Previously...
- Why the vasectomy? - Hate the rubbers.
What happened back there could have happened to anybody.
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong vagina!
It's time I go have a little chat with our president.
That's it! Runkle is ankling!
Sure you don't want me to step outside?
I've had grosser dudes staring into the business end of my cooter.
Porn!
- Julian's a writer, too. - Really? My condolences.
What I write about is accessing the artist
that exists within every single one of us.
So, let me get this straight. Your name is Trixie,
and you are a whore?
- Lew Ashby. - Hank Moody.
The writer? I got this, book deal.
They want to write about why everything I touch turns to gold.
You write it.
Hey, great. You're up. I made some coffee.
Hey, Becca, let's go!
You know the house... The job that we're bidding on?
It's in the valley, so I thought I could just get Sonja to drop me
at Lew Ashby's house tonight, and maybe we could go
get dinner someplace in Hollywood.
- What do you think? - I'm listening.
- What, with your hands? - I'm like a blind man.
Some of us have jobs to go to, you know, responsibilities?
So do I, but I balance that shit.
I don't let the pressures of the workday world interfere
with my life as a sexual being.
I noticed. But I don't know if getting paid six-figure sums
to hang out with rock stars all day really constitutes work.
Of course it does.
Don't you want to send me off to the salt mines with a smile?
You're not giving up, right?
My god. That's...
That's the mailman. That's the wrong number.
It's Mia. She's here.
- Nobody's home! - Knock, knock, foster family.
Becca, come on.
You don't want to be late on your first day. You can sulk later.
- Did you have breakfast? - Did I mention I hate you?
Yes, you did. I know. I'm evil, but just get out here now. Please?
- You promise you won't make fun? - Yes.
We're kidding. No one's gonna make the fun.
I'm sure you never looked lovelier.
Parents who truly love their children make sacrifices to homeschool them.
Let's go. Come on. Get your stuff.
And, you... good luck today.
You too. Kick some architectural ass.
And may the force be with you, my preppy-goth princess.
And whatever you do, don't be another brick in the wall!
CALIFORNICATION
II, episode 15
The chorus is the verse.
What the fuck does that mean?
Work it out, grasshoppers.
- Smoke? - No, thanks. I quit.
So you just listened to that song one time?
I hear. I speak. I move on. That's my job.
Right. So you just operate on pure instinct?
What the fuck else is there?
Intellect, technique, somebody like Warren Zevon, for instance.
Warren Zevon could sit down and talk 12-tone theory with Stravinsky.
Half the cockbags that come through here barely play their instruments.
Yesterday the lead singer's girlfriend comes by with these cupcakes.
One of those fags in there pulls out this little knife, cuts one in half,
shares it with the other Johnny cupcake.
Elton John going down on George Michael in a public washroom:
Less gay.
It would've been more gay if he shoves a cupcake
up the other guy's ass and ate it, but thanks for putting that
in my head, because I love me some Elton John.
What are you...
- Get off of my ass. - Looks like we're just in time.
Take-out has arrived.
- How you doing? - Good.
- Hank Moody. - Beatrice Trixie.
You two know each other?
I seem to recall an exchange of currency, yes.
Cool. Then you take Trixie, I'll take Amber,
unless you want to go together? Swap midstream?
Catch you on the flip side.
Amber!
So... how's Trix?
Charlie Runkle from... Just Charlie Runkle.
Where? From planet Earth. That's where I'm calling from.
Meanwhile, how about we just get a lunch on... the books.
Nice.
I know you. How you doing? You don't remember me?
We met at my wife's salon. You were having your lady needs
tended to, and I was...
- Marcy's dude. - Yes. Charlie Runkle.
Daisy. That's right. So, the lovely daisy.
- Where are you off to this afternoon? - Just work.
Work? That's great. That means you scored a part.
You're not psyched.
These guys are just total amateurs, and I hate working for them.
I understand basic impulse to want to stick your dick in something.
I get that. I'm just not one of these chicks
that's down with objects.
You know, like bottles of booze, cellphones, and whatnot.
Toys, sure. Food... Maybe. Food's organic.
Some of it is. I mean, you got to read the labels.
But once you become that chick, you're in a box, right?
Forever and ever, you're the girl that sticks stuff up there.
I just didn't get into this business to become some kind of freak show.
No, that's why you got to stand up for yourself with those people.
You got to tell them what you just told me.
Like they want to hear that from some chick off the bus from Hicksville.
How are you gonna get what you want if you don't ask for it?
Let me talk to them for you.
- That sounds nice... - I'm gonna go with you to the set.
I'll put in a few well-chosen words.
- That sounds really great but... - What's up, sweetheart?
You and uncle Fester need a lift?
Mister, you've been really nice, but that's my ride, so I have to go.
Not so fast. Are you going to the set? I'll come with.
How you doing, pal? Okay, shove over, make room.
One real Hollywood agent at your service.
In case they don't want to do that, I've prepared a couple of options.
But, so we've got the safe approach, which is that.
And then we've got the more radical approach...
Honey... I think you're throwing Karen off. Jesus.
It's fine. I'm the one that's intruding.
I just wanted to check in with you before we meet the clients
and go through...
It's not really your forte, is it, selling yourself?
I'm not selling myself. I'm selling my works.
- Give me your wrist. - I don't really want to.
Go with it, okay? Trust me. The man knows his shit.
Of course, I just...
- Here's my wrist. - Thank you.
Close your eyes.
Don't be scared.
Good. Now, we all have this pressure point in our wrists right here,
that reduces nervousness.
Your heart is racing. Why is that?
Because you're feeling judged. The artist within feels threatened.
