All language subtitles for Bojack.horseman.S04E11.STRiFE.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

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Slow down, Henrietta.

A lady mustn't rush. It's unbecoming.

I am not Henrietta! I'm your son!

My son is a ball of gas.

Yes! Your son, BoJack. I'm him.

I'm the ball of gas!

But you're also a star.

Wait. Mom, do you remember...

Shh! Henrietta, I am talking to the sun.

Sun, you're a ball of gas,

but you're also a star.

- We call you... "Sun."
- Ugh!

Where are you taking me?
Are we going to the lake house?

No, we're going to a
glorious magical place

where they'll lock you
in a room by yourself

so you can't hurt anyone ever again.

Oh, that sounds lovely.
Why are you driving so slowly?

- Hurry up!
- Wait. You just said...

Time's arrow neither stands

still nor reverses, after all.

It merely marches forward.

Isn't that right, Henrietta?

Yes, Mrs. Horseman. That's right.

Well, here we are.

- Here?
- Yes.

Ugh!

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- www.MY-SUBS.com -

Halt! No entry.

- But I wanna slide.
- This is no mere slide.

We three are members of an elite society

of extremely young women,

led by I,

Miss Clemelia Bloodsworth.

You may not enter.

- Yeah, and also you're fat.
- Oh!

I'm not fat.

Even your lungs expostulate

as they struggle to expel
your ample corpulence.

She's saying your lungs
think you're fat too.

Father says I'm just growing.

If you do not halt, we will be forced

to physically impede your egress.

Ow! Ow! You're hurting me! Ow!

Beatrice, stop reading
and put on your uniform.

Father, I don't feel well.

I don't care if you're scared of

Clemelia Bloodsworth and her gaggle,

you have to go to school.

Now stop making books your friends.

Reading does nothing for young
women but build their brains,

taking valuable resources away

from their breasts and hips.

- But my throat hurts.
- Uniform! Now!

Beatrice? Oh, my, you're hot.

Dear Lord.

Now listen here, it's a

mother's duty to keep her children alive

and you are continually failing!

How could you not have known
she has scarlet fever?

Say something, damn it!
What has become of you?

I swear if I'd known
this is how you'd behave

once we severed the connections
to your prefrontal cortex,

I'd hardly have bothered.

- Father?
- Yes, darling?

Am I to die?

Well, eventually yes, but
this illness is but a hiccup

in what will be a long and happy life,

- I promise.
- You promise?

In fact, some good may yet come of this.

Doctor says your throat
is nearly swollen shut.

So perhaps you'll finally
lose some of that weight

that's given you such troubles.

- Won't that be nice?
- Yes, Father.

- Ow!
- Suck in, Miss Sugarman, please.

Polly, be a darling and
fetch me a pretty pill

and a glass of water, won't you?

Yes, Señorita Sugarman.

Beatrice, you're looking
well, which is just fine,

because your debutante
party is vitally important.

Will it end poverty, war and injustice,

or bring back civil rights
activist Medgar Evers,

who was shot in Mississippi this week?

Yes! Or rather, it will end you
worrying about that nonsense

because it will land you a husband.

At least Evers' death means no one else

will be assassinated this year, 1963.

The FBI is on too high alert to allow

anything like that to happen again.

- Hmm?
- Yes... well...

Your chaperone, Corbin Creamerman,

is a fine young man.

Oh, Jeez.

My lady.

- Here you go.
- Thanks.

So... uh,

you look nice.

Thank you, Corbin. That's the
third time you've told me.

You needn't tell me again.

Oh, Jeez. I'm sorry. I'm not

always good at these things.

But sometimes I am. I can be. I...

I really try to be.

I'm, well, I... I'm not.

I'm really not. I don't know why.

Ah, that's all right. I'm not either.

Corbin's father, Mort Creamerman,

is founder of Creamerman's

Creamy Cream-based Commodities.

Think of all the free
iced cream you could,

uh, serve to other people.

Father, do you aim to marry
me off to Corbin Creamerman

merely because it would
be good for business?

Well, I suppose I do have a few ideas

of how a Sugarman/Creamerman
alliance might be advantageous.

