You're the Worst (2014–…): Season 1, Episode 5 - Sunday Funday - full transcript
Jimmy begrudgingly joins Gretchen, Edgar, and Lindsay on a "Sunday Funday."
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¶ ¶
>> DUDE: Uh, hey, are you using
these chair...?
>> LINDSAY: Back off!
(scooches chair)
>> GRETCHEN: Sunday Funday!
>> LINDSAY: Sunday Funday!
(Gretchen laughs)
(both grunt)
>> LINDSAY: Where have you been?
I've had to fight off wave after
wave of hungry, cool dads and
trust-fund alts.
It's been like a hipster Game of
Thrones up in this bitch.
>> GRETCHEN: Sorry, Ty drove me.
>> LINDSAY: You banged Ty last
night?
>> GRETCHEN: Worse... he came
over this morning to invite me
to the Tribeca Film Festival.
We'd leave tonight on a private
plane.
>> LINDSAY (gasps): Gretch...
Tribeca is super hip.
It, like, stands for something.
>> GRETCHEN: The triangle below
Canal.
>> LINDSAY: No. Something real.
I'll think of it later.
Private plane...!
>> GRETCHEN (singsongy): Private
plane...!
>> LINDSAY (singsongy): Dicks on
a private plane...
>> GRETCHEN: But Jimmy...
>> LINDSAY: Gretchen.
Ty is famous.
Also, he's a total dog, so he's
never gonna want you to meet his
gross Polish parents or tell you
about his squash games or ask
you to shave his butthole.
>> GRETCHEN: Tell me you don't
shave Paul's butthole.
>> LINDSAY: Marriage is dark,
Gretch.
>> GRETCHEN: I want to go, but
not even really, because of Ty.
>> LINDSAY: Right.
Private plane, free champagne.
>> GRETCHEN: No, here's what's
keeping me up all night:
Even though Jimmy's a squirrelly
guy, when I look at him, I
swear I can see years into the
future with this dude.
And that is why I am thinking of
getting on that plane.
>> LINDSAY: Geez...
What are you going to do?
>> GRETCHEN: I'm gonna have the
best goddamn Sunday Funday ever
and figure it out later.
>> LINDSAY: Figure it out later,
dicks on a plane, Sunday Funday.
>> GRETCHEN: Sunday Funday!
>> EDGAR: Sunday Funday,
biznitches!
(women laughing)
>> LINDSAY, EDGAR, GRETCHEN:
¶ Sunday Funday
Better than a Monday
Can only do it one way
¶ And that is the drunk way
Sunday Funday... ¶
>> JIMMY: Bloody Mary and
a triple whiskey neat.
For the love of God, hurry.
>> LINDSAY, EDGAR, GRETCHEN:
¶ And that is the drunk way! ¶
>> ¶ I'm gonna leave you anyway
I'm gonna leave you anyway
Gonna leave you anyway. ¶
>> GRETCHEN (laughs): I can't
believe you agreed to come to
Sunday Funday...
>> JIMMY: Just because I decided
to come to a "drinking"
brunch does not mean I'm part
of your juvenile ritual.
>> LINDSAY: Jimmy, Sunday Funday
is not juvenile.
Sunday Funday is about
participating in fun activities
with friends.
>> EDGAR: Sunday Funday is about
squeezing every drop of life out
of the weekend...
before Monday.
>> JIMMY: Right, neither of you
has a job.
>> LINDSAY: You can not have a
job and still hate Mondays.
>> EDGAR: Like Garfield.
>> LINDSAY: Like Garfield,
Jimmy... Garfield.
>> EDGAR: Hmm, well, you picked
the right day to come--
it's my turn.
>> JIMMY: Oh, you take turns.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, two weeks
ago, I made a list of
activities.
Last week was Lindser's.
Today is Edgar's.
>> EDGAR: You may not believe
this, but I never got to lead a
mission in Iraq.
>> JIMMY: Hmm.
>> EDGAR: And I'm telling you,
I have designed the Ultimate
Sunday Funday List Ever of All
Time... Ever.
>> JIMMY: What does it say?
"Mooch off Jimmy, scream in your
sleep, threaten people at Best
Buy"?
>> EDGAR: No...
It's a surprise.
>> GROUP (chanting): Sunday
Funday.
Sunday Funday. Sunday Funday.
>> RINGLEADER: ¶ Ooh, yeah, baby
Can't get enough of the Sunday
Now ¶
>> MAN BUN: ¶ Funday, Sunday ¶
>> RINGLEADER: And...
>> WOMEN: ¶ Fun... ¶
>> RINGLEADER: Really good
stuff.
Really good stuff, you guys.
>> JIMMY: Those are the kind of
people who do Sunday Funday.
>> EDGAR: I'm from L.A.
Fun hipster shit is just poor
Latino shit from ten years ago.
(Lindsay laughs)
I'm telling you, this is gonna
be the most underground, unique
and dope Sunday Funday Ever...
>> RINGLEADER: Hey, man, you,
uh, dropped this.
>> EDGAR (sighs): Thanks.
>> RINGLEADER: Don't worry about
it.
