Okay, we've got power to the laser.
I should've brought an umbrella.
- What for? It's not gonna rain. - I know.
But with skin as fair as mine, moon burn is a real possibility.
That's a buzzinga, right?
One of my best, don't you think?
Howard, double-check the equatorial mount on the laser.
- We need it locked on the Sea of Tranquility. - You got it.
Raj, no.
Billions of dollars have gone into inventing the Internet...
and filling it with pictures of naked women so we don't have to peep through windows.
It's not like that. I'm watching someone's TV.
The Good Wife is on.
I tell you, this is my new Grey's Anatomy.
Leonard, what is that? What is that?
Relax, it's just a dirty sock.
How on earth can you say "dirty sock" and "relax" in the same sentence?
Sheldon, the world is filled with dirty, discarded socks.
Not my world.
You know who'd really dig seeing this experiment? Penny.
I wasn't aware that lunar ranging was her thing.
Although I suppose...
the retro reflector left on the moon by Neil Armstrong...
does qualify as a shiny object.
Ask her to come up.
I don't know. It's still weird since, you know...
- She dumped you? - She didn't dump me.
We were just in different places in the relationship.
I fail to see how a relationship...
can have the qualities of a geographic location.
Well, it's very simple. Leonard was living in a town called Please Don't Leave Me...
while Penny had just moved to the island of Bye-bye.
Screw you, guys. I'm gonna go see if she's home.
If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to point this at the moon now.
Wait a second. The good wife is crying.
Something's very wrong.
Oh, hi. What's going on?
We're up on the roof bouncing laser beams off the moon.
I'm sorry, what?
It's cool. We've got a two-meter parabolic reflector and everything.
- I thought you might wanna see it. - That makes no sense.
How can you bounce stuff off the moon? There's no gravity.
Oh, Leonard, this is Zack. Zack, Leonard.
- Hey. - Sorry, I didn't know you were busy.
- Maybe another time. - Yeah. Maybe.
- Hey, I wanna see this laser thing. - Oh, what about the party?
It's a surprise party, doesn't matter when we get there.
Right.
Okay, well, yeah, come on up.
So how'd you guys meet?
My company designs the menus for The Cheesecake Factory.
Your company?
My dad, but me and my sister are VPs.
So menus.
It sounds easy, but there's a lot of science that goes into designing them.
Happy now? I'm moving the dirty sock.
Thank you.
Raj, keep an eye out for the other one.
- Hey, guys. This is my friend Zack. - Hey.
- Hello. - Whoa, is that the laser? It's bitchen.
Yes. In 1917...
when Albert Einstein established the theoretic foundation for the laser...
in his paper Zur Quantentheorle der Strahlung...
his fondest hope was that the resultant device be "bitchen."
Well, mission accomplished.
Let me explain what we're doing here.
In 1969, the astronauts on Apollo 11...
positioned reflectors on the moon.
We're gonna shoot a laser off one of them...
and let the light bounce back into this photomultiplier.
Oh, that's very cool.
One question: How can you be sure it won't blow up?
- The laser? - The moon.
See, now this is a man for Penny.
- That's a great question, Zack. - No, it's not.
- Sheldon, play nice. - It's not a great question.
How could somebody possibly think we're going to blow up the moon?
That's a great question.
Don't worry about the moon. We set our laser to stun.
Smart.
We'll see the beam when it leaves. It won't be strong enough when it comes back...
- ... to be seen by the naked eye. - Naked. Heh, heh, heh.
Right, funny.
So that device there will measure the photons that return...
and show it to us on this computer. Raj, get them some glasses.
Cool, it's gonna be in 3-D?
Preparing to fire laser at the moon.
Make it so.
There it is. There's the spike.
Two-point-five seconds for the light to return. That's the moon. We hit the moon.
That's your big experiment? All that for a line on the screen?
Yeah, but think about what this represents.
The fact that we can do this is the only way of definitively proving...
that there are man-made objects on the moon...
put there by a species that only 60 years before...
had just invented the airplane.
What species is that?
I was wrong. Penny can do better.
- Okay, guys, thank you. It's been fun. - Yeah, thanks.
- Should we invite them to the party? - No, just keep walking.
He's must be very skilled at coitus.
I'm telling you, dude...
the only way to feel better about Penny going out with other guys...
is for you to get back on the whores.
- Horse. - What?
