Call Me Fitz (2010–2013): Season 1, Episode 12 - Honesty, Integrity, and Low Mileage: Part 1 - full transcript

There are many things
that make a man a winner.

But the only one
that I give a shit about

is the almighty Fibby,

international symbol
of pre-owned excellence,

named after the maestro himself,
Nicky Fibronski,

who, on June 9th, 1969,

sold 68 junkers in one day.

Winning a Fibby in this town
says you're the best.

I've got eight,

and tomorrow night,
I'll be nine for nine.

Only one way
to spell "winner" in my book



and that's F-I-T-fucking-Z.

I've been waiting for this day
my whole life:

Beating my old man's record.

- Beautiful day.
- Who's dead?

You are. Fibbys numbers are in.

Say hello to 5th place, ass clown.

You don't even qualify this year.

Fuck.

- Honesty, Integrity,
and Low Mileage: Part 1 -

I'd usually take a hottie
like you for a lay-down,

but you're more of a cherry,
a woman with a sweet-ass trade-in

who wouldn't refuse a backseat driving,
if she's agrees to purchase right now.

Come on, honey,

lesbians usually love me.



This came for you.

My "How to Survive
on One Kidney" handbook.

Have I shown you my scar lately?

It adds quite a bit of zing
to my midriff.

It's a photo. It wasn't addressed
to anyone in particular so I opened it,

and look.

Nice hair, hot stuff.

But who's Mark and Dave?

Go ahead,
tell me it's my own fucking fault.

Using my obvious sexual gifts
is no way to sell cars.

I know that look too. "Your father's not
in competition with you."

"It's just his deep-seated fear
of parental love."

To which I respond, "Shut up".

And you say something like,
"Are you ever gonna be redeemable?"

There's only one way
Fitzy's ever gonna be redeemed

and that's shaken, not stirred.

"But Richard,
it's the middle of the workday"

"and you shouldn't get hammered
before lunch."

Fuck you.

If that even if my real name.

Mom!

- Mom!
- Yes, sweetie?

You still watching that holocaust movie
you don't want me to see?

They're not all dead yet, so just...

this is awful.

He'll be okay.

His thirst should not be quenched
by sugary drinks anyways.

I'm certain his knowledge of genocide:
Limited.

Not that.

We can't keep
getting stopped like this.

My labia are not used
to this much swelling and deflating.

There can be only one explanation
for these interruptions that plague us.

Universe,
the universe is standing in our way

because we are hiding
our passion from our families.

Tell them? Are you kidding?

That would be like
the double cock block of the century.

There is no other choice. This is
the perfect timing, before the Fibbys.

Then, when cousin and I beat
those Fitzpatricks to a bloody pulp,

this is figurating speaking of course,
it'll all be in the family.

This is the only way.

We must clear this karmic roadblock
so I can plough your carrot field.

- What?
- Because of your orange hair.

Don't be shocked
if the carpet don't match the drapes.

- I'm lost in a sea of metaphor.
- And I'm totally turned on.

Soon.

So, you don't win a Fibby this year.

You can still get arrested
at the after party.

It's not about a trophy.

It's about beating my old man's record

and publicly humiliating
that incontinent piss tit.

You can kiss me now or later
but you better kiss me now

because what I'm about to tell you,
you're gonna bone me and I don't play.

I told you to leave me alone.

Come on, man.

I said I was sorry. I didn't know
that Kara wanted to kill you with the...

I thought she was gonna lock you up
and throw away the key.

Now that I say that,
that sounds really bad.

I'm getting off topic.

Hargrove and Peterson, '82 to '84,

swept the Fibbys
three years in a row as a team.

You don't sell cars, nimrod.
Or did you forget that too?

Yeah, but Larry does,

and his numbers with your numbers
means you win.

No, it means I win with Larry.
There's a big difference.

Yeah, but 8? still beats 8.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go see
a circus freak about an award.

- I need those.
- No way.

No way. I am not losing
my license again for you, Fitz.