- Uh-huh.
- For example,

imagine a television
advertisement with a fun jingle.

♪ Have your morning coffee or tea ♪

♪ With Sugarman and Creamerman ♪

♪ But save some for... these fellas ♪

And then it's Mort and me, and
we're holding up our products

with big smiles from across a very

ordinary looking kitchen table.

Father, common Americans
don't want you on their TV sets.

You're a reminder of the disparity
of wealth in this country.

Poor people find that dreadfully gauche.

You know, I sent you to
Barnard to get your MRS

from a fine upstanding Columbia man,

but instead of a bachelor
you returned home

with a bachelor's degree
and a mouth full of sass.

What a waste!

- You look nice.
- Thank you.

Oh, my... Beatrice Sugarman?

Doth my eye belie me?

Oh, Clemelia Bloodsworth.

Why are you here?

I must say, it's tremendous

you're finally debuting.

Better late than never, hmm?

Ugh! I'm only doing this for my father,

who has very old-fashioned ideas

about how a woman is to live her life.

Poor Corbin here is saddled
with chaperoning me.

Oh, I don't feel saddled.

In truth, I find these
parties to be garish,

self-serving wastes of money.

Oh, and I'm sure yours was

particularly horrendous, Clemelia.

Oh, my! How repugnant!

Uh... Scotch on the rocks.

Do I know you?

Nope, just crashing some dumb

debutante's party.

Oh, do you mean for "dumb"

to describe the party or the debutante?

Because I might agree with
you, or I might be offended.

You're the dumb debutante, aren't you?

Beatrice Sugarman.
Welcome to my dumb party.

Butterscotch Horseman.
Charmed, I'm sure.

You crash a lot of these?

I'll take my free alcohol
where I can get it.

Saving for California.

What's in California?

Ginsberg, Cassady, Squirrelinghetti.

This is where you ask me if those
are towns, and I smirk at you.

I am familiar with the Beats, thank you.

I like Ginsberg all
right, but if you ask me,

that Squirrelinghetti is nuts.

- What's your interest in them?
- What's my interest?

They're the greatest
minds of our generation.

I'm heading west to join them, because

I'm one of the greatest minds too.

- I see.
- You will see.

I'm writing the next
Great American Novel.

Oh, what's it about?

It's about truth! It's about war!

It's about the twilighting frontier

of the lives that were promised us.

But what is it about?
Who are the characters?

I never claimed to have the whole thing

- sorted out just yet, did I?
- Sounds like a best seller.

You're sarcastic, which is an
ugly thing for a woman to be.

I don't know how you expect to
nab a husband at a party like this

with a personality like that.

Oh, congratulations.

You and my father express
the same concerns.

If I were your old man,

I'd be anxious to get
you married off, too.

I bet your thank-you
letters are perfunctory,

your flower arrangements are uninspired,

and your curtsy is an embarrassment.

Looks like you pegged me
as well as I pegged you.

What must your mother think of you?

Oh, she doesn't think much...

About anything, anymore.

Oh. I'm sorry, did... did she pass?

- No, not exactly.
- Mine did.

I'm very sorry to hear that.

I was little. I don't remember, really.

But she had a diamond just like yours.

I saw it in a picture once.

- Oh...
- Yes, this is my mother.

- What?
- I'd like to leave her here.

Can I pay for the next five years now so

I don't have to think about her again?

- Wha... Oh.
- Oh, jeez, I...

I'm sorry to interrupt, but
we have to do the thing now,

where we do the... things.

Oh... oh, right. Um...

Please excuse me.

Of course, it sounds very important.

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Sugarman

present their daughter,

Miss Beatrice Elizabeth Sugarman.

Chaperoned by Mr. Corbin C. Creamerman.

Look at her go, folks.

Clearing every hurdle.

Look at that form.

What precise movements.

- Five, six...
- Beautiful trot.

Truly outstanding.

A lovely lady indeed.

Ta-da!

Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me.

Oh...

Excuse me. Don't you
know it's rude to leave

without saying goodbye to the hostess?

Why don't you come with me?

It'll dispense with the
need for goodbyes,

thus eliminating my transgression.

Oh! You want me to leave

my own party with you?

