Call Me Fitz (2010–2013): Season 1, Episode 3 - Mama - full transcript
When Fitz discovers his father is leaving Fitzpatrick Motors to Larry in his will, he has no choice but to prove Larry is NOT his long-lost, responsible brother. And the only way to do it is a quick visit to his absentee, alcoholic mother Elaine. Meanwhile, Junior Survivalist Kara builds her now growing attempted vehicular manslaughter case by blackmailing Josh with a compromising cell phone.
What do you think? More...
Salesperson-y?
Less receptionist-ish?
You are a vision of propriety
and large margin virtue.
I bet you sell your first car today.
You ain't selling jack shit
unless you know the nine steps.
Aren't there 12 steps?
If you're a drunken loser.
Step one:
Personality.
- Notes.
- Right.
No one's going to cough up
eight large and change
for the used cruise with Mr. Boring.
And if you want personality,
you might want to rethink that suit.
Looking good, that's step two.
You got to smell good, step three.
You got to stand up tall.
That's four, baby, four.
And you want to pay attention
to step five.
It doesn't matter
what you're wearing.
You're never going to make it
unless you got it going on up here.
Botox.
- I'm not judging.
- Brains, moron.
You think any monkey can sell cars?
A good salesman's got to be alert.
You've got to have
imagination, seven.
And he's got to have
a keen fucking sense of observation.
That's nine, baby, nine.
We're on eight.
That's right.
I was just testing
you kids because nine
is a personal favourite of mine.
A good salesman's got to be able
to make friends.
And get along.
Fuck me, Fitz!
Fucking love this car.
Now, there's also a tenth step
not many people know about.
My secret weapon.
You will never be at the top
of your game unless you have...
the killer instinct.
Anyone, and I mean anyone,
gets in the way of
you being numero uno,
you mow that fucker down
like a used piece of jet track.
Somebody call 911!
Hang on, Mr. F.! I'm coming!
There's only room
at the top for one.
Hang in there!
That's what I'm talking about.
Oh, good, you're alive.
Takes more than a heart attack
to kill Ken Fitz.
It wasn't your heart.
You had a panic attack
because you had to talk to a gay.
I had a heart attack!
- You need more O2.
- Get the fuck away from me.
And don't forget,
estate lawyer at 3:00.
You've got it, sir.
In my day,
faggots didn't come out
until after dark.
What? Estate lawyer?
How can I put the kid in my estate
if I don't talk to one, dummy.
- You're putting Larry in your will?
- He saved my life.
- You had a panic attack.
- He outsold you two-to-one last week.
He had me locked up in rehab!
Drunks don't drive?
You're being taken
in by this lunatic.
That's no way to talk
about your brother.
First, you're my conscience,
now, you're my brother?
I'll go get some biscotti.
Kid says he's got
the same mother as you
and I believe him.
I think I would know
if I had a brother.
Not necessarily.
Your mother never came clean about it,
but I know that's why she left,
the first time.
All the signs were there:
Mood swings,
hard-on for Ben and Jerry's, huge tits.
She got knocked up
by a putz named Dale in Parts.
But even if that was true, he's not
your kid. Why put him in your will?
I need somebody here I can trust.
And you're looking at eight to ten
and that Babs Devin mess.
And that's if she doesn't die.
You think I'm guilty.
Just a lying sack of shit
whose luck has run out.
That dipshit is not my brother.
- Prove it.
- Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
It's beautiful.
Mother and child reunion.
It's like Constantinople, man.
The tarnished Madonna
and her only son.
My mother is the last person
in the world I want to see.
For the road.
This stuff will make you go blind.
Hey, you should CSI her ass,
you know? Get a DNA sample,
fingernail clipping,
scrape her tongue, bone marrow.
- Yeah, I'll get right on that.
- Cool.
What do you think?
I got a map and a first aid kit,
- a flashlight, a travel light.
- He gets to go?
You think I'm going
to leave himto sell more?
Cool your jets.
I'll be right there.
Not fair, man.
And what do I tell your old man?
