Wilfred (2011–2014): Season 3, Episode 1 - Uncertainty - full transcript

Do you remember that,

when I used to help you paint?

What the hell is going on?

I would like to ask you
the same question.

Just a drawing I did

when I was a kid.

Who's the dog?

Sneakers.

Not that dog.

This dog.

I-I-I don't know.



Ryan, I'm only seven years old.

This picture's at least 20.

What aren't you telling me?

You're no crazier
than anybody else.

Said the dog to the man.

If I really drew that picture
when I was a kid

and you don't know
what it means,

we're on a plane with no pilot.

I drew the picture, Ryan.

I was just messing with your
head like I usually do.

3x01
Uncertainty

Bear, look.

There's a fresh can
of Febreze down there.

What?! No, of course
I'm not gonna shove you



down the stairs, Bear.

I promised I wouldn't
do that again.

Hey, Ryan, since Jenna and Drew

are still on their honeymoon

and Bear has a
fractured vertebra,

I was thinking
"boys night out"?

What say we head over
to Mr. Meyerson's

and get all Clockwork Orange
on his rose bushes?

Hey, what's going on down here?

So you know about the drawing.

For a couple weeks now.

I'm sorry, mate.

I shouldn't have lied to you
about drawing it.

But you just seemed
so hopeless.

It's okay, Wilfred.

Because I think I've
figured it out.

You see, at first, I couldn't
understand how you could be

in that drawing
but still exist today.

So I thought
maybe you've been reincarnated

or maybe I had a premonition
when I was a kid

that we'd meet someday.

Then, hell, why not time travel?

I was just grasping

at these ridiculous theories
when I realized

that the most logical
explanation

has been right in front
of my eyes this whole time.

Mental illness.

Look...

at-at certain points
in my life,

I experienced emotional trauma:

watching my parents fight,

quitting my dad's law firm,
attempting suicide.

And the way I dealt
with that trauma

was by having these

sort of psychological breaks
from reality.

You think
I'm only in your head.

Well, Jenna's dog is real.

But... yes, I think
the part of you

that no one else can
see is in my head.

And you're happy about this?

Well, yes.

I mean, the first step
to me getting better

is finally understanding
that-that this

isn't actually happening.

Look, Ryan,

I wasn't gonna bring this up,

but I've actually been doing
some thinking of my own.

Wait, when did you...?

See, I know for a fact
that I exist

because I am, well, me.

So I can't possibly
be just in your head.

Therefore, the only
logical explanation

is that I am a magical being.

What?

A wonderful magical being.

I've been around forever,

and I will always
be around forever.

Okay, well, then how come when
you first found the drawing,

you didn't remember meeting me
as a kid?

Well, I don't remember
not remembering that, so...

Well, you didn't.

You said it right here
in this basement two weeks ago.

Ryan, there's a lot of things
I don't remember. How can I...?

Wait-- that's it!

Dogs have terrible memories!
It makes perfect sense

that I wouldn't remember
meeting you as a kid.

Hell, there's probably
lots of people

I don't remember meeting.

The Ottomans,
ancient Greeks, troglodytes.

Actually, no, I vaguely remember
the troglodytes.

Overall a pretty nice bunch.

I mean, sure,
some of them were dicks.

Wilfred, you're not immortal.
That's completely illogical.

If you finally figured out

that I'm only in your head,
why am I still here?

That's a good question.

What are you doing?

- Wilfred isn't real.
- Ryan, stop it.

- Wilfred is only in my head.
- Don't say that.

Wilfred is only in my head.

Ryan, stop.

Wilfred is only in my head.

Please!

Wilfred is only in my head.
Wilfred is only in...

Ha ha!

Oh, man, you should
see your face!

You look like

such a little bitch right now.

You were all, like,
"Oh. He's only in my mind."

You're an asshole.

Look, maybe I'm magical,
maybe you're crazy.

The answers will come
in good time.

For now, you're just gonna
have to learn to live

with a little uncertainty.

I know what I'm doing.

If you want to give up
so easily, be my guest.

Okay. In that case,

why don't we put
my little theory to a test?

What's that?

A little cocktail
I call antifreeze-tini.

If I'm an immortal,
magical being,

then this can't
possibly kill me.

Bottoms up.

Oops, almost forgot the olive.

Wilfred, no!

Well, I'm still here.

I drank antifreeze
and didn't die

on account of me
being magical and all.

No, you got your
stomach pumped.

I don't remember that.

You don't remember screaming,

"Okay, I'm not magical,
I'm not magical,"

while the vet shoved a tube
down your throat?

I do remember...
certain things from my past.

Yes.

It's coming back to me now.

1945.

My owner was
a little girl-- Anne.

Anne Frank.

Seriously, don't.

Anne and her rules:

no walks,
no trips to the groomer's.

In the end, I just snapped.

I screamed at her,
"Anne, I'm dying here!

It's like we never leave
the house!"

