Call Me Fitz (2010–2013): Season 2, Episode 3 - Don of the Differently Abled - full transcript

The worst part about a curse
isn't the bad shit that happens to you.

Any schmuck
can weather a little misery.

Hell, most people actually enjoy it.

No, the worst part about a curse...

is that your luck's turned to shit.

Snake eyes.

Great.

It's a voodoo mind fuck.

Solutions turn into problems,

and problems turn into nightmares
and suddenly...

Nothing makes sense anymore.



Happens when you mix
Atophan with booze.

How'd you get in here?

Shit.

I get it.

It's a dream, isn't it?

It's totally a dream.

If I know that,

I can control it.

All right, ladies.

Let's get to it.

I don't know how long
this dream is going to last,

but I do know this threesome
isn't going to start itself.

Richard, you are awake
and you have a pronounced erection.

It's policy, Mr. Fitzpatrick.



You need a licence to sell and,

due to your fraudulent practices,
yours has been revoked.

Which means you're nothing here.

Jesus,
let's try and be professional here.

Professional?

You just petitioned customers
for an orgy.

And they said yes.

You're up on criminal charges
for breaking into my apartment.

All you've done is prove my point.
I got enough hassles.

And a guy's got a right
to earn a living.

You stole my panties.

We both know what this is about.

You know about this power trip that
your psycho smile factory is taking?

No clue,
but if it pisses you off, I'll back her.

Are we having a meeting?

We're playing a game called
"shut the fuck up". Go first.

Don't blow it.

The sign outside says
"Fitzpatrick Motors". I'm a partner.

- You're a blowjob that went wrong.
- What about me?

You can't even win
a game of "shut the fuck up".

What the skirt says goes.

Sales floor's off limits
until you pass your dealers exam.

Sorry.

It's like I say.

Embrace big obstacles
and problems will turn into big assets.

Shut up.
This is a stupid dealership exam.

Which I did suggest
you rewrite several dozen times.

You wanna take credit for my ideas?

Are you a walking conscience
or a walking ego?

Besides, I'm not taking the exam.
You are.

And I don't feel very comfortable
impersonating you for an exam.

No, Richard,
that's the line for the specials.

Well, hello.
I'm Richard, Richard Fitzpatrick.

I'm fuck. Don't give a fuck.
And you're in the wrong line.

We are so sorry.

Can I help you with anything?

Apotemnophilia.

Interesting.

Here's my card.
Call me when you need a new short bus.

Or anything else.

It's not likely.

Next.

This is Richard Fitzpatrick.
He's here to take his dealership exam.

Hello.

I'll need some photo ID.

Right.

Here you go.

Doesn't look a thing like him.

I know academics aren't your "thing",
but you can do this.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

Richard Fitzpatrick
isn't afraid of shit.

Mr. Fitzpatrick,
I have a Dr. Rollands on line 1.

Am I a dead man or what?

As I mentioned, Mr. Fitzpatrick,
testicular cancer responds very well...

Quack. Double-talk bullshit.

I think we have it well in hand.

Did you find someone who will
pick you up after the procedure?

I ain't got nobody.

Well, you have to find someone.
It's hospital regulation.

Regulate this.

Fuck me.

Dude, listen,
the flight landed 15 minutes ago.

How long does it take
to pass 40 condoms of cocaine?

That's not...

Just dish soap, a quart of milk.
It works fine.

I don't care if you ate cheese.
I got to go.

- Hey, boss.
- What the fuck are you doing?

I was just trying to track
a shipment of parts.

I'm just running low
on some parts that I ordered.

- I got more customers than product.
- Jack up the price.

Whoever doesn't want to pay
fucks off.

Then you got plenty of product.

Basic supply and demand, jerkoff.

I need a lift.

You mean like smack, speed, PCP?

A ride, moron.

Weed?

- In a car.
- Vodka. I got a guy for that.

Who the fuck hired you!

Jesus!

If there is anything you need,
Mr. Fitzpatrick.

What I need
is for everyone to shut the fuck up!

How did I fail that exam twice?

You were just underprepared.

Maybe nervous?

- Whatever.
- Buddy.

Where are you going? You shouldn't
be alone at a time like this.

To fuck, smoke or drink something.
Preferably all three.

Check it out.

This is my masterpiece.

The DSE. Drug Stock Exchange.

It's about supply and demand.

With all that shit that's going on
in Mexico, cocaine demand is high.

So if I put all my money into ecstasy
futures and beat the margin call...

Forget it.

I'm busted. I'm so fucking broke
I'm living with Larry.

You get it?

What does this say?

"Pots", dumb-ass.

Really?

I need to get my eyes checked.

I know why you failed your test.

You...

are special.

What are you do... Watch it.

- Come on. When life gives you lemons...
- I didn't get lemons.

I got a flaming bag of shit.
You're saying I'm retarded.

That term isn't really used anymore.

Not in front of 'tards it isn't.

You just read things differently.

So buck up Zetif.

- Zetif?
- Yes.