I don't care. Make something up.
And keep an eye on the place
while I'm gone, capisce?
We'll see
who the real fucking Fitz is.
Careful.
I fingering your mother.
Excuse me?
I needed her fingerprints to compare
them to evidence I found at the scene.
Forensics badge.
Impressive, I know.
Don't you have some kind
of troop meeting to attend?
Some cookies to sell?
I've gone rogue.
They were uncomfortable
with my progressive leadership views.
Want to see my evidence?
I thought that I was clear with you
that the law
will handle this.
What evidence?
You said you needed to prove
that Dick Fitz was behind the wheel.
Here's the wheel.
Tell me that you did not remove
evidence from a secure crime scene.
I checked. Your mother's
fingerprints are not on it.
So, she wasn't driving the car?
We still have to prove
that Richard Fitzpatrick was.
Do you want me to go down
to the dealership?
Let me make myself clear.
I am in no way suggesting that you
go down to Fitzpatrick Motors with
your kit and take some latents
- from something in his office.
- I wouldn't dream of it.
It is beyond my purview
to point out that
it must be something that only he touch,
like a cell phone, personalized mug.
Would his keyboard work?
I would not condone
that in the slightest.
Say no more.
I'm so going to hell.
Will you turn that thing off?
If you want me to drive,
I need the GPS.
- It's in fucking Chinese!
- No, it's Japanese.
- Some shit no one understands.
- We speak a little.
Remember Suki from Nagoya?
It was on sale and we don't want
to get lost on the way to Mother's...
She's not your mother.
You know that she's your mother.
She's my mother too.
I should call Ken,
make sure he's loading up on B12.
He doesn't have a heart condition,
you moron.
He's doing this to get
disability insurance.
It's a scam, just like you telling him
that you're my brother.
I never said I was your brother, okay.
I am your conscience.
Stop saying that, you crazy fuck?
It's your destiny that I, the last
good sliver of your soul
have become manifest
in order to save you from the slow,
horrid descent
permanent moral decrepitude.
Get out, you lying,
balding sack of shit.
But your license is suspended.
And you're on parole.
- What if your rehab counsellor...
- Fuck him.
Richard, dealing
with your abandonment issues
by forcibly abandoning others
is not going to solve this.
Geez. You broke the GPS!
You can't leave me here.
What would Mom say?
I love you!
Where the fuck is everybody?
I got tin out there growing roots
and no salesmen to sell it.
- I'm here.
- You can't sell shit.
When I took this job,
you promised to give me a real shot.
I can do more
than just answer phones.
You're right. Clean the fridge.
It fucking stinks
like a Persian cooze in there.
This shit's good.
Why, hello, stranger.
It's me, Mom...
your son.
We're playing the Mommy game?
I'll be your Mommy.
And I'll be your son
Richard... Richard Fitzpatrick.
Oh, it's you.
Don't get all teary.
Your old man send you?
I was just in the neighbourhood.
I got a guy who owes me for a Jag,
real sucker too,
paid five over book.
Plus I...
- I thought we could catch up.
- I have a little...
shindig happening here.
Meeting of the classic car club.
How long is it gonna take?
That depends, Mom.
Don't call me that.
Fucking sausage rolls.
Just stay right here, okay?
Stay right here.
He was a pussy.
Have you ever tried
to watch him skate?
He didn't have to skate.
He had that beautiful hair.
Who needs to know how to skate
when you got hair like that?
Look, look, look! Slow down.
Hey, son.
Sittler or Salming?
Palmateer?
Good point.
- Well, hope on board.
- Thanks.
Hey, you
are not supposed to be in here.
Fitzy's going to be back any second.
Please, he's probably
at that dumpy bar in the strip mall.
Past noon, he'll be out of commission
for the rest of the day.
Actually... he's out on assignment.
Even better.
I was a commando.
Don't make me use force.
I survived my stepfather,
I can survive you.
I got to protect Fitzy.
He's my guy, you know.
A guy's got to do
what a guy's got to do to...
protect his other... guy.
