Original subtitles

Ladies and gentlemen, Todd Carr...

who took my precious little novel, wiped his ass,

and transformed it into this Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

- Holy fucknuts! - Oh, shit!

What, don't you fuckin' knock?

You used to be all about the morning sex. What's going on with you?

- Anybody home? - Hey, baby!

Good afternoon, Mrs Runkle.

What do you want me to do?

Maybe you want me to make you wear a ball gag in your mouth.

- You have to come get me. - I'm a little busy right now.

Asshole, my teacher... he's coked out of his mind,

and he's trying to get me into a threesome.

You want to go to the movies with us, Dad?

It turns out that was bald old Uncle Charlie,

- and he's going through a rough patch. - Uncle Charlie, huh?

- You cried wolf. - Maybe I just wanted to see you.

You're not in love with me, Hank. You're in love with the idea of love.

You're running for the hills.

OK, this is exciting.

I'm ready. I'm all ears.

"Nothing gold can stay.

"Nature's first green..."

Stop. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

You had 20 centuries of halfway decent verse to choose from

and you're going with some minor Frosty?

I like it. It's short.

- And? - Bleak.

And?

- I saw it in a movie once. - Oh.

Well, then, it must be good. Continue.

Well, basically it's about how nothing good ever lasts,

how, no matter what you do, it all just turns to shit in the end...

You know, like you and Mom.

Ah. Trenchant, if profane, literary criticism. It's an interesting take.

I will put that one on your tab, by the way.

But don't ever think that, honey.

Just because something is bleak doesn't necessarily make it true.

The hair.

Happy endings may get a bad rap, but they do happen.

And when they do, they're just as true as the unhappy ones.

So you're saying it is possible maybe one day you and Mom could get back together?

Of course. Anything's possible.

Yes, but is it realistic?

Who says we have to be realistic?

- Mom. - Oh.

Well, not to contradict your dear old mom,

who is both wicked smart and wicked wonderful,

but, no, we don't have to be... realistic, that is.

Not when it comes to love.

Oh, jeez.

Is that Yusuf? Oh.

Guess that's her.

Got to change what I'm feeding that dog... or you.

- Hello, sunshine. - I'm double-parked, so I just got to grab her.

Then, by all means, skip the pleasantries. But can you do me a favour

and stop telling our daughter not to believe in happy endings?

What's next... no Santa Claus?

You gonna shit all over the Easter Bunny, too?

I think she figured out the Santa Claus thing already,

and I do believe in happy endings,

just not when it comes to the Ballad Of Hank And Karen.

Bullshit. We practically made out last week. That's nothing if not progress.

I hope to get to second base this week.

Oh, please. That was an accident.

- It was an accident? - Yeah.

- Your tongue just slipped into my mouth? - No, other way around.

The fact that you're making these lame excuses up

can only mean one thing... you're totally into me still.

- Oh, really? - Totally.

- Come on, honey. - Goodbye, sweetie.

Bye.

Hey. Stay gold, Ponyboy.

There is no fucking soy milk!

Will you nut up and learn to digest dairy?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Nothing a brand-new gastrointestinal tract wouldn't fix.

Bullshit. Here.

It's not vanilla, but you can punish me for that later.

I'll dust off the whips and chains.

Ha ha ha. Very funny.

Seriously. I've been a very naughty hausfrau.

You almost died from malnutrition.

These jokes are never gonna get old, are they?

What is a marriage, if not an opportunity

to mock someone through thick and thin

while simultaneously exploring your deepest, darkest sexual desires?

Yeah, well, let's say one day soon

we lay off mine and start discussing yours?

Yeah, like you could handle that.

Oh, oh, you want to try me?

I want to do it with a girl.

So, what, this is something you feel you might enjoy?

Yeah, sure. I hear it's nice, you know?

Getting a little work done by someone who owns her own set of tools.

But I wouldn't want to leave you out.

It seems more, I don't know, honest that way.

Honest... Right.

Don't you see what this means? This is a gift from on high.

This is a cosmic Get Out Of Jail Free card.

The whole thing was her idea.

I'm trying to mentally masturbate about it,

but an image of you keeps popping into my head, and that's a problem.

No, see, if I do this... if we do this thing,

then all this guilt I've been carrying around for weeks...

the massive, crushing guilt... poof, that is gone.

I am absolved.

I know you Hebrews do things a little differently,

but last I checked, a ménage à trois was not a pit stop

on the road to redemption.

This could save the marriage.

So can buying a beach house.

Or you could try adopting an incredibly good-looking African baby.

I hear good things about that.

Speaking of...

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me. That cocksucker?