Hey, I think it's really cool
that you guys are doing Sunday
Funday, you know?
I kind of started it.
Recognize these?
From Drive?
(chuckles)
All right, man, have fun.
(giggles)
>> LINDSAY: To Sunday Funday.
(Edgar grunts)
>> GRETCHEN & LINDSAY: ¶ A
Sunday, a Funday
A better than a Monday. ¶
>> RINGLEADER: ¶ Sunday Funday
Sunday Funday
Beep, ba-boop, Sunday Funday
Ooh, yeah. ¶
>> JIMMY: Oh, see you.
>> LINDSAY (grunts): Ty invited
Gretchen to go to Tribeca.
They're leaving tonight.
>> JIMMY: Tribeca?!
>> LINDSAY: It's the triangle
for canals, Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: Tonight?
Seriously?
Well, that's fine.
We're both free to do what we
want.
>> LINDSAY: You really want Ty
flying Gretchen on a private
plane to a fancy film festival?
>> JIMMY: Look, she's a big
girl.
She can make her own decisions.
>> LINDSAY: No, she can't!
Her decisions are 99% dog shit.
She got LASIK at the Pasadena
Flea Market.
For some perverse reason, you
make her happy.
So, ask yourself this:
Do you want Ty's claws even
deeper into her?
>> GRETCHEN: Ready, Lindsanity?
>> JIMMY: You know, on second
thought, I think I will witness
this juvenile display myself.
There's near-constant drinking
involved, right?
>> LINDSAY: Near-constant.
>> GRETCHEN: Well... okay.
>> LINDSAY: Full squad!
>> GRETCHEN: Full squad.
>> EDGAR: Full squad.
Let's go!
(Lindsay whoops)
(sighs)
>> LINDSAY: Ew...
Why are records so gross?
(gasps)
(whispers): Hey, look.
That other weird brunch group is
here.
>> EDGAR: Oh, no.
>> LINDSAY: What?
>> EDGAR: Back at the
restaurant, I dropped the list
and that guy returned it.
>> LINDSAY: Aw, that was nice of
him.
>> EDGAR: No, don't you see?
He copied the list.
Otherwise, why would he be at
this exact, obscure record
store?
>> LINDSAY: You're being
paranoid.
>> EDGAR: No...
I've let important intel slip
into the wrong hands before.
Najaf, 2009.
That did not turn out well.
>> JIMMY: Hey...
pick a record, my treat.
>> GRETCHEN: All right,
big spender.
This one.
(Jimmy laughs)
>> JIMMY: Genesis... good.
Okay, but not until you tell me
if you are a Peter Gabriel or a
Phil Collins.
>> GRETCHEN: They're both good.
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: I like them both.
What's the big deal?
>> JIMMY: The big deal is that
you cannot like two things
which are diametrically
opposed.
>> GRETCHEN: Huh.
And yet I do.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, hey...
brunch guy.
Oh, you know about this place,
too?
>> EDGAR: Yeah.
>> RINGLEADER: Yeah, I-I love
it, it's so... authentic.
>> EDGAR: Yeah.
That's why it was on my list.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, cool, yeah.
Mine, too.
>> EDGAR: Cramp.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, good.
Sunday Funday.
(Ringleader speaking Spanish)
>> LINDSAY: Look! A baby record.
>> GRETCHEN: You rotten bitch!
You're leaving now?
>> LINDSAY: Paul has a work
barbecue.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm facing a major
decision, and you're leaving me
to hang with those
calorie-counting
Restylane-monsters?
>> LINDSAY: I hate the
salad-eaters, too, but I have
to go.
>> GRETCHEN: Just stay for one
more thing on the list.
Please?
>> LINDSAY: Only if you buy me
the little baby record.
>> JIMMY: Ow. Ow. Ow!
>> GRETCHEN: You are the tensest
dude in the world.
>> LINDSAY: You can literally
touch me anywhere.
I'm not shy.
>> JIMMY: Hey, Edgar, how did
you narrow it down to this
massage spot?
I mean, after all, it's so much
easier to just not make choices,
right, Gretch?
>> GRETCHEN: Here we go.
>> EDGAR: What are you talking
about?
>> JIMMY: Peter Gabriel versus
Phil Collins.
>> EDGAR: Remember when Phil
Collins drowned a guy?
>> JIMMY: That's not the story
at all.
That didn't happen.
It was disproven a billion
times.
>> EDGAR: He sent the guy
front-row tickets.
>> JIMMY: Saying "both" is just
a cop-out.
All right, that's it.
I'm helping you figure it out.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, God.
>> JIMMY: Okay, so I could ask
you-- "Solsbury Hill" or
"Against All Odds."
>> GRETCHEN: Both great.
>> EDGAR: Okay. Aah!
>> JIMMY: Wrong, which is why
we're going to come at this
sideways, okay?
Number one: which do you prefer?
(Lindsay screams, thuds)
Sean Connery or Roger Moore?
>> GRETCHEN: Daniel Craig.
Update your references, old man.
>> JIMMY: Daniel Craig?
He looks like an upset baby.
