but it's the most successful campaign to come out of this agency in a long time.

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: I-I’m not saying it should win an award for commercials, but it could certainly be nominated for an award for commercials specifically about apples, like an Appley or something.

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Is there really an award called the Appley for apple-related ad campaigns?

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Could we nominate me?

Mr. Marklevitz: *snaps fingers* Yes.

Jerry: Holy crap!

(Jerry runs out. Mr. Marklevitz glitches.)

[Trans. Ext. Smith house]

(Rick and Morty get out of the escape pod and head into the garage with the chips.)

Rick: Get in, Morty. I'm gonna be able to use these processors to make some real important science stuff. (Keypad beeps.) Huh. I thought I entered the code right. (Keypad beeps.)

(Second level simulation vanishes.)

Prince Nebulon: Well, what's this? W-what could this possibly be? Because it looks like you're inside a simulation…inside a simulation. You're still on the ship. Game-day bucket go boom!

Cynthia: Sir, the, uh, doctor's appointment to examine the discoloration on your butthole flaps was—

Prince Nebulon: Too loud, Cynthia. Too loud and too specific.

Rick: Uhh…

Prince Nebulon: We've known how to make concentrated dark matter for a long time. But now we also know the code to your fabled safe, Rick Sanchez! All your most valuable secrets will now be ours!

Rick: Uh, yeah, until I get home before you and change the combination, you bunch of idiots!

Prince Nebulon: That is why you're never getting home. Get them!

(Guards try to grab Rick and Morty. Rick pulls down Morty’s pants and all the Zigerions back away in disgust.)

Rick: RUN MORTY!

(Morty pulls up his pants. They run through the spacecraft and are chased by Zigerions.)

Morty: Oh my god!

[Trans. Appley Awards]

Jerry: I got to tell you, this morning, I didn't even know this award existed. Now I'm holding one. And, um… Look, I want to say that today was the best day of my life But the truth is, it's, it's more meaningful than that.

Mailman: My man!

Jerry: Yes. Thank you, sir. I am finally complete!

(Everyone glitches into the mailman.)

Mailmen: My my my my man!

(Simulation continues glitching badly.)

Jerry: Aah! What the hell?! (Appley award glitches out of existence.) No.

(Rick and Morty run into the room.)

Rick: Jerry?!

Morty: Dad!

Rick: What are you doing here? W-why are you dressed like a waiter? Screw it. We don't have time. Come on. *starts dragging Jerry with them*

Jerry: *sobbing* No!

(Chase continues. The three make it onto a spaceship.)

Rick: Man up, Jerry! I may need you to work the lasers.

Morty: Oh, man! They're hot on our tail, Rick!

Rick: I guess they really do have concentrated dark matter.

Morty: Well, you know how to make it, too, right, Rick?

Rick: Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Uh, check the engine room. We just need cesium, Plutonic quarks, and bottled water.

Morty: Whoa! It's all here, Rick!

Rick: Wow, Morty. Lucky break. Grab that bucket. Okay, two parts Plutonic quarks, one part cesium.

Morty: Okay. Uh-huh. Alright.

Rick: Now empty the water bottle into the bucket and pour it all into the fuel tank so we can get the hell out of here! What are you doing, Morty?! There's no time!

Morty: *freezes up*

Rick: Oh, no.

(Simulation breaks down...again.)

Jerry: What the…?

Rick: No!

Prince Nebulon: *laughing* Oh my god, Rick. How dumb are you? You're inside a simulation of a simulation…inside another giant simulation! *laughs harder* W-we never had the recipe for concentrated dark matter. But we do now! We do now, sucka!

Rick: You simulated my grandson's genitalia?! Y-y-you bunch of diabolical sons of bitches!

Zigerion 1: Kevin fought real hard to supervise that project.

Kevin: You said you weren't gonna tell anyone! I'm never gonna live this down, am I?

Rick: All right. Okay. All right, great. Wonderful. You win. Can we go home now?

Zigerion 1: I don't know. Can you?

Prince Nebulon: Ha! *fist bumps* Nice. Okay, okay. Show this gullible turd to his shuttle. I'm done with him. Oh, wait. Let me get a picture. *snaps a selfie of himself with Rick* Aww. Look at his face. He's trying to figure out if He's in a simulation still. Are you, Rick? Are you? *laughs, walks away* You're not. *walks back* Or are you? (Rick and Jerry leave.) *shouts after them* Oh, a-and, by the way, I don't have discolored butthole flaps. That was part of the simulation.

Cynthia: Oh. Uh, sir, should I cancel that appointment, then?

Prince Nebulon: *loudly* Yeah! Of course you should! *to Cynthia* No, keep it. Move it up, actually, if you can.

[Trans. Shuttle to Earth]

Rick: Hey, Jerry, don't worry about it. So what if the most meaningful day of your life was a simulation operating at minimum capacity?

Jerry: You know what, Rick? Those guys took you for a ride, too. You should try having a little respect for the dummies of the universe, now that you're one of us.

Rick: Maybe you're right, Jerry. Maybe you're right.

[Trans. Zigerion space craft, control room]

(The Zigerions are celebrating their victory with a party.)

Prince Nebulon: All right, everybody. Two parts Plutonic quarks… One part cesium…. A-and listen, I’m sorry for shouting earlier. I-I couldn't ask for a better staff. I love you guys, and I love all your families. *readies water bottle* And the final ingredient…

(Zigerion spacecraft explodes.)

[Trans. Shuttle to Earth]

(Jerry looks behind them, shocked.)

Jerry: Whoa! What the hell?! W-what happened back there?

Rick: Why don't you ask the smartest people in the universe, Jerry? Oh, yeah. You can't. They blew up.

(“Baker Street” plays. Rick vocalizes the saxophone part.)

[Trans. Int. Ad agency]

(Jerry pitches “Hungry for Apples” in reality.)

Jerry: So… What do you think?

Mr. Marklevitz: You're fired.

Jerry: Wha--? But t-this idea was tested in a state-of-the-art simulation.

Mr. Marklevitz: Well, then, it was a terrible simulation. Get out.

(Jerry hangs his head and leaves.)

Mr. Marklevitz: Man, how does a guy like that go home and have sex with his wife?

[Trans. Morty’s bedroom]

Rick: Hey, Morty.

Morty: What?

Rick: Hey, little buddy. H-h-how you doing in here right now?

Morty: Aw, geez, Rick. What are you doing, man?

Rick: Y-y-you're a good kid, Morty. Y-you're a real l-little c-character, Morty.

Morty: Oh, boy.

Rick: You know, I had a really rocky road today, M-Morty. You're my little friend, aren't you? We had some good times together, huh, M-Morty? We You're a real true hero out in the field. You're a... You're a real trouper, huh, M-M-Morty?

Morty: Have you been drinking, Rick?

Rick: I really appreciate you, Morty.

Morty: O-okay, cool. A-alright, Rick

Rick: *suddenly aggressive, holds a knife to Morty’s throat* You little son of a bitch! Y-y- are you a simulation?! Huh?! Are you a simulation?!

Morty: No! No! No!

Rick: You little son of a bitch!

Morty: *terrified, gasps*

(Rick lowers the knife)

Rick: I-I-I’m sorry, Morty. Y-you're a good… You're a good kid, Morty.

Morty: Geez!

Rick: Y-you're a good… You're a good kid. *passes out*

Morty: Oh my god!

Rick: *snores*

Morty: W-w-what the hell? What a life.