That cocksucker has the good taste

to want to option your blog for a nice chunk of change.

- So play nice. - How the fuck do you option a blog?

What is there to option? The title? The font?

Todd! Good to see you, man. Glad you could make it.

- Moody. - Carr.

I would stand, but that would expose my nether-regions to attack.

I got no beef with you, Moody. I'm here on business.

So I'm told by the Fredo Corleone of agents.

Although I can't for the life of me imagine what that business might be,

unless it's to discuss custody of our retarded love child.

Let the man talk, will you?

Todd here has a three-picture deal at Paramount.

He's looking to get his sack back with some seriously edgy material.

Well, I'm sorry, but my testicles are not available for time-share.

It told you this was a waste of my fucking time.

Do you know how much shit a guy like me had to take

for directing a frothy little romcom?

You think Antoine Fuqua returns my calls?

But I did it. I knocked that motherfucker into the cheap seats.

And I'm glad I did it. Do you know why?

Because it keeps the baby mamas in Juicy Couture?

No, hey, I'm not hating. I'm not judging.

- I got a little baby mama all my own. I do. - It's true. He does.

Hey, I'm sensing some common ground here. Do you remember Karen?

Yeah, she was way too fucking hot for this mope.

That's true. She is.

She also happens to be one fan-fucking-tastic architect.

Is someone looking to pimp out the McMansion in Baldwin Hills?

- I own a Ray fucking Kappe house. - Ray fucking Kappe, huh?

No shit. Guy has a hard-on for architecture bigger than Brad Pitt's.

Oh, colour me impressed.

What, a brother can't love modernism?

I like this. We're free-associating here.

This is nice. Lines of communication... wide open. Excellent.

Do you know why I wanted to work with you again, Moody?

When you're not wallowing in narcissistic despair,

you're the rarest thing this town has to offer...

Someone with some goddamn vision.

I thought it was cos you liked the feel of my balls on your knuckles.

Later, Runkle.

Well done, my friend.

I don't know. I feel like we bonded.

Who the fuck is answering my fucking phones if there's... oh.

- Oh. - Baby, where have you been?

I had a burst of inspiration.

- Come here, you. - Hello.

So I was talking to Dani here about our sexual problem.

- Our what? - She's totally in.

- Excuse me? - Her, me, you.

We had a little girl-to-girl chat on the subject,

and she agrees with me about the toolbox thing.

Oh, shit. I said "tool".

And "box".

OK, uh, Dani, could you give us just a second, please?

I believe my wife forgot to take her Librium this morning.

No problem, sir. So, um, hold all your calls?

Yes, Dani, hold all my calls.

Very good, sir.

Wife, have you lost your fucking mind?

This is perfect. It's exactly what we talked about.

Yeah, talked... as in hypothetical conversation.

- That's my fucking secretary! - So?

So, if it goes badly, I'll have to fire her.

Shit, if it goes well, I'd have to fire her.

Either way, I'm out one fucking secretary and up a giant lawsuit.

I thought you said she was God-awful?

They're all God-awful until you train them.

- Then they improve. - What, like dogs?

Come on. You're not gonna do this for me?

- I helped you out with your fantasy. - Yeah, badly.

Look, just...

Just pick someone else, that's all.

- Like who? - I don't know... somebody, anybody.

Someone from the salon or I... what about Karen?

The prim reaper?

She's so tall... and Presbyterian.

The woman's a goddess. She's gorgeous.

I don't want to go where Hank has been.

He probably left booby traps up there like the Viet Cong.

Come on, baby... Please?

I want the little one.

She looks like she knows things.

- Oh, my God. - You like?

Well, yeah, of course I like. It's a Ray Kappe house.

Ray fucking Kappe.

That's one of those guys from architecture school

that used to get you all juiced up.

I thought you'd like to see one all up close and personal.

Hank, can you get back in the car?

We're gonna get Tasered by the Bel Air patrol.

My lady.

What are you doing?

Just made a little deal with the caramel-coated devil.

Tasering... you like that?

Is that something you're into now?

- Oh, my God. - It's fucking gorgeous, huh?

Not a lot of closet space, though.

Hank never really got architecture as an art form.

Too much compromise involved, too many practicalities.

Dude would rather hang out all alone in his ivory tower, right?

Massaging those precious little words of his.

Like anyone gives a fuck if it's an "and" instead of "or".

You got me all wrong. I try to live in an ivory tower,

but a tide of shit is constantly beating at its walls.

Don't be impressed. He stole that from Flaubert.

Hey, Carr, if you don't mind my asking, how much a place like this set you back?

The feeling of real architecture... you can't put a price tag on that.

So you do mind.

