You're the Worst (2014–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - Keys Open Doors - full transcript
Gretchen inadvertently asks Jimmy for a key to his house.
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(birds chirping, dog barking)
(snoring)
>> MAN: Let's go.
>> ¶ I'm gonna leave you anyway
I'm gonna leave you anyway
Gonna leave you anyway. ¶
(water running)
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, I love your
shower.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, it's a good one.
>> GRETCHEN: Me and this hand
nozzle thingy have gotten very
close.
You're S.O.L., but trust me,
it's amazing.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I use it.
>> GRETCHEN: How?
>> JIMMY: I shoot it up my butt.
>> GRETCHEN: You do?
>> JIMMY: Sure.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, yeah!
What do you know?
(grunts)
(clears throat)
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: You missed a step
in that process.
>> JIMMY: Oh, no, it's just pee.
Look.
>> GRETCHEN: You-you sit to pee?
>> JIMMY: Yeah, I sit whenever
I can.
I love sitting.
Sitting's definitely in my top
five favorite activities.
>> GRETCHEN: What are the
others?
>> JIMMY: Eating things.
Shutting stupid people down
verbally.
Bubble baths.
Masturbating.
>> GRETCHEN: Where's sex?
>> JIMMY: Eighth probably.
>> GRETCHEN: What about sex
with me?
>> JIMMY: Seventh, maybe sixth.
Yeah, no, sex with you, then
sleeping.
Unless I have a flying dream.
Then you're seventh.
(clears throat)
>> GRETCHEN: What's your day
like?
>> JIMMY: Oh, you know, tedious
interactions with awful people.
>> GRETCHEN: Weird. Mine, too.
When are you gonna be home?
My clothes from last night are
still in your dryer.
>> JIMMY: On the late side.
>> GRETCHEN: Want to give me a
key so I can get in?
Jimmy?
You using the hand thingy?
>> JIMMY: Edgar can let you in.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, but in case
he's not home.
Hey...
Hey!
I-I just meant a key to get my
stuff; I didn't mean a key
like... like that.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay.
Good.
But, I mean...
>> JIMMY: God's sake!
(huffs)
>> GRETCHEN: Seriously, what if
I had-- would that be any reason
to shit yourself?
>> JIMMY: Yes.
>> GRETCHEN: We've spent the
last five, six nights in a row
together?
>> JIMMY: 'Cause you fall asleep
after sex!
You're like a fat guy in an
American sitcom.
>> GRETCHEN: It's a key.
It's a way to get in.
>> JIMMY: No, it's not.
It's...
it's my freedom melted down into
a metal totem.
It means that there are rights
granted and designations...
designated.
>> GRETCHEN: No, it doesn't.
It's a...
Oh, my God, you're right.
>> JIMMY: I am?
>> GRETCHEN: I must still be
hungover.
Thanks for calling me out.
Momentary lapse of sanity.
Jesus.
>> JIMMY: Right, so, uh... are
we gonna hang out later or...?
>> GRETCHEN: I actually have
plans.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: Well, as my grandma
used to say, "It's only a walk
of shame if you're capable of
feeling shame."
See you later.
Thanks for doing all the sex
stuff on me.
(whistling)
>> EDGAR: That's a frittata.
>> JIMMY: Mm-hmm.
>> EDGAR: It's an egg-based
dish similar to an omelet.
>> JIMMY: I know what a frittata
is.
>> EDGAR: This one has leeks and
goat cheese.
I saw the recipe on Rachael Ray.
>> JIMMY: You're not supposed to
watch her.
The doctor said that your
obsession with her is unhealthy.
>> EDGAR: I know, but every
minute that I'm watching her,
I'm not doing heroin.
Except sometimes I'm also
doing heroin.
>> JIMMY: You know, she asked
for a key.
>> EDGAR: Who?
>> JIMMY: Rachael Ray.
Who do you think?
>> EDGAR: Rachael Ray could have
a key.
>> JIMMY: Can you believe she
would do that?
>> EDGAR: Well, I mean, keys
open doors.
>> JIMMY: It's not a key.
It's a symbol.
>> EDGAR: Of what?
>> JIMMY: Of the unceasing,
inexorable march of everything
towards predictability,
blandness and mediocrity.
It's the Rachael Raying of the
world.
>> EDGAR: A cozy world full of
home-cooked meals and graceful
weight fluctuation?
I'd live in that world.
>> JIMMY: I honestly cannot sit
there and pretend not to be
horrified by things as
unthought-out and unspecial as
"Can I have a key," ruled by
nothing more interesting than
animal instinct to the point
that I might as well be
sleeping with a migratory bird
or a leatherback sea turtle.
>> EDGAR: I'm gonna eat your
frittata.
>> JIMMY: "Can I have a key?"
I'll tell you what...
How can you see this shit
happening and just smile and be
okay with it?
How do you look at the person
you're with and not just know
that there's another person
inside who's boring and lame
and will eventually ask for
emotional support and to shop
together for decorative sconces
at Williams-Sonoma.
How can you just ignore
that shit?
>> EDGAR: I don't know.
Because you like them, I guess.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, well...
I don't know how to do that,
so...
>> EDGAR: Well, it makes sense
she'd be emotional today.
>> JIMMY: I swear, if you're
charting her menstrual cycle...
