You're the Worst (2014–…): Season 5, Episode 3 - The One Thing We Don't Talk About - full transcript
Jimmy challenges Gretchen to tackle some of the responsibilities that come with being an adult.
Faster, Jimbo.
That's not helping.
Talk hot.
- Oh, my feet are so sweaty.
- There you go.
Oh, I can't wait
to take my shoes off,
stretch my toes apart.
- Oh, yeah, keep going.
- Flex my arches
back and forth, back and forth.
Ooh!
Oh, yeah.
Give 'em a little soak.
Oh, boy, they're so wriggly!
Hut!
3:44!
- Ah!
- I think I have the bends.
We broke our record.
Jimmy, we could medal
in speed fucking.
Yeah, or we could just wait
until after the reception.
- Like people.
- Open bar, bro.
We'll be way too schnozzled
by then.
- Huh.
- And you have to bang
on your wedding night.
Like how, if you break a mirror,
your grandmother's ghost
sees you masturbate.
Uh...
Can I answer any questions
about the venue?
Did the Goodwin sisters
really get murdered here?
Yeah. They were garroted
in the main hall.
All three of them?
Yeah, if you could just
give us a moment to discuss...
We'll take it.
Take our money.
Just take all our money!
Okay, then.
Uh, here's the schedule of fees.
Just read and sign
at the bottom.
I need someone to air out
the east annex
and buy new towels.
Uh, is this a prank?
This can't be the price
for a single event.
Just put it on a credit card.
Here.
Oop...
How many credit cards
do you have?
Like, 70.
Seventy?!
You're, like, fifty-fifty
with flushing the toilet.
How do you remember to pay off
70 credit cards each month?
You don't need
to pay off credit cards.
When one stops working,
you just get another.
Um, how much do you owe,
like, in total?
Who cares?
It's not real.
It's just some numbers
on a computer somewhere.
Why have you never told me
of your debt before?!
Honey, it's our debt now.
Oh, my God, I'm marrying
an actual child.
Not even a skilled one.
Just because we have
different ideas
about personal finance
doesn't mean
you get to patronize me.
It does if I'm
your literal patron.
Just lock down
the venue already.
Uh, I have to go hire
my replacement.
I'm gonna make these twats
Hunger Games it out,
see who wants it the most.
Well, since that will surely
lead to your firing,
I will whore myself out
to Hollywood for the both of us.
Why, because you're the man?
Please, Jimmy.
I can take care of myself.
♪ ♪
Which way is my job?
Yeah.
♪ ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪
♪ I'm gonna
leave you anyway ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway. ♪
And he's like, "I thought
you were a veterinarian."
"At least now it makes sense
why you're cupping my balls."
"While you're down there,
I lost my keys."
Doug, I can't say it enough.
Thank you for doing this
with me.
Please, I've been dying
to collab for years.
And thank you for
diagnosing my cat's cancer.
I know a tumor when I feel one.
It was a tumor, and an important
lesson for us all.
Get your rectum
checked regularly.
Oh.
I thought he really had
his finger up the cat's ass.
Let's take five.
I'm telling you,
this show's gonna be
a real tentpole for MetroPCS.
Soup?
I always carry an extra cup.
You know what they say:
you'll never be hungry
if you carry soup with you.
Ah, thanks, but I'm all
souped-up.
- Edgar, let me
ask you something.
What do you think about Dutch?
Every time I work, I try
to take someone under my wing,
like a mama bird
or a sentient airplane.
Oh, well, that's nice.
- What is it?
- Ah, nothing.
It's just it seems like
Dutch is doing well.
He's pitching,
he's contributing.
I'm the one too intimidated
to even open my mouth.
Yikes. I hope it's not me.
Oh, no, no. Uh...
My ex-partner made me question
my abilities as a writer.
Not to mention encouraged me
to get into a lot
of financial trouble.
Well, that sounds just terrible.
I'm glad you spoke up.
Because I would be proud to
take you under my wing instead.
What about Dutch?
What about that mongoloid
ginger fucking Sasquatch?!
Edgar, no.
You volunteered.
That's never happened before.
I'm gonna focus all of my
attention on you from now on.
And I insist.
There's five kinds
of beans in there.
All right.
♪ ♪
It was an emergency.
I had to poop.
A poopergency.
Lindsay,
toilet's not for pooping.