Makes your heart soar, lifts your soul.

You know what I mean.

It's just incredible.

I think it was Ruskin that once said...

- "Oh, it was Ruskin". - Shut up.

"Without architecture, there would be no remembering".

- I like that. - Yeah.

- That's nice. - About four, five mill?

I'm so sorry.

Can I just say thank you so much?

It's always been a dream of mine to see inside this house.

I really appreciate your time.

It's gonna be even more slick

when I have a pool out here, a little guesthouse,

maybe a screening room.

Plus, I want the whole thing to be all eco-friendly.

Hank says you're some kind of genius at that.

No, I...

That's why I was really hoping you would take the job.

What job?

Did I forget to mention that Carr here is looking for an architect?

I think my work here is done.

Me?

What do you think?

Oh, my God!

Oh. I like that.

Want to jump my bones now

or hold out for a situation with a little more back support?

I did good, didn't I?

You did. Thank you so much.

I'm so excited.

Will you take me home so I can celebrate?

- I'm up for that. Let's hit El Pollo Loco. - No, no, no. I mean with Becca.

Her too. The crazy chicken does not discriminate.

- Oh, right, it's Wednesday night. - Yeah.

OK, well, I can celebrate some other time.

You will not stay home alone on the night of your big victory.

You'd swap nights with me?

Sadly, no, but I will repeat my original offer

that all three of us throw down the carbs together...

- man, woman, and child. - Hank, that's...

You wanted to celebrate. Come on.

- Not with you. - I want to celebrate with you.

- Invite me over. - No.

Invite me over. I will cook for you.

- Cook? You? - Yes.

I have my one dish.

- Not the cheese sensation. - Cheese sensation!

Yes, five different kinds of cheeses,

including cream cheese, the people's cheese.

Don't knock the haute cuisine of Long Island.

- It'll be like old times. - Yeah, but which ones?

The good ones, like when we lived on Charles Street, amongst the gays.

- You hated that place. - Yeah, but you loved it.

Just like you love fucked-up architecture like this

and David Hockney and gigantic fucking earrings

and the complete and utter cliché of driving west on Mulholland at sunset.

You think I don't know these things, but I do.

I'm in, aren't I?

Oh, I'm in.

How do I look?

Good. You look good.

You think she likes nuts?

Maybe we should offer her some mixed nuts?

I don't know.

What? You think she's allergic?

How the fuck should I know something like that? I don't know.

You work with people, these things come up in casual conversation.

"None for me, thanks. I have a nut allergy".

I'm sorry. We don't have that kind of relationship.

Really, I don't know very much about this girl.

Other than you think that she's fucking hot.

How am I supposed to respond to that?

What do you want me to say?

You want me to say, "I love you. This is fucking crazy. Let's not do this"?

Don't yell at me, asswipe! I am nervous enough as it is!

- Yeah, and isn't that a sign? - A sign of what?

That we shouldn't go through with this.

I mean, look what we have here.

This... this is pretty great, right?

How do we know we're gonna be the same afterwards?

The same? I thought the same was the problem.

What problem? There's no problem.

Do you want to get that, or should I?

Yeah? I'm gonna be there in like five...

Oh. Hello, Mia.

Yes. Oh, wow.

Wow. No, I'm sure you're in trouble.

That just... it sounds...

It sounds pretty tragic, actually.

Quite a story. Very familiar, too.

Oh, that's right. I heard it last week.

Ciao.

Where did you get that bra? That is so cute!

Sorry. My bad. Mood killer.

You're not gonna fist me or anything, are you?

Because I'm not sure if I'm ready for that.

- Marce! - What?

A little less talk might be nice.

Everybody's a fucking critic.

Hey, hey. Put me in, coach. I'll bring it home for you.

Do you think we should... I don't know...

include him somehow?

It's your fantasy.

Uh, hello?

I'm thinking.

I mean, shit, I can sleep with you any night of the week.

This is not how this is supposed to be.

It's a fantasy. It's not supposed to be at all.

- Hey. Thank God you're here. - Hey.

- OK, sweetie. I got to go. - Where you going?

Mia's in some fucked-up situation with her teacher.

She's kind of drunk or drugs... I don't even know.

Look, hey, I'm gonna come with you.

- It's not your problem. Stay with Becca. - I know, but you...

You don't know this guy. He's like a sex crime waiting to happen.

25 minutes at 300, OK? Throw that in the oven.

- Why are you going? - Because I have to.

No, you don't. It's just Mia.

Last I checked, you guys weren't blood-related.

- Right. - Your mother needs backup.

- No, I don't. - Yes, you do.

Can you stay with Becca? She's been waiting for you.