Under attack. Now, those are very primal emotions.
You don't have to be ashamed. Now, listen to me, Karen.
I'm here to tell you if you're operating from a place
of inner strength and conviction, anything is possible.
And no dream that you dare to dream can be beyond your grasp.
- Thank you. - Believe it.
This is totally uncool, Daisy. What the fuck?
- You had to bring your boyfriend? - He's not my boyfriend.
I'm just along for the ride, fellas.
- Where we shooting today anyway? - Do you know what a hassle this is?
- We're gonna have to fuzz him out. - Fuzz me out of what?
If you wanna ride the slam van, you gotta sign a release.
I'm sorry. "The slam van"? Fuzz me out of what?
I don't even understand what the problem is.
I'm catching a ride to the set.
I'm gonna say hello once to the director...
The set? This is the set. And I, hello, am the director.
You're the director? Charlie Runkle, UTK.
Or formerly UTK.
I'm not familiar with your work, per se.
But I think it safe to say we're both big fans of Daisy, here, right?
Yeah. You know what? I'd be an even bigger fan of Daisy
if she would start schlobbing some knob.
Daisy, can you hurry? We are losing daylight.
You know what? Fuck it.
We're just gonna put Popeye in this scene here anyway, man.
You be her daddy or something in this one.
Or maybe a creepy uncle, okay?
Daisy, you're going to get some ice cream.
Your car breaks down, shit like that. Let's just start sucking.
All right. On my go! And... action!
It was so cool of you to help me out like this.
I just wish there was some way I could thank you.
What the f...
Shit!
Daddy no likey.
Daisy, what are you do... Oh, geez!
Come on, little girl. Make Daddy proud.
Little girl, make Daddy proud. Okay, there you go.
See, it's your friend. It's your friend.
It's getting bigger and meaner. Fight back!
Then she jumped into the car, and we drove off into the sunset.
It was actually dark already. But you get the idea, huh?
Awesome. Good for you.
And we've been living happily ever after ever since.
- Pretty much. - "Pretty much"?
It's a long story, but... One night, I ended up
becoming the accidental oralist to this very naked, very young girl.
It's been a sticking point.
I don't know what it means, but it sounds bad.
- Do you want a tug job? - Is that with the foot?
- No, what? - A little hand release?
No, thanks. I'm not a big fan of hand work in general.
I don't think it would be appropriate given the story I just told you.
I was just asking. I am on the clock.
Record company's dime.
Not that you're not doing a great job on my toes.
I just thought I'd put it out there.
- It's hardly cheating. - I'm pretty sure it is.
Maybe you're right. Sometimes, my whore logic gets all fucked up.
But I can tell you that there's a lot of husbands and boyfriends out there
who would not file that under "cheating."
Call me an old fuddy-Duddy, but I think anytime the tumescent head
makes an appearance, it's cheating.
Is that good dirty talk? If I said to a client,
"You're so fucking tumescent now," would that be hot?
Makes my wiener feel a little weird, but that's just me. I like words.
- How come you never called me? - I was a little strapped for cash.
You could have called to ask me out on a proper date.
I did give you my card, didn't I?
I just figured you give it to all the fellas.
You got under my skin, Hank Moody. I just couldn't shake you off.
I'd be blowing some gross Persian dude at the Whore Seasons
and I'd be thinking, "I wonder how Hank's doing?"
Fuck, that's romantic.
- Are you guys gonna bang? - What's it to you, Bo Bice?
I was just thinking about how rad it would be
to bend you over that balcony and scream,
"I'm the king of the world!" as I'm about to pop?
How about in a bed with a condom?
- Whatever. - Sure about this?
All in a day's work.
- You want to watch for your book? - Thanks, but I'll pass.
Be good to the lady. Don't fuck up her toes.
You might not want to sit there.
Why? Have you got the herp or something?
- No... - Then I'm good.
Look, but seriously.
If you sit here, people are gonna think you're weird.
How unfortunate. And here I was planning to run for prom queen.
You're weird.
At least I'm not the only boy at an all-Girls school.
For your information, I don't actually go here.
I got suspended from my real school. Some bullshit I didn't even do.
And my mom was like, "there's no f'ing way
you're sitting on the couch all day, playing Guitar Hero."
- She's a teacher here. - English, I presume.
Mrs. Patterson.
- Do you have her or something? - 3rd period.
But Ethan Frome gave you away.
Right. She's making me read this entire stupid book.
Some sort of punishment.
- I'm sorry. I talk a lot. - You do.
And you forgot the most important part. Are you any good?
You know, Guitar Hero.
Man, I think I just found the keys to my chi.
How's Trix?
She was fantastic. She's a real dame.
We didn't do anything. We just hung out.
If I knew you were gonna hang out, talk about your feelings and shit,
I would've gone with Trixie. She's my favorite, my best. Gets me.
I know you reside in a different solar system and shit,
but in mine, I don't cheat on my girl.
Ladies and gentlemen, Hank Moody, debauched moralist.
Why don't you tell me more about your girl?
- What girl? - The one that got away.
With the house in Beverly Hills. Your Daisy Buchanan.
That's not cool calling back that shit. I was gorked.
I don't talk about it in broad daylight.
I'm writting your biography.
Might want to get comfortable talking about this in broad daylight.
This is it, Lew. No more of you and your white-trash lottery winners!
What's wrong?
That asshole got rough with me and he went way off the fucking menu!
- What'd he do? You all right? - Yes! Luckily, he's a quick comer.
I'm sorry. They're animals. They don't know any better.
Someone has to deal with the cleveland steamer
he left on your coffee table.
Really?
Consuela!
- You're a fucking prick! - Thank you.