The low-life who wasn't even invited?

Yeah.

But I suppose Daddy
wouldn't like that, would he?

Oh, Beatrice.

_

- I have wonderful news.
- I'm reading.

Corbin Creamerman has come to call.

He'd like to take you
for a Sunday stroll.

I am not interested
in Corbin Creamerman.

I don't give a damn
where your interests lie!

After the disappearing act you
pulled at your own party,

you're lucky I don't fill
a jar with jellied beans

and marry you off to the man who

- can closest estimate the amount.
- Heavens!

Corbin Creamerman is willing
to give you a second chance,

he is downstairs waiting,
and you will be civil to him.

And the way they make non-dairy creamer

is by replacing the milk
fat with vegetable oil.

That's why it doesn't
need refrigeration.

- Pretty nifty, huh?
- Is that so?

Oh, jeez, I'm boring you.

Not at all. I don't find you boring.

Only the things you
choose to talk about,

and the way in which
you talk about them.

Oh, I... I'm sorry. I... I just

get excited by food chemistry.

You know, you take something
you thought you knew,

and then discover there's
so much more to it

than you could have
possibly imagined. It's like...

- Magic.
- Oh?

My father is less enchanted.

He says it's just squeezing
money out of cow teats.

I suppose that's true,
but I got ideas too,

and I feel I never get to be anything

other than what he expects me to be.

You know what that's like?

I do.

You know, Corbin,

it occurs to me that perhaps
you and I aren't so...

Oh, dear!

Nice gams.

Nice gams.

Is that the only thing
you can think of to say?

Nice...

Gams.

Uh...

Beatrice, what are you doing here?

I had to look you up in the phone book.

The number you gave me was to a pizza

parlor in Brownsburg.

What? Are you sure?

Butterscotch, I'm pregnant.

- Wha...
- Whoa, boy!

Come on, Bopper, can you
give us some privacy, please?

Sure thing, Butterscotch.
You take it easy.

Are you certain it's mine?

Well, whose else could it be?

What do you wanna do?
Maybe you have a cousin,

who has a... a friend,
who knows a doctor,

who can take care of
such inconveniences?

I'm... I'm happy to do the
gentlemanly thing and...

and pay for the cab fare.

No. I can't.

Well, that doesn't leave
us with very many options.

I'm a ruined woman.

Don't be hysterical. You're not ruined.

It's a verifiable fact you
look more beautiful than ever.

Oh, what do you know?

It was a pretty great night
we had together, huh?

It was.

Say,

did you ever hear the story of

the couple who moved to California?

I can't say that I have.

Oh, it's a marvelous adventure.

You see, they hardly knew each other,

but they shared a certain sensitivity

and a taste for the unknown.

They were living in a one-horse
town, so they headed west,

towards a town that could
accommodate three horses.

Oh, yes, I think I
have heard this story.

They got a small house in San Francisco

near the bookstore.

He got in good with
Squirrelinghetti and his scurry.

He wrote his Great American Novel...

While his wife took care of the baby.

His wife? Oh,

well, I didn't hear about that part.

Well, if she'd have him.

If a beautiful creature like herself

could ever love an oaf like him.

- I think she could.
- Yeah?

And isn't that how the story goes?

Come on, come on, come on.

- Sleep.
- The baby's hungry.

I tried. He won't eat. I
don't know what he wants.

Well, can you figure it out?

If I don't sleep, how can I work
to support you and the child,

let alone have energy
left over to write?

Maybe if anyone wanted to pay
you for anything you wrote,

we'd be able to afford
a nanny and a maid.

Well, if Squirrelinghetti and
his horde of commie, liberal,

Jew-loving rejects knew
what good writing was,

I'd be able to sell something.

Oh, so they're all
wrong, and you're right.

Why won't you just

take that corner office
job at Sugarman West

instead of breaking your
back all day at the cannery,

and then maybe you could afford me some

decent help around here?

You want me to work for your
father, and get paid for it,

like some sort of slave?

- That is the opposite of slavery.
- Is it?

Yes, it is! You have no
facility for language.

Oh, will you at long last be quiet?

You wanted that baby. Never forget that.