>> EDGAR: It's her birthday.
>> JIMMY: It is?
>> EDGAR: Mm-hmm.
>> JIMMY: Why didn't she tell
me?
(cell phone buzzing)
Oh, it's Gretchen's.
I better bring it to her.
>> EDGAR: Hand it over.
>> JIMMY: What?
I'm not gonna snoop.
I'm not!
Aw...
Aw, this is stupid.
Y-You are stupid.
I'm living with the stupidest
person in America.
Me, the smartest, and you, the
stupidest, living together.
You seriously think I'm not
strong enough to break through
what-- ten staples?
>> EDGAR: Have a good day at
school.
>> GRETCHEN: You've got to be
kidding me.
You're doing a juice cleanse?
You disgusting cliché.
You're going to embarrass me at
my diner.
>> LINDSAY: Don't care.
Day five.
Gretch, you can't imagine the
high.
>> GRETCHEN: Mmm, bet I can.
>> LINDSAY: No, you can't.
>> GRETCHEN: Remember the time
you and Chingy snorted K off
my vag?
>> LINDSAY: Aw... yeah.
This one is almond, flaxseed and
something called "whey runoff."
>> GRETCHEN: Mmm. Mmm.
Mmm.
>> LINDSAY: You don't understand
how skinny the wives at Paul's
firm are, Gretch.
I can't compete.
>> GRETCHEN: So, don't try.
Those Westside women are all
overly-tanned garbage monsters
with fake tits.
Hip bones jutting out of their
Lululemons.
>> LINDSAY: That's exactly what
they are.
>> GRETCHEN: So screw 'em.
Screw 'em, divorce Paul, start
eating food, move back to the
East Side, become goddamn
interesting again.
>> LINDSAY: Wow.
If it wasn't your birthday, I'd
be really hurt.
>> GRETCHEN: Sorry.
This Jimmy thing has me all
freaked out.
>> LINDSAY: I warned you about
him.
I bet you guys talk about me all
the time, huh?
How much it bugs me.
>> GRETCHEN: Nope.
>> LINDSAY: Ew! You guys
probably, like, talk about me
during sex even.
You guys are weird.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't mean the
key thing like he took it.
I don't think I did.
We're having fun.
That's enough.
>> LINDSAY: It better be.
He is a bad person.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm a bad person.
>> LINDSAY: Ooh, are you still
seeing Mr. Fancy Director Guy?
>> GRETCHEN: It's complicated.
>> LINDSAY: Your life is so fun
and complicated!
My life used to be fun and
complicated.
>> GRETCHEN: And now you're
married to a banker.
>> LINDSAY: Paul is actually
VP...
>> GRETCHEN: Oh.
>> LINDSAY: ...of Wealth
Management and Investment
Strategies.
(Gretchen snores)
Idiot.
>> GRETCHEN: What?
>> BRIANNA: There you are.
I'm sorry, Gretchen.
Uh, your phone keeps going to
voice mail.
>> GRETCHEN:: Oh, I left it
somewhere. What's up?
>> BRIANNA: It's Sam.
He did an interview.
>> GRETCHEN: Without consulting
me? Who with?
>> BRIANNA: A college paper.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. And?
>> BRIANNA: He used the word
"gay" and "faggot" 37 times.
>> GRETCHEN: As in "faggot is a
really terrible word, and gay
people are the best"?
>> BRIANNA: The reporter is the
president of the Gay and Lesbian
student union, and he's
threatening to go to the Times.
>> LINDSAY: Go.
Breakfast is on me.
Happy birthday.
>> GRETCHEN: Nice try.
You still have to buy me a
present... cheapskate.
>> LINDSAY: Mmm.
(engine revving)
(opera plays on stereo)
(phone chimes)
(phone buzzes, phone chimes)
(buzzing)
(man singing opera in Italian
on stereo)
(Jimmy sings along in Italian)
(phone chimes)
(Jimmy sings along)
>> JIMMY: ¶ La-la-la, la-la-la,
la, la... ¶
(grunting)
Oh, come on!
(phone buzzes)
(phone buzzes)
(phone buzzes)
(phone chimes)
>> JIMMY: Who the hell is Ty?!
>> SAM: I stole you a card from
CVS, but I lost it on the way
over here.
>> GRETCHEN: This is serious,
Sam.
>> SAM: Inside, it said, "You're
not just getting older.
You're also getting less
attractive."
>> GRETCHEN: You can't bribe me
with flowers.
>> HONEY NUTZ: It's a joke,
because you're so young and
beautiful and shit.
>> GRETCHEN: What were you
thinking, doing an interview
without me there?
To quote you, "I get nervous
at these shits."
>> SAM: We were skating and
messing with college girls, and
this skinny fool comes up and
says, can he ask some questions.
>> GRETCHEN: Were you high?
>> SAM: It was 10:00 in the
morning.
Of course I was high.
>> GRETCHEN: And the whole time,
you did not notice he was gay?
Presumptively.
>> SAM: Yeah, I mean, dude was
hella fruity, but so what?
My generation-- we don't act
different around different
people, frontin' fake
personalities.
We cool with everybody.
Except Shitstain.
He don't like Koreans.
>> SHITSTAIN: 'Cause of their
manipulative currency
devaluation.
And they eyes.