I can't poop at work
because of my new squeeze.
He's the big boss.
I thought your boss
was that fashion ho
who wouldn't let me
nap under your desk.
Gretchen, Priscilla is a girl.
I'm talking the real boss.
And he's visiting
from corporate,
so the whole building
is kind of his office.
- Check out our wedding venue.
- Holy...
Nice bones. Decent lighting.
That room back there
looks like a good place
to sneak a quick fuck in.
When can I see it?
At the wedding.
Gretch,
you shouldn't be
making decisions
without your maid of honor.
You'll regret it.
Are you threatening me?
I'm just saying,
who's gonna dab your butt sweat?
Or hold your weave back
when you're vomming up
a 12-pack of Sno Balls
you panic-eat before big events?
- You?
- Or slip Xanax in your bitch mom's
Earl Grey so she'll
- chill the fu...
- ♪ Oklahoma! ♪
What is the one thing
we don't talk about?
Politics. Math.
That one crow
who has it out for you.
What happened between you
and Matthew Perry. Coachella.
Your bitch mom.
My bitch mom.
Sorry.
Anyway, doesn't matter,
she won't be there.
- Why not?
- I'm not gonna tell my mom I'm getting married.
- Gretchen.
- If I tell her about the wedding,
she'll get in my head and
I'll give myself a butt ulcer,
and then when I'm puking up
stomach acid
all over Court Seven in the
All County Mixed Doubles finals,
it'll be my fault
for being such a total disgrace
to Grammie Gretchen's name.
Oh, no, I can't do it.
I'm gonna kick it.
Kick it? Till when?
Don't know.
I've been rescheduling
the same dentist appointment
for, like, 12 years.
- Idiots.
- Gretchen.
This isn't teeth,
this is important.
As your maid of honor,
if you don't call your mom,
I'll be forced to call her.
Fine. I will call her.
But when she destroys me
emotionally,
your dumb ass has to pick up
the pieces.
Ooh! You're hiring
the new Gretch today?
Trying to.
These Post-Millennials
with their high GPAs
and multiple internships,
as if being smart
and working for years for free
means you deserve an actual job.
Oh!
Edgar, you're just in time
to help me convince
"feature people"
that I can adapt my own novel.
I thought you weren't
doing that.
Yeah, well, I've come
to the realization
that there is some value
in experiencing the same story
in a secondary, inferior medium.
Like when you roast
a delicious hen,
then boil the bones
to make a soup.
Oh, so you're doing it
for the money.
Turns out that blockhead
Gretchen is drowning in debt,
so I have to get to something
called Culver City
to pitch my take on my book,
and I need your help.
Sure.
Pitch away.
No, I need you to come
and pretend to be my assistant
so I look important.
Jimmy, I'm a writer now,
remember?
- I'll pay you 100 bucks.
- Okay.
My Yeezys plummeted
in value again.
So...
why do you want
to be a publicist?
Actually, you made me
want to do this.
You mediated the weirdest feud
in hip-hop.
It's an honor to meet you.
Aw, that's so sweet.
- It's an honor to send you home.
- Wait, what?
Our La Croix budget won't
cover you. You're too thirsty.
Bam! You got Cutlered!
Mm-mm.
PR isn't just about
learning celeb secrets
and stealing retinol creams
from their swag bags.
It's about power.
Power over celebs
and the shit they don't need,
like retinol creams.
Surviving the next elimination
will be much harder
with lots of steps,
which will take many hours.
Come on.
Round two's at a bar.
I need to see if you can hang.
You coming, sausage wallet?
- Sausage wallet?
- Uh, no.
This is obviously a test.
It's, like, 1:30.
You're right. It is a test,
and you failed. Ciao, suck-butt.
Don't hug her.
She was Cutlered.
Ugh, I don't like it.
Find me a new catchphrase
by 3:00.
Uh...
And as Simon runs
from the hooligans,
he's actually running
from his own sexual awakening
at his uncle's knee.
But before he can
reckon with this,
he finds himself
in Primrose Hill,
its gentle swells reminding him
he has someone for whom
to survive this night, Kitty.
- Oh.
- Mm. Love Kitty.
She's an incredible character.
Charming.
- Raw. Love.
- It's her movie, really.
Kitty's?
She's really the perfect
protagonist for today's climate.
Everyone is gonna
want to be Kitty.
- Or bang Kitty.
