All language subtitles for Dicktown s01e04_English

(jazz music)

JOHN: No, David,
it doesn't matter

if you're in the forest.

The phrase isn't,
"If a tree falls in the forest,

‐can David hear it?"
‐Yeah, it is.

If a tree falls in the forest,
can you hear it?

That's me.
They're talking about me.

"You" could be anyone.

In fact it doesn't even have
to be a human.

I can only be me, John.
You know that.

Excuse me.
Are you John Hunchman?

‐I am.
‐Uh, my name's Jenna.

I got your name
from Kristen Mills,

my best friend.

You found her missing pom‐poms.

Ah, the mystery of the dumbest
cheerleader of all time.

‐Sorry?
‐Uh, nothing.

Uh, how can we help you?

My parents make me take piano
lessons and‐‐

BOTH: You want us
to murder your parents.

‐Uh, I'm afraid we can't.
‐No.

‐I want to take piano lessons.
‐What?

(laughs)
Then you're dumb.

I think the man
my parents hired

isn't a real piano teacher.

‐Go on.
‐His name is Royce Delorax.

JOHN: Mm‐hmm.

‐(piano keys clunking)
‐Doing great, buddy.

JENNA: He makes me do all this
weird stuff to the piano.

(clattering)

This is amazing.
Seriously.

You outdid yourself.

JENNA: MY parents don't care
because he told them

it's "avant‐garde."

Well, what do you want us
to do?

I want you to find out
if it's real music.

If it's not,
I want my parents' money back.

Hmm, of course.
We'll take the case.

Excuse me.

Uh, we'd better get
those CDs to go.

(exciting music)

♪♪ ♪♪

So how can we figure out
if Jenna's teacher is legit?

You know, I know a lady
who could help us,

but we would have to bring
a lot of singles.

Singles?
Why?

Are we going
to Players After Dark?

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Crotches N' Company?

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Wet Spots on Sixth.

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Jay O'Staynes?

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Lumps Unlimited?

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Liquid Temptations.

‐DAVID: No.
‐JOHN: Squirt City?

‐DAVID: That closed.
‐JOHN: Dehumanizers!

Or one of the other local strip
clubs that I've read about?

No, just bring dollar bills,
all right?

Hmm, I always wanted to go
to Dehumanizers.

David Purefoy,
you've grown.

Are you keeping up
with your piano lessons?

No, ma'am, I was seduced
by another mistress:

Lady Electric Guitar.

‐Hmm.
‐JOHN: Miss Lee,

I can't believe
you taught David piano.

Barely.

What was that awful song you
wanted to learn how to play?

Oh, "Shredded Humans"
by Cannibal Corpse?

Can you imagine?

I'm teaching Mozart
and he's talking about,

"I wanna learn Cannibal Corpse
where they sing like"...

[mimics roaring]

Yes, his taste in music
is problematic, and guess what?

He still hasn't learned
that song.

DAVID: I will, though.

Well, how can I help you boys?

Miss Lee, is there a tradition
of musicians

doing unusual things to pianos?

Hmm, John Cage put nails
and screws in the strings.

He called it "prepared piano."

[laughs]
Uh‐huh.

As in, "Be prepared to hear
some fucked up piano?"

‐David!
‐Sorry.

‐(sighs)
‐Give me a single.

Oh, you know Stockhausen
wrote concert pieces

where the performer punched
the piano.

‐Of course!
‐Whoa.

A public transgression of norms
surrounding high culture.

Oh, but mind you,

those composers knew
their fundamentals.

Scales,
music theory.

Remember Proverbs 1:7?

Fear of the Lord
is the beginning of knowledge

but fools despise wisdom
and instruction.

Bible boom.

‐You give me a dollar.
‐Uh‐uh!

Wisdom and instruction
must come

before all
that other craziness.

What would you have done
if you had caught David

‐hitting your piano?
‐Oof.

Oh, dear.

She definitely would have
kicked me in these nuts.

(groans)

And may I presume one dollar
for each nut?

‐For each of these nuts, yes.
‐All right.