I need quiet!

You'd better be worth all this.

- Well, you're not.
- I'm not what?

Mommy's tired, BoJack. Tell me a story.

Oh, once upon a time...

Quiet. Your father's home.

How was work, darling?

Ugh! Terrible. Those fish
do not like being canned.

Well, I burnt dinner, again.

But you can pick at the charred remains

- and delight me and your simple son
- God.

with stories of your noble,
salt-of-the-earth co-workers

like Eight-Finger Joe and
Sports-Team Steve...

- Oh, God.
- ...before locking yourself

- in your study for the night...
- Know what?

... to chip away at your never-ending

goddamn novel.

I'll clean up the kitchen,

- and bathe our filthy child.
- If you could just...

And we'll just keep waltzing

- through this goddamn...
- Would you...

- ... proletariat dream.
- No...

Maybe if the goddamn baby
wasn't crying all the time,

I could finish the goddamn novel.

I'm not a baby. I'm six.

Yes, wah, wah, Ga, Ga, goo, goo.

I'm forming sentences.

Oh, and I can't? Everyone's a critic.

I can see the headline now,

"Idiot Son Thinks Dad's Book is

"Great, comma, Son is Idiot."

I didn't say your book is great.

I can't live like this!

I should have married Corbin Creamerman.

Ha! Like he'd have you.

Oh, he would have. And he
would have been kind to me.

And he wouldn't have been
too much of a stubborn ass

to take a decent job at
my father's company!

Fine! I'll take the corner office, with

the company car, six-figure salary,

and four weeks paid vacation,

but if my novel becomes

bad because I no longer remember

what it's like to be working class,

we'll know of whom to be blamed.

Oh.

A little to the left. Good choice.

Just over... Careful with that.
That looks great.

Hello? You're always in the way.

- Why don't you go play?
- Okay.

- Go do something.
- Bye, Mom.

You are fired. Vacuum. Thank you. Stat.

Goodbye. Thank you.

Henrietta, will you help me pack this?

I want to bring it to my son.

Oh, that's so nice.
I love a good painting.

It's like TV without all
the talking and movement.

Jesus, what is that ghastly thing?

It belonged to Father.

I'm giving it to BoJack.

I never cared for the aesthetic arts.

Dulls the senses.

Art should be straightforward
and utilitarian, like my novel.

I can't wait to read it.

Books are fantastic.
The words tell stories.

- Henrietta, the painting.
- Right away, Mrs. Horseman.

I shouldn't have to ask you twice.

God gave you two ears

and me only the one mouth, after all.

- You could be nicer to her.
- No one's ever nice to me.

- Why should I be nice?
- Beatrice...

Just because the maid bats
her little eyes at you

and makes barely-qualifying-
for-conversation conversation,

doesn't mean I'm so easily seduced.

I don't know what
you're insinuating. I...

Oh, I'm sure she makes you feel like

a big smart man,

never challenges you,

and thanks you for helping her

study for nursing school.

As a matter of fact, she
is studying for nursing.

I know. I can hear your
flirting through the wall,

when you're supposedly
"working on your novel."

I bet you think she's
falling in love with you.

You sensitive, misunderstood artist.

Ugh. Won't she be disappointed.

I don't know why you don't
just get a divorce already.

Oh, sure, that's the Hollywood way.

"We're out of mustard.
Let's get a divorce!"

"I'm a little sad. Divorce!"

"We've grown apart over the years"

and our adult child has
moved out of the house

"and there's no reason for us
to stay together. Divorce!"

That actually is a legitimate
reason to get a divorce.

Well, who else would have me now?

After what you did to my body?

- What I did?
- Anyway, do you want this painting?

It belonged to your grandfather,

a man who knew what marriage meant.

Sure.

I drove it all the way
down here, didn't I?

- You might as well take it.
- I said I'll take it.

Of course. Take. That's all you ever do.

How long you sticking around for, Mom?

Just pour me a drink
and I'll be on my way.

Yeah, let's get you good and liquored

up before you drive up the coast.

I got a date with Tonya Harding tonight.

She was the good one?
I always get them confused.

I heard your show was canceled.

Three years ago now. You're
really on the pulse, huh?

