Agnes, cancel my appointments.
What appointments?
Wishful thinking.
It's called,
"Alternative Energy:
The Key to
a Brighter Tomorrow."
Notice all the animals
wearing sunglasses?
Because it's
a brighter tomorrow?
Yeah.
My boys are
in elementary school,
and don't make as many
dioramas as we do.
The Environmental Club is
making them for Green Week.
And this afternoon,
in the cafeteria,
we're having
a Bio-Diorama-Rama.
I heard one kid
made a diorama
about a world
without dioramas.
Still cool if I sleep over
at your place tonight?
Totally. We're both
done with classes,
we can start
the sleepover now.
Let's get in our pajamas
and build a blanket fort.
A blanket fort. Wow.
You can come
hang out with us.
Uh, thanks,
but I think I'll find
something
more grown-up to do.
Hmph. Okay,
enjoy eating fiber
and watching
The Mentalist.
Britta, that wasn't nice.
I'm sorry, Shirley.
But who wants to hang out
in a blanket fort
with grown men
in tiny Underoos?
Hello. So, Jeffrey,
I was just looking over
your class schedule.
Why?
Uh, maybe it was
a random spot check.
Maybe it was
a specific spot check.
Maybe I'm making
a scrapbook.
The point is, you will
not be receiving credit
for your independent study:
"Conspiracy Theories
in U.S. History."
What? Why not?
Because the class doesn't exist
and neither does the teacher,
Professor Professorson?
What? That's his name,
it's Dutch.
I think it means
professor.
I think it means
poppycock.
The ultimate Jeff Winger
blow-off class.
The one that doesn't exist.
Now I have to audit an
entire system for shenanigans,
which means,
bye-bye, weekends.
Bye-bye,
writing at Starbucks
till a certain Persian barista
asks me about my novel.
God, Jeff, it's one thing
to blow off regular classes,
but this devalues
all the credits
I work very hard for.
Can I defend myself
and say this is nuts?
I've been meeting with
this professor, in his office,
every Wednesday,
all semester.
Professor Professorson?
Yes.
Really?
You're gonna commit to this?
Commit to what?
Reality?
Okay, then, please, lead me
to Professor Professorson.
Gladly.
This I got to see.
I've dreamt of playing
charades with you,
just not like this,
and not on dry land.
[THE 88'S "AT LEAST IT WAS HERE"
PLAYING]
Oh, man.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
You thinking
what I'm thinking?
We're too big for this,
aren't we?
Yeah.
If we went two pillows
higher in the corner,
we could vault the ceiling.
Bump up the square footage.
Make this a blanket fort
for men.
Well, here we are,
Professor Professorson's
office.
Oh. Oh.
I don't know what's going on.
Believe me.
I've spent a whole year
studying conspiracy theories
with Professor Professorson
right here.
Wait. Of course.
Conspiracy theories.
This is a test.
He's teaching me
about real conspiracies
by erasing his existence.
My God,
do you know what this means?
That's how stupid
Jeff thinks other people are.
I knew you were lazy,
but I didn't realize
you'd stoop
to such pathetic lies.
One man's lies
are another man's truth,
wouldn't you say, Jeff?
I'm sorry,
and who are you?
I'm Professor Professorson.
Wow. You really had me
going there for a second.
I thought I was going insane.
Precisely.
An actual conspiracy
to round out your education
in conspiracies
and theories thereof.
Your real name
is Professor Professorson?
My family name
is Professorberg,
but we changed it when
we were fleeing from the Nazis.
I'm so sorry.
You've never heard of me,
since I primarily teach
night school.
My faculty ID.
Huh. Well, I guess I've never
stuck around late enough
to meet you
night school professors.
TV's gotten crazy good,
you know.
Well, I have to take this.
Thank you
for indulging me, dean.
Jeff, read chapters
10 through 12 of Douglas
and see you next week.
That is, if I still exist.
See you, professor.
Sorry to doubt you,
Jeffrey.
More importantly,
out with this audit,
back to chapter one of:
Time Desk: The Chronicles
of Dean Dangerous.
That is gonna be the worst book
I'll ever read cover to cover.
I'm a terrible friend.
I accused you of being
a lying cheat.
Can you ever forgive me?
Sure.
Here's the thing, though:
I've never seen that guy
in my life.
What? That wasn't
Professor Professorson?
There is no
Professor Professorson.
I made him up.
I forged a form
with a phony teacher and class
for a free credit.
I knew it.
Oh. You lying cheat.
Wait, then...
who was that?
I don't know.
Wait, what?
I don't know.
What should we do?
We should grab some lunch.
I'm serious.
So am I.
I saw Fat Neil headed
to the cafeteria.
We got 10 minutes to grab
the last lima bean.
You made up a professor
and he appeared
out of thin air.
You're not curious
how that happened?
My latest theory?
I'm a god.
I've denied the signs.
So typical, you're gonna
blow off what happened?
Yes, especially when
not blowing it off
might cost me
my free credit.