So when Royce Delorax
has his students hit pianos,

he could be operating within
the western tradition

‐of experimental music.
‐Oh, please.

He's telling
these bougie parents

that he's gonna make
their kids cultured

and then they just sit around
slapping pianos.

I bet he doesn't even know how
to play piano, man.

‐He's goofing off.
‐Wait, wait, wait.

David, goofing off,
or maybe getting off.

(groans)
What?

David, it's time we talked
to our mystery pianist.

‐(chuckles)
‐No, don't.

‐I know.
‐But dude,

you know what pianist
sounds like, right?

Yes, I know what
it sounds like.

It sounds like...
♪♪ Penis ♪♪

Yes, you don't need to tell me.

‐The best word to say.
‐I'm a‐‐I'm a grown man.

Okay, you're right.

It is time that we talked
to our mysterious penis.

Yeah, good.
Let's go.

‐Our mysterious penis.
‐Yeah, I heard it.

I heard it.

Penis mysteries
from the planet Zorkon.

Excuse me.
Royce Delorax?

Um, who are you?

I'm John Hunchman,
Hunchman Investigations.

This is my associate,

‐Mr. Purefoy.
‐What's up?

Hmm, sorry.
I don't talk to cops.

Well, we're not the police.

I mean C. O. P. S.
Creepy old pieces of shit.

‐Whoa.
‐It's an acronym.

I have a facility for wordplay
as well as music.

Hmm, IRW.
I respect wordplay.

Hmm, well, if you'll excuse me,
I have a lesson.

‐You're in my way.
‐No, I'm not.

(groans)
Yes, you are.

‐No, I'm not.
‐Move, asshole.

‐I shan't, asshole!
‐Stop it, both of you!

Mr. Delorax,
W. A. Y. T. Y. S. T. D. P.?

‐Whoa, what are you‐‐
‐Oh, did you miss that one?

Why are you teaching your
students to defile pianos?

‐Oh, wordplay boom!
‐Defile?

Spoken like a true philistine.

‐Picture it, David.
‐Okay.

A young woman sits down
at an immaculate piano

and slams her fists
into the keys,

slaps it,

then dumps a bunch
of junk into it like John Cage.

Treats a Steinway concert grand

like a common
filthy garbage can.

Mmm.

You're crazy,
the both of you!

Now, leave me alone!

That was weird.

David, what are you doing
on Wednesday night?

I'm watching the game
'cause we're playing Gonzaga.

Wrong.
We're going to a cage match.

‐JOHN: A John Cage match!
‐DAVID: Holy shit!

She's a beauty, ain't she?

‐How much?
‐Just 60 bucks.

‐Real hickory handle.
‐60 bucks?

‐Goddamn!
‐Whatever.

I have my mom's card.

Oh, sorry.
I meant 75.

Say, didn't you buy a hammer
from me a couple months ago?

Yeah, my mom told me to get
a new one

for the piano recital.

‐Are you building a piano?
‐Smashing it.

Oh, this is a great hammer
for smashing.

A steal at $90,
which is the actual price.

Please disregard
all previous prices.

You know, you seem pretty chill
about letting Mr. Sutton

overcharge you for that hammer.

You know why my mom wanted me
to get a new hammer?

‐ Mm?
‐ No.

Because she was at
the tennis club

and Mrs. Colefax was bragging
about how she bought Laurie

a new hammer for the recital.

Huh, a classic case
of hammer envy.

Oof.

My mom is worried
Laurie Colefax

will have a nicer hammer
than me,

and then people with think
the Colefax's realty business

is doing better than my dad's,
and then he'll lose clients,

and we won't get invited
to the mayor's pig‐pick,

and everyone in town
will hate us.

So we gotta go back in time
and kill Mrs. Colefax.

No, David,
there is no time travel.

Yeah, there is.
I saw one.

All I wanted was to learn
how to play 21 Pilots!

Is that so bad?

‐Yes.
‐We get your point.

I gotta get home so my mom
can post a picture

of this dumb hammer
on her Facebook.

Right, we'll see you
at the recital.

Oh, you know tickets are $20,
right?

Whoa, there's a cover charge
for this thing?