Well, good luck with that.
You can barely see straight.
All right,
you know, that's allergies.
You got to go.
You got to go.
Or it's chronic drug abuse,
which leads
to momentary lapses in judgment,
inappropriate behaviour...
Transgressive actions.
I like your badges.
I'm only 15.
Thank you.
I have all the evidence I need.
Now, you won't say squat,
not unless the idea
of statutory rape turns you on.
So, this is how
it's going to go down:
I say "Jump," you say "How high?"
Smell it.
Smell it!
Maybe it was rambunctious
neighbourhood children.
Do not be fooled, Cousin.
This atrocity can only be
the work of those Fitzpatrick dogs.
I believe you're right.
I know how you can get back at them.
Look, cousin, the Fitzes
have sent us their concubine.
I want you to hire me.
I now know that the Fitzpatricks
will never let me sell a car.
All they ever let me do
is answer the phone.
You want to answer our phone?
I want you to make me a salesman.
Salesman?
This is impossible.
- You have no penis.
- A salesperson.
This is more
Fitzpatrick trickery, huh?
This is an attempt on their part
to plant a spy in our midst.
On the other hand,
Fitz and the gangly one are nowhere
in sight for hours at a time.
If we hire her,
they'll have no salesmen.
If they have no salesmen,
there will be no car sales.
I'm not following your logic.
An oasis with no water...
is simply desert.
Okay, we accept your offer.
You may work for us.
Yes!
Thank you.
You... won't regret it.
As long as you stop
this dressing like a whore.
We would never want to exploit
your large North American breasts.
Right.
Up here.
Congratulations.
Richard is not a bad person,
He's a little confused,
and sex addicted.
And with so many
substance abuse issues,
it's hard to know
when the shakes end
and the hangovers begin, you know?
A man can't heal his soul
if there is bad blood with his mom.
Okay, now, if this backfires,
Richard will not be able
to handle the rejection alone.
You guys,
he needs me.
A man's got nothing
but an enlarged prostate gland
without teammates to watch his back.
Damn the torpedoes.
We're coming for you, Richard.
Right on!
So... how do you know Elaine?
We go way back.
You into the lifestyle?
I'm the best,
a chip off the old block.
Patented secret,
nine steps,
ten if you're in the know.
As long as it's not 12.
You got that right.
Mine's the Honda Accord.
Really? You looking to trade up?
What did you have in mind?
I'm just getting going.
My sentiments exactly.
- I just got here.
- And now it's time for you to leave.
We've got business to discuss,
family business.
You want to talk business,
you call my office.
A tip:
Your grandfather had cirrhosis
and he didn't make it past 40.
How is that supposed
to be my prob...
thank God, you're okay.
We're getting married.
Can we talk about the car?
Excuse me.
Mr. Fitzpatrick,
I have something to say.
Fuck off.
Are you okay?
Do I need to call 911?
Mr. Fitzpatrick?
Fuck me.
And fuck you, Mom.
Wonderful. There you are.
- Did you patch things up with Mother?
- Go ask her yourself, Bro.
Hey, wait, where are you going?
Home, to sell some cars.
You need to know your mother's
abandonment of you was not your fault.
- Don't you tell me what I need.
- Richard, please.
Help me,
help you.
Get out of my life, motherfucker.
Look, you want me gone, right?
But you need to heal first.
And she may not know it yet,
but Mama needs some healing too.
You can do it, Fitz!
We can do this.
They're still out there,
like starfish.
Mr. Fitzpatrick,
I have something to say.
- You've got to do something for me.
- No, I don't.
I don't have to do anything for you,
and that's because
I don't work here anymore.
I don't have
a problem with the gays.
I can't sell to them.
They make me nervous.
Don't ask me why.
Don't ask, don't tell.
That couple?
Close the deal.
Me?
Use the steps.
Sell the fucking car.
Okay, step one,
personality.
Step seven, imagination.
And I'm not Persian, so
I've got step three.
Hello.