Now, do me a favor,
be very un-Annie
and blow it off too.
Oh, sure.
Oh, I'll just blow it off.
I'll just blow
everything off.
Heck, I guess
I'll blow off walking.
Okay.
And now I'll just
blow off standing.
I'm just blowing
everything off.
Excuse me.
I'll blow off talking language.
Okay.
Hey, bros, what's the haps?
Whoa.
Sweet fort.
Can I come inside?
You could, Pavel.
Or maybe the inside
could come to you.
How would you characterize
the amount of blankets
and pillows you have?
A buttload.
I get wicked cold, bros.
Mad sleepy.
If you're here
to help me take my diorama
to the Bio-Diorama-Rama,
I can do it myself.
Yes, you made that clear
in your 11th
"I can do it myself" text.
You even work too hard
at passive aggression,
you know that?
Hey, so do you know anything
about Greendale's night school?
Yeah, I'm assuming
it's the worst thing
you could ever
hope to be in,
only at night.
Damn it. You've been
playing detective?
You'll Nancy Screw me
out of my credit.
Relax. I only asked
the administration desk
if I could borrow
a faculty directory.
And take a look at this.
Is that Professorson?
His real name is
Professor Woolley.
And he actually does teach
night school here.
Why would someone
you've never met
pretend to be
your professor?
He was carrying falsified
faculty credentials.
You know what this means?
Yes, you are making me do work
for my fake
conspiracy class.
Exactly,
there's a conspiracy here.
A dark, vast conspiracy
that may just go
all the way to the top.
This is Greendale, Annie.
If there's a conspiracy,
it goes all the way
to slightly below the middle.
Wait a minute.
Something's wrong.
My car won't start.
Hold on one second.
Hello.
Tell your little friend
to stop snooping around
night school.
Otherwise,
things might get explosive.
Annie!
You okay?
Yeah.
I probably didn't
need to tackle you.
Probably not.
Looks like someone
sent us a message.
A tiny, thoroughly
underwhelming message.
I hope you've already
laid out your outfit
for tomorrow morning.
Because we're going
to night school.
I stole these
from my son's house.
When does a fort
stop being a fort?
Hey, as long as it's still
made out of blankets, right?
These will be perfect
for the Pierce's
Mom Memorial Tunnel.
So this is night school,
but where's
Professor Woolley's class?
How about this one?
No, that's
Professor Huyck's class:
"History of Something."
You can't pronounce it?
It literally says
"History of Something."
Let me see that.
"Principles of Intermediate"?
"Studyology"?
"Class 101"?
Look, this one
just says "Learning!"
with an exclamation point.
Hello, Professor Professorson.
Or should I say Woolley?
What class
are you teaching tonight?
Math.
Math?
Uh-huh.
Do you mind if we sit in?
Not at all.
Right this way.
So, what kind of math
do you teach, professor?
Oh, you know, math. Uh...
Numbers.
Pi.
New math. Um...
Get him.
He went into
that blanket fort.
I think he went this way.
You see him?
No.
Come on.
Troy, Abed.
Hey, Annie.
Welcome to Fluffy Town.
No smoking, no farting.
We're in a chase.
That's allowed.
There he is.
Follow us.
But afterwards,
you should really check out
our civil rights museum.
Leonard, back up.
You shouldn't even be in here.
You have three farting strikes.
He's getting away.
I know a shortcut
through the Turkish district.
Hey, man.
Britta?
Hey.
Go.
There he is.
What the hell is this?
Latvian Independence Parade.
Don't look at me,
they had the proper permits.
Dang it.
We lost him.
I sent the diorama car
to the chem lab
to have the explosive
analyzed. We could...
Isn't that him
playing the trejdeksnis?
Nice try, Woolley.
Now tell us everything.
Tell you?
I'll show you.
What is this place?
This, Annie,
is night school.
Every student, every teacher,
every class.
Figments.
Puffs of hot air
from the lips of a ghost
in the shadow
of a unicorn's dream.
I made it up.
Night school doesn't exist.
I used to be a student
here at Greendale like you.
Then one day,
I invented a fake course
to get a free credit.
To keep up the lie,
I had to create a fake teacher,
who needed
other fake classes
that needed to be filled
with fake students
and so on, and so on,
and so on, exchetera.
Did you just mispronounce
"et cetera"?
My Latin class was fake, Jeff.
Like all my classes,
like my life.
Aren't you listening?
Yeah, I am.
And a very familiar feeling
is starting to come over me.
Someone is trying
to teach me something.
Jeff, the only thing
that's ever been learned
in this room is regret.
Would that this desk
were a time desk...
so that I could correct
my past mistakes,
ride dinosaurs.
Fight with Jack the Ripper.
Wait a minute, wait a minute.
Unicorns?
Ghost lips?
Time desks?
Doesn't any of this
overly stylized garbage
remind you of anyone?
Everything this guy says
is ripped from the
sure-to-be-unpublished pages
of Dean Dangerous.
I don't know what you mean.
Oh, I think you do.
By the way, next time you walk
someone to your fake lair,
don't pass
the Theater Department.
Drama Professor Sean Garrity.
Whoa.
Thank God.
That character was killing me.
Word of advice,
if you ever scrape
the dean's car,
don't tell him
you're gonna pay him back
in acting.
On Thanksgiving, I'm supposed
to crash his family dinner
and accuse him
of stealing my girlfriend.
Wow.
I guess this did go
all the way to the top.
I'm calling the dean
right now
and giving him
a piece of my mind.
No, wait. Garrity.
Does the Theater Department
have any of those prop guns
that fire blanks?
Of course. We did
a modern retelling of Macbeth
set in gangland Chicago.
Oh, fresh take.
And you think I'm lazy.
Prop guns?
Jeff, what do you have in mind?
A little demonstration
for the dean
on the dangers
of trying to educate me.
He doesn't like fake classes?
Well, he's about
to get a real lesson
on the fact that Jeff Winger
never learns.
Here he comes.
Get set.
You wanted to see me?
Oh.
Hi, Mr. Professorson.
His real name is Woolley.
And he's defrauded your school
to the tune of
dozens of credits per year
and nearly
twice as many dollars.
That's serious.
Fortunately, I'm a big believer
in second chances.
I'm not.
Annie! Annie.
Oh, my God!
You shot him.
Of course, I shot him.
He was being dishonest.
And if there's one thing
Greendale's taught me, it's...
What the hell?
She had a gun.
It was a fake gun.
We staged this
to get back at you.
Oh, you're the deceiver,
Jeffrey.
Yeah? Well, now
you're the dead guy.
Jeff, what are you doing?
Why do you have a real gun?
Why did you shoot the dean?
Well, he shot you.
Not really. He and I were
in on this from the start.
He found out you
were faking a class
he came to me
and we cooked up this thing
to illustrate the slippery slope
of academic fraud.
You know what you
actually illustrated, Annie?
How to be a crappy friend.
Once it was obvious the dean
had orchestrated everything,
it was even more obvious
the dean was too stupid
to orchestrate anything.
Mm-hm.
So on a hunch, I called him
and we hatched a plan
to teach you a lesson or two
about friendship.
But, Jeff, I only did it
because I love you.
Well,
when you love someone,
you have to take them
as they are.
People aren't playthings,
Annie.
No, they are not.
Look who's talking.
After everything
you've put me through?
Okay, where did you
get that gun?
There were only
three prop guns.
I live in a terrible
neighborhood.
Annie, put the gun down.
After we kissed, I waited
all summer to see you.
You buried me
like a shameful secret.
Whoa.
What's the matter, Jeff?
Afraid crazy Annie
would go crazy for you?
Well, guess what.
Annie's got a gun.
Annie, just put the...
Annie, what have you done?
If you love
Jeff Winger so much,
why did you conspire
with me against him?
I don't know.
I can't keep track
of any of it anymore.
I just keep teaming up
with whoever suggests it.
Glad to hear you admit it.
Aah! Aah-aah!
When I called you to ask you
to double-cross Annie,
you didn't hesitate.
Do you understand
what a conspiracy is?
If you conspire
with every person,
you're not even really
conspiring with anyone,
you're just doing
random crap.
I know, I'm sorry.
I just...
I just want to have fun
with you guys.
I go crazy cooped up
in my little office and...
Time travel is really hard
to write about.
Okay.
If I'm keeping track right,
we should be done.
I'll just take these back
to the Theater Department.
Police!
Drop the weapons!
Down on the ground.
Don't shoot, don't shoot!
Please, they're fake.
Those were prop guns.
Well, I guess
it just goes to show you,
prop guns belong backstage.
And scene.
You have got to be
kidding me!
Professor Garrity told me
what all of you were up to.
Made me mad.
Guns aren't toys.
Fact, in 100 percent of
all fake-gun-related shootings,
the victim is always the one
with the fake gun.
Hey, Sean,
you got breakfast plans?
I do now.
So, Sean?
We're still on
for Thanksgiving, right?
Just talk to your father,
Craig.
Would that this hoodie
were a time hoodie.
Hey, dean,
how about that credit?
No!
Damn it.
I'm not sure what lessons
we've managed to
teach each other,
but I'm proud of Annie.
She took to deception like
Abed took to Cougar Town.
It's really good.
Especially when she
went off-script.
You said to be convincing.
Check it out, bros.
You made the front page.
You know what this means?
We've gone mainstream.
Initiate Protocol Omega.
Hey.
We've started looting.
Hey, that old, crabby man
just stole my TV.
Wanna build
a cardboard submarine?
Get out of my brain.
Once.
Upon.
A.
Time.
There.
Was.
A...
Big.
Spaceship.
And.
Aliens.
And.
Mercenaries.
And?
War.
And?
Betrayal.
And?
Romance?
And?
Karate.
And?
Credits.
The.
End.
We should write
a screenplay together.
Cool. Cool, cool.