- Consensually.
Obviously consensually.
- Jesus, Sheila.
- Sure.
But to be clear,
Simon is the protagonist, so...
Simon's running
from the hooligans
from his past.
I mean, certainly
we can all agree
that Kitty is a reprehensible
character, right?
She's immature, squalid,
untrustworthy.
That's what we love about Kitty.
Her messiness is aspirational.
What is? Her utter reliance
on everyone around her?
Or the way that she bankrupts
her father's cobbler shop?
I'm starting to feel
like you're not Team Kitty.
I hate Kitty!
Oh, what he means is that
he hates Kitty
because he hates himself.
Wrong! Love myself.
- Hate Kitty.
- Exactly.
It's why no one else
could write Kitty.
And it's that same
kind of hatred
that binds Kitty to Simon.
And Jimmy to them both,
who are both... well, him.
Jimmy.
- Huh.
- Hmm.
It's the garter belt.
Goddamn it, Rachel,
I told you to just stand there
and be quiet.
I know it's the garter belt.
Point to where you think it is.
Yeah, that's where
I thought it was.
Nice, Rachel.
You passed the test.
Wait, so you wanted our help?
Shut up!
Half of PR involves
sitting silently
next to your client,
who will be annoyed
by the very fact of you,
like how you breathe
too hard, Rachel.
No one here is named Rachel.
Bad news.
Turns out my big corporate boss
isn't actually a boss at all.
- He really is a janitor.
- Linds.
Did you think the janitor
was an undercover boss?
One of these times he has to be
an undercover boss. It's math.
Can I set your purse down?
It's heavy.
No. Most of PR is carrying
other people's shit around.
Why are these basic hos here?
I am being thorough.
Goldman Sachs has
a ten-step interview process.
Oh, does Old Man Sachs
have all those steps
to avoid calling his mom, too?
All right, bitches.
New test. In PR,
you are often asked to pull tail
for your client.
Find Lindsay someone at this bar
she can bang
and realistically
fall in love with.
- But we don't know her.
- Go!
And while they find someone
who makes my heart horny,
let's practice calling your mom.
What? No!
Ring, ring, ring.
- Hi, Mom.
- Hello, Gretchen.
Your father and I were just
complaining about you.
Hi, Mommy.
Is there a reason you called?
Jimmy and I are getting married.
Well, I'm obviously aghast,
but someone whose sell-by date
has long since passed
might as well grab
the first immigrant
who needs a green card.
Jimmy loves me
and he already has a green card.
- I think.
- Did you schedule your Botox?
Do it now so your face settles
before June.
And only eat steamed fish
and veggies.
- Mommy, I don't want to...
- Fine!
Gallumph down the aisle a fat,
wrinkled pig for all I care.
- I didn't say that!
- Have you just grown
so comfortable with failure
that you don't even
notice it anymore?
Like how people who have
litter boxes in their house
get used to the smell
of cat shit?
What? No.
At least you'll be
his burden now.
- I hate you! I hate you!
- You've been nothing...
- I hate you!
- ...but dead weight since
the day they cut you
out of my uterus!
Lindsay!
Oh, that's right,
run to the bottle.
I hung up on you.
You can't see what I'm doing.
Ugh. Time!
Bring it in, bitches!
You didn't specify a time limit.
Oh, well, you're Cutlered.
- Yes? No?
- Mm.
All right, Linds.
Which guy?
Neither. This is who they pick?
A wizard? Pocket shorts?
Hard pass.
You're both Cutlered!
Oh, it works.
You just have to attack it.
Thanks for no help
with that, dummies.
Call your mom. Do it.
Um, just wondering how much
longer the interview is?
Oh, the real interview
hasn't even started yet.
Lightning round.
Let's Coyote Ugly this bitch!
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
Get her!
Should we just go?
Is that what they taught you
at Mount Holyoke? To quit?
You know where I went to school?
I know about all of you...
About Thirsty's internship
at Dentsu;
about how No Drinks
went to Duke;
I know all about
your special skills
and all the languages you speak,
and all the hobbies you think
make you sound interesting.
Bouldering.
Indoor cycling.
Who stays in Girl Scouts
through high school, Debbie?
Don't listen to her.
She's a psychopath.
So all of this was
part of the interview?
The singing, the fighting,
the making out
with the random guy?
Yes! Wait, that was a guy?