I never understood the appeal.

It's just a bunch of silly stories.

Some people like silly stories.

Lotta good they ever did me.

It's not Ibsen, but...

It would only depress me to watch

you bumble around like that.

All the sacrifices I made,

so that you could do this.

Thanks for the painting.
It'll be nice to have something

that always reminds me
of this conversation.

_

- Uh, Beatrice.
- What?

I, uh...

- I gummed things up.
- Oh?

It's Henrietta.

The girl went and got herself pregnant.

Oh, she got herself pregnant?

Can you talk to her?
Just woman to woman?

She wants to have the baby.
I... I can't talk her out of it.

- What do you want me to say?
- I'm out of options, Bea.

You think I enjoy groveling
to my own wife, hat in hand?

If you weren't so neglectful
in your wifely duties...

- Don't you dare.
- I'm sorry. What do...

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

Please. Just... just fix

this for me, please.

I know you hate me, Bea,

but please just think of the poor girl.

Oh, God.

You're fired, of course.

I'm so sorry, Mrs. Horseman.

He was just so kind
to me and I felt so...

Let me guess, he said you

reminded him of his dead mother.

He said she had hair like mine.

He saw it in a picture once.

- Do you really want this child?
- I...

I think so?

It's a baby horse. A girl.

I need help. I'm studying to be a

nurse, and tuition keeps going up.

None of that is my fault.

If I can just finish school

and get a job, it'll be okay.

And who's going to care for
the baby while you work?

Because God knows he won't.

Well, don't do that.
What does that solve?

I don't know what else to do,

Mrs. Horseman.

All right. We'll pay for your tuition.

- Really?
- Yes.

And you'll give the
baby up for adoption.

No.

You think you want this,
but you don't. Not like this.

- Mrs. Horseman...
- Don't

throw away your dreams for this child.

Don't let that man poison

your life the way he did mine.

You are going to finish your
schooling and become a nurse.

You'll meet a man, a good man,
and you'll have a family,

but please believe me,
you don't want this.

Oh...

Please, Henrietta,
you have to believe me.

Please, don't do what I did.

Mm-hmm.

My... My baby! Where's my baby?

Oh, look at you.

You did it, Henrietta.

Oh, my God.

No, no, no. No, please.

Please don't. Stop.

Stop! Why are you doing this?

Beatrice, remember what
we say about crying?

- Mm-hmm.
- Crying is stupid.

But, Father, tell them
not to burn my things.

But, darling, they have to.

Your sickness has infected everything.

The hard part is over.

Wait. Wait. I wanna hold her.

- No. You'll get attached.
- Wait!

It all must be destroyed
for your own good.

- I need to hold her.
- This is for your own good.

- But not my baby.
- Yes. Especially your baby.

Whoop!

See, doesn't that feel better?

No!

My baby!

Wait, please. I need to hold her.

No, no.

Wait. No, please come back.
I need to hold her. Please.

No!

Come on now, be strong.

You can't let your womanly
emotions consume you.

You don't wanna end up like
your mother now, do you?

- No.
- I promise.

One day this will all

be a pleasant memory.

Best of luck. See ya never.

- Who is that?
- Bye, Mom.

BoJack?

- Mom?
- BoJack? Is that you?

Yeah, it's me.

Well, oh, what is this place?

This is where you live now.

- No. Is it? No.
- Mom...

- Where are we, BoJack?
- I just told you.

I don't understand.

- Where... Where am I?
- You're...

In Michigan.

- Michigan?
- Yeah.

- At the lake house.
- I am?

It's a... It's a warm summer night,

and the fireflies

are dancing in the sky.

And your whole family is here.

And they're telling you that

everything is gonna be all right.

Yes. That's right. What else?

The crickets are... are chirping,

and the lake is still,

and the night

is full of stars.

I can see it. It's so clear.

What are we doing here, BoJack?

We're sitting on the back porch,

and we're listening to your
brother play the piano,

and we're eating ice cream.

Vanilla ice cream.

Yes. That's right.

Oh, it's all so marvelous.

Can you taste the ice cream, Mom?

Oh, BoJack.

It's so...

Delicious.

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