That's your name,

at least how you would read it
using your dyslexic words.

- Now you listen to me.
- Get your hands off me.

We are not retarded.

We are differently capable.

Like Bat Boy.

An aspiring child who is blind yet
navigates the world using echolocation.

Like a bat.

Remind me why I give a fuck?

Thanks to the worldwide media coverage,
the grant money poured in

and he was able to renovate his school
and it blind-friendly.

Grant money?

Yes, sir.

Where are you going?

To get retarded.

Look, lady, I'm telling you,

I'm a retard.

I read shit backwards.

I'm not right in the head and I demand
to be recognized as handicapped.

So I didn't win the genetic lottery
and catch blindness or spina bifida.

Does that mean I'm not special enough
for a 'tard card or a grant?

What about this guy?

I mean, sure,
you'll call him ugly behind his back

and none of you broads will bang him,

but you don't have the nuts
to recognize him as deformed.

You think he doesn't have
to deal with adversity with that face?

What about this guy?

He doesn't quite measure down
to being a dwarf, does he?

You think he doesn't have
to reach up for shit?

You think this hobbit fucker doesn't
get called a hobbit fucker all the time?

But no,

he's just one inch too tall
to really cash in.

Sure,

you'll take a job
helping the disabled,

raking it in
like that asshole Jerry Lewis.

And what do we get?

Nothing.

Not this time, sugar tits.

Because I'm not leaving
until I get my due.

Because I am Richard Fitzpatrick,

and I am a retard.

- Good for you.
- Way to go.

You're a real retard.

He's one of us.

We're all retards.

Fucking retard!

What the fuck?

A 'tard card?

How'd you score that?

- You passed the test.
- She let me take the exam orally.

Were the questions hard?

Oral exam.

Really?

Just one of the many benefits
of being a 'tard.

I also scored
a municipal business grant.

City gave me enough money to start
construction on the Summer Wind Lounge.

Dreams do happen. Wait.

Wait a grant for the disabled?

Can you believe that shit? I should have
thought of this a long time ago.

While I applaud that you're embracing
your learning disability,

dyslexia's really not a serious...

There's a part of me that thinks you're
taking advantage of the situation.

If those adorable Downs fuckers get free
baseball tickets, the least I deserve...

is enough scratch
to open my own watering hole.

I think someone wants you to give back
that grant money, Richard.

Is that what that said?

Maybe it's the shadow figure who intends
to murder you on the beaver moon.

We got mangled limbs, fake blood.

It's just a manifestation
of the prophecy.

The end is nigh.

Really, Larry?

You want to let a little stage blood
and some plastic gams

stand in the way of the Summer Wind?

You can't get to the top
unless you step on a few toes.

Diapers.

Get in here.

We need to talk.

I'll tell you what.
I'll save you some time.

"Everything you touch turns to shit."

"I'm tired of you wrecking my joint,
crashing my cars."

"You're a curse, motherfucker.
You get arrested too much."

You know what?

Go fuck yourself.
No one gives a shit what you think.

That's not what I want to talk about.

Really? Then what?

Come on, spit it out.

Fascinating.

Nailed him.

Good one.

My turn.

Hello, Don't Give a Fuck.

Name's Laura, actually.

And you're the dyslexic asshole that got
the grant money instead of us, right?

And you're the assholes
that redecorated my office.

Little heavy with the red,
but I like your work.

Asshole.

I promised my boys I'd use that money
to start a handicapped escort service.

I know you're trying to scare me,
but all you're doing is turning me on.

Maybe we should talk about
the building permit you applied for

for your lame lounge.

What about it?

You forgot to add wheelchair
access plans to your blueprints.

Bad, bad boy.

That means that I can file a complaint
and have you tied up in red tape for,

I don't know, years.

Please,
haven't you ever heard of a bribe?

Just limp along home.
I don't have time for this shit.

You don't know
who you're fucking with.

I'm handicapped, asshole,
and that means power.

We can park where we want,
piss in public,

touch people inappropriately.

I can get to you, Fitz.
Anywhere, anytime.

Are we still talking
about inappropriate touching?

You have until tomorrow
to get me my money back.

You can run, Fitz,
but you can't smell it.

Slow down.

You asked for it
and now you're going to get it.

Is this another dream?

You tell me.

This threesome ain't going
to start itself.

Maybe we should make it a 4-way.

As long as it's not a dude.

That retard Laura
is in my fucking nightmare now.

Richard, Laura is not the R word.

She has apotemnophilia.

Whatever.

Wait, is that contagious?

- Why? What did you do?
- It's what I want to do.

She's on my list of must-bang chicks.

You know, amputee,
midget, dental hygienist.

Don't you see what's happening here?

Instead of making things right,

you're making enemies and consequently
your nightmares are growing stronger.

You need to make amends
before it's too late.

No, what I need is that grant money.

Of course you did.

"Did", Larry? Of course I did?

What happened to the money?

I took it out of your account.
You left me no choice.

- And as any good conscience would, I...
- You gave it back to the feds?