This is a fine quality coupe,
perfect for all
of your vehicular needs.
Yeah, we like it already.
Let's sign.
Meeting of the classic car club.
Yeah, one thing us Fitzes always knew
how to do was throw a party.
Ring-a-ding-ding, baby.
Time to fit in.
- It's cold.
- Don't touch me.
Here you go.
I am dying to wax your gear stick.
Richard,
this makes me very uncomfortable.
Good evening.
Richard, this is not the way
to deal with your issues.
Use your words.
Stop, Richard.
That's your mother.
Do we have a visitor?
I told you to leave.
Not without a little DNA action.
Me first.
Who are they?
This will prove to Ken
that there's not another kid.
What other kid?
There's a little confusion
on the maternity front.
You see, somehow
Ken got it in his head that...
I am your lovechild
with Dale from Parts.
Somehow.
That's your son?
How old are you?
Get out.
No, not until you tell Richard
you love him,
and the fact that you went
on a decades-long wild sexual rampage
was not his fault.
Love?
He blew up my house
when he was seven.
He pawned his Grandma's cancer meds
and then drove
to Las Vegas in my car
my car,
the best thing
to ever come out of that
hellish mistake of a marriage.
And no, I never had another kid.
And frankly,
I'm really sorry I ever had you.
You think I'm so bad, Mom?
Then why am I the top salesman
in the general
metropolitan area, huh?
I'll tell you why.
Because I'm the best.
I've got personality,
I've got brains,
I've got imagination, I smell good,
and people like me.
I wrote that shtick.
The nine steps. Classic.
I don't care
how much tin you sling, baby.
You got the bad Fitz blood in you,
and people can't change.
Just watch us, lady.
I believe it's time to blow.
As in, get out of here, blow.
I got your fucking hair.
He's got your hair.
Ms. Sonya, come inside.
Our toilets aren't cleaning
themselves.
You know what? I sold a car.
Ken Fitzpatrick believes in me.
In his mean-spirited
and completely sexist way
he cares.
Because you know why?
There is a step 11,
perseverance.
And... steps 12 and 13:
Big North American breasts.
I believe step 12
is bigger than step 13.
Richard, wait!
Mom was wearing a wig!
The DNA sample proves nothing!
I love you!
Synced by Monkeymann
Salesperson-y?
Less receptionist-ish?
You are a vision of propriety
and large margin virtue.
I bet you sell your first car today.
You ain't selling jack shit
unless you know the nine steps.
Aren't there 12 steps?
If you're a drunken loser.
Step one:
Personality.
- Notes.
- Right.
No one's going to cough up
eight large and change
for the used cruise with Mr. Boring.
And if you want personality,
you might want to rethink that suit.
Looking good, that's step two.
You got to smell good, step three.
You got to stand up tall.
That's four, baby, four.
And you want to pay attention
to step five.
It doesn't matter
what you're wearing.
You're never going to make it
unless you got it going on up here.
Botox.
- I'm not judging.
- Brains, moron.
You think any monkey can sell cars?
A good salesman's got to be alert.
You've got to have
imagination, seven.
And he's got to have
a keen fucking sense of observation.
That's nine, baby, nine.
We're on eight.
That's right.
I was just testing
you kids because nine
is a personal favourite of mine.
A good salesman's got to be able
to make friends.
And get along.
Fuck me, Fitz!
Fucking love this car.
Now, there's also a tenth step
not many people know about.
My secret weapon.
You will never be at the top
of your game unless you have...
the killer instinct.
Anyone, and I mean anyone,
gets in the way of
you being numero uno,
you mow that fucker down
like a used piece of jet track.
Somebody call 911!
Hang on, Mr. F.! I'm coming!
There's only room
at the top for one.
Hang in there!
That's what I'm talking about.
Oh, good, you're alive.
Takes more than a heart attack
to kill Ken Fitz.
It wasn't your heart.
You had a panic attack
because you had to talk to a gay.
I had a heart attack!
- You need more O2.
- Get the fuck away from me.
