Written by Brad Copeland.
Lindsay: See, he’s right. You’ve got a control problem, but I know this Eastern medicine store, Ancient Chinese Secret.
Both: Ancient Chinese Secret, huh?
Lindsay: I sent G.O.B. there for his migraines.
Michael: It’s just a cramp. I’m fine.
Narrator: In fact, G.O.B. was at Ancient Chinese Secret at that moment, but not for a migraine.
G.O.B.: Hi. I need a tea to give my dingle less tingle. Me quick, want slow. Wait, that’s Indian.
Asian Man: Tea for dong!
G.O.B.: Sweet blade.
Asian Man: It’s the Sword of Destiny. It’s full of ancient magic.
G.O.B.: Oh, yeah? You into magic?
G.O.B.: So is it for sale? I could use it in my act.
Asian Man: Maybe. Sword of Destiny hundreds of years old. Come with ancient story of warning, and...
G.O.B.: Yeah, I make up my own patter. Just ring it up with the dong tea.
Narrator: And G.O.B. caught up with Michael.
G.O.B.: I wouldn’t mock the Sword of Destiny, Michael.
Michael: Careful with that, G.O.B.
G.O.B.: Nope. Yeah, that’s blood. It’ll get better before the show.
G.O.B.: That’s what I need you for, Michael. I can’t perform my illusion at the Gothic Castle, because I’ve been banned from the Magician’s Alliance. I need you to register as the magician, and I’m the lowly assistant. The we get on the stage, and you ram the Sword of Destiny into my belly. What do you think?
Michael: Really picked up steam there at the end. But I can’t.
Michael: I’ve got to teach George Michael how to drive. And then I’ve got to get right back here, because I’ve got to...
G.O.B.: Michael, if I make this comeback, I’ll buy you a hundred George Michaels that you can teach to drive.
Narrator: And Michael rushed home to teach his son to drive.
Michael: Knock-knock. Hey, Maeby. George Michael, you ready to drive? I don’t have much time.
George Michael: Get me behind that wheel!
Michael: Oh, no— you will not be behind the wheel. You’ll observe me while I demonstrate some things, okay? I’ll be quizzing you, too, hotshot. I’m going to go grab the video camera, and then... school’s in.
Maeby: I’d skip.
George Michael: Well, no, I need to learn, you know. You can’t get around anywhere without a driver’s license.
Narrator: Actually, Maeby had received a company car from the movie studio where she was secretly posing as an executive. But currently, George, Sr. was in the attic, making a videotape...
George, Sr.: ...my employees... this is my demand.
Narrator: ...when Michael found him.
Michael: What’s the deal with the turban?