And thank God,
these well-dressed German men

heard my barking
and-and broke into the attic.

Those brave heroes rescued me.

Well, it looks like

Wilfred's blood ethylene
glycol levels have dropped.

And by the way,
his microchip still lists

an address up in Sacramento.

Sacramento?
The state capital?

Might want to update
his information.

Whoever lives in Sacramento

probably owned you as a puppy.

Which means we can prove
you were actually born.

Therefore, I'm crazy.

If you really think
you're crazy,

why the need to prove it to me?

Maybe you're the part
of my brain that's so crazy

it won't allow me to
accept that I'm crazy.

God, you're so crazy.

You remind me
of my old owner Vincent.

Vincent?

Fancied himself an artist.

One day, he was at his easel,

and he'd gotten
some paint on his ear.

And I mistook it
for banana pudding,

and so, obviously, I...

Wilfred, you can't sit
on my lap right now.

I'm driving.

Which, to me, seems
like the perfect time

to have your lap sat on.
I mean, am I crazy?

And what happens
if my old owner

wants me back?
I'd want me back.

I mean, look at this shit.

The statute of limitations
on lost pets is three years.

Wait.

I-I remember this.

Right.
Like Anne Frank?

This was my home.

And this yard.

I used to run around
this yard all day.

God, I was so free here.

And my toy.
My favorite toy.

Good Green Hippo.

He was little and green with
pink spots, and he was a hippo.

And I bit off one of his legs.
He was fine with it.

The last time I saw him,
I buried him...

there.

He's not here.

Obviously.
You can't know something

I don't already know
if you're only up here.

See? How could I know that?

Everybody knows that.

Hi.

My name's Ryan Newman.

This is gonna sound crazy,

but I think you maybe
used to own my dog.

His name is Wilfred now, but...

Who the hell's that fat,
ugly piece of shit?

- A clone?
- I know.

When I first heard
about pet cloning,

I was like, "Am I in
a science fiction movie?"

My name is
Lord Charles Beevwelt II

of Shropshire.

Welcome to my home.

Look around.
Do you like what you see?

Actually, cloning isn't

that uncommon anymore.

Back in 2006, Stinky here
cost almost half a million.

Stinky, huh?

Just an affectionate nickname.

Okay, there's no way
this guy is my clone.

He looks nothing like me.

Ooh, I love it.

Such a jester.

Can we keep him?

Itch.

So, you paid someone to do this?

Oh, no, not me.

I'm just Stinky's caretaker.

I'm Heather Williger,
by the way.

Hi. So you knew Wilfred
when he was a puppy?

Oh, no.

I only started
working here last year.

Miss Covington

was vacationing in Wisconsin

when the first Stinky...

um, uh, Wilfred...

ran away.

She decided she would do

whatever it took
to bring him back.

All right, that's enough.

I said that's enough!

Uh, would it be possible to
speak with Miss Covington?

I'm sort of here for
a specific reason.

I'm sorry,
she passed away last year.

Oh.
She left everything

in her will to the dog.

I just get paid to live here,

and, you know, make sure Stinky

"maintains the lifestyle
he's grown accustomed to."

What? He owns everything?

That's right, Wilfred--
it's all mine.

And I can do whatever
I please with it.

It's like my life is one long
dalliance with pleasure.

Dalliance?
That's not even a word.

Is!

Say, Wilfred,

do you see this charming
little vase over here?

Oh, Stinky, be careful.

Its craftsmanship
is without equal.

But how would I know that?

I'm just a dog.

Oh, Miss Williger?

It seems there's a little
something left over

from this morning's
bowel movement.

Come and get it...

if you can!

I hate it when this happens.

Damn, this guy really
lives the high life.

Okay.
Oh!

Sorry about that.

So you were saying you're
here for a specific reason?

I've owned Wilfred
for six years now.

And I never got to see him
as a cute, little puppy.

So I-I was just wondering
if maybe there's some photos

lying around?
Oh, oh, shoot.

Can you hold that thought?

It's time for Stinky's
midday snack.

Stinky is such a finicky eater.

So I usually mix
chicken broth in.

More broth.

No, less broth.

No, more broth!
You're doing it all wrong!

This is bullshit.

That clone stole my life.

You're the one who ran away.

I don't remember that.

You know, your memory
seems pretty selective.

Hopefully a puppy picture
will help refresh it.

You won't find one, Ryan,
because I was never a puppy.

Because I was never born.

I have been eternally
dalliancing...

That's not how
you use the word.

Wilfred?

Are you smelling this?

It's a symphony of flavors--

peas, carrots,
pork parts, bone meal

and a delectable
sawdust filler.

It's an old Covington
family recipe we call

"Healthy Dog Chow Pro
with wet stuff on top."

It's all I'll eat.

That wet stuff on top

should belong to me!

All of this should belong to me!

Hell, I bet that asshole's
got my Good Green Hippo, too.

No, because it doesn't exist.