I can give you a lift.

Fuck it.

Yes, tracking number 67832.

No, just the return address, no name.

Okay. Thank you for your help,

which was
really not very helpful at all.

Larry, get changed.

- Why? Is my scab bleeding again?
- Tux, gayest one I could find.

We're gonna win me a Fibby.

Your sales were terrible this quarter.
We're not even in the running this year.

- Yeah, and whose fault is that?
- Somehow I think you make it mine.

I know how you can make it up to me:
Loophole in the conventions rules.

Us together and it's extra olives
with a side of Screw Ken.

- You and me?
- Yeah.

Usually, that type of news
would make me very happy, but not today.

Larry,
let me paint a picture for you.

Free grub,

all the complimentary booze
you can drink,

more tail than a freaking beaver dam

one heavenly afternoon
of automotive-sanctioned depravity.

Plus,
the trophies make great sex toys.

I'm not in the mood for a party.

- Come on, you owe me.
- For what? Stealing my kidney?

I called you five times
to pick me up last night.

I'm not your designated driver, okay?
I may not even be your conscience.

That's what
I've been saying all along.

As such, I have a personal issue
I need to look into right now.

There is nothing more personal
than topping my old man at the Fibbys.

Except this.

Some stupid picture
of an idiot that looks like you

and some guy retarded
to be his friend?

So what?

I don't remember
this photo being taken, or that hair.

And while
this appears to be me in the photo,

I don't know anyone
named Mark or Dave.

This is a very emotional,
difficult time for me, Richard.

One man, three names,

and unknown past,
an uncertain, one-kidneyed future.

There can be no joy in Larryland
until I find out the truth.

Fuck.

Three hours till show time.

If I help you figure this out,
you shut up and come to the Fibbys?

- I'll get changed.
- In the car.

That was a very brave share.

And I'm so glad
you were able to come into this

after that awful kidnapping situation.

- Hello there, welcome.
- Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.

- What did you just say?
- Sorry?

The apologies stop here.

Your days of apologizing
are over because

you have nothing to feel sorry about.

Welcome...

Please,

share.

You know what? That's okay.
I just thought I'd come and,

sit, check it out,
see if it's a good fit for me.

Let me ask you something, Ali.

Have you...

Have you ever considered moving in
with a man after a third date?

Ever had to lie
about a cigarette burn?

Have you ever hated a man

with every fibre of your being

and wanted to screw him just as much?

Actually...

Guess what, sister.

This is the right fit for you.

Everyone, join me in welcoming Ali
with our vow of equanimity.

Grant me courage
to recognize my own power,

the foresight to know
when a man will screw me over

and the wisdom
to never grant joint access

to my chequing account.

Most honourable Ken,

it is with great ardour
that I am here today.

I am humbled by my respect for you.

If I wanted my cock sucked,
I'd called 1-800-suck-my-cock.

Get to the point.

I am here to declare my intentions
with regards to your daughter.

I desire your blessing to date,
and subsequently bed, Meghan.

I suppose that makes sense.
You people love your cows.

I'm not a Hindu.

Have a drink.

With all due respect,
my religion forbids it.

Then your religion forbids you
to put your pork in my princess.

All right.

Now, let's talk dowries.

While monetary compensation
is a custom of my people,

I ask for nothing more

than your daughter's hand in lovemaking.

I'm not talking about you.
What do I get?

A fixer upper?
Maybe I was a real estate agent.

Or it's an old storage place
and someone is fucking with you. We go?

Hello?

Mark?

Come on, Larry!

Hey, Dave?

You guys?

Are we done here?
It's fucking freezing out there, man.

This is very unusual.
Why would somebody send me

a picture in order to lure me
into an abandoned warehouse?

I don't know. Maybe you had
some stuff stored here

and they mailed it to you
when they closed up shop.

Or maybe it's a trap.

Fuck.

We can do this.

- God.
- Don't hug me!

Sorry.

And to this day, I can't stop
thinking about him.

I should just shave my head
and move to India.