(Gretchen laughs)
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, my God,
he does.
>> EDGAR: Let it out. Throw it!
>> JIMMY: Okay, eggs or
pancakes?
>> GRETCHEN: Which one's Phil
Collins, and which one's Peter
Gabriel?
>> JIMMY: Are you serious?
Edgar, what are we doing here?
>> EDGAR: The most obscure taco
stand...
What?!
>> FOOD COLUMNIST: Well, this
place is over.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, cool.
You guys know about this place,
too?
>> GRETCHEN: Look, Jimmy, I like
the Tarzan soundtrack, and I
like the crappy Vampire Weekend
song that name-checks Peter
Gabriel.
I'm down with it all.
Why does this bother you so
much?
>> JIMMY: It's just such a lazy
way of living.
"Put it in my vagina or my butt.
I don't care."
>> LINDSAY: Sometimes you want
both.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, Jimmy.
Sometimes you want both.
(Gretchen mouthing words)
Anyway, your whole thesis is
flawed.
Not everything is one or the
other.
Edgar is both a patriot and a
skeptic.
>> EDGAR: True dat.
>> GRETCHEN: Lindsay's both a
wife and a skank.
>> LINDSAY: Recovering, but,
yeah, totally.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm professional
and completely unprofessional.
>> JIMMY: Well, that's true.
>> GRETCHEN: And, you, Jimmy--
you're...
You're just one thing.
>> JIMMY: Exactly.
>> LINDSAY: You stop it.
Oh, my God.
(Lindsay screaming)
(phone chimes)
>> JIMMY: Well, you're very
popular today.
>> GRETCHEN: I know. Sorry.
There, I'm done.
You know why I don't want to
pick Peter Gabriel or Phil
Collins?
Because you are just waiting for
me to pick wrong so you can
judge me, and why would I want
to put myself through that?
>> JIMMY: Because I'm asking you
to.
>> GRETCHEN: You told him.
>> LINDSAY: What?! No.
Gretch, stop overthinking
everything.
He's trying to be a good sport
and hang out.
Just enjoy it.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay, I'll try,
but don't leave.
>> LINDSAY: I know, it's gonna
suck so hard, but Paul has been
really patient.
(Paul yawning)
>> GRETCHEN: Wait.
Has Paul been...?
>> LINDSAY: You'll make the
right decision.
>> GRETCHEN: What's next?
>> EDGAR: Come on, I'll show
you.
It's the best one yet.
>> GRETCHEN: Faster! Faster!
>> JIMMY: No, slow down!
>> EDGAR: Shopping cart races
were my favorite as a kid.
Yeah!
(group hoots and whoops)
>> EDGAR: Jimmy!
You okay?
>> JIMMY: I just want to go
home and shower!
What are we doing here?
>> EDGAR: Open houses are on the
list.
Plus, this real estate lady
always has freshly baked
cookies.
>> GRETCHEN: Great idea, Edgar.
A free activity where you can
snoop on your neighbors and
judge their shitty taste?
Yes, please.
Get upstairs.
>> JIMMY: What...?!
>> GRETCHEN: Quick, take a
shower.
>> JIMMY: Come on, what... here?
>> GRETCHEN: Do what I say.
I'll get you some dry clothes.
Sunday Funday.
>> JIMMY: Oh, Gretchen, come on.
>> JIMMY: Oh, right!
I thought of another one, okay?
Chekov's plays or Chekov's
short stor... (laughs)
Gretchen?
(Gretchen conversing, muffled)
>> GRETCHEN: I know, it sounds
amazing, Ty.
I gotta go.
I'll call you in a bit.
>> EDGAR: The real estate lady
said Jimmy left.
>> GRETCHEN: He did?!
Well, Sunday Funday's over.
>> EDGAR: No!
We can't quit now.
>> GRETCHEN: We don't have a
car.
Jimmy drove.
>> RINGLEADER (chuckling): Whoa.
Are you guys following us?
>> EDGAR: You son of a bitch.
You stole my list.
>> RINGLEADER: What are you
talking about?
>> GRETCHEN: Edgar.
>> EDGAR: Back at brunch,
I dropped the list and he
clearly copied everything on it.
He stole our Sunday Funday.
>> RINGLEADER: No, I didn't.
>> EDGAR: Open houses are on
your list, too?
And this exact two-bedroom
colonial charmer?
>> RINGLEADER: We look for Patty
Kohan's open houses.
She always has cookies.
What's that in your hand, man?
Looks like a cookie.
(laughs)
>> GRETCHEN: I like your
sweatshirt.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Oh, my God,
thanks.
How's your Sunday Funday going?
>> GRETCHEN: Actually, I'm just
using it as a distraction so I
don't have to decide between two
guys.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Oh, I hear
you.
I am in love with Keith.
>> GRETCHEN: The guy with the
man bun?
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: We've been
doing Sunday Funday for, like,
two years, and he still calls
me Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
So I totally understand where
you're coming from.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, cool.
I need to talk to Lindsay.
>> EDGAR: She's at Paul's
West Side barbecue.
How are we gonna get there?
