You're the Worst (2014–…): Season 3, Episode 4 - Men Get Strong - full transcript

♪

(iPhone unlock sound)

(iPhone lock sound,
puts phone down)

♪ You were right

(whispers): Jimmy.

Hey, buddy.

You okay?

Good morning.

About what?

God! Absolutely
blotto last night.

(chuckles)

You... You don't remember
what I told you?

No.

But tell me again.

Okay, seriously, dude.

I think you might have
a drinking problem.

Like, you need to go
to church basements and shit.

Oh, my God. Okay, um...

(inhales)

I am... so sorry, but, uh...

Sweetheart, your dad died.

What?

Papa?

Oh, my God.

I know. Oh, God. I'm so sorry.

I... I don't know what to say.

♪

(exhales)

Do you want to talk about it?

Ha!

I was kidding.
I totally remembered.

Wait... what?

You knew?

Yeah. You told me last night.

You're not getting
that one back.

I stole one, dummy. Jimmy!

You do not need to steal blow jobs.
Yeah, but

you know how amazing
free food tastes.

(urinating)

(toilet flushes)
Seriously, are you okay?

Your dad died.
That's a big deal.

Yes, I am absolutely fine.

I feel... nothing about it.

Really? Yeah.

Great!

Oh. Phew! Thank God that's over.

Huh? Hey, do you want to do, uh,
one of those Korean gel masks?

Not really. I got a snail one.

It's supposed to be extra goopy.

Huh.

♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway

♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪

♪ Gonna leave you anyway.

I made my special
heart pancakes,

because we love you, Jimmy.

We really do. What kind of
jank-ass hearts are these?

That one looks like a butt.

Sorry. It was...
it was kind of a rough night.

Uh, but later this afternoon,
I'm finally gonna have

my consultation with
the chief of staff at the VA.

Yeah, chiefs'll do that
sometimes.

Hey, can I get some sticky sauce
for these pan-butts or what?

Do you know, I actually just

read something
interesting about PTSD?

Oh, yeah? Yeah, it turns
out in World War I,

the official term for
"PTSD" was "cowardice,"

and you were shot for it.
That is interesting.

LINDSAY:
How are you holding up, Jimmy?

My guinea pig died.

I couldn't jack off
for, like, half a day.

I'm telling you
guys... false alarm.

He truly doesn't give a shit.

Look, when a relationship

has been virtually non-existent
for 33 years,

we're not talking
about a major tectonic shift.

Nothing has changed.

I still have exactly
zero off-track bettors

with IBS in my daily life.

I almost wish I knew
more dead people.

I think funerals are hella sexy.

All right, everybody out.
I have work to do.

Wait!

Jimmy's dad died,
and he doesn't care.

Yes? I'm going to have a baby.

JIMMY: What's happening?
Is Lindsay

processing thought?

Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.
And when I'm old,

my kid will have a feeling
about me dying.

(whispering):
Oh, my God, she's doing it.

I want my kids to be sad
when I die.

Yes? So I need to be

a good... a good...

This is really happening.
A good...

(sighs)

dad.

Aah! It almost had it. Oh.

I should probably sign up
for one of those stupid

classes Becca's always
yammering about.

Edgar? Edgar?

Uh, yeah. What's up?

Big writing day ahead
of me. I need you to get

all my usual writing snacks from
the British specialty store.

Shrimp-flavored crisps,

Wallenger's choco-knockers,
tartar biscuits,

and then all your
standard candies...

Lemingtons, fluffingtons,
rum Christophers,

salted licorice knib knobs.

I'm not mad, Felix.

No, and when you constantly
accuse me of being mad,

you deny my right of actually
being goddamn mad at you.

No, I'm not "therapizing" you,
all right?

Stop saying that.

Holy shit.

I-I'll call you later.

What's up? Give me a cigarette.
Who was that?

What that your shitty boyfriend
with his cargo shorts?

None of your business.

(grunts)

What's going on?

So, I told Jimmy his dad died,
like you told me to, and he said

that he feels nothing,
and then he stole a beej,

which is a pretty good
heckle, actually.

Is there a question? Nope.

I just wanted you to know
that you were wrong.

You were wrong.

Jimmy can say he's
fine all he wants,

but sooner or later, his
dad's death is gonna hit him,

and when it does, you're gonna
have to be there for him.

When? We're going
on a rad cruise.

Are you saying this could
come out on the rad cruise?

Sure. Yes, it could
happen on the rad cruise.

(clears throat)
What's the rad cruise?

No, I don't want to know.
I mean, I do want to...

Never mind. So you're telling me

I need to help him
get it all out now,

just pop it like a pimple.

No, that is not how humans work.
Yeah, I get it.

Get him to cry, boo-hoo, there,
there, we'll be done by Wheel.