Except you'd only find
the same bad men there.

You know what I mean, don't you?

Sounds just like a guy I know.

But I see now,

I was just
allowing myself to be used.

Now I'm just a pre-owned
piece of trash

with a really low resale value.

That is not true.

You are a top-of-the-line model.

You just need to believe that,

in here.

Remember, ladies,
that's why we're all here,

because we're stronger
than the men that tried to ruin us,

the men that don't deserve us.

There's one in particular:

The same stories,

the same lies,

same residue of shame.

Show of hands: How many of us

are talking about
Richard Fitzpatrick?

Holy shit.

We should just rename this group
"Fucked Over by Fitz."

That little prick.

It wasn't that little.

Good job, crotch stain.

40 minutes till the Fibbys
and I'm stuck here with you.

Plus, you were stupid enough to fall
for some scam to get us trapped here.

It's probably my old man.

Well, it's an old building.
Perhaps I overreacted.

Perhaps that handle breaking
was nothing but an unfortunate accident.

Thank you very much.

How is not having
a cell signal my fault?

I don't know. Every disaster
that's happened in my life lately

has been because of you.

I have done everything in my power

to assist you
in becoming a decent human being.

Yeah?
How's that working out for you?

No matter how many ditches
I pick you up from,

comatose women I help you marry,

pornographic films I cameo in,

mentally challenged women
I inadvertently help you bed,

bodies I assist you in stealing,
sniper bullets that I dodge,

kidneys that I lose for you,
you will never

take responsibility for
your own problems, will you?

How is getting locked in
a David Fincher movie

with your identity crisis
my problem, huh?

- I don't know.
- Yeah.

Kevin?

My precious fig bird,
why are you here?

I know, I know, it looks like
I'm stalking you. Old habits.

I should have called you
after I left your father.

I'm sorry.

And? What did he say?

He gave us his blessing.

- How?
- I paid him.

I'm sorry. What?

Well,
paid is more of an offering, really.

What are you talking about?
My father pimped me out?

No, no, no.

Well, yes, I suppose.
Based on cultural interpretation...

How much?

Seven deluxe aluminum rims,
14 superior anti-corroding brake pads.

My father sold me for auto parts?

Custom auto parts.

$15,000 worth.

$15,000?

My God, I'm totally expensive,
like what Congressman buy.

So, can we do it now?

The familial circle
of truth is not yet complete.

As soon as I tell my cousin,
we are good to blow... go.

Okay.

Soon, my love, soon.

I haven't seen Kevin
since I was six years old.

We went on vacation and when
we came back, he was gone.

My father said he hopped away
because I cried like a girl.

What's he doing here?

Where did you find him?

What kind of psycho voodoo
bullshit are you pulling on me?

You were there,

at the accident.

It was you,

after I hit my head.

Yes, I was there to help you.

No...
you made me run off the road.

Richard, I would never do
anything to hurt you.

No, it's your fault:

The accident,

Babs Devin,

her daughter, jail,
screwing my sales,

syphilis, it's all you!

Or Mark, or Dave. I mean...

No, no, I can never
do anything like that.

- Prove it.
- I can't!

Because I don't remember.

I don't remember anything
before the accident.

All I know is that I saw you
run off the road and you were hurt

and you needed my help.

Next time, be an innocent bystander.

You're right.

You're right. It doesn't matter
who I am, this is all my fault.

I should have let you get rid of me
a long time ago.

And now we're trapped here
and you can't get

to the Fibbys
and we're both going to die.

For fuck's sake.
Will you get down from there?

The last thing I need is
another dead body on my hands.

This is the only way.

How long you're gonna be here
before they find you?

You remember that South American
soccer team?

When I'm dead,
you need to eat my body to stay alive.

The best meat is found in the rump.

We've been here 20 minutes.

And how long
until the pangs of hunger drive you mad?

Another 20?
You're not a breakfast person.

I know you.
You haven't eaten anything all day.

Whatever happened to:

"You got to look on the bright side."