You can't handle this guy alone.

He doesn't look it, but he's dangerous.

I think he's dan... Just let me drive.

I'll drive you there. We'll go. We'll go together.

Here. Do with it what you will.

Or maybe you can dish it out but can't take it.

Is this gonna hurt? Cos this looks like it might hurt.

That's kind of the point, isn't it?

I mean, he's done some pretty bad things, this guy.

He deserves to be punished for them.

- Things like what? - You know, the usual.

Oh, man. I got to get my camera.

Motherfucker!

- Cocksucker! Shit! Fuck! - I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

- You're attached to the fucking chain! - OK! OK!

- I know! - Just don't move! Get it off your underwear!

Finally.

You guys got to get this fucking jailbait out of my house.

Mia, honey, it's me. It's Karen.

Hey, hey, wake up.

You know what? This isn't just alcohol. She's taken something.

- Come on, baby. - Mia. Mia. Hey. Mia, wake up.

- Mia. - Hank, you came.

- Yes. - What the fuck's she talking about?

You came?

I don't know. She's confused. Keep your eyes open.

Shit, look at me. Keep your eyes open.

- Sit up. - Animal, what'd you give her?

Do I look like I need some fucking date-rape drug?

It's Valium, for Christ's sakes.

The girl's got a goddamn Rite Aid in her purse.

- What? - How many did you take?

What? Five, four?

45? Four or five?

See? Nobody's gonna off themselves with four.

- OK. All right. - It's all an act.

You know how fucking popular this shit is with the young ladies?

- We're gonna take you home. - Do you think it's funny?

This is someone's child here, you asshole!

They trusted you! You are meant to be her teacher!

You think I wanted Sylvia Plath to come over here

and go all fucking Bell Jar on me?

- I'm the one getting manipulated here. - What?

She comes up to me after fucking debate practice...

Do you want me to smack you? Do you?

- Oh! - Oh, shit.

- I bet she feels a lot better now. - Oh, she did not just...

- Come on, honey. - Oh, I see two.

- Two what? - Two pills. Is that a third one there?

- I see sushi. Is that a pill? - What...

Let's get the fuck out of here.

Ah, shit, Moody!

Now I'm gonna fucking hurl.

Fuck!

Who's your primary care guy again?

How should I fucking know?

Jesus Christ, you think these people

are ever gonna get around to sewing me up?

I'm in considerable fucking pain here!

I'm sorry, OK? I said it a thousand times.

You know I'm bad with mechanical things.

Tell that to my missing nipple.

You took off, like, 12 layers of skin.

I'm sorry, nipple.

Now that I've maimed you, where am I gonna rest my head?

That was, like, my favourite spot.

Some fantasy, huh?

How the fuck did we end up here?

On some level, I think you wanted to punish me.

- I think you both wanted to punish me. - For what?

Shit, you know... everything. Husband stuff.

Not me, dickwad. Her. Why the fuck would she want to punish you?

She barely knows you. What the fuck does she care?

I'm her boss, OK? I make her do humiliating things all day.

You think she likes that?

What?

You leaned wrong.

I'm sorry.

She's an interesting girl, though, that one.

Fantastic ass.

How is she?

Oh, she's fine, she's gonna feel like seven different kinds of shit tomorrow.

You gonna tell Bill?

Well, yeah. I mean, I have to, right?

Wouldn't you want to know if your 16-year-old daughter

was hanging out with some creepy perv who's, like, twice her age?

The situation may not be exactly as it seems.

Oh, you've got to be kidding.

- You're on the side of the pervert, right? - Always.

Somebody's got to stand up for the creepy common man.

You know, that should be a lesson to you, Hank Moody.

To me? A lesson to me? Why?

Why did you point your finger at me?

I'm just kidding. It's OK.

You're a great dad. You have nothing to worry about.

I mean, that's the sexiest thing about you.

You want to say good night to Becca?

Please.

Go, then.

You know, you did need my backup tonight.

You might have killed that guy if I wasn't there.

- Dad? - Hey.

What are you listening to, there?

A little falling-asleep music?

Little Joni Mitchell, Blood On The Tracks?

Death Cab For Cutie.

Wow. You really know how to hurt a guy.

Hey, I know tonight

kind of got a little ruined.

It's OK. I'm used to it.

Yeah, well, I'll make it up to you, I swear.

- I know. - Do you?

Sure.

You never mean to let me down.

But you do.

Yeah, I guess I do.

You know, it's all well and good

to talk about happy endings...

But if a person can't deliver,

if he keeps screwing up,

well, eventually,

I guess you kind of just have to say, "fuck you".

Or words to that effect.

You can keep the change.