Of Fortune.
Seven years in school? Really?

Gretchen, Jimmy has got to go
through his grieving process.

All right?

It's not gonna happen
on your exact schedule.

Eh. I think
I'm gonna do it my way.

Thanks for nothing.

(clears throat)

(whispers):
Your boyfriend... sucks.

Sucks.

Simon's sisters and Kitty
sprawled on the carpet,

watching Top of the Pops,
their bums in the air.

From his perch on the coach,
Simon noted

that while Cynthia and Patsy
had gotten quite porcine,

Kitty's bottom had
an almost otherworldly lift,

as if in the process
of being raptured

for being too perfect to dwell
any longer on Earth.

(yells in frustration)

Goddamn it!

What's wrong with me?

It's been hours,

and I still haven't perfected
the bum metaphor.

My fingers hurt. My dad died.

At least you know where he is. Edgar,
I need sustenance. Where are my snacks?

Uh, sorry, Jimmy. There was some
police activity near the store.

That's my last food!

I've been thinking
about it all day,

and you really need to cry,
Jimmy. My therapist says

it's very...
Gretchen the sheer breadth

of my labyrinthian abstruse
psychological composition

cannot possibly be
second-handedly grasped

by some Long Beach
Community College graduate

who deals with the...
tragically maladroit all day.

No offense.

None taken,
because I do not know that word.

Just give me the afternoon.

We'll do some super-sad shit,

you'll poop out some tears
and we'll be home by Wheel.

BOTH: Of Fortune.

It won't work. I feel nothing!

But fine. Let's go.

Work day's already a disaster.

I don't know why
I'm suddenly blocked.

I'm rewriting the same paragraph
over and over.

Hey,

Killswitch, while I'm out,

copy edit the chapter where
Simon watches Kitty bathe

after the trip-hop concert.

Oh, and for the love of God,

finally learn how to spell
"analingus," will you?!

You never say "thank you."

That's what the money's for!

I'm so glad we're gonna
learn how to be a family.

Family.

But we're already a family.

You can't just have two
people in a family, Paul.

Name one family
that's two people.

Gilmore Girls.

We have to learn how
to be good parents,

so that when we're old,
they'll take good care of us.

Plus, you're so accident-prone.

You turned into my knife,
and it's taken, like,

forever for your skin
to grow back together.

You mean heal?

Dogs heel, Paul.

Men get strong.

Nerds! Oh, my God.

I still can't believe
you're keeping it.

(laughing): Oh, Rebecca,

you josher.
(laughing) (chuckling)

Such a bummer
about the timing though.

By the time
it comes flopping out,

our entire family's
gonna be so babied out,

your poor little lump's
not gonna get any attention.

You're just mad
I didn't get all fat like you.

You're barely pregnant.

Yo, dingus, help me gaffle
some of these brews.

Becca's being a cooze
and doesn't want me to drink

so I actually pay attention.

Anyway, pretend like you got
to go drop a dook,

grab, like,
four of them dummies,

leave 'em in the toilet tank
for me,

Godfather-style.

Nothing gets this pimp
through a dumb baby class

like toilet beer.

Hello, mommies and daddies.

So, last week we covered
birth plans and how

pretty much everyone poops
during labor.

So today we're gonna practice
some real-life skills.

Everybody come
and grab a baby doll. Come on.

♪ Snuggle wuggle

♪ Snuggle wuggle,
snuggle wuggle, snuggle wuggle ♪

♪ Snuggle wuggle

Emotions are dangerous,
Gretchen. Think about it,

the most emotional
movie characters

always die.
Kane from Citizen Kane.

The wife from Up.

Table-dancing destitute on
the bottom deck of the Titanic.

And the ones
who survive in movies:

RoboCop, Terminator,

Chappie. Those are all robots.

Yeah, exactly. No emotions.

Just cold circuitry
and a thirst for revenge.

I don't really know
why you guys insist

on sitting in the backseat.

I'm not an Uber.

Yeah, damn right you're not.

(keys clacking) What's that?

His rating.

(chime)

(grunts) One star.

(sighs)

Oh, almost forgot.
Give us your car booze.

Guys, I really have to get
to my VA appointment.

(whimpers) (groans) Fine.

But when you're done
with your stupid thing,

you're giving us a ride home.

(starts engine)

Come on. A little wah-wah,

death is sad, and
then you're done.

Pretend one of these
is your dad's grave.

Yeah, the problem is
death doesn't bother me.

I'm not upset by the inevitable.

It's like being upset
by the weather

or by an Irishman
proving untrustworthy.

(gasps) Look.

Real live dead person.

Come on. Maybe it'll
stir something up.

MINISTER: With so many
questions and so few answers.