"We got to move forward."

Killing yourself
isn't gonna solve anything

and it sure as shit isn't
going to win me my trophy.

Then we both have nothing to live for.

No matter who I am, Richard,

I will always hold you dear.

Nothing to live for?

You ever dipped a broad to Sinatra:
The Count Basie years?

I don't think so.

You ever tasted a vodka martini

so cold it made your balls sting?

Alcohol's not really my thing.

You ever wanted
to kiss a woman so bad,

that when you finally
tasted her lips,

you didn't give a fuck
what planet you were on?

And what about
the sweet taste of victory,

when you finally got to celebrate

the one thing you do better
than any other schmuck in town?

You're always trying to convince me,

- seduce me with your charm.
- And this time's no different.

Come on, man.

I need you, Larry.

Because that is your name.

Larry, I need you to help me
find a way out of this shithole.

Okay.

Okay, maybe one last time.

There's a way.

No need to count again, cousin.
It is clear our inventory's diminished.

You noticed.

Yes, and it is most troubling.

The universe is telling me
that now is the time to confess.

Cousin, please, open your heart,
listen to what I have to say...

I know your transgression, okay?
And I forgive.

You do?

You know, I have done
this salacious deed many times myself.

Late at night working,

I'm often overcome by this
disgusting perversion of a sin.

Cousin...

I am so relieved.

We Ruptals are not just
devilishly handsome, huh?

We're also forgetful people.

- Forgetful?
- Yes.

You failed to turn on
the security monitor last night

and thieves had their way
with anti-corroding brake pads.

What to do, y'all? What to do?

- I shouldn't be here.
- I'm glad you came.

You told me
you'd kill my mom if I didn't.

I was joking.

- Come on, it's fun.
- Yeah, I knew that.

But please don't,

the killing my mom.

We're one and the same,
you know, you and me.

We're not like everybody else,

everybody always shitting on us.

Did you get that book
I told you about?

Yeah.

Right here.

It's not for me... It's for you.

I have a project
that I wanna talk to you about,

something only a big,

strong, ex-militia man could handle.

Who?

I'm talking about you, Joshy.

I've got it all planned out.

Okay, look,
if this has anything to do with Fitzy...

That monster
that destroyed my childhood,

my family, my trust in men,
with his selfish actions.

Okay, well, he's not that bad.

He bedded my mother

and then laughed it off
when my father found out.

Okay, that's pretty bad.

We are in a state of emergency

and its name is Richard Fitzpatrick.

I'm not gonna lie. I'm thinking about
fucking him right now.

We have to be strong.

We all have to be strong
because the road we must take now

is hard and fraught
with difficult decisions.

If...

If for once in your life you could,

in one, bold, symbolic act,
throw down

those shackles of victimhood
and say no more, wouldn't you do it?

Richard Fitzpatrick is a cancer.

And what do we do for cancer?

- Regular breast exams?
- Half a point.

We destroy it.

Destroy Fitz?

- We destroy it.
- What?

I want you to get your tux on,

and tonight, we'll bring down
those thieving devils.

Together, we'll crush
the enemy of enemies,

the family Fitzpatrick
once and for all.

I would pay 10,000 brake pads
for a chance at that.

You are a good man, Josh McTaggart.

Know that I know
that you know what's right.

I know that you know that I know...

Let's talk logistics, shall we?

I love you.

Get us signed in, get the vodka
flowing, I'll go park the car.

We're an impressive team,
Richard Fitzpatrick.

Now, let's go win us a Fibby!

That is correct,
the team of Larry with an I

and Richard Fitzpatrick.

Though generally he prefers
to be called...

Look at that, you know him.

There is no way in hell
that dead, shrivelled scrotum...

can be allowed to exist
one minute longer...

without answering for his crimes...

and paying the ultimate penalty!

You want a hit, Kev?

It does feel good to be number one.

On behalf of everyone
at Fitzpatrick motors,

I'd like to say,

"Fuck you, Dad."

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