The Summer Wind money?
My fucking money?

No, I didn't give it back.

I donated it.

What?

I've got plans to meet guys
to break ground there tomorrow.

Union guys.

If I gave it back, it'd've gone to Laura
who abuses the system like you.

So in an effort to reverse
this karmic catastrophe,

I donated it to those
who are truly in need.

A group of poor, fair-trade Colombian
farmers that Josh told me about.

They grow poppies for export.

Those are drug dealers, Larry.

Then...

Get my money back, dickweed.

Now.

Drugs.

Mother of pearl.

I hear you got your licence back.

Congrats.

You've come to celebrate?

You gonna take your dress off now?

I guess this isn't a dream.

From now on,
your paperwork better be spotless.

Paperwork?
That's your big threat?

You think you know all the angles?

I've got news for you.

The one angle you can't play:

Honesty.

Sooner or later,

you will screw up.

That's right.

You better be scared.

Put these on my tab.

Guys with suitcases don't get tabs.

I'll give your regards to Cabo,
Charlie.

- Hello.
- Finally.

Are you shitting me?
Where's my money?

Funny story, really.

I talked to Josh
about the grant money,

and it turns out
he invested it all in marijuana.

Then there was a hurricane in Jamaica
and something about a margin call.

In laymen's terms,
it's probably gone.

Jesus Christ.

It's just a few dozen, thousand dollars
in the grand scheme of things.

Don't worry.
We'll find a way to build your dream.

Dream?

Stop the rainbow,
glitter bullshit, Larry.

You put the final nail in my coffin.
You're talking to a dead guy.

Don't you talk like that.
I made a mistake.

I didn't mean to endanger you.
But maybe they won't resort to violence.

Maybe we can sort this out
the old-fashioned way.

- With a good old heart-to-heart talk.
- You let me know how that goes.

You can't run away from your problems.
You need to confront your fears.

- No, I don't.
- You can't outrun the moon.

Yes, I can.

Shit.

How did they find me?

Sorry, Fitz.

Us 'tards stick together.

- You double-crossing cyclops.
- Come on, guys.

You're not going anywhere.

No pushing.

Bad boy.

You didn't give me
my grant money back.

- Give me some time.
- You're all out of time.

Saw.

I'm not gonna lie to you.

This is going to hurt.

- Just hold still.
- Larry. A little help here?

Don't you hurt Richard.

- Do it.
- Come on.

Come on!

Just do it.

You handicapable thugs ought to be
ashamed of yourself behaving like this.

Whatever happened
to your plucky enthusiasm,

your scrappy can-do attitude,

and those arts and crafts
you love to make?

- Fuck that.
- You're sick, lady.

Normally, I'm down with that,
but you're really sick.

I tried to warn you about that.

About her disorder
that makes her want to...

You did seem a little turned on
by the idea of sawing off my arm, toots.

Fuck you. I was not.

Come on.

You cut off your own arm and leg
'cause it turned your crank.

Put it together, guys.

She wants to start
a handicapped escort agency,

she won't bang normal guys,
she's got her own fucking bone saw.

I was born this way.

You said your mother was on crack.

It doesn't matter how I got this way.
This is how I am supposed to be.

You hate me because I've got something
you'll never have.

- What have I got, Larry?
- Dyslexia.

- Exactly.
- And?

A crippling, God-given handicap.

So what's it gonna be, boys?

Posse for the 'tard poser...

or all us real gimps
going to stick together...

behind the velvet rope
at the Summer Wind Lounge

with VIP access
and free cocktails every night.

- He's one of us.
- One of us! One of us!

Come on, guys.

What are you, a ninja?

Am I speaking ching-chong?

Answer me.

Figured you could use someone
to yell at.

- I don't need this shit.
- Right.

You need people who shut up

and do what they're told
before you even tell them to do it.

People who don't ask questions.

People you don't have to tell
that you've got cancer.

Wait, how did you...

It wasn't rocket science,
Mr. Fitzpatrick.

The sudden change in your mood,

the increase in telephone smashing,

you're oncologist
calling over and over.

Now don't you worry.

I'll pick you up after surgery.

And no, I won't ask you how it went.

And yes, we can skip the pity.

A man like you doesn't need it.

You're damn right.

I know.

Just like you should know...

that your secret is safe with me.

You accepted your limitations
and used them to your advantage.

Congratulations.

You still owe me 20K.

Dope, stat!

Let's see.
Now we're back at square one.

Great place for a fresh start.

You got your licence back,
you'll sell some cars, save,

and in 10 years we'll have a resilient
nest egg worth hundreds.

Your luck is changing, buddy.

Weed me.

Where'd you get all that cabbage?

Market rebounded.

Turned your 20 large into 50 larger.

What the fuck?

I don't know, man. I'm an idiot.

I don't know what I did
with the weed.

This is enough money to start
construction on the Summer Wind.

Ring-a-ding-ding, baby.

Ring-a-ding-ding.

Finally.

Everything's coming up Fitzy.

Sync & corrections by Monkeymann