We don't have a car.
No.
No.
¶ ¶
(Gretchen mouthing words)
(women laughing)
>> GRETCHEN: Excuse me.
Ladies, I need to borrow dear
Linds for a second.
Toodles!
>> ¶ I got it all
I got it all indeed
Got everything I want
¶ Everything I need
But what I don't got is
A feeling that's inside... ¶
>> LINDSAY: They're not that
bad.
>> GRETCHEN: I knew it!
There is one over there dressed
head-to-toe in riding gear.
There is not a horse around
for miles.
>> LINDSAY: Anyway, this is
your fault!
>> GRETCHEN: How?!
>> LINDSAY: Around you I'm
never the cool one.
But with them, I'm the coolest.
By, like, miles.
>> GRETCHEN: First, you get
married, then you abandon me for
these Botoxed pterodactyls.
I've never done that to you.
I don't even have any other
friends.
Plus, you lied when you said you
were dreading coming here.
>> LINDSAY: I wasn't lying.
That's the weird thing.
I don't even know exactly what I
was dreading.
I like the people.
I like the food.
I don't know what it is.
>> PAUL: Sweetie, Jenna wants to
know if she should serve your
spinach dip with water crackers
or toast points.
>> LINDSAY: Just go away!
I'll be right there!
So, yeah.
I can't quite put my finger on
what it is I don't like here.
What?
I mean, I'm sure at some point,
everybody looks at their
husband and is like,
"Eh, that's my future.
That's it.
And why does it smell like ham
all the time?"
That's normal, right?
>> GRETCHEN: I hope not.
>> LINDSAY: I just wish I had
what you have.
>> GRETCHEN: What do I have?
>> LINDSAY: Someone I wanted to
do Sunday Funday with.
>> GRETCHEN: Actually,
he bailed.
I was hoping he'd stick around
to help me figure out what to do
about Ty, but he's...
He's here!
>> GRETCHEN: Well, well.
>> JIMMY: Hey.
Listen, um... (clears throat)
Phil Collins--
he has his merits, all right?
As lightweight and nutritionless
they are.
I mean, really, "Land of
Confusion," with is leaden pleas
for world peace and the
healing power of love.
Thank you, George Bernard Shaw.
Give me a fortnight to machete
my way through the dense...
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: ...metaphoric thicket
of those lyrics.
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: And while Peter
Gabriel, he's, he's complex,
dark, you know, interesting,
I recognize that it can be nice
to have some breezy "No Reply
at All" fun.
You know, but following you
around all day today just trying
to convince you what to do?
Well, it's... it's just made me
feel, just-just made me feel
a-ashamed and jealous
and low.
Like Phil Collins when he
wrote "Sussudio."
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: But if one day, right,
eggs forced you to choose
between themselves and pancakes,
and you chose the soggy,
tasteless pancakes and never ate
eggs ever again, I'm just
saying eggs...
the eggs would be really sad.
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: If you don't want
me to go on this trip, just
tell me.
>> JIMMY: Don't go.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay.
I won't.
So, just to be clear.
On one side, it's eggs, Peter
Gabriel and you, and on the
other side it's pancakes, Phil
Collins and Ty?
>> JIMMY: You know, I've been
drinking all day and honestly
I'm not even sure anymore.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Gretchen!
I did it!
>> GRETCHEN: Good for you,
Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
Good for... you.
You want to get out of here?
>> JIMMY: Immediately.
>> EDGAR: I just... things have
been messed up, and I guess I
thought if I could do a good job
today, maybe I'd have the boost
to get my shit back on track.
>> RINGLEADER: Yeah, well...
Sorry, man.
>> EDGAR: It's not your fault.
>> RINGLEADER: All right.
>> EDGAR: My list!
I knew it!
>> RINGLEADER: Okay, okay, okay.
Shit. Okay, look.
Look, these guys rely on me
to come up with awesome, cool,
underground cultural shit to do
every single week.
You know how much pressure
that puts on me?
I got shingles trying to find
a new Ethiopian restaurant.
Please don't blow up my spot,
man.
Please!
Okay?
I have trouble making friends.
>> EDGAR: Wow.
>> RINGLEADER: What?
>> EDGAR: I'm screwed up
because I saw my friends die.
You're screwed up because...
you're just a really lame dude.
Thanks for making me feel
better.
>> RINGLEADER: Wait, your
friends died?
The ones from today?
What happened?!
Hey.
Yeah... yeah...
>> LINDSAY: There you are,
honey.
I came to a decision about the
toast points.
(screams)
>> MOMMY: Isabel was getting
fussy and I asked Paul to hold
her for a second and she quieted
right up.
>> PAUL: I'm a natural.
>> MOMMY: What about you?
Gonna be ready for one of these
guys soon?
>> LINDSAY: Oh, my God! Aah!
Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH
¶ If I could use you
What kind of fun would it be
¶ That we form?
A laze, lazily
Oh... ¶
¶ When you touch down
I don't want to reach you
¶ When you luck out
I don't want to treat you... ¶
---
¶ ¶
>> DUDE: Uh, hey, are you using
these chair...?