>> GRETCHEN: You called the head
of the LGBT student union a
"faggot."
>> SAM: So? I call my pops that
all the time.
>> GRETCHEN: Is your dad gay?
>> SAM: No. He's just a faggot.
>> GRETCHEN: Well, now I have to
go down there and deal with
this.
>> SAM: And do your job?
Oh, no, Gretchen.
>> GRETCHEN: From now on, when
you receive an interview
request, spontaneous or
otherwise, what are you gonna
do?
>> HONEY NUTZ: Politely direct
'em to your office?
>> GRETCHEN: Damn straight.
Listen to Honey Nutz.
(Sam sighs)
>> JIMMY: Damn it.
>> GRETCHEN: Hey.
>> JIMMY: Hey.
Uh, I brought your phone.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. Awesome.
Thanks.
(Jimmy sputters, sighs)
>> JIMMY: Beep, beep.
(clears throat)
Oh, you got flowers.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. Yeah.
>> JIMMY: Buy them yourself
or...?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
>> JIMMY: Ah.
Special occasion of some sort?
>> GRETCHEN: People send me
flowers sometimes, Jimmy.
They want to see me happy.
People like me.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I know that.
Of course I know that.
So, what are you doing later?
>> GRETCHEN: I have plans.
>> JIMMY: Fine! Bye.
(clears throat, sniffles)
>> SAM: Hey, can I get one of
those?
>> JIMMY: These are pretty
expensive.
>> SAM: Don't be an asshole.
>> JIMMY: Fine.
>> SAM: You're boning my
publicist, right?
>> JIMMY: Used to be.
>> SAM: Yeah, I Googled your
ass.
I liked your book.
>> JIMMY: Really?
Thank you.
What did you like about it?
>> SAM: Obviously, I thought it
was, like, boring as shit.
And clearly, you used to jack
off to Hemingway in high school,
but the prose was good.
>> JIMMY: Thank you.
Enjoy your smoke.
>> SAM: Why'd you used to be
boning her?
>> JIMMY: I don't know.
We were never a real thing.
>> SAM: How come?
All I know is, I don't let
nobody talk to me the way
Gretch does.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, me, neither.
>> SAM: Figure she must be
pretty dope if we both let her
do that.
(Jimmy sighs)
>> JIMMY: Are you going back in?
>> SAM: Yeah.
>> JIMMY: Give her this for me.
Hey, do you know someone
named Ty?
>> DARREN: Then I was like,
"Girl, fix your weave."
>> GRETCHEN: Darren Kaplan?
>> DARREN: Yeah?
>> GRETCHEN: I wanted to talk to
you about Sam Halton.
Maker's, rocks.
>> DARREN: When you went into
PR, were you aware that you'd
become an instant cliché?
>> GRETCHEN: Snotty gay reporter
is better?
(guys chuckle)
>> DARREN: Shoo.
What do you want?
>> GRETCHEN: I just want to make
sure my client's words aren't
taken out of context.
>> DARREN: Don't worry.
I'll provide lots of context.
>> GRETCHEN: He's a moron.
He's not even old enough to
drink.
His opinions aren't fully
formed.
>> DARREN: We're on the dawn of
a revolution.
You wouldn't run around saying
the "N" word, but people feel
free to say "fag" whenever
they want.
>> GRETCHEN: He says the
"N" word all the time, too.
He called wheatgrass the
"N" word yesterday.
He was like, "Mmm, this 'N' word
is... hella good for digestion."
>> DARREN: You got anything
else?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
It's my birthday.
I didn't really prepare.
This is the point where I would
normally try flirting with you.
Okay, I tried.
>> DARREN: Wait, that's it?
>> GRETCHEN: Look, I love my
client like the black son I
aborted in high school, but
maybe you're right.
Banning words is always the
misguided byproduct of good
social movements.
So, maybe his career is worth
the sacrifice.
>> DARREN: I heard Caliber had
a big hush budget.
>> GRETCHEN: I can give you
two grand-- that's it.
>> DARREN: And he has to come
give me another interview.
>> GRETCHEN: Done.
>> DARREN: Happy birthday.
>> GRETCHEN: Thanks.
Congrats on choosing a
dying profession.
>> JIMMY: She can do whatever
she wants.
Just go home.
Or go in there and ruin
her date.
Yep.
>> LINDSAY: Oh!
Farts.
>> JIMMY: Sorry.
Lindsay, what...
>> BECCA: I'm saying, like, you
can tell, like, she just stuffed
it into a bag.
You know what I mean?
It's so sad.
>> LINDSAY: Hey, Jimmy, how's
it going?
>> PAUL: Here, honey, oh.
>> LINDSAY: Just...
>> PAUL: Hey, Jimmy.
Nice to see you.
>> JIMMY: Do you work here?
Can I get a double whiskey,
neat?
>> PAUL: Jimmy, it's Paul,
Lindsay's husband?
We vacationed in Saint Lucia
together.
Twice.
>> LINDSAY: Just get him the
whiskey, Paul.
Go.
I lost eight pounds since you
saw me last.
Can you tell?
>> JIMMY: No.
>> GRETCHEN: So, this is creepy.
>> JIMMY: I know.
How could you not invite me to
your birthday drinks?
>> GRETCHEN: I mean you just
showing up.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I thought you were
on a date.