Oh, goddamn it,
he had such soft lips.
Your clients
will be terrible people
with no impulse control.
Musicians are babies
who will shit all over you
and laugh about it.
So you're not actually drunk?
I am completely sober.
Fooled you, Rachel.
Cutlered.
M. What a sham. TThey
trick me into describing
how to adapt my work
just so they can pass my clear
roadmap along to some hack
who will strip away
all the heady eroticism
and write a film about
a quirky girl named Kitty.
You don't know
that you didn't get the job.
They said "Good stuff,"
at the end.
You think someone who'd been
rejected as often as you
- would recognize
when it happens.
Oh, crap. I have to go in
for a late-night writing sesh.
Hey, did I tell you I'm under
Paul F. Tompkins's wing now?
Well, at least you know where
your next paycheck's
coming from.
God knows when the first payment
for my next book comes in,
or the royalties on Width.
And whilst I wait, I'll have
to default on my mortgage,
sell my resplendent hot rod...
I don't think it's been
street legal
since Gretchen set it on fire.
And then marry that self-same
pyromaniacal redhead
somewhere cheap and disgusting,
like Reno
or some botanical garden.
I still think
you're gonna get it.
If they were to give me the job,
it would probably
only be because of your
offensive yet succinct
oversimplification
of my sweeping epic.
Thanks.
Yes.
All right. Fine.
I'm sorry, Jimmy.
- I got it.
- What? Seriously?
- That's amazing.
- Do you know what this means?
You don't have
to worry about money.
I have to write a screenplay.
That's good.
Remember your soup metaphor?
Soup? Soup isn't food.
It's just bone water.
Seriously, Edgar.
All you had to was just sit
there and keep your mouth shut.
Oh... oh, shit.
Oh, did we bang?
How was it?
Did I do anything weird?
What happened to Rachel?
She had to feed her cat.
Did you do all this?
I like to stay busy.
I think I figured out
what the last test is.
Are you really afraid
of what your mom
will think
about you getting married,
or are you actually afraid
of what you think?
You don't know my mother.
She withheld food, human touch
and Breyer model horses
to control me.
After seeing what you put
yourself through today,
I think you can handle it.
Whatever she says.
Hi. Sorry it's so late. I...
Mommy, I have some big news.
What if we switch it up
and make her the doctor?
Yes. I love male nurses.
But I hate how they never
ask doctors for directions.
Yeah, they're real
Florence Nightinmales.
There's our title.
Where has this
Edgar been hiding?
- Right here.
- You got to sing out more, man.
I don't think we're gonna
be able to top that.
Hey, Edgar, you want to take
the rest of the sandwiches home?
Oh, man, my roommates
don't like when I take up
too much of the fridge.
Oh, man. I... I really hate
to see food get wasted.
Edgar, I tell you what.
I'll pay you a thousand dollars
to eat the rest of these
sandwiches right now.
What do you say?
Hell yeah, Edgar. You got this.
I love watching people eat food.
Now the minute you feel sick or
even a little bit uncomfortable,
you can stop, we won't
think any less of you.
Sandwich number one.
So... did you find a new you?
Nah. None of them
really stood out.
But Lindsay pulled a Lindsay
and boned a janitor,
so I'm gonna hire her.
She's feeling pretty low.
What'd you do today?
Eh, nothing. Just became
a professional screenwriter.
And locked down
our wedding venue.
You whored yourself out for us.
Aw.
I'm so lucky.
I can't wait to marry you.
I love you so much.
You've been mixing
off-brand cough syrups again.
No, Jimmy. I called my mom.
- Oh, boy.
- No, it was good.
It was, like, really good.
We've never had
a conversation like that.
We laughed, we bonded, she told
me about her menopausal dryness.
I even told her
about the wedding.
She didn't say anything shitty.
She was just happy for me.
Seriously? That's it?
She didn't trick you
into having the wedding
in Missouri or anything?
Nope.
Aw.
Well, I'm proud of you
for calling your parents.
That was shockingly mature
of you.
- Thank you.
- Hmm.
They think I'm marrying Boone.
- And there it is.
- Good night.
♪ There she goes ♪
♪ There
she goes ♪
♪ There goes my baby,
there she goes ♪
♪ She's so wild ♪
♪ Wild ♪
♪ She's so wild ♪
♪ Wild ♪
♪ Wishful thinking's
got me blinded ♪
♪ Got me losing all control... ♪
Captioning sponsored by
20th CENTURY FOX TELEVISION
That's not helping.