>> LINDSAY: Back off!
(scooches chair)
>> GRETCHEN: Sunday Funday!
>> LINDSAY: Sunday Funday!
(Gretchen laughs)
(both grunt)
>> LINDSAY: Where have you been?
I've had to fight off wave after
wave of hungry, cool dads and
trust-fund alts.
It's been like a hipster Game of
Thrones up in this bitch.
>> GRETCHEN: Sorry, Ty drove me.
>> LINDSAY: You banged Ty last
night?
>> GRETCHEN: Worse... he came
over this morning to invite me
to the Tribeca Film Festival.
We'd leave tonight on a private
plane.
>> LINDSAY (gasps): Gretch...
Tribeca is super hip.
It, like, stands for something.
>> GRETCHEN: The triangle below
Canal.
>> LINDSAY: No. Something real.
I'll think of it later.
Private plane...!
>> GRETCHEN (singsongy): Private
plane...!
>> LINDSAY (singsongy): Dicks on
a private plane...
>> GRETCHEN: But Jimmy...
>> LINDSAY: Gretchen.
Ty is famous.
Also, he's a total dog, so he's
never gonna want you to meet his
gross Polish parents or tell you
about his squash games or ask
you to shave his butthole.
>> GRETCHEN: Tell me you don't
shave Paul's butthole.
>> LINDSAY: Marriage is dark,
Gretch.
>> GRETCHEN: I want to go, but
not even really, because of Ty.
>> LINDSAY: Right.
Private plane, free champagne.
>> GRETCHEN: No, here's what's
keeping me up all night:
Even though Jimmy's a squirrelly
guy, when I look at him, I
swear I can see years into the
future with this dude.
And that is why I am thinking of
getting on that plane.
>> LINDSAY: Geez...
What are you going to do?
>> GRETCHEN: I'm gonna have the
best goddamn Sunday Funday ever
and figure it out later.
>> LINDSAY: Figure it out later,
dicks on a plane, Sunday Funday.
>> GRETCHEN: Sunday Funday!
>> EDGAR: Sunday Funday,
biznitches!
(women laughing)
>> LINDSAY, EDGAR, GRETCHEN:
¶ Sunday Funday
Better than a Monday
Can only do it one way
¶ And that is the drunk way
Sunday Funday... ¶
>> JIMMY: Bloody Mary and
a triple whiskey neat.
For the love of God, hurry.
>> LINDSAY, EDGAR, GRETCHEN:
¶ And that is the drunk way! ¶
>> ¶ I'm gonna leave you anyway
I'm gonna leave you anyway
Gonna leave you anyway. ¶
>> GRETCHEN (laughs): I can't
believe you agreed to come to
Sunday Funday...
>> JIMMY: Just because I decided
to come to a "drinking"
brunch does not mean I'm part
of your juvenile ritual.
>> LINDSAY: Jimmy, Sunday Funday
is not juvenile.
Sunday Funday is about
participating in fun activities
with friends.
>> EDGAR: Sunday Funday is about
squeezing every drop of life out
of the weekend...
before Monday.
>> JIMMY: Right, neither of you
has a job.
>> LINDSAY: You can not have a
job and still hate Mondays.
>> EDGAR: Like Garfield.
>> LINDSAY: Like Garfield,
Jimmy... Garfield.
>> EDGAR: Hmm, well, you picked
the right day to come--
it's my turn.
>> JIMMY: Oh, you take turns.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, two weeks
ago, I made a list of
activities.
Last week was Lindser's.
Today is Edgar's.
>> EDGAR: You may not believe
this, but I never got to lead a
mission in Iraq.
>> JIMMY: Hmm.
>> EDGAR: And I'm telling you,
I have designed the Ultimate
Sunday Funday List Ever of All
Time... Ever.
>> JIMMY: What does it say?
"Mooch off Jimmy, scream in your
sleep, threaten people at Best
Buy"?
>> EDGAR: No...
It's a surprise.
>> GROUP (chanting): Sunday
Funday.
Sunday Funday. Sunday Funday.
>> RINGLEADER: ¶ Ooh, yeah, baby
Can't get enough of the Sunday
Now ¶
>> MAN BUN: ¶ Funday, Sunday ¶
>> RINGLEADER: And...
>> WOMEN: ¶ Fun... ¶
>> RINGLEADER: Really good
stuff.
Really good stuff, you guys.
>> JIMMY: Those are the kind of
people who do Sunday Funday.
>> EDGAR: I'm from L.A.
Fun hipster shit is just poor
Latino shit from ten years ago.
(Lindsay laughs)
I'm telling you, this is gonna
be the most underground, unique
and dope Sunday Funday Ever...
>> RINGLEADER: Hey, man, you,
uh, dropped this.
>> EDGAR (sighs): Thanks.
>> RINGLEADER: Don't worry about
it.
Hey, I think it's really cool
that you guys are doing Sunday
Funday, you know?
I kind of started it.
Recognize these?
From Drive?
(chuckles)
All right, man, have fun.
(giggles)
>> LINDSAY: To Sunday Funday.
(Edgar grunts)
>> GRETCHEN & LINDSAY: ¶ A
Sunday, a Funday
A better than a Monday. ¶
>> RINGLEADER: ¶ Sunday Funday
Sunday Funday
Beep, ba-boop, Sunday Funday
Ooh, yeah. ¶
>> JIMMY: Oh, see you.
>> LINDSAY (grunts): Ty invited
Gretchen to go to Tribeca.
They're leaving tonight.
>> JIMMY: Tribeca?!
>> LINDSAY: It's the triangle
for canals, Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: Tonight?
Seriously?
Well, that's fine.
We're both free to do what we
want.
>> LINDSAY: You really want Ty
flying Gretchen on a private
plane to a fancy film festival?
>> JIMMY: Look, she's a big
girl.
She can make her own decisions.
>> LINDSAY: No, she can't!
Her decisions are 99% dog shit.
She got LASIK at the Pasadena
Flea Market.
For some perverse reason, you
make her happy.
So, ask yourself this:
Do you want Ty's claws even
deeper into her?
>> GRETCHEN: Ready, Lindsanity?
>> JIMMY: You know, on second
thought, I think I will witness
this juvenile display myself.
There's near-constant drinking
involved, right?
>> LINDSAY: Near-constant.
>> GRETCHEN: Well... okay.
>> LINDSAY: Full squad!
>> GRETCHEN: Full squad.
>> EDGAR: Full squad.
Let's go!
(Lindsay whoops)
(sighs)
>> LINDSAY: Ew...
Why are records so gross?
(gasps)
(whispers): Hey, look.
That other weird brunch group is
here.
>> EDGAR: Oh, no.
>> LINDSAY: What?
>> EDGAR: Back at the
restaurant, I dropped the list
and that guy returned it.
>> LINDSAY: Aw, that was nice of
him.
>> EDGAR: No, don't you see?
He copied the list.
Otherwise, why would he be at
this exact, obscure record
store?
>> LINDSAY: You're being
paranoid.
>> EDGAR: No...
I've let important intel slip
into the wrong hands before.
Najaf, 2009.
That did not turn out well.
>> JIMMY: Hey...
pick a record, my treat.
>> GRETCHEN: All right,
big spender.
This one.
(Jimmy laughs)
>> JIMMY: Genesis... good.
Okay, but not until you tell me
if you are a Peter Gabriel or a
Phil Collins.
>> GRETCHEN: They're both good.
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: I like them both.
What's the big deal?
>> JIMMY: The big deal is that
you cannot like two things
which are diametrically
opposed.
>> GRETCHEN: Huh.
And yet I do.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, hey...
brunch guy.
Oh, you know about this place,
too?
>> EDGAR: Yeah.
>> RINGLEADER: Yeah, I-I love
it, it's so... authentic.
>> EDGAR: Yeah.
That's why it was on my list.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, cool, yeah.
Mine, too.
>> EDGAR: Cramp.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, good.
Sunday Funday.
(Ringleader speaking Spanish)
>> LINDSAY: Look! A baby record.
>> GRETCHEN: You rotten bitch!
You're leaving now?
>> LINDSAY: Paul has a work
barbecue.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm facing a major
decision, and you're leaving me
to hang with those
calorie-counting
Restylane-monsters?
>> LINDSAY: I hate the
salad-eaters, too, but I have
to go.
>> GRETCHEN: Just stay for one
more thing on the list.
Please?
>> LINDSAY: Only if you buy me
the little baby record.
>> JIMMY: Ow. Ow. Ow!
>> GRETCHEN: You are the tensest
dude in the world.
>> LINDSAY: You can literally
touch me anywhere.
I'm not shy.
>> JIMMY: Hey, Edgar, how did
you narrow it down to this
massage spot?
I mean, after all, it's so much
easier to just not make choices,
right, Gretch?
>> GRETCHEN: Here we go.
>> EDGAR: What are you talking
about?
>> JIMMY: Peter Gabriel versus
Phil Collins.
>> EDGAR: Remember when Phil
Collins drowned a guy?
>> JIMMY: That's not the story
at all.
That didn't happen.
It was disproven a billion
times.
>> EDGAR: He sent the guy
front-row tickets.
>> JIMMY: Saying "both" is just
a cop-out.
All right, that's it.
I'm helping you figure it out.
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, God.
>> JIMMY: Okay, so I could ask
you-- "Solsbury Hill" or
"Against All Odds."
>> GRETCHEN: Both great.
>> EDGAR: Okay. Aah!
>> JIMMY: Wrong, which is why
we're going to come at this
sideways, okay?
Number one: which do you prefer?
(Lindsay screams, thuds)
Sean Connery or Roger Moore?
>> GRETCHEN: Daniel Craig.
Update your references, old man.
>> JIMMY: Daniel Craig?
He looks like an upset baby.
(Gretchen laughs)
>> GRETCHEN: Oh, my God,
he does.
>> EDGAR: Let it out. Throw it!
>> JIMMY: Okay, eggs or
pancakes?
>> GRETCHEN: Which one's Phil
Collins, and which one's Peter
Gabriel?
>> JIMMY: Are you serious?
Edgar, what are we doing here?
>> EDGAR: The most obscure taco
stand...
What?!
>> FOOD COLUMNIST: Well, this
place is over.
>> RINGLEADER: Oh, cool.
You guys know about this place,
too?
>> GRETCHEN: Look, Jimmy, I like
the Tarzan soundtrack, and I
like the crappy Vampire Weekend
song that name-checks Peter
Gabriel.
I'm down with it all.
Why does this bother you so
much?
>> JIMMY: It's just such a lazy
way of living.
"Put it in my vagina or my butt.
I don't care."
>> LINDSAY: Sometimes you want
both.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, Jimmy.
Sometimes you want both.
(Gretchen mouthing words)
Anyway, your whole thesis is
flawed.
Not everything is one or the
other.
Edgar is both a patriot and a
skeptic.
>> EDGAR: True dat.
>> GRETCHEN: Lindsay's both a
wife and a skank.
>> LINDSAY: Recovering, but,
yeah, totally.
>> GRETCHEN: I'm professional
and completely unprofessional.
>> JIMMY: Well, that's true.
>> GRETCHEN: And, you, Jimmy--
you're...
You're just one thing.
>> JIMMY: Exactly.
>> LINDSAY: You stop it.
Oh, my God.
(Lindsay screaming)
(phone chimes)
>> JIMMY: Well, you're very
popular today.
>> GRETCHEN: I know. Sorry.
There, I'm done.
You know why I don't want to
pick Peter Gabriel or Phil
Collins?
Because you are just waiting for
me to pick wrong so you can
judge me, and why would I want
to put myself through that?
>> JIMMY: Because I'm asking you
to.
>> GRETCHEN: You told him.
>> LINDSAY: What?! No.
Gretch, stop overthinking
everything.
He's trying to be a good sport
and hang out.
Just enjoy it.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay, I'll try,
but don't leave.
>> LINDSAY: I know, it's gonna
suck so hard, but Paul has been
really patient.
(Paul yawning)
>> GRETCHEN: Wait.
Has Paul been...?
>> LINDSAY: You'll make the
right decision.
>> GRETCHEN: What's next?
>> EDGAR: Come on, I'll show
you.
It's the best one yet.
>> GRETCHEN: Faster! Faster!
>> JIMMY: No, slow down!
>> EDGAR: Shopping cart races
were my favorite as a kid.
Yeah!
(group hoots and whoops)
>> EDGAR: Jimmy!
You okay?
>> JIMMY: I just want to go
home and shower!
What are we doing here?
>> EDGAR: Open houses are on the
list.
Plus, this real estate lady
always has freshly baked
cookies.
>> GRETCHEN: Great idea, Edgar.
A free activity where you can
snoop on your neighbors and
judge their shitty taste?
Yes, please.
Get upstairs.
>> JIMMY: What...?!
>> GRETCHEN: Quick, take a
shower.
>> JIMMY: Come on, what... here?
>> GRETCHEN: Do what I say.
I'll get you some dry clothes.
Sunday Funday.
>> JIMMY: Oh, Gretchen, come on.
>> JIMMY: Oh, right!
I thought of another one, okay?
Chekov's plays or Chekov's
short stor... (laughs)
Gretchen?
(Gretchen conversing, muffled)
>> GRETCHEN: I know, it sounds
amazing, Ty.
I gotta go.
I'll call you in a bit.
>> EDGAR: The real estate lady
said Jimmy left.
>> GRETCHEN: He did?!
Well, Sunday Funday's over.
>> EDGAR: No!
We can't quit now.
>> GRETCHEN: We don't have a
car.
Jimmy drove.
>> RINGLEADER (chuckling): Whoa.
Are you guys following us?
>> EDGAR: You son of a bitch.
You stole my list.
>> RINGLEADER: What are you
talking about?
>> GRETCHEN: Edgar.
>> EDGAR: Back at brunch,
I dropped the list and he
clearly copied everything on it.
He stole our Sunday Funday.
>> RINGLEADER: No, I didn't.
>> EDGAR: Open houses are on
your list, too?
And this exact two-bedroom
colonial charmer?
>> RINGLEADER: We look for Patty
Kohan's open houses.
She always has cookies.
What's that in your hand, man?
Looks like a cookie.
(laughs)
>> GRETCHEN: I like your
sweatshirt.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Oh, my God,
thanks.
How's your Sunday Funday going?
>> GRETCHEN: Actually, I'm just
using it as a distraction so I
don't have to decide between two
guys.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Oh, I hear
you.
I am in love with Keith.
>> GRETCHEN: The guy with the
man bun?
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: We've been
doing Sunday Funday for, like,
two years, and he still calls
me Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
So I totally understand where
you're coming from.
>> GRETCHEN: Yeah, cool.
I need to talk to Lindsay.
>> EDGAR: She's at Paul's
West Side barbecue.
How are we gonna get there?
We don't have a car.
No.
No.
¶ ¶
(Gretchen mouthing words)
(women laughing)
>> GRETCHEN: Excuse me.
Ladies, I need to borrow dear
Linds for a second.
Toodles!
>> ¶ I got it all
I got it all indeed
Got everything I want
¶ Everything I need
But what I don't got is
A feeling that's inside... ¶
>> LINDSAY: They're not that
bad.
>> GRETCHEN: I knew it!
There is one over there dressed
head-to-toe in riding gear.
There is not a horse around
for miles.
>> LINDSAY: Anyway, this is
your fault!
>> GRETCHEN: How?!
>> LINDSAY: Around you I'm
never the cool one.
But with them, I'm the coolest.
By, like, miles.
>> GRETCHEN: First, you get
married, then you abandon me for
these Botoxed pterodactyls.
I've never done that to you.
I don't even have any other
friends.
Plus, you lied when you said you
were dreading coming here.
>> LINDSAY: I wasn't lying.
That's the weird thing.
I don't even know exactly what I
was dreading.
I like the people.
I like the food.
I don't know what it is.
>> PAUL: Sweetie, Jenna wants to
know if she should serve your
spinach dip with water crackers
or toast points.
>> LINDSAY: Just go away!
I'll be right there!
So, yeah.
I can't quite put my finger on
what it is I don't like here.
What?
I mean, I'm sure at some point,
everybody looks at their
husband and is like,
"Eh, that's my future.
That's it.
And why does it smell like ham
all the time?"
That's normal, right?
>> GRETCHEN: I hope not.
>> LINDSAY: I just wish I had
what you have.
>> GRETCHEN: What do I have?
>> LINDSAY: Someone I wanted to
do Sunday Funday with.
>> GRETCHEN: Actually,
he bailed.
I was hoping he'd stick around
to help me figure out what to do
about Ty, but he's...
He's here!
>> GRETCHEN: Well, well.
>> JIMMY: Hey.
Listen, um... (clears throat)
Phil Collins--
he has his merits, all right?
As lightweight and nutritionless
they are.
I mean, really, "Land of
Confusion," with is leaden pleas
for world peace and the
healing power of love.
Thank you, George Bernard Shaw.
Give me a fortnight to machete
my way through the dense...
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: ...metaphoric thicket
of those lyrics.
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: And while Peter
Gabriel, he's, he's complex,
dark, you know, interesting,
I recognize that it can be nice
to have some breezy "No Reply
at All" fun.
You know, but following you
around all day today just trying
to convince you what to do?
Well, it's... it's just made me
feel, just-just made me feel
a-ashamed and jealous
and low.
Like Phil Collins when he
wrote "Sussudio."
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy...
>> JIMMY: But if one day, right,
eggs forced you to choose
between themselves and pancakes,
and you chose the soggy,
tasteless pancakes and never ate
eggs ever again, I'm just
saying eggs...
the eggs would be really sad.
>> GRETCHEN: Jimmy.
>> JIMMY: What?
>> GRETCHEN: If you don't want
me to go on this trip, just
tell me.
>> JIMMY: Don't go.
>> GRETCHEN: Okay.
I won't.
So, just to be clear.
On one side, it's eggs, Peter
Gabriel and you, and on the
other side it's pancakes, Phil
Collins and Ty?
>> JIMMY: You know, I've been
drinking all day and honestly
I'm not even sure anymore.
>> SWEATSHIRT GIRL: Gretchen!
I did it!
>> GRETCHEN: Good for you,
Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
Good for... you.
You want to get out of here?
>> JIMMY: Immediately.
>> EDGAR: I just... things have
been messed up, and I guess I
thought if I could do a good job
today, maybe I'd have the boost
to get my shit back on track.
>> RINGLEADER: Yeah, well...
Sorry, man.
>> EDGAR: It's not your fault.
>> RINGLEADER: All right.
>> EDGAR: My list!
I knew it!
>> RINGLEADER: Okay, okay, okay.
Shit. Okay, look.
Look, these guys rely on me
to come up with awesome, cool,
underground cultural shit to do
every single week.
You know how much pressure
that puts on me?
I got shingles trying to find
a new Ethiopian restaurant.
Please don't blow up my spot,
man.
Please!
Okay?
I have trouble making friends.
>> EDGAR: Wow.
>> RINGLEADER: What?
>> EDGAR: I'm screwed up
because I saw my friends die.
You're screwed up because...
you're just a really lame dude.
Thanks for making me feel
better.
>> RINGLEADER: Wait, your
friends died?
The ones from today?
What happened?!
Hey.
Yeah... yeah...
>> LINDSAY: There you are,
honey.
I came to a decision about the
toast points.
(screams)
>> MOMMY: Isabel was getting
fussy and I asked Paul to hold
her for a second and she quieted
right up.
>> PAUL: I'm a natural.
>> MOMMY: What about you?
Gonna be ready for one of these
guys soon?
>> LINDSAY: Oh, my God! Aah!
Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH
¶ If I could use you
What kind of fun would it be
¶ That we form?
A laze, lazily
Oh... ¶
¶ When you touch down
I don't want to reach you
¶ When you luck out
I don't want to treat you... ¶