>> GRETCHEN: How is that better?
Why'd you think I was on a date?
>> JIMMY: Well, a text came
through on your phone.
>> GRETCHEN: You snooped?
>> JIMMY: No, I... I couldn't
figure out your password, so...
>> GRETCHEN: What are we doing,
Jimmy?
>> TY: Happy birthday, you.
It's from a winery in La Cañada
I'm a partial investor of.
>> JIMMY: Oh, where the 2 meets
the 210.
Yeah, they say it's our
Rhône Valley.
>> GRETCHEN: Thanks, Ty.
>> TY: Uh, Gretchen, this is
Element.
>> GRETCHEN: LMN?
>> ELEMENT: Element.
Like oxygen, hydrogen.
>> JIMMY: Arsenic, radon.
>> TY: Ty Wyland.
>> JIMMY: Sorry, Twine what?
>> TY: Ty Wyland.
>> JIMMY (whispering): I don't
understand what he's saying.
>> GRETCHEN: Uh, grab yourselves
drinks.
We're right over there.
>> TY: We actually can't stay.
Uh, we have a fund-raiser for
this very promising Guatemalan
reform candidate.
>> JIMMY: Ooh, heavily into
Central American politics, are
you, Element?
>> TY: Well.
Happy birthday, again.
(whispers): I need to see you.
Soon.
Nice to see you guys.
Okay.
>> JIMMY: So that's why you
didn't invite me.
>> GRETCHEN: Also, I wanted to
spare you Becca and Vernon.
>> VERNON: Homeslice!
Get your balls over here.
What? It's Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: You could have just
told me it was your birthday and
you were hanging with...
friends.
I wouldn't have come.
>> GRETCHEN: It's not my fault
my birthday came two weeks after
we started... whatever we're
doing.
>> JIMMY: You thought he was
coming alone.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't ask
for any of this to happen,
in this order.
>> JIMMY: You didn't do anything
wrong.
Okay?
Look, I'm gonna go, okay?
>> GRETCHEN: No, stay.
>> JIMMY: What, now that he's
gone?
>> GRETCHEN: Don't be a dick.
>> JIMMY: Fine.
But if I'm in danger of getting
into conversation with anyone
really annoying, just kick me
under the table.
>> GRETCHEN: Deal.
Hey, guys.
This is Jimmy.
He's a... guy I'm sleeping with.
>> LINDSAY: Jimmy.
Sit next to me.
Paul, can you get me a backup
drink?
Go.
>> EDGAR: She asked me not to
tell you.
>> JIMMY: You're not my friend
anymore.
>> EDGAR: Can I still live with
you rent-free?
>> JIMMY: I guess so, yeah.
>> EDGAR: It was good to see
you.
>> JIMMY: Um... hey, guys.
>> VERNON: Nice pull.
Bec didn't tell me you were
hitting that.
>> BECCA: Because I had no idea.
>> VERNON: Jimmy, you got to see
this photo my colorectal guy
just texted.
It's sick.
>> JIMMY: No.
Aw!
>> BECCA: Just...
>> VERNON: Your loss.
I'm getting us Jãgerbombsters.
>> BECCA: Ugh.
>> VERNON: Jãgerbombsters!
>> BECCA: Did it even occur to
you to tell me that you're
sleeping with Gretchen?
>> JIMMY: No.
>> BECCA: You and Gretchen are
poison people.
This is going to end so badly.
>> JIMMY: I know, right?
(laughs, sighs)
>> GRETCHEN: I'm glad you came
tonight.
>> JIMMY: Stop.
>> GRETCHEN: Tough shit.
I am.
You are growing on me,
Jimmy... Stupid-Three-Names.
>> JIMMY: You're drunk.
Thanks.
Ditto.
There is no way that that model
is as good in bed as you are.
>> GRETCHEN: I know, right?
Okay, that's weird.
Sorry about the key thing.
>> JIMMY: Oh, yeah, speaking of
which, I should probably take
back the one I gave Sam.
That was my main key.
>> GRETCHEN: You gave Sam a key?
>> JIMMY: To give to you, yeah.
>> GRETCHEN: Wait, so you wanted
me to have a key?
>> JIMMY: No, I just didn't want
you to be mad at me.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm not.
I'm just embarrassed for asking.
>> JIMMY: Okay, good.
Wait, he never gave you the key?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
(rattles door handle)
>> SAM: Oh, shit.
Hey, guys.
>> JIMMY: What the hell are
you doing?
>> SAM: Sorry.
We needed a place.
>> GRETCHEN: For what?
>> DARREN: Hey.
>> GRETCHEN: You're gay?
>> SAM: No... but this nigga
sucks really good dick.
Chicken, chicken leg
¶ Hey, chicken leg
Chicken, chicken leg, uh-huh
¶ Chicken leg
Chicken, chicken leg
¶ You lookin' like a
Popeye's biscuit
¶ And I can be your butter
And treat you like no other
¶ I see that every single thing
I utter makes you stutter
¶ 'Cause it's utterly ridiculous
First there was a dance-off
¶ Turning this gymnasium
into a dance hall
¶ She make me wanna get a job
She make me wanna get a job
¶ She make me wanna get
a nine-to-five
¶ Girl, you so fine, make me
wanna get a nine-to-five. ¶
---
(birds chirping, dog barking)
(snoring)
>> MAN: Let's go.