Talk hot.
- Oh, my feet are so sweaty.
- There you go.
Oh, I can't wait
to take my shoes off,
stretch my toes apart.
- Oh, yeah, keep going.
- Flex my arches
back and forth, back and forth.
Ooh!
Oh, yeah.
Give 'em a little soak.
Oh, boy, they're so wriggly!
Hut!
3:44!
- Ah!
- I think I have the bends.
We broke our record.
Jimmy, we could medal
in speed fucking.
Yeah, or we could just wait
until after the reception.
- Like people.
- Open bar, bro.
We'll be way too schnozzled
by then.
- Huh.
- And you have to bang
on your wedding night.
Like how, if you break a mirror,
your grandmother's ghost
sees you masturbate.
Uh...
Can I answer any questions
about the venue?
Did the Goodwin sisters
really get murdered here?
Yeah. They were garroted
in the main hall.
All three of them?
Yeah, if you could just
give us a moment to discuss...
We'll take it.
Take our money.
Just take all our money!
Okay, then.
Uh, here's the schedule of fees.
Just read and sign
at the bottom.
I need someone to air out
the east annex
and buy new towels.
Uh, is this a prank?
This can't be the price
for a single event.
Just put it on a credit card.
Here.
Oop...
How many credit cards
do you have?
Like, 70.
Seventy?!
You're, like, fifty-fifty
with flushing the toilet.
How do you remember to pay off
70 credit cards each month?
You don't need
to pay off credit cards.
When one stops working,
you just get another.
Um, how much do you owe,
like, in total?
Who cares?
It's not real.
It's just some numbers
on a computer somewhere.
Why have you never told me
of your debt before?!
Honey, it's our debt now.
Oh, my God, I'm marrying
an actual child.
Not even a skilled one.
Just because we have
different ideas
about personal finance
doesn't mean
you get to patronize me.
It does if I'm
your literal patron.
Just lock down
the venue already.
Uh, I have to go hire
my replacement.
I'm gonna make these twats
Hunger Games it out,
see who wants it the most.
Well, since that will surely
lead to your firing,
I will whore myself out
to Hollywood for the both of us.
Why, because you're the man?
Please, Jimmy.
I can take care of myself.
♪ ♪
Which way is my job?
Yeah.
♪ ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪
♪ I'm gonna
leave you anyway ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway. ♪
And he's like, "I thought
you were a veterinarian."
"At least now it makes sense
why you're cupping my balls."
"While you're down there,
I lost my keys."
Doug, I can't say it enough.
Thank you for doing this
with me.
Please, I've been dying
to collab for years.
And thank you for
diagnosing my cat's cancer.
I know a tumor when I feel one.
It was a tumor, and an important
lesson for us all.
Get your rectum
checked regularly.
Oh.
I thought he really had
his finger up the cat's ass.
Let's take five.
I'm telling you,
this show's gonna be
a real tentpole for MetroPCS.
Soup?
I always carry an extra cup.
You know what they say:
you'll never be hungry
if you carry soup with you.
Ah, thanks, but I'm all
souped-up.
- Edgar, let me
ask you something.
What do you think about Dutch?
Every time I work, I try
to take someone under my wing,
like a mama bird
or a sentient airplane.
Oh, well, that's nice.
- What is it?
- Ah, nothing.
It's just it seems like
Dutch is doing well.
He's pitching,
he's contributing.
I'm the one too intimidated
to even open my mouth.
Yikes. I hope it's not me.
Oh, no, no. Uh...
My ex-partner made me question
my abilities as a writer.
Not to mention encouraged me
to get into a lot
of financial trouble.
Well, that sounds just terrible.
I'm glad you spoke up.
Because I would be proud to
take you under my wing instead.
What about Dutch?
What about that mongoloid
ginger fucking Sasquatch?!
Edgar, no.
You volunteered.
That's never happened before.
I'm gonna focus all of my
attention on you from now on.
And I insist.
There's five kinds
of beans in there.
All right.
♪ ♪
It was an emergency.
I had to poop.
A poopergency.
Lindsay,
toilet's not for pooping.
I can't poop at work
because of my new squeeze.
He's the big boss.