The phrase is "get back on the horse." Not whores.
That's disgusting, dude.
No, it's not... Never mind.
He is right, though.
If you want, I can turn you on to this great new dating site I found.
No, thanks.
You sure? They say they can find a match for anybody.
- Have they found a match for you? - Tons.
I've had, like, eight dates in the last month.
Twelve, if you count the ones who showed up and left.
- I can't bring the nitrogen tank down. - Why not?
All right, let me restate that. It's very heavy and I don't want to.
- I'll help you. - Thank you.
Lift with your knees, not your back.
Good night.
You know what would be fun?
- Signing Sheldon up for online dating. - Yeah, right.
No, think about it. We make it an experiment.
Like when Frankenstein's monster was lonely and he found a wife.
He didn't find a wife.
They built him a wife out of dead body parts.
Okay, we'll call that plan B.
Coming.
Damn you, you rat bastard.
Are you drunk?
Zack was a perfectly nice guy and then you ruined him.
How did I ruin him?
Because in the olden days, I never would've known he was so stupid.
- Come on, he wasn't that stupid. - Yes, he was.
He thought you were gonna blow up the moon.
Okay, yeah, he's stupid. Heh, heh.
He spent the entire night...
bragging about how he invented the word "appeteasers."
How is that my fault?
You have destroyed my ability to tolerate idiots.
Now, come with me.
- Where are we going? - We're gonna have sex.
Why? I mean, okay.
What's going on?
Put on your noise-canceling headphones, because it's gonna get loud.
Ugh. Not this again.
In what universe is this "low-pulp"?
Good morning, Penny.
Do you have eyes in the back of your head?
When one gets beaten up every other day in school...
one, of necessity, develops a keen sense of hearing.
Incidentally, one can get beaten up in school...
simply by referring to oneself as "one."
I'm making English muffins. Would you like an English muffin?
Oh, thanks, I'm not hungry.
FYI, my noise-canceling headphones proved ineffective last night.
- Yeah, sorry about that. - As a native Texan, I must say...
I've never heard the phrase "yeehaw" used in quite that context.
Oh, God.
"Oh, God."
That I've heard on multiple occasions.
In what universe is that "lightly toasted"?
This has to be the worst day of my life.
Good morning, Leonard.
How many times have I asked you not to do that?
Counting this instance? Three hundred seventeen.
- Where's Penny? - She returned to her apartment.
I presume to shower and vomit.
Not necessarily in that order.
Wonder why she didn't say goodbye.
Are you expecting me to offer an explanation of human behavior?
I know. I thought as an outsider...
you might be able to provide a fresh perspective.
Well, I have no difficulty believing you are not butter.
- Oh, hey. - Oh, hi.
- I gotta run. Early shift. - Okay, I'll walk down with you.
So last night was fun, huh?
Yeah, it must've been. I just threw up in my closet.
Bummer.
I was thinking tonight maybe we could catch a movie.
Oh, yeah, tonight's not great for me.
Doesn't have to be tonight. I'm free pretty much always.
Leonard, last night was a mistake.
When you say "mistake," do you mean a fortunate mistake...
like the discovery of penicillin?
Look, I'm sorry.
I was drunk, I was lonely, I hated Zack.
Can we just forget it ever happened?
No, it's pretty well imprinted on my brain.
Especially the whole rodeo thing.
Oh, God.
So that's it? Wham, bam, thank you, Leonard?
Look, I said I'm sorry. Can't you please let it go?
How am I supposed to let it go? You used me for sex.
Morning, Mrs. Gunderson.
Good morning, Leonard. Or should I say "yeehaw"
- Holy crap. - What?
We finally have proof...
- ... that aliens walk among us. - Excuse me?
The dating site matched a woman with Sheldon.
You're kidding. An actual woman?
Yeah, look. Breasts and everything.
Trust me, breasts doesn't necessarily mean "woman."
- Since when? - I'll show you a picture...
of my Uncle Louie in a bathing suit sometime.
Leonard, you gotta see this. We found a match for Sheldon.
Great. Maybe she can have sex with him and walk out on him the next morning...
without so much as a "How do you do?"
- Know what he's talking about? - No. Ask him.
- Leonard, what? - I don't wanna talk about it.
That was a lousy suggestion.
Whatever.
Right now, Dr. Sheldon Cooper has to send an e-mail to his perfect match.