(quietly): Hi. Sorry.

But it would be a mistake
to think of today

as a sad day. (Crying)

Charlotte, if you would
please step forward.

Our Father, who art in heaven...

Jimmy, am I... Jimmy, am I crazy

or is this funeral hella sexy?

I don't know
where that fetish came from,

but it is absolutely...

MINISTER: Lead us
not into temptation...

Oh, my God, you're right.

It's like the funeral
from November Rain.

♪

(both moaning)

Wait! Make sure to pull
out. I can't get pregnant.

Your dad might be
floating around right now,

looking for a body
to reincarnate.

That's a good call.

(panting) (moaning)

(birds chirping,
panting and moaning continue)

♪

Um... too hard.

♪ Berlin, Berlin

♪ She shines like a mirror
ball ♪ (speaking indistinctly)

♪ A hot day, protégé

(speaks indistinctly)

♪ She swings herself
around the pole slow ♪

♪ She slips out
of a prom dress ♪

♪ And all the ladies
wanna be her ♪

♪ And all the grown men
wanna cry ♪

♪ But then
I only wanna kiss you ♪

♪ Just once, maybe

♪ Twice

♪ And I could show you
the town ♪

♪ If I knew where to begin

♪ And I could show you out

♪ If I wasn't on my way in

Oh! Yes!
(baby cries, others cheering)

♪ But Berlin,
she ain't the kind of woman... ♪

It's not real!

It's not a real baby!

Thank you.

Okay, we got a little
distracted at that last place.

But this is it: Living fathers

with their kids.
That is some straight-up.

"Cat's in the Cradle" shit
right there. Plus,

look at my dope maze.

Usually, I'm a master
of all art forms...

Writing, music, quips,

mixed media collage...

But, for some reason,
I am creatively blocked.

A sun wearing sunglasses.

Doesn't even make sense.

He's too bright
for his own eyes?

It's because you need
to cry it out.

Maybe you're right.

MAN: Jesus Christ.

I don't even know what
to do with you anymore!

And... jackpot.

Go. Follow him.

Maybe he'll rage-kick
a garbage can,

remind you of your dad. Go.

All right. (Clears throat)

I will give it a go.

(bell jingles)

Hey. What you workin' on, buddy?

Parenting, right?

I don't know what to do, man.

Mm.

It's hard to communicate
with them, yeah?

Like you don't even recognize
yourself in them.

I don't.

You're frustrated

because he's a little clumsy,

a little too artsy-fartsy,

because he broke a blood vessel
in his eye crying at My Girl.

What? No.

He's legitimately a bad person.

Like, my son
is an awful human being.

What? He set up a bunch of
Facebook accounts to cyberbully me.

Hey, this bitch is bothering me.

You trying to hit
on my dad, twink?

Jimmy, turns out this kid sucks.

You suck! What kind of adults go

to a paint-your-own-pottery
place anyway?

Nasty-ass pedophiles.

(laughs) Oh, shit! (Chuckles)

Don't go... Shut up, Greg.

I wish you would call me Dad.

Well, I wish you'd suck my dick.

Oh, hey, emotion check.

Actually, I think
I felt something that time.

Really?! Jimmy!

We're thawing
your cold, dead heart.

Hurry up! We got one more stop
on the sadness tour.

Okay. Let me call an Edgar.

(sighs)

(line ringing)

We're ready to go.

And I sincerely hope
you've got our car booze.

Sorry, Jimmy, I can't come.
My car broke down.

Oh, well, that's not a surprise.

Piece of shit with
no auxiliary plug or car booze!

All right.

Great job.
Here's a Sophie giraffe

for winning the skills section.
(gasps)

(chuckles)

Oh. No, that's... (squeaking)

Okay.

(gasps) I won a prize.

You're such a natural mommy.

One of the dads just
told me the neatest thing:

Babies are programmed

to look like the father
when they're born.

Won't that be so adorable?

A tiny little me suckling
at your bosom?

Wah, wah. (Suckling sounds)

Linds... (clears throat)

that was actually quite...
impressive.

I can't believe I'm actually
saying this, but I think...

you were born to be a mom.

Thanks, Bec.

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. VERNON: Uh-oh!

There's something's wrong

with my big ol' honkers!

Ah! No leche!

Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug.
Oh. This poor dear.

He is so delirious from working

so many double shifts. Paul,
will you drive us home? Ooh...

Of course. See
you at home, Mama?

Sure, Pap...

Paul.

Um, hi, what is this?

What do I look like,
some baby lady?

I'm sorry. M-My wife,
she's stuck at work... shocker.

She gave me this
shopping list, and,

man, I have no idea
what I'm doing.

Oh. Okay.

Mm.