I thought your boss
was that fashion ho
who wouldn't let me
nap under your desk.
Gretchen, Priscilla is a girl.
I'm talking the real boss.
And he's visiting
from corporate,
so the whole building
is kind of his office.
- Check out our wedding venue.
- Holy...
Nice bones. Decent lighting.
That room back there
looks like a good place
to sneak a quick fuck in.
When can I see it?
At the wedding.
Gretch,
you shouldn't be
making decisions
without your maid of honor.
You'll regret it.
Are you threatening me?
I'm just saying,
who's gonna dab your butt sweat?
Or hold your weave back
when you're vomming up
a 12-pack of Sno Balls
you panic-eat before big events?
- You?
- Or slip Xanax in your bitch mom's
Earl Grey so she'll
- chill the fu...
- ♪ Oklahoma! ♪
What is the one thing
we don't talk about?
Politics. Math.
That one crow
who has it out for you.
What happened between you
and Matthew Perry. Coachella.
Your bitch mom.
My bitch mom.
Sorry.
Anyway, doesn't matter,
she won't be there.
- Why not?
- I'm not gonna tell my mom I'm getting married.
- Gretchen.
- If I tell her about the wedding,
she'll get in my head and
I'll give myself a butt ulcer,
and then when I'm puking up
stomach acid
all over Court Seven in the
All County Mixed Doubles finals,
it'll be my fault
for being such a total disgrace
to Grammie Gretchen's name.
Oh, no, I can't do it.
I'm gonna kick it.
Kick it? Till when?
Don't know.
I've been rescheduling
the same dentist appointment
for, like, 12 years.
- Idiots.
- Gretchen.
This isn't teeth,
this is important.
As your maid of honor,
if you don't call your mom,
I'll be forced to call her.
Fine. I will call her.
But when she destroys me
emotionally,
your dumb ass has to pick up
the pieces.
Ooh! You're hiring
the new Gretch today?
Trying to.
These Post-Millennials
with their high GPAs
and multiple internships,
as if being smart
and working for years for free
means you deserve an actual job.
Oh!
Edgar, you're just in time
to help me convince
"feature people"
that I can adapt my own novel.
I thought you weren't
doing that.
Yeah, well, I've come
to the realization
that there is some value
in experiencing the same story
in a secondary, inferior medium.
Like when you roast
a delicious hen,
then boil the bones
to make a soup.
Oh, so you're doing it
for the money.
Turns out that blockhead
Gretchen is drowning in debt,
so I have to get to something
called Culver City
to pitch my take on my book,
and I need your help.
Sure.
Pitch away.
No, I need you to come
and pretend to be my assistant
so I look important.
Jimmy, I'm a writer now,
remember?
- I'll pay you 100 bucks.
- Okay.
My Yeezys plummeted
in value again.
So...
why do you want
to be a publicist?
Actually, you made me
want to do this.
You mediated the weirdest feud
in hip-hop.
It's an honor to meet you.
Aw, that's so sweet.
- It's an honor to send you home.
- Wait, what?
Our La Croix budget won't
cover you. You're too thirsty.
Bam! You got Cutlered!
Mm-mm.
PR isn't just about
learning celeb secrets
and stealing retinol creams
from their swag bags.
It's about power.
Power over celebs
and the shit they don't need,
like retinol creams.
Surviving the next elimination
will be much harder
with lots of steps,
which will take many hours.
Come on.
Round two's at a bar.
I need to see if you can hang.
You coming, sausage wallet?
- Sausage wallet?
- Uh, no.
This is obviously a test.
It's, like, 1:30.
You're right. It is a test,
and you failed. Ciao, suck-butt.
Don't hug her.
She was Cutlered.
Ugh, I don't like it.
Find me a new catchphrase
by 3:00.
Uh...
And as Simon runs
from the hooligans,
he's actually running
from his own sexual awakening
at his uncle's knee.
But before he can
reckon with this,
he finds himself
in Primrose Hill,
its gentle swells reminding him
he has someone for whom
to survive this night, Kitty.
- Oh.
- Mm. Love Kitty.
She's an incredible character.
Charming.
- Raw. Love.
- It's her movie, really.
Kitty's?
She's really the perfect
protagonist for today's climate.
Everyone is gonna
want to be Kitty.
- Or bang Kitty.
- Consensually.
Obviously consensually.
- Jesus, Sheila.
- Sure.
