[from trailer]
[at the top of the Chrysler Building]
Jeffrey Price: [hands J a device] Here, take this, and all you have to do is jump.
Agent J: You want me to jump?
Jeffrey Price: Time jump!
[K handles an old cellphone]
Agent J: That's a big phone. Don't hold it up to your head!
Agent J: You know, we been doing some pretty smart stuff over the past day or so, how about we do something stupid? Let's go get some pie!
Agent J: Actually, Mr. Warhol, I gotta tell you, I really love your work!
Andy Warhol: Oh, oh thank you...
[to K]
Andy Warhol: who's the dumbass?
Agent J: Whoa! Hey, how about a little professional courtesy here?
Andy Warhol: What's that, dumbass?
Agent J:
Say it again...
Andy Warhol: You want me to?
Agent J: I dare you!
Andy Warhol: Dumbass!
Young Agent K: Agents...
Agent J: You know, I don't have no problem pimp-slappin' the shiznit out of Andy Warhol!
Andy Warhol: ...Wha?
Agent J: [through Griffin's eyes, J and K see the last game of the 1969 World Series] So this is how you see things? This is amazing!
Griffin: It's a gigantic pain in the ass, but it has it's moments.
Agent J: Wait, this game doesn't happen 'til October.
Griffin: Oh, it's always October, November, March... so
many futures, and they're all real, just don't know which one will coalesce. Until then, they're all happening. Like this one, it's my favorite moment in human history. All the things that have to converge for the Mets to win the World Series. They were in last place every single season until they won it all.
Young Agent K: You said you had a gift for us?
Griffin: That baseball, for instance, thrown for the last out of Game 5, manufactured in 1962 by the Spalding Factory of Chicopee, Massachusetts, was aerodynamically flawed, due to the horse hide being improperly tanned because Sheila, the tanner's wife, left him for a Puerto Rican golf pro that Sunday...
Agent J: [signals "time out" with his hands] Uh, the
gift?
Griffin: Oh, oh, yes, of course, it's in the box. It's the surprise. To protect the Earth, it's the shield.
Agent J: Shield... Arcanan... Arc-Net! That's what you did! You put up the Arc-Net.
Young Agent K: How did I do that?
Griffin: When that ball is pitched to Davey Johnson, who only became a
baseball player because his father couldn't find a football to give him for his eighth birthday - it hits his bat two micrometers too high, causing him to pop out to Cleon Jones - who would have been born Clara, a statistical typist, if his parents didn't have an extra glass of wine that night before going to bed.
[Jones catches the ball, ending the game in victory for the Mets]
Griffin: A miracle is what seems impossible but happens anyway. I lost my planet. I don't want you to lose yours. It'll take a miracle, but if you pull this off, you'll be my new favorite moment in human history. Oh, dear. I forgot to see this one coming.
[gets captured by Boris]
[the Colonel guides K and J to the top of Apollo 11]
Young Agent K: Thank you, Colonel.
Colonel: [shakes K's hand] Some job you got there.
Agent J: [shakes the Colonel's hand] Thanks, man. Hey, what did Griffin show you back there?
Colonel: [smiles] He showed me how important you are. You and your
partner.
Griffin: [spots a butterfly] Oh, dear. This is the one where Boris is coming through that door in twelve, eleven, ten...
[K turns to the door, drawing his weapon]
Griffin: Wait! Did you have chocolate milk this morning?
Agent J: ...Yes.
Griffin: [winces] Cindy.
[There is a sound of breaking
glass, one of the models turns toward the window, and is impaled through the forehead by one of Boris's spikes]