"Greetings, fellow life-form..."
If she can do it, I can do it. If she can do it, I can do it.
I can't do it.
- Hello? - Oh, hi. Hey.
Hi, Leslie.
Leonard, what're you doing here?
I know. It's been a while.
Yeah, 18 months.
Right. Right.
So how you doing?
- Fine. You? - Not bad.
You remember when we used to have sex...
and you said it didn't mean anything, it was just for fun?
Yeah.
Do you wanna do that again?
What happened? Blondie dumped you?
She didn't dump me. We were just in different places in the relationship.
Right.
Anyway, apparently, it's okay to go back to people you're no longer seeing...
- ... and have recreational sex with them. - Uh-huh.
So, what do you say?
Let me think about it.
She's not coming back.
- Uh-oh. She wants to meet us. - Not us. Him.
Yes, but "him" doesn't even know about "her."
Well, "him" about to find out about "her."
Really? Us gonna tell him?
Who's going to tell whom about what?
Sheldon. Hey. Hi.
Your surprise confuses me. I live here.
Right.
So, listen, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?
- Be more specific. - Four-thirty.
That's not afternoon. That's preevning.
- What? - It's a time of day I invented.
It better defines the ambiguous period...
between afternoon and evening: preevning.
Fairly certain it will catch on as it fills a desperate need.
Right, okay. What are you doing tomorrow preevning?
Well, tomorrow's Saturday. Saturday night is laundry night.
So I'll be spending the preevning pre-sorting and pre-soaking.
Okay, what if I were to tell you...
tomorrow at 4:30, you could meet a woman...
who has been scientifically chosen to be your perfect mate?
I would snort in derision and throw my arms in the air...
exhausted by your constant tomfoolery.
But it's true.
We put all your vital information into this dating site...
answered all questions like you would and they found a match for you.
- Her name is Amy Farrah Fowler. - Please.
Even assuming you could answer any question the way I would...
the algorithms used by matchmaking sites are complete hokum.
That's the answer we gave to the question.
"What is your attitude towards online dating?"
Well, Howard wanted to write "mumbo jumbo," but I said no.
Our Sheldon would say "hokum."
Come on, where's your scientific curiosity?
Most of it is being applied to unraveling secrets of universe...
while the rest of it is wondering why I'm having this conversation with you.
Okay, how about this?
Even Spock had a date once every seven years,
He didn't date. It was pon farr.
His blood boiled with mating lust.
Why don't you start with a cup of coffee...
and you can pon farr Amy Farrah Fowler later.
- I don't drink coffee. - All right, you can have a hot chocolate.
As I will not be engaging in this nonsense, my choice of beverage is moot.
For the record, I only drink hot chocolate...
in months with an R in them.
- Why? - What's life without whimsy?
Okay, I'm out.
Sheldon...
I've hidden the dirty sock from the roof somewhere in your apartment.
Unless you're willing to come with us to meet this girl...
it will remain there forever.
You're bluffing.
Are you willing to risk it?
Curse you.
Thirty feet.
Oh. Hey, Leonard.
I was a perfectly happy, geeky, little lonely guy...
and then you ruined me.
Are you drunk?
Come on. We're gonna have sex and it's not gonna mean a thing.
Are you out of your mind?
I'm really starting to think there's a double standard here.
In a few minutes, when I gloat over the failure of this enterprise...
how would you prefer I do it? The standard "I told you so"?
With a classic "neener-neener"?
Or just my normal look of haughty derision?
- You don't know we're wrong yet. - Haughty derision it is.
Excuse me. I'm Amy Farrah Fowler. You're Sheldon Cooper.
Hello, Amy Farrah Fowler.
I'm sorry to inform you that you have been taken in...
by unsupportable mathematics...
designed to prey on the gullible and the lonely.
Additionally, I'm being blackmailed with a hidden dirty sock.
If that was slang, I'm unfamiliar with it.
If it was literal, I share your aversion to soiled hosiery.
I'm here because my mother and I have agreed that I will date at least once a year.
Interesting.
My mother and I have the same agreement about church.
I don't object to the concept of a deity, but I'm baffled by the notion...
of one that takes attendance.
Well, then you might want to avoid East Texas.
Noted. Now, before this goes any further, you should know...
that all forms of physical contact up to and including coitus are off the table.
May I buy you a beverage?
Tepid water, please.
Good God, what have we done?