Just like you and the clone.

For the last time, Ryan,

not only do I exist,
I am a magical being.

And if I'd gotten
my rightful inheritance,

I could've lived like a king
till the end of time.

I'd be the dalliancer
of the world.

Again, you're misusing
the word.

Jesus!

That's it.

This Stinky character
has got to go.

- What's up, bitch? You want to do this?
- How dare you enter my chambers

- without an invitation!
- Let's do this! Come on, get some,

- you shit mound!
- This skullduggery will not be tolerated!

This is how we do it
in the hood!

- Wilfred, calm down.
- Stinky, no.

Wait.

You like to scream hateful shit
at cuckoo birds, too?

Of course. They burst
out of their homes

and run off their mouths.

And then when shit's
about to get real,

they run back inside like
the little pussies they are.

You like licking windows?

Unsmeared windows bore me.

I wonder, Wilfred,
do you enjoy doing this?

It's cool. It's cool.

We're not so different
after all, are we, Wilfred?

Come.

Swim with me in the seas
of opulence.

Anyway, you wanted to see some

old photos of Wilfred, right?

- Right.
- Okay.

What's mine is yours.

I used to walk Stinky
when Miss Covington was alive,

so I took some
of the later photos.

Photography is kind of
a hobby of mine.

When you watch a dog
all day, you just have

to have some other outlets
for happiness, right?

Right this way.

Do you see this?

Excuse me?

Do you see this toy?

I-I mean, describe it to me.

What-what exactly do you see?

Uh, I see a green hippopotamus.

It has pink polka dots
and one leg

that's been chewed off
or something.

Where did you find it?

W-Was it buried
in the yard or...?

Is it real?

Hold it.
Uh, n-no.

I... uh, okay, you know what?

I think you should leave now.

You should get your dog and go.

Oh, dear me.

That is pure
as the driven snow.

Wilfred, come.
We're leaving.

Uh, I'm sort of in the middle
of something here, mate.

I said come. Now.

Dude, you are such a buzzkill.

It's been such a delight.

Come visit us again
sometime, won't you?

I mean, you were
in that drawing.

And the fact that
that hippo toy exists.

Hell, maybe you are
a magical being.

Look.

Sorry to keep going over this.

I just want to be
certain about it.

Ryan, look, I found something
back at Stinky's house.

I-I didn't want to show you,

but I think it's too important
for you not to see.

It's me.

Right after I was born.

Well, the real dog at least.

Me, on the other hand,
who's talking to you,

maybe I am just some kind
of manifestation

of your madness.

It doesn't make any sense.

I found the hippo.
That means you're real.

That's got to be
the clone, right?

Or maybe you bought the hippo
on your way to Sacramento

and tricked yourself
into thinking you uncovered it.

Oh, God, I can't
take this anymore!

What if you never
find any answers?

Wouldn't it be best to avoid

the anxiety
of uncertainty, and...

simply skip to the end?

What are you talking
about, Wilfred?

I've thought this through, Ryan.
This is the only clear path.

Think about it.

The day we met was the day
of your failed suicide.

Maybe I came
into your life for a reason.

To show you that life

is just a long,
torturous wrestling match

with unanswerable questions.

Maybe this is why I've existed
to you this whole time,

to lead you back
to this final, fateful moment.

There's no other way.

Why are you doing
this, Wilfred?

Ryan, drink up.

Come on, one final dalliance
with death.

Dalliance?

Oh, my God--
you're Stinky.

Oh, please don't harm me.

What the hell is going on here?

All right, all right.

Uh, back at the house,

Wilfred and I switched places.

Why? Why would you
want to leave?

You have no idea
what it's like back there.

Miss Williger does sick,
humiliating things to me

when no one else is around.

I baited Wilfred
into the switch

by making my life
seem like paradise.

He told you about
my suicide attempt.

We were doing cocaine, Ryan.

A lot of personal stories were
shared in a rapid-fire manner.

Why would you want
me to kill myself?

Honestly, you were just
sitting there yammering

on and on about
your inane problems.

It was so boring.

So much so that the idea
of watching you die seemed...

I don't know... orgasmic?

Wait a second.

If Miss Williger abused you
when no one else was around...

Wilfred!

Oh, please, no.

I don't like this.

Wilfred!

That's good. That's really good.

I love that. Come on.
Move your little feet around.

What the hell
are you doing here?

Ryan, you came back for me.

Oh. I-I'm sorry.
Th-There's been a mix-up.

I accidentally took Stinky
with me instead of Wilfred.

You. You tricked me.

Was I tricking you
when you were snout-deep

in giraffe vagina with a gram
of cocaine up your rectum?

There's only one way
to settle this.

- Rape fight.
- Rape fight.

I'll be in the car.

So, who won the rape fight?

Just drive, please.

Wilfred!

The answers will come
in good time.

What the hell?!

Oh, I thought that's what
we were doing now.

Jesus.