For everyone.
We have to pay, too.

You have to pay to play
in your own recital?

Where does all the money go?

Royce says it goes into
an artistic integrity fund,

whatever that is.

‐Hmm.
‐Okay.

Well, see you.

Parents are really judging
each other over whose kid

has the most glamorous hammer.

This is a new world, bro.

When we were young,

parents just judged each other

by how well their kids
played piano.

Exactly.

Can you play the notes on this
piece of paper or not?

And if you can't,
you are a fraud.

Exactly.
David, that's it.

It is?

(piano notes clanging)

♪♪ ♪♪

(applause)

Jasmine, ladies and gentlemen.

Wasn't she exquisite?

Next up, Jenna.

Go on, Jenna!
Show them your hammer!

This is ridiculous.

I don't want to.

Jenna, damn it,
I paid for those lessons!

‐JOHN: Jenna, don't do it!
‐(all gasping)

I'm sorry we're late.

He wanted to watch the game,
and I don't drive.

Oh, um, well, well, well.

If it isn't Inspector Fudge It
and Magnum B. O.

(sniffing)

You're interrupting
our recital.

WOMAN: Yeah!

FATHER: Now, did they buy
a ticket?

Oh, I apologize.

Why don't you play,
Mr. Delorax?

Oh, tonight isn't about me.

It's about my students.

Oh, but these good people paid
$20 a ticket.

I'm sure they'd love
to hear the maestro.

‐WOMAN: Yeah!
‐MAN: That sounds important.

Oh, fine.

Um, this, uh, is, uh, "Study
in J‐Minor Fifth"

by Johan Megonzaga.

(piano notes clunking)

(applause)

LEE: What about
your fundamentals?

FATHER: Now, did she buy
a ticket?

Young man,
can you play a scale?

Oh, shit!

Um, erm, well,
I will do something better.

(strokes piano keys)

That happened
to be all the scales.

‐(all oohing)
‐(applause)

MAN: I'm convinced.

LEE: How about this?
Can you play this?

Um, of course I cou‐‐
oh, finger cramp!

‐Call 911!
‐Ladies and gentlemen,

this man doesn't know how
to play the piano.

What? Now I don't know what
to believe!

And so we are left
with two possibilities.

Either he's sexually aroused
by young women

‐defiling pianos‐‐
‐(all groaning)

WOMAN: Yikes.

A fetish he films
and distributes online,

which I can't confirm yet
because the Wi‐Fi

on my house boat is spotty.

That's too dark.
What's the other possibility?

Or he's exploiting
your ignorance to make money

by pretending to teach your
kids avant‐garde music

and trusting you're too dumb
to figure it out.

‐MAN: Wow.
‐Whoa.

So you're either a creep
or a scam artist?

MAN: If you're both,
I hope you run for president.

These men are lying!

They're TFOS!
Totally full of shit!

Ah, yes.

Your facility for word play?
(chuckles)

Royce Delorax,
now that's a weird name.

Did you know it's also an
anagram for Corey Axelrod?

And Corey Axelrod
has outstanding warrants.

Wire fraud,

and for ejaculating into
a baby grand

in a San Diego piano showroom.

‐MAN: Nasty.
‐Homeboy jizzed on a Steinway.

Oh, I guess my name wordplay
was TCBH.

Too clever by half, yes.

Wordplay usually is.

Now we call 911.

(cheers and applause)

‐(indistinct radio chatter)
‐(crashing)

Thanks, guys.

Now maybe my parents will pay
for real piano lessons.

‐Arch your fingers, David.
‐My fingers are arched.

Ah, Miss Lee,
why don't you teach Jenna?

(gasps)
Please?

Mm‐mmm.
I'm retired.

‐Plus she's a total fascist.
‐Shut your fucking mouth!

‐Oh, ow!
‐(piano keys clunk)

I owe you a dollar.

In this episode you saw footage
of a prepared piano

modified under
professional supervision.

That's right, David.

Kids, do not attempt
to modify your own piano.

You could damage it.

Remember,
if you damage a piano,

Billy Joel will kill you with
a dart dipped in divorce.

It's happened.