But to be clear,
Simon is the protagonist, so...
Simon's running
from the hooligans
from his past.
I mean, certainly
we can all agree
that Kitty is a reprehensible
character, right?
She's immature, squalid,
untrustworthy.
That's what we love about Kitty.
Her messiness is aspirational.
What is? Her utter reliance
on everyone around her?
Or the way that she bankrupts
her father's cobbler shop?
I'm starting to feel
like you're not Team Kitty.
I hate Kitty!
Oh, what he means is that
he hates Kitty
because he hates himself.
Wrong! Love myself.
- Hate Kitty.
- Exactly.
It's why no one else
could write Kitty.
And it's that same
kind of hatred
that binds Kitty to Simon.
And Jimmy to them both,
who are both... well, him.
Jimmy.
- Huh.
- Hmm.
It's the garter belt.
Goddamn it, Rachel,
I told you to just stand there
and be quiet.
I know it's the garter belt.
Point to where you think it is.
Yeah, that's where
I thought it was.
Nice, Rachel.
You passed the test.
Wait, so you wanted our help?
Shut up!
Half of PR involves
sitting silently
next to your client,
who will be annoyed
by the very fact of you,
like how you breathe
too hard, Rachel.
No one here is named Rachel.
Bad news.
Turns out my big corporate boss
isn't actually a boss at all.
- He really is a janitor.
- Linds.
Did you think the janitor
was an undercover boss?
One of these times he has to be
an undercover boss. It's math.
Can I set your purse down?
It's heavy.
No. Most of PR is carrying
other people's shit around.
Why are these basic hos here?
I am being thorough.
Goldman Sachs has
a ten-step interview process.
Oh, does Old Man Sachs
have all those steps
to avoid calling his mom, too?
All right, bitches.
New test. In PR,
you are often asked to pull tail
for your client.
Find Lindsay someone at this bar
she can bang
and realistically
fall in love with.
- But we don't know her.
- Go!
And while they find someone
who makes my heart horny,
let's practice calling your mom.
What? No!
Ring, ring, ring.
- Hi, Mom.
- Hello, Gretchen.
Your father and I were just
complaining about you.
Hi, Mommy.
Is there a reason you called?
Jimmy and I are getting married.
Well, I'm obviously aghast,
but someone whose sell-by date
has long since passed
might as well grab
the first immigrant
who needs a green card.
Jimmy loves me
and he already has a green card.
- I think.
- Did you schedule your Botox?
Do it now so your face settles
before June.
And only eat steamed fish
and veggies.
- Mommy, I don't want to...
- Fine!
Gallumph down the aisle a fat,
wrinkled pig for all I care.
- I didn't say that!
- Have you just grown
so comfortable with failure
that you don't even
notice it anymore?
Like how people who have
litter boxes in their house
get used to the smell
of cat shit?
What? No.
At least you'll be
his burden now.
- I hate you! I hate you!
- You've been nothing...
- I hate you!
- ...but dead weight since
the day they cut you
out of my uterus!
Lindsay!
Oh, that's right,
run to the bottle.
I hung up on you.
You can't see what I'm doing.
Ugh. Time!
Bring it in, bitches!
You didn't specify a time limit.
Oh, well, you're Cutlered.
- Yes? No?
- Mm.
All right, Linds.
Which guy?
Neither. This is who they pick?
A wizard? Pocket shorts?
Hard pass.
You're both Cutlered!
Oh, it works.
You just have to attack it.
Thanks for no help
with that, dummies.
Call your mom. Do it.
Um, just wondering how much
longer the interview is?
Oh, the real interview
hasn't even started yet.
Lightning round.
Let's Coyote Ugly this bitch!
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
♪ ♪
Get her!
Should we just go?
Is that what they taught you
at Mount Holyoke? To quit?
You know where I went to school?
I know about all of you...
About Thirsty's internship
at Dentsu;
about how No Drinks
went to Duke;
I know all about
your special skills
and all the languages you speak,
and all the hobbies you think
make you sound interesting.
Bouldering.
Indoor cycling.
Who stays in Girl Scouts
through high school, Debbie?
Don't listen to her.
She's a psychopath.
So all of this was
part of the interview?
The singing, the fighting,
the making out
with the random guy?
Yes! Wait, that was a guy?
Oh, goddamn it,
he had such soft lips.