Looks like you're gonna need
a Miracle Blanket, a Woombie,

a Boppy... really great
neck support... Yeah...

and, of course, Zipadee-Zip.

It'll be quicker
if I just do it.

Thank you so much.
I appreciate it.

JIMMY:
Well, Gretchen, you did it.

I can't think of a place
more gloomy, more soul-crushing,

more quintessentially England.

(bad British accent): Yeah, I thought
you might want a wee English breakfast.

Excuse me? Don't be a berk.

You know what I'm talkin' about,
Shitty Jimmy.

Are you being Ronny? (American
accent): Today's been all abstract.

It's time to personalize it.

I even boned up
on some British slang online.

(British accent): Blarmy!
Knob jockeys getting married?!

Next thing you know,
some ringburner's

gonna want to shag
and marry his dachshund!

(shuddering): Oh.

Almost felt something again.
Get more personal.

Uh, talk about my
ceramic pony collection

or the time Fiona caught me
kissing a magazine cover

of Boy George because I thought
he was a girl.

Look at 'at pasty skin.

Them soft girl hands.

The poofy scrote

never worked an honest day
in his whole miserable,

sodding life.

Now, you listen to me,
you fat, grey void.

Writing is hard!
It is actual work.

It's a noble, nay, spiritual
endeavor that taxes

both the brain... Oh, my God.

This wretched idea of yours
might actually be working.

The feeling? It's back.
Yeah, it's coming.

Oh, my God. Here it comes.

(farting)

That was the feeling? A fart?

Mm. Apparently.
Well, I told you,

I'm very evolved.

Stupid therapist.

I'm warning you,
this better be it.

If you lose your shit
on the cruise

and ruin my time
with Cotton Candy Raccoon,

Bubble Gecko, or Sneezy Panda,

I... Well, she died in
a plane crash. But never mind.

How do you even mess up toast?

(sputtering)

Thanks so much for helping.

Jesus, I'm already
this overwhelmed.

I don't even have a baby yet.

How are you this good at it
already?

I have no idea. (Chuckles)

So now what? I'm just stuck
doing this baby shit

for the rest of my life?

What if there are
other things I'm meant to be

and I never find out?

Like a phlebologist or a dinosaur?
(chuckles)

Once my ex and I split,

I figured that was it.

I was never gonna be a dad.

Then I meet this cute Asian
chick at the Kubrick exhibit

at LACMA and suddenly
she's knocked up

and I get this
second chance at 42.

So you believe
in second chances?

I didn't.

But I guess I do now.

(chuckles)

Oh, Jesus. What the hell are
you doing? Are you insane?

I just told you, I'm
on my second chance!

I just thought... Oh, my God!
What is wrong with you?!

Why would you even do that? I
talked to your husband! Shh. Okay.

He was so nice. We're going
kayaking together sometime! Fine.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. This isn't a
singles bar where you just pick up guys!

You're having a baby, you weirdo!
Shut up, shut up,

shut up.

Shut up.

(squeaking) Shut up.

(whimpering) (squeaks)

(door opens, closes)

(door closes) (Gretchen gasps)

I got your snacks.

(sighs) It's too late.

I've already lost an
entire day's writing.

Sorry, literature.

Mmm, rum Christophers.

They're so disgusting.
I can't stop eating them.

Hey, how was your thing today?

Fine.

Do you want to talk about it?

No.

Yes. Two for two.

(rapid footfalls)

(sighs)

(sighs)

Well, Dad, here we are,

the final test.

(inhales deeply)

♪

That's it.

Get it out.

Let all the sadness out.

Whoa! I thought you were crying!
No!

It's amazing. I was smelling
the jacket that Dad left,

and it smells exactly like him...

Just cigarettes, ale,

beans, occupational failure.

And in a rush, that feeling that
we'd been searching for all day

just came flying out.

And, Gretchen,
it wasn't sadness.

It was happiness.

I'm free.

I am finally free!

And I'm finally unstuck
creatively.

I found, all right,
the perfect metaphor

for the heft
of Kitty's adolescent bottom.

I'll tell you later.
It's-it's too sexy.

(exhales) Do you want to go, uh,

binge-watch that six-part series
on the Susan Smith case?

Yeah. Just a sec.
Now that my parental nightmare

is finally over, I'm gonna get
rid of everything that smacks

of Ronny Overly.

May he rest in relative peace

for someone of his arterial

calcification.

♪ I wouldn't feel so uncertain

♪

♪ I wouldn't feel so uncertain

♪ That when your body
hit the earth ♪

♪ It opened up
and swallowed you ♪

♪ She kept you safe
in her heart's center ♪

♪ And always tucked you in
at night ♪

♪

♪ When you woke up nervous

♪ She said, "Baby, you're..."

(dog barks)

Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH