Original subtitles

Why do you have to leave?

Charlie, I have to get home.

I have to feed my cat.

I have to feed my fish.

We've been in bed for three days.

I'm guessing the cat's fed

and what's left of the fish is in the kitty litter.

Well, I also have a job.

Call in sick.

I did it yesterday.

Okay, call in horny.

I'll write you a note.

I wish I could.

I love being with you.

Me, too.

And having you here just makes it all the better.

You know, we've been seeing each other for over two months now,

and you've never spent the night at my place.

Okay, well, go clean up the dead animals

and I'll come over tonight.

Deal.

I'll cook you dinner.

Great.

I think I love you, Charlie Harper.

Thank you.

I'll see you later.

Wait a minute.

Did you just say "thank you"?

Did I?

Yes, I said "I think I love you," and you said "thank you."

What's that supposed to mean?

Thank you?

It's an expression of appreciation.

Thank you.

That's it?

You don't have anything to add?

Thank you...

so very much.

Great, that's-that's great.

I open my heart to you and you couldn't care less.

Well, that's not fair.

I could care less, a lot less.

Oh, come on,

what do you want me to do? Lie to you?

No, I want you to drop dead,

you smug, cold-hearted son of a bitch.

Phew, that could have been ugly.

* Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men *

* Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh...

Hey, guess what happened at school today.

You made the honor roll.

What's that?

Forget it.

What happened at school?

Well, there's this girl.

Okay, now I'm listening.

Her name is Robin Newberry.

Name's not important, proceed.

She gave me a cupcake.

Yeah, so?

I think she likes me.

So what's the problem?

Now I think she thinks I like her back.

Do you?

I didn't think I did, but it was a really good cupcake.

Wow.

What a perfect metaphor.

No, it was a cupcake.

Okay, blank slate, have a seat.

I'm going to tell you something

that will serve you well for your entire life.

Like when you're peeing outside always face down wind?

Better.

By the way, what the hell were you thinking?

I was thinking "Boy, I hope that's really warm rain."

Okay.

Let's focus on today's lesson.

Never ever confuse cupcakes with love.

But I love cupcakes.

We all love cupcakes.

That doesn't mean you have to love the baker.

Her mom baked it.

You're missing the point.

Robin just helped with the icing.

Okay, okay.

She made a smiley face with Red Hots.

I get it.

I'm just saying that when someone freely gives you her cupcake,

your only obligation is to enjoy it.

There's no reason to get emotionally involved.

Why not? Because, if you do, the next thing you know,

you'll be stuck eating the same damn cupcake

for the rest of your life.

But it was a really good cupcake.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Yeah. I've had cupcakes like that.

But the thing you've got to remember is,

there'll always be other cupcakes.

And if the day should come

when you find yourself in a cupcake drought--

and those days come, don't kid yourself--

well, then you just shell out a couple of bucks

for a nice Ho-Ho.

Understand?

I think so. Thanks, Uncle Charlie.

No problem.

Hey, what are you guys talking about?

Sex.

Well, how about that?

The booger-eater grasped the symbolism.

You were talking to my son about sex?

He came to me with a cupcake problem.

I thought it was about sex.

I was using cupcakes as a metaphor.

Jeez, the kid got it.

Okay, walk me through the metaphor.

Some little girl gave him a cupcake.

Okay, okay, stop.

Gave him a cupcake?

Are we talking baked goods

or are we talking some new hip-hop slang?

Baked goods.

I told him it was okay to enjoy the cupcake,

without feeling emotionally obligated to the girl.

So in essence, you just told my son

it's okay to have sex with a girl

without having any feelings towards her?

Lucky for us he asks me stuff I know about.

There's no "us" here.

There's no "lucky."

That's a terrible lesson.

Hey, I could have done 20 minutes

just on licking the icing.

But I took the high road.

Okay, okay, enough.

Here's the deal.

From now on,

all cupcake conversations will be referred to me.

Why?

You don't know the difference between a Ding Dong

and your elbow.

Nevertheless, I do not want him learning about relationships

from a misogynist.

A misogynist?

You're saying I'm a misogynist?

Yes, Charlie, you are a misogynist.

I'm a misogynist. Mm-hmm.

I'm a misogynist.

That is really low, Alan,

calling your own brother a misogynist.

G-I-N or G-E-N?

G-Y-N.

Thanks.

I do not hate women.

Oh, come on, Charlie.

If anything, I am the opposite of a misogynist.

I'm a... pro-sogynist.

I love women.

Oh, is that so?

Even if there's no possibility of having sex with them?

What?

Exactly.

And it is precisely that attitude

that I do not want my son to grow up with.

Okay, okay.

Hold it just a second.

So you'd rather he grow up to be like you?

Scared of women, manipulated by women?

That's not true.

Oh, please, look at your ex-wife.

Say what you want about me,

but at least I've never chosen

to have women in my life who do nothing but mistreat me.

BERTA: Hey, stud!

I don't know what kind of sick, twisted party

you had in your bedroom the last couple of days,

but I sure as hell ain't cleaning it up.

That is different, way different.

* Men

Hey, Dad, what time is it?

Uh, 20 after 6:00, why?

'Cause I have to call my girlfriend at 6:30.

Um, w-what girlfriend?

Robin Newberry.

Cupcake Robin Newberry?

Charlie, stay out of it.

How can I stay out of it?

If I saw a bus heading for him,

would I not throw myself in front of it to save him?

Would you? I'm just making a point here.

Charlie, if you don't mind, I'll handle it.

Jake, I thought we talked about this.

Yeah, you said I shouldn't take a cupcake from a girl

if I don't like her.

That's right.

So I decided to like her.

We're exclusive.

Exclusive?

That means I don't talk to other girls

and I get a cupcake every day.

I better call now.

If I'm late, she yells at me.

Congratulations, Alan.

You're son is officially pastry-whipped.

ROSE: Marco!

Not now, Rose.

Marco!

Rose, I'm not in the mood.

Marco!

Polo.

Hey, Charlie.

Hey.

Is something wrong?

I'm not sure.

Rose, do you think I'm a misogynist?

Oh, wow, yeah.

Did somebody say you weren't?

Marco!

How can I be a misogynist?

My whole life is a testament to my love for women.

Oh, it's sweet that you think that.

But what you call love

is really just an obsession to control and dominate

based on mistrust and hostility.

Yeah, so?

You forget I spent the night with you once.

You don't make love to a woman.

You overpower her.

You subjugate her.

You... ravage her.

Anywho, it's obvious you're still trying

to resolve long-standing Oedipal issues.

Hold on.

O-E-D...

You sure?

Yeah, I have a masters in psychology

and I know how to spell.

( mimicking Rose ): I have a masters in psychology and I know how to spell.

Here it is, Oedipus complex.

Okay, that's what I thought.

That's just sick.

Unconscious, unresolved sexual feeling towards my mother?

I didn't write the dictionary, Charlie.

But it's not true.

I despise my mother.

Consciously, yes.

And that's why you conflate sex and aggression.

It's textbook misogyny.

"Conflate"?

Come on, what is it, fancy word day?

It means to join together.

Thank you.

So what are you saying?

You will never be able to have

a trusting and truly loving relationship with any woman,

until you resolve your feelings about your mother.

Ah... broads have been telling me that for years.

It's a lot of hooey.

It's okay, Charlie.

The world is filled with women who seek out misogynists.

Women who need men to mistreat them

and provide them with angry, aggressive sex

in order to satisfy their own twisted pathology.

I see.

Well, I guess I'll just have to look for a woman like that.

Marco!

* Men

Thanks for giving me another chance.

You were so darling on the phone, I couldn't resist.

Look, I know I know I've got some intimacy issues,

but I'm working on them.

And if you could just be patient with me,

I think you and I could truly... conflate.

What's conflate mean?

( screaming )

Look, you don't have to go.

Relax, Charlie.

All men have performance problems occasionally.

No, no, no, no, it's not officially

a performance problem until we give up.

Right now it's just unusually long foreplay.

I'm sorry, but I have to get back to work.

Damn, my carpal tunnel's acting up.

How about if I come with you?

We can give it a shot in your car.

It's okay. I still love you.

Thank you.

I mean, I really appreciate your understanding

and support during this dark time.

I'll call you.

What?

Nothing.

Go ahead, say it.

I, uh, I have nothing to say.

Except, you know...

ha-ha.

Oh, my.

Don't tell me I got a rise out of you.

Alan, I am right on the edge.

Be very careful.

Sorry.

I didn't realize it was so impotent.

You forget one thing.

Oh, what's that?

I can still run.

* Men

( doorbell rings )

EVELYN ( over speaker ): Yes?

Mom, it's me, Charlie.

I-I'm a little busy right now.

What do you want? We need to talk.

About what?

About how I'll never be able to have a meaningful relationship

with a woman because of the way you screwed me up!

Oh.

Well...

sorry about that.

Let me in!

There's more?

Yes!

( long sigh )

Will this having children thing never end?

( door buzzes ) Mom!

Look, I'm sorry this is such a major inconvenience for you...

Oh, God!

What are you doing?

Downward Facing Dog.

What?

It's yoga, Charlie.

Oh.

Well, could your dog possibly face upward while we talk?

Fine.

Aw, geez!

What the hell is the mutt doing now?

Charlie, just say what you came to say.

Okay, well, are you aware that I'm a misogynist?

Really?

I raised you Episcopalian.

This isn't funny.

My anger and mistrust towards women starts with you.

Which wasn't a problem until it spilled over into my sex life.

So you're blaming mummy

because little Charlie can't come out and play?

Okay, first of all, we don't call it "little Charlie."

What do we call it, darling?

We don't call it anything!

Well, when you were a baby, we called it Mr. Pinky.

I may never have sex again.

Wait a sec.

Mr. Pinky was the cat.

What did we call your penis?

It doesn't matter.

The point is, it isn't working anymore.

And somehow it's all tied up in some sick twisted knot with you.

Mr. Peepee!

Well, you can see why I confused that with Mr. Pinky.

Mom, I learned about relationships

from watching you.

And you know what toxic little lessons I learned?

Tell me, sweetheart.

I learned that men who get emotionally involved

get stepped on.

I learned that men who get married get emasculated.

I learned that the best way to not get your heart broken

is to pretend you don't have one.

You learned all that from me? Yes.

Darling, I've never been more proud

of you than I am at this moment.

You're joking, right?

Not at all.

For the first time, I look at you and I see myself.

Oh, that's just insane.

( screaming )

* Men

Save room for dessert. I bought brownies.

No, thanks.

Brownies just remind me of cupcakes.

His, uh, his little girlfriend dumped him.

Really?

She said she needed her space.

I'm sorry, buddy.

Want some advice?

Yeah.

What do I do, Uncle Charlie?

I meant from me.

Oh. No, thank you.

Well?

Might as well listen to your dad, 'cause...

I got nothing.

Less than him?

Fellas, I am the sick puppy of a downward dog.

The only thing I'm good for is drinking out of a toilet

and sniffing my own ass.

Which, by the way, I saw our mother do earlier.

( sighs ): Okay, what do you think?

Marco. Oh, geez!

Don't do that.

Sorry.

Are you okay?

Oh, sure.

Everything I believed in is wrong.

Everything I thought I was, I'm not.

And Mr. Peepee's on the fritz.

Mr. Peepee?

Yeah, that's what my mother used to call...

Oh, don't make me explain this, Rose.

Okay. But he's on the fritz, you say?

Yes.

Well, I'm not surprised.

The depth of your pathology, coupled with the intensity

of your denial, was bound to manifest itself

physically, sooner or later.

In plain, simple English, Rose.

When your mind gets crazy,

Mr. Peepee gets lazy.

Let me put it another way.

When your psyche gets iffy,

you can't get a stiffy.

Stop it. Stop it.

Just tell me how I can fix it.

Well, there's no quick fix when it comes to limp...

Rose!

No more rhymes.

Are you sure? I got a beauty with "toner."

Okay. Well,

traditional therapy can help,

but you'll have to commit to a long, arduous process

of self-exploration over a period of years.

Years?

I can't go years without...

Mr. Peepee.

Charlie, isn't your long-term mental and emotional health

more important than a few fleeting orgasms?

It's not even more important than one.

Okay, well, in that case,

I suppose we could try a shortcut like hypnotherapy.

You know how to do that?

I studied it.

But for it to work, you'd have to trust me completely.

You know, Rose, as strange as it may seem,

out of all the women I know,

you're the only one I trust at all.

Wow. Personally I find that very flattering,

while professionally, it's deeply disturbing.

So just relax,

sit back, close your eyes,

and listen only to the sound of my voice.

I just want to get my mother out of my head, okay?

I don't want to quit drinking or gambling

or any of the good stuff.

All right.

Okay. So just relax.

( chuckles ): Oh, my.

I see everything's back to normal.

Better than normal.

Did you take one of those pills?

No, I don't need any pills; it's all me.

And nobody else.

Now, why don't you just relax while I introduce you

to the new, improved Charlie.

( phone ringing )

( clucking like a chicken )

( continues clucking )

Who were you calling?

I was just ordering a little chicken.

* Men

What smells so good?

Your kid's in the kitchen baking.

You're kidding.

Hey, dad, want a cupcake?

Um, sure.

Uncle Charlie?

Thank you. Have as many as you want.

I got another batch in the oven.

It's, uh, it's very tasty.

What, uh, what prompted this?

I figured out I don't need a girlfriend.

If I want a cupcake, I just make it myself.

Taking matters into his own hands.

The metaphor is now complete.

Anybody want to lick the beater?

No. No.

( oven timer dings )

( clucking like a chicken )

What?