And don't forget,
estate lawyer at 3:00.
You've got it, sir.
In my day,
faggots didn't come out
until after dark.
What? Estate lawyer?
How can I put the kid in my estate
if I don't talk to one, dummy.
- You're putting Larry in your will?
- He saved my life.
- You had a panic attack.
- He outsold you two-to-one last week.
He had me locked up in rehab!
Drunks don't drive?
You're being taken
in by this lunatic.
That's no way to talk
about your brother.
First, you're my conscience,
now, you're my brother?
I'll go get some biscotti.
Kid says he's got
the same mother as you
and I believe him.
I think I would know
if I had a brother.
Not necessarily.
Your mother never came clean about it,
but I know that's why she left,
the first time.
All the signs were there:
Mood swings,
hard-on for Ben and Jerry's, huge tits.
She got knocked up
by a putz named Dale in Parts.
But even if that was true, he's not
your kid. Why put him in your will?
I need somebody here I can trust.
And you're looking at eight to ten
and that Babs Devin mess.
And that's if she doesn't die.
You think I'm guilty.
Just a lying sack of shit
whose luck has run out.
That dipshit is not my brother.
- Prove it.
- Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
It's beautiful.
Mother and child reunion.
It's like Constantinople, man.
The tarnished Madonna
and her only son.
My mother is the last person
in the world I want to see.
For the road.
This stuff will make you go blind.
Hey, you should CSI her ass,
you know? Get a DNA sample,
fingernail clipping,
scrape her tongue, bone marrow.
- Yeah, I'll get right on that.
- Cool.
What do you think?
I got a map and a first aid kit,
- a flashlight, a travel light.
- He gets to go?
You think I'm going
to leave himto sell more?
Cool your jets.
I'll be right there.
Not fair, man.
And what do I tell your old man?
I don't care. Make something up.
And keep an eye on the place
while I'm gone, capisce?
We'll see
who the real fucking Fitz is.
Careful.
I fingering your mother.
Excuse me?
I needed her fingerprints to compare
them to evidence I found at the scene.
Forensics badge.
Impressive, I know.
Don't you have some kind
of troop meeting to attend?
Some cookies to sell?
I've gone rogue.
They were uncomfortable
with my progressive leadership views.
Want to see my evidence?
I thought that I was clear with you
that the law
will handle this.
What evidence?
You said you needed to prove
that Dick Fitz was behind the wheel.
Here's the wheel.
Tell me that you did not remove
evidence from a secure crime scene.
I checked. Your mother's
fingerprints are not on it.
So, she wasn't driving the car?
We still have to prove
that Richard Fitzpatrick was.
Do you want me to go down
to the dealership?
Let me make myself clear.
I am in no way suggesting that you
go down to Fitzpatrick Motors with
your kit and take some latents
- from something in his office.
- I wouldn't dream of it.
It is beyond my purview
to point out that
it must be something that only he touch,
like a cell phone, personalized mug.
Would his keyboard work?
I would not condone
that in the slightest.
Say no more.
I'm so going to hell.
Will you turn that thing off?
If you want me to drive,
I need the GPS.
- It's in fucking Chinese!
- No, it's Japanese.
- Some shit no one understands.
- We speak a little.
Remember Suki from Nagoya?
It was on sale and we don't want
to get lost on the way to Mother's...
She's not your mother.
You know that she's your mother.
She's my mother too.
I should call Ken,
make sure he's loading up on B12.
He doesn't have a heart condition,
you moron.
He's doing this to get
disability insurance.
It's a scam, just like you telling him
that you're my brother.
I never said I was your brother, okay.
I am your conscience.
Stop saying that, you crazy fuck?
It's your destiny that I, the last
good sliver of your soul
have become manifest
in order to save you from the slow,
horrid descent
permanent moral decrepitude.
Get out, you lying,
balding sack of shit.
But your license is suspended.
And you're on parole.
- What if your rehab counsellor...
- Fuck him.
Richard, dealing
with your abandonment issues
by forcibly abandoning others
is not going to solve this.
Geez. You broke the GPS!
You can't leave me here.
What would Mom say?
I love you!
Where the fuck is everybody?
I got tin out there growing roots
and no salesmen to sell it.
- I'm here.
- You can't sell shit.
When I took this job,
you promised to give me a real shot.
I can do more
than just answer phones.
You're right. Clean the fridge.
It fucking stinks
like a Persian cooze in there.
This shit's good.
Why, hello, stranger.
It's me, Mom...
your son.
We're playing the Mommy game?
I'll be your Mommy.
And I'll be your son
Richard... Richard Fitzpatrick.
Oh, it's you.
Don't get all teary.
Your old man send you?
I was just in the neighbourhood.
I got a guy who owes me for a Jag,
real sucker too,
paid five over book.
Plus I...
- I thought we could catch up.
- I have a little...
shindig happening here.
Meeting of the classic car club.
How long is it gonna take?
That depends, Mom.
Don't call me that.
Fucking sausage rolls.
Just stay right here, okay?
Stay right here.
He was a pussy.
Have you ever tried
to watch him skate?
He didn't have to skate.
He had that beautiful hair.
Who needs to know how to skate
when you got hair like that?
Look, look, look! Slow down.
Hey, son.
Sittler or Salming?
Palmateer?
Good point.
- Well, hope on board.
- Thanks.
Hey, you
are not supposed to be in here.
Fitzy's going to be back any second.
Please, he's probably
at that dumpy bar in the strip mall.
Past noon, he'll be out of commission
for the rest of the day.
Actually... he's out on assignment.
Even better.
I was a commando.
Don't make me use force.
I survived my stepfather,
I can survive you.
I got to protect Fitzy.
He's my guy, you know.
A guy's got to do
what a guy's got to do to...
protect his other... guy.
Well, good luck with that.
You can barely see straight.
All right,
you know, that's allergies.
You got to go.
You got to go.
Or it's chronic drug abuse,
which leads
to momentary lapses in judgment,
inappropriate behaviour...
Transgressive actions.
I like your badges.
I'm only 15.
Thank you.
I have all the evidence I need.
Now, you won't say squat,
not unless the idea
of statutory rape turns you on.
So, this is how
it's going to go down:
I say "Jump," you say "How high?"
Smell it.
Smell it!
Maybe it was rambunctious
neighbourhood children.
Do not be fooled, Cousin.
This atrocity can only be
the work of those Fitzpatrick dogs.
I believe you're right.
I know how you can get back at them.
Look, cousin, the Fitzes
have sent us their concubine.
I want you to hire me.
I now know that the Fitzpatricks
will never let me sell a car.
All they ever let me do
is answer the phone.
You want to answer our phone?
I want you to make me a salesman.
Salesman?
This is impossible.
- You have no penis.
- A salesperson.
This is more
Fitzpatrick trickery, huh?
This is an attempt on their part
to plant a spy in our midst.
On the other hand,
Fitz and the gangly one are nowhere
in sight for hours at a time.
If we hire her,
they'll have no salesmen.
If they have no salesmen,
there will be no car sales.
I'm not following your logic.
An oasis with no water...
is simply desert.
Okay, we accept your offer.
You may work for us.
Yes!
Thank you.
You... won't regret it.
As long as you stop
this dressing like a whore.
We would never want to exploit
your large North American breasts.
Right.
Up here.
Congratulations.
Richard is not a bad person,
He's a little confused,
and sex addicted.
And with so many
substance abuse issues,
it's hard to know
when the shakes end
and the hangovers begin, you know?
A man can't heal his soul
if there is bad blood with his mom.
Okay, now, if this backfires,
Richard will not be able
to handle the rejection alone.
You guys,
he needs me.
A man's got nothing
but an enlarged prostate gland
without teammates to watch his back.
Damn the torpedoes.
We're coming for you, Richard.
Right on!
So... how do you know Elaine?
We go way back.
You into the lifestyle?
I'm the best,
a chip off the old block.
Patented secret,
nine steps,
ten if you're in the know.
As long as it's not 12.
You got that right.
Mine's the Honda Accord.
Really? You looking to trade up?
What did you have in mind?
I'm just getting going.
My sentiments exactly.
- I just got here.
- And now it's time for you to leave.
We've got business to discuss,
family business.
You want to talk business,
you call my office.
A tip:
Your grandfather had cirrhosis
and he didn't make it past 40.
How is that supposed
to be my prob...
thank God, you're okay.
We're getting married.
Can we talk about the car?
Excuse me.
Mr. Fitzpatrick,
I have something to say.
Fuck off.
Are you okay?
Do I need to call 911?
Mr. Fitzpatrick?
Fuck me.
And fuck you, Mom.
Wonderful. There you are.
- Did you patch things up with Mother?
- Go ask her yourself, Bro.
Hey, wait, where are you going?
Home, to sell some cars.
You need to know your mother's
abandonment of you was not your fault.
- Don't you tell me what I need.
- Richard, please.
Help me,
help you.
Get out of my life, motherfucker.
Look, you want me gone, right?
But you need to heal first.
And she may not know it yet,
but Mama needs some healing too.
You can do it, Fitz!
We can do this.
They're still out there,
like starfish.
Mr. Fitzpatrick,
I have something to say.
- You've got to do something for me.
- No, I don't.
I don't have to do anything for you,
and that's because
I don't work here anymore.
I don't have
a problem with the gays.
I can't sell to them.
They make me nervous.
Don't ask me why.
Don't ask, don't tell.
That couple?
Close the deal.
Me?
Use the steps.
Sell the fucking car.
Okay, step one,
personality.
Step seven, imagination.
And I'm not Persian, so
I've got step three.
Hello.
This is a fine quality coupe,
perfect for all
of your vehicular needs.
Yeah, we like it already.
Let's sign.
Meeting of the classic car club.
Yeah, one thing us Fitzes always knew
how to do was throw a party.
Ring-a-ding-ding, baby.
Time to fit in.
- It's cold.
- Don't touch me.
Here you go.
I am dying to wax your gear stick.
Richard,
this makes me very uncomfortable.
Good evening.
Richard, this is not the way
to deal with your issues.
Use your words.
Stop, Richard.
That's your mother.
Do we have a visitor?
I told you to leave.
Not without a little DNA action.
Me first.
Who are they?
This will prove to Ken
that there's not another kid.
What other kid?
There's a little confusion
on the maternity front.
You see, somehow
Ken got it in his head that...
I am your lovechild
with Dale from Parts.
Somehow.
That's your son?
How old are you?
Get out.
No, not until you tell Richard
you love him,
and the fact that you went
on a decades-long wild sexual rampage
was not his fault.
Love?
He blew up my house
when he was seven.
He pawned his Grandma's cancer meds
and then drove
to Las Vegas in my car
my car,
the best thing
to ever come out of that
hellish mistake of a marriage.
And no, I never had another kid.
And frankly,
I'm really sorry I ever had you.
You think I'm so bad, Mom?
Then why am I the top salesman
in the general
metropolitan area, huh?
I'll tell you why.
Because I'm the best.
I've got personality,
I've got brains,
I've got imagination, I smell good,
and people like me.
I wrote that shtick.
The nine steps. Classic.
I don't care
how much tin you sling, baby.
You got the bad Fitz blood in you,
and people can't change.
Just watch us, lady.
I believe it's time to blow.
As in, get out of here, blow.
I got your fucking hair.
He's got your hair.
Ms. Sonya, come inside.
Our toilets aren't cleaning
themselves.
You know what? I sold a car.
Ken Fitzpatrick believes in me.
In his mean-spirited
and completely sexist way
he cares.
Because you know why?
There is a step 11,
perseverance.
And... steps 12 and 13:
Big North American breasts.
I believe step 12
is bigger than step 13.
Richard, wait!
Mom was wearing a wig!
The DNA sample proves nothing!
I love you!
Synced by Monkeymann