You know, I find you more likable today than usual. Maybe you could still win that game after all.

What did you say to me?

Finally standin’ up to me, huh? Ha ha! I love it! You know, I made up my mind! The room belongs to you. Dipper.

Ssh. You had me at "shut up old man.”

Oh good, Soos. You got a second?

Look, times are tough, economy or something, et cetera. Basically, I have to cut your pay.

Wha—what are you doing? Is this some sort of negotiating tactic? Because it's not gonna work!

Uh... Fine! I was lying! I'll give you a raise! Just never do that again!

Yeesh, this carpet's ugly.

Ahh! Why am I even out here at night?

Stockin' meat for the apocalypse, doodly-doo. We're all gonna die.

What's with the pacing, kid? You look even more freaked out than usual.

Aw, c'mon kid. Try me.

I've seen this before.

Her name was Carla McCorkle. Carla "Hotpants" McCorkle.

Me and Carla baby would cut a rug together at The Juke Joint, our favorite 50's themed, 1970's diner.

Then one day, this new age tree hugger starts playing this transcendental hippie music. Carla's hotpants turned into bellbottoms before I even knew what happened.

My memories get a little hallucination-y at the end, but you get the gist.

You're darn right I do. And we're gonna get to the bottom of it. Right after I get to the bottom of this brown meat. It's apocalicious!

Y'see, Dipper, music has subliminal mind control hidden in it all the time.