Your clients
will be terrible people
with no impulse control.
Musicians are babies
who will shit all over you
and laugh about it.
So you're not actually drunk?
I am completely sober.
Fooled you, Rachel.
Cutlered.
M. What a sham. TThey
trick me into describing
how to adapt my work
just so they can pass my clear
roadmap along to some hack
who will strip away
all the heady eroticism
and write a film about
a quirky girl named Kitty.
You don't know
that you didn't get the job.
They said "Good stuff,"
at the end.
You think someone who'd been
rejected as often as you
- would recognize
when it happens.
Oh, crap. I have to go in
for a late-night writing sesh.
Hey, did I tell you I'm under
Paul F. Tompkins's wing now?
Well, at least you know where
your next paycheck's
coming from.
God knows when the first payment
for my next book comes in,
or the royalties on Width.
And whilst I wait, I'll have
to default on my mortgage,
sell my resplendent hot rod...
I don't think it's been
street legal
since Gretchen set it on fire.
And then marry that self-same
pyromaniacal redhead
somewhere cheap and disgusting,
like Reno
or some botanical garden.
I still think
you're gonna get it.
If they were to give me the job,
it would probably
only be because of your
offensive yet succinct
oversimplification
of my sweeping epic.
Thanks.
Yes.
All right. Fine.
I'm sorry, Jimmy.
- I got it.
- What? Seriously?
- That's amazing.
- Do you know what this means?
You don't have
to worry about money.
I have to write a screenplay.
That's good.
Remember your soup metaphor?
Soup? Soup isn't food.
It's just bone water.
Seriously, Edgar.
All you had to was just sit
there and keep your mouth shut.
Oh... oh, shit.
Oh, did we bang?
How was it?
Did I do anything weird?
What happened to Rachel?
She had to feed her cat.
Did you do all this?
I like to stay busy.
I think I figured out
what the last test is.
Are you really afraid
of what your mom
will think
about you getting married,
or are you actually afraid
of what you think?
You don't know my mother.
She withheld food, human touch
and Breyer model horses
to control me.
After seeing what you put
yourself through today,
I think you can handle it.
Whatever she says.
Hi. Sorry it's so late. I...
Mommy, I have some big news.
What if we switch it up
and make her the doctor?
Yes. I love male nurses.
But I hate how they never
ask doctors for directions.
Yeah, they're real
Florence Nightinmales.
There's our title.
Where has this
Edgar been hiding?
- Right here.
- You got to sing out more, man.
I don't think we're gonna
be able to top that.
Hey, Edgar, you want to take
the rest of the sandwiches home?
Oh, man, my roommates
don't like when I take up
too much of the fridge.
Oh, man. I... I really hate
to see food get wasted.
Edgar, I tell you what.
I'll pay you a thousand dollars
to eat the rest of these
sandwiches right now.
What do you say?
Hell yeah, Edgar. You got this.
I love watching people eat food.
Now the minute you feel sick or
even a little bit uncomfortable,
you can stop, we won't
think any less of you.
Sandwich number one.
So... did you find a new you?
Nah. None of them
really stood out.
But Lindsay pulled a Lindsay
and boned a janitor,
so I'm gonna hire her.
She's feeling pretty low.
What'd you do today?
Eh, nothing. Just became
a professional screenwriter.
And locked down
our wedding venue.
You whored yourself out for us.
Aw.
I'm so lucky.
I can't wait to marry you.
I love you so much.
You've been mixing
off-brand cough syrups again.
No, Jimmy. I called my mom.
- Oh, boy.
- No, it was good.
It was, like, really good.
We've never had
a conversation like that.
We laughed, we bonded, she told
me about her menopausal dryness.
I even told her
about the wedding.
She didn't say anything shitty.
She was just happy for me.
Seriously? That's it?
She didn't trick you
into having the wedding
in Missouri or anything?
Nope.
Aw.
Well, I'm proud of you
for calling your parents.
That was shockingly mature
of you.
- Thank you.
- Hmm.
They think I'm marrying Boone.
- And there it is.
- Good night.
♪ There she goes ♪
♪ There
she goes ♪
♪ There goes my baby,
there she goes ♪
♪ She's so wild ♪
♪ Wild ♪
♪ She's so wild ♪
♪ Wild ♪
♪ Wishful thinking's
got me blinded ♪
♪ Got me losing all control... ♪
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