>> ¶ I'm gonna leave you anyway
I'm gonna leave you anyway
Gonna leave you anyway. ¶
(water running)
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, I love your
shower.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, it's a good one.
>> GRETCHEN: Me and this hand
nozzle thingy have gotten very
close.
You're S.O.L., but trust me,
it's amazing.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I use it.
>> GRETCHEN: How?
>> JIMMY: I shoot it up my butt.
>> GRETCHEN: You do?
>> JIMMY: Sure.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, yeah!
What do you know?
(grunts)
(clears throat)
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: You missed a step
in that process.
>> JIMMY: Oh, no, it's just pee.
Look.
>> GRETCHEN: You-you sit to pee?
>> JIMMY: Yeah, I sit whenever
I can.
I love sitting.
Sitting's definitely in my top
five favorite activities.
>> GRETCHEN: What are the
others?
>> JIMMY: Eating things.
Shutting stupid people down
verbally.
Bubble baths.
Masturbating.
>> GRETCHEN: Where's sex?
>> JIMMY: Eighth probably.
>> GRETCHEN: What about sex
with me?
>> JIMMY: Seventh, maybe sixth.
Yeah, no, sex with you, then
sleeping.
Unless I have a flying dream.
Then you're seventh.
(clears throat)
>> GRETCHEN: What's your day
like?
>> JIMMY: Oh, you know, tedious
interactions with awful people.
>> GRETCHEN: Weird. Mine, too.
When are you gonna be home?
My clothes from last night are
still in your dryer.
>> JIMMY: On the late side.
>> GRETCHEN: Want to give me a
key so I can get in?
Jimmy?
You using the hand thingy?
>> JIMMY: Edgar can let you in.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, but in case
he's not home.
Hey...
Hey!
I-I just meant a key to get my
stuff; I didn't mean a key
like... like that.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay.
Good.
But, I mean...
>> JIMMY: God's sake!
(huffs)
>> GRETCHEN: Seriously, what if
I had-- would that be any reason
to shit yourself?
>> JIMMY: Yes.
>> GRETCHEN: We've spent the
last five, six nights in a row
together?
>> JIMMY: 'Cause you fall asleep
after sex!
You're like a fat guy in an
American sitcom.
>> GRETCHEN: It's a key.
It's a way to get in.
>> JIMMY: No, it's not.
It's...
it's my freedom melted down into
a metal totem.
It means that there are rights
granted and designations...
designated.
>> GRETCHEN: No, it doesn't.
It's a...
Oh, my God, you're right.
>> JIMMY: I am?
>> GRETCHEN: I must still be
hungover.
Thanks for calling me out.
Momentary lapse of sanity.
Jesus.
>> JIMMY: Right, so, uh... are
we gonna hang out later or...?
>> GRETCHEN: I actually have
plans.
>> JIMMY: Okay.
>> GRETCHEN: Well, as my grandma
used to say, "It's only a walk
of shame if you're capable of
feeling shame."
See you later.
Thanks for doing all the sex
stuff on me.
(whistling)
>> EDGAR: That's a frittata.
>> JIMMY: Mm-hmm.
>> EDGAR: It's an egg-based
dish similar to an omelet.
>> JIMMY: I know what a frittata
is.
>> EDGAR: This one has leeks and
goat cheese.
I saw the recipe on Rachael Ray.
>> JIMMY: You're not supposed to
watch her.
The doctor said that your
obsession with her is unhealthy.
>> EDGAR: I know, but every
minute that I'm watching her,
I'm not doing heroin.
Except sometimes I'm also
doing heroin.
>> JIMMY: You know, she asked
for a key.
>> EDGAR: Who?
>> JIMMY: Rachael Ray.
Who do you think?
>> EDGAR: Rachael Ray could have
a key.
>> JIMMY: Can you believe she
would do that?
>> EDGAR: Well, I mean, keys
open doors.
>> JIMMY: It's not a key.
It's a symbol.
>> EDGAR: Of what?
>> JIMMY: Of the unceasing,
inexorable march of everything
towards predictability,
blandness and mediocrity.
It's the Rachael Raying of the
world.
>> EDGAR: A cozy world full of
home-cooked meals and graceful
weight fluctuation?
I'd live in that world.
>> JIMMY: I honestly cannot sit
there and pretend not to be
horrified by things as
unthought-out and unspecial as
"Can I have a key," ruled by
nothing more interesting than
animal instinct to the point
that I might as well be
sleeping with a migratory bird
or a leatherback sea turtle.
>> EDGAR: I'm gonna eat your
frittata.
>> JIMMY: "Can I have a key?"
I'll tell you what...
How can you see this shit
happening and just smile and be
okay with it?
How do you look at the person
you're with and not just know
that there's another person
inside who's boring and lame
and will eventually ask for
emotional support and to shop
together for decorative sconces
at Williams-Sonoma.
How can you just ignore
that shit?
>> EDGAR: I don't know.
Because you like them, I guess.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, well...
I don't know how to do that,
so...
>> EDGAR: Well, it makes sense
she'd be emotional today.
>> JIMMY: I swear, if you're
charting her menstrual cycle...
>> EDGAR: It's her birthday.
>> JIMMY: It is?
>> EDGAR: Mm-hmm.
>> JIMMY: Why didn't she tell
me?
(cell phone buzzing)
Oh, it's Gretchen's.
I better bring it to her.
>> EDGAR: Hand it over.
>> JIMMY: What?
I'm not gonna snoop.
I'm not!
Aw...
Aw, this is stupid.
Y-You are stupid.
I'm living with the stupidest
person in America.
Me, the smartest, and you, the
stupidest, living together.
You seriously think I'm not
strong enough to break through
what-- ten staples?
>> EDGAR: Have a good day at
school.
>> GRETCHEN: You've got to be
kidding me.
You're doing a juice cleanse?
You disgusting cliché.
You're going to embarrass me at
my diner.
>> LINDSAY: Don't care.
Day five.
Gretch, you can't imagine the
high.
>> GRETCHEN: Mmm, bet I can.
>> LINDSAY: No, you can't.
>> GRETCHEN: Remember the time
you and Chingy snorted K off
my vag?
>> LINDSAY: Aw... yeah.
This one is almond, flaxseed and
something called "whey runoff."
>> GRETCHEN: Mmm. Mmm.
Mmm.
>> LINDSAY: You don't understand
how skinny the wives at Paul's
firm are, Gretch.
I can't compete.
>> GRETCHEN: So, don't try.
Those Westside women are all
overly-tanned garbage monsters
with fake tits.
Hip bones jutting out of their
Lululemons.
>> LINDSAY: That's exactly what
they are.
>> GRETCHEN: So screw 'em.
Screw 'em, divorce Paul, start
eating food, move back to the
East Side, become goddamn
interesting again.
>> LINDSAY: Wow.
If it wasn't your birthday, I'd
be really hurt.
>> GRETCHEN: Sorry.
This Jimmy thing has me all
freaked out.
>> LINDSAY: I warned you about
him.
I bet you guys talk about me all
the time, huh?
How much it bugs me.
>> GRETCHEN: Nope.
>> LINDSAY: Ew! You guys
probably, like, talk about me
during sex even.
You guys are weird.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't mean the
key thing like he took it.
I don't think I did.
We're having fun.
That's enough.
>> LINDSAY: It better be.
He is a bad person.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm a bad person.
>> LINDSAY: Ooh, are you still
seeing Mr. Fancy Director Guy?
>> GRETCHEN: It's complicated.
>> LINDSAY: Your life is so fun
and complicated!
My life used to be fun and
complicated.
>> GRETCHEN: And now you're
married to a banker.
>> LINDSAY: Paul is actually
VP...
>> GRETCHEN: Oh.
>> LINDSAY: ...of Wealth
Management and Investment
Strategies.
(Gretchen snores)
Idiot.
>> GRETCHEN: What?
>> BRIANNA: There you are.
I'm sorry, Gretchen.
Uh, your phone keeps going to
voice mail.
>> GRETCHEN:: Oh, I left it
somewhere. What's up?
>> BRIANNA: It's Sam.
He did an interview.
>> GRETCHEN: Without consulting
me? Who with?
>> BRIANNA: A college paper.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. And?
>> BRIANNA: He used the word
"gay" and "faggot" 37 times.
>> GRETCHEN: As in "faggot is a
really terrible word, and gay
people are the best"?
>> BRIANNA: The reporter is the
president of the Gay and Lesbian
student union, and he's
threatening to go to the Times.
>> LINDSAY: Go.
Breakfast is on me.
Happy birthday.
>> GRETCHEN: Nice try.
You still have to buy me a
present... cheapskate.
>> LINDSAY: Mmm.
(engine revving)
(opera plays on stereo)
(phone chimes)
(phone buzzes, phone chimes)
(buzzing)
(man singing opera in Italian
on stereo)
(Jimmy sings along in Italian)
(phone chimes)
(Jimmy sings along)
>> JIMMY: ¶ La-la-la, la-la-la,
la, la... ¶
(grunting)
Oh, come on!
(phone buzzes)
(phone buzzes)
(phone buzzes)
(phone chimes)
>> JIMMY: Who the hell is Ty?!
>> SAM: I stole you a card from
CVS, but I lost it on the way
over here.
>> GRETCHEN: This is serious,
Sam.
>> SAM: Inside, it said, "You're
not just getting older.
You're also getting less
attractive."
>> GRETCHEN: You can't bribe me
with flowers.
>> HONEY NUTZ: It's a joke,
because you're so young and
beautiful and shit.
>> GRETCHEN: What were you
thinking, doing an interview
without me there?
To quote you, "I get nervous
at these shits."
>> SAM: We were skating and
messing with college girls, and
this skinny fool comes up and
says, can he ask some questions.
>> GRETCHEN: Were you high?
>> SAM: It was 10:00 in the
morning.
Of course I was high.
>> GRETCHEN: And the whole time,
you did not notice he was gay?
Presumptively.
>> SAM: Yeah, I mean, dude was
hella fruity, but so what?
My generation-- we don't act
different around different
people, frontin' fake
personalities.
We cool with everybody.
Except Shitstain.
He don't like Koreans.
>> SHITSTAIN: 'Cause of their
manipulative currency
devaluation.
And they eyes.
>> GRETCHEN: You called the head
of the LGBT student union a
"faggot."
>> SAM: So? I call my pops that
all the time.
>> GRETCHEN: Is your dad gay?
>> SAM: No. He's just a faggot.
>> GRETCHEN: Well, now I have to
go down there and deal with
this.
>> SAM: And do your job?
Oh, no, Gretchen.
>> GRETCHEN: From now on, when
you receive an interview
request, spontaneous or
otherwise, what are you gonna
do?
>> HONEY NUTZ: Politely direct
'em to your office?
>> GRETCHEN: Damn straight.
Listen to Honey Nutz.
(Sam sighs)
>> JIMMY: Damn it.
>> GRETCHEN: Hey.
>> JIMMY: Hey.
Uh, I brought your phone.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. Awesome.
Thanks.
(Jimmy sputters, sighs)
>> JIMMY: Beep, beep.
(clears throat)
Oh, you got flowers.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh. Yeah.
>> JIMMY: Buy them yourself
or...?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
>> JIMMY: Ah.
Special occasion of some sort?
>> GRETCHEN: People send me
flowers sometimes, Jimmy.
They want to see me happy.
People like me.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I know that.
Of course I know that.
So, what are you doing later?
>> GRETCHEN: I have plans.
>> JIMMY: Fine! Bye.
(clears throat, sniffles)
>> SAM: Hey, can I get one of
those?
>> JIMMY: These are pretty
expensive.
>> SAM: Don't be an asshole.
>> JIMMY: Fine.
>> SAM: You're boning my
publicist, right?
>> JIMMY: Used to be.
>> SAM: Yeah, I Googled your
ass.
I liked your book.
>> JIMMY: Really?
Thank you.
What did you like about it?
>> SAM: Obviously, I thought it
was, like, boring as shit.
And clearly, you used to jack
off to Hemingway in high school,
but the prose was good.
>> JIMMY: Thank you.
Enjoy your smoke.
>> SAM: Why'd you used to be
boning her?
>> JIMMY: I don't know.
We were never a real thing.
>> SAM: How come?
All I know is, I don't let
nobody talk to me the way
Gretch does.
>> JIMMY: Yeah, me, neither.
>> SAM: Figure she must be
pretty dope if we both let her
do that.
(Jimmy sighs)
>> JIMMY: Are you going back in?
>> SAM: Yeah.
>> JIMMY: Give her this for me.
Hey, do you know someone
named Ty?
>> DARREN: Then I was like,
"Girl, fix your weave."
>> GRETCHEN: Darren Kaplan?
>> DARREN: Yeah?
>> GRETCHEN: I wanted to talk to
you about Sam Halton.
Maker's, rocks.
>> DARREN: When you went into
PR, were you aware that you'd
become an instant cliché?
>> GRETCHEN: Snotty gay reporter
is better?
(guys chuckle)
>> DARREN: Shoo.
What do you want?
>> GRETCHEN: I just want to make
sure my client's words aren't
taken out of context.
>> DARREN: Don't worry.
I'll provide lots of context.
>> GRETCHEN: He's a moron.
He's not even old enough to
drink.
His opinions aren't fully
formed.
>> DARREN: We're on the dawn of
a revolution.
You wouldn't run around saying
the "N" word, but people feel
free to say "fag" whenever
they want.
>> GRETCHEN: He says the
"N" word all the time, too.
He called wheatgrass the
"N" word yesterday.
He was like, "Mmm, this 'N' word
is... hella good for digestion."
>> DARREN: You got anything
else?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
It's my birthday.
I didn't really prepare.
This is the point where I would
normally try flirting with you.
Okay, I tried.
>> DARREN: Wait, that's it?
>> GRETCHEN: Look, I love my
client like the black son I
aborted in high school, but
maybe you're right.
Banning words is always the
misguided byproduct of good
social movements.
So, maybe his career is worth
the sacrifice.
>> DARREN: I heard Caliber had
a big hush budget.
>> GRETCHEN: I can give you
two grand-- that's it.
>> DARREN: And he has to come
give me another interview.
>> GRETCHEN: Done.
>> DARREN: Happy birthday.
>> GRETCHEN: Thanks.
Congrats on choosing a
dying profession.
>> JIMMY: She can do whatever
she wants.
Just go home.
Or go in there and ruin
her date.
Yep.
>> LINDSAY: Oh!
Farts.
>> JIMMY: Sorry.
Lindsay, what...
>> BECCA: I'm saying, like, you
can tell, like, she just stuffed
it into a bag.
You know what I mean?
It's so sad.
>> LINDSAY: Hey, Jimmy, how's
it going?
>> PAUL: Here, honey, oh.
>> LINDSAY: Just...
>> PAUL: Hey, Jimmy.
Nice to see you.
>> JIMMY: Do you work here?
Can I get a double whiskey,
neat?
>> PAUL: Jimmy, it's Paul,
Lindsay's husband?
We vacationed in Saint Lucia
together.
Twice.
>> LINDSAY: Just get him the
whiskey, Paul.
Go.
I lost eight pounds since you
saw me last.
Can you tell?
>> JIMMY: No.
>> GRETCHEN: So, this is creepy.
>> JIMMY: I know.
How could you not invite me to
your birthday drinks?
>> GRETCHEN: I mean you just
showing up.
>> JIMMY: Oh, I thought you were
on a date.
>> GRETCHEN: How is that better?
Why'd you think I was on a date?
>> JIMMY: Well, a text came
through on your phone.
>> GRETCHEN: You snooped?
>> JIMMY: No, I... I couldn't
figure out your password, so...
>> GRETCHEN: What are we doing,
Jimmy?
>> TY: Happy birthday, you.
It's from a winery in La Cañada
I'm a partial investor of.
>> JIMMY: Oh, where the 2 meets
the 210.
Yeah, they say it's our
Rhône Valley.
>> GRETCHEN: Thanks, Ty.
>> TY: Uh, Gretchen, this is
Element.
>> GRETCHEN: LMN?
>> ELEMENT: Element.
Like oxygen, hydrogen.
>> JIMMY: Arsenic, radon.
>> TY: Ty Wyland.
>> JIMMY: Sorry, Twine what?
>> TY: Ty Wyland.
>> JIMMY (whispering): I don't
understand what he's saying.
>> GRETCHEN: Uh, grab yourselves
drinks.
We're right over there.
>> TY: We actually can't stay.
Uh, we have a fund-raiser for
this very promising Guatemalan
reform candidate.
>> JIMMY: Ooh, heavily into
Central American politics, are
you, Element?
>> TY: Well.
Happy birthday, again.
(whispers): I need to see you.
Soon.
Nice to see you guys.
Okay.
>> JIMMY: So that's why you
didn't invite me.
>> GRETCHEN: Also, I wanted to
spare you Becca and Vernon.
>> VERNON: Homeslice!
Get your balls over here.
What? It's Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: You could have just
told me it was your birthday and
you were hanging with...
friends.
I wouldn't have come.
>> GRETCHEN: It's not my fault
my birthday came two weeks after
we started... whatever we're
doing.
>> JIMMY: You thought he was
coming alone.
>> GRETCHEN: I didn't ask
for any of this to happen,
in this order.
>> JIMMY: You didn't do anything
wrong.
Okay?
Look, I'm gonna go, okay?
>> GRETCHEN: No, stay.
>> JIMMY: What, now that he's
gone?
>> GRETCHEN: Don't be a dick.
>> JIMMY: Fine.
But if I'm in danger of getting
into conversation with anyone
really annoying, just kick me
under the table.
>> GRETCHEN: Deal.
Hey, guys.
This is Jimmy.
He's a... guy I'm sleeping with.
>> LINDSAY: Jimmy.
Sit next to me.
Paul, can you get me a backup
drink?
Go.
>> EDGAR: She asked me not to
tell you.
>> JIMMY: You're not my friend
anymore.
>> EDGAR: Can I still live with
you rent-free?
>> JIMMY: I guess so, yeah.
>> EDGAR: It was good to see
you.
>> JIMMY: Um... hey, guys.
>> VERNON: Nice pull.
Bec didn't tell me you were
hitting that.
>> BECCA: Because I had no idea.
>> VERNON: Jimmy, you got to see
this photo my colorectal guy
just texted.
It's sick.
>> JIMMY: No.
Aw!
>> BECCA: Just...
>> VERNON: Your loss.
I'm getting us Jãgerbombsters.
>> BECCA: Ugh.
>> VERNON: Jãgerbombsters!
>> BECCA: Did it even occur to
you to tell me that you're
sleeping with Gretchen?
>> JIMMY: No.
>> BECCA: You and Gretchen are
poison people.
This is going to end so badly.
>> JIMMY: I know, right?
(laughs, sighs)
>> GRETCHEN: I'm glad you came
tonight.
>> JIMMY: Stop.
>> GRETCHEN: Tough shit.
I am.
You are growing on me,
Jimmy... Stupid-Three-Names.
>> JIMMY: You're drunk.
Thanks.
Ditto.
There is no way that that model
is as good in bed as you are.
>> GRETCHEN: I know, right?
Okay, that's weird.
Sorry about the key thing.
>> JIMMY: Oh, yeah, speaking of
which, I should probably take
back the one I gave Sam.
That was my main key.
>> GRETCHEN: You gave Sam a key?
>> JIMMY: To give to you, yeah.
>> GRETCHEN: Wait, so you wanted
me to have a key?
>> JIMMY: No, I just didn't want
you to be mad at me.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm not.
I'm just embarrassed for asking.
>> JIMMY: Okay, good.
Wait, he never gave you the key?
>> GRETCHEN: No.
(rattles door handle)
>> SAM: Oh, shit.
Hey, guys.
>> JIMMY: What the hell are
you doing?
>> SAM: Sorry.
We needed a place.
>> GRETCHEN: For what?
>> DARREN: Hey.
>> GRETCHEN: You're gay?
>> SAM: No... but this nigga
sucks really good dick.
Chicken, chicken leg
¶ Hey, chicken leg
Chicken, chicken leg, uh-huh
¶ Chicken leg
Chicken, chicken leg
¶ You lookin' like a
Popeye's biscuit
¶ And I can be your butter
And treat you like no other
¶ I see that every single thing
I utter makes you stutter
¶ 'Cause it's utterly ridiculous
First there was a dance-off
¶ Turning this gymnasium
into a dance hall
¶ She make me wanna get a job
She make me wanna get a job
¶ She make me wanna get
a nine-to-five
¶ Girl, you so fine, make me
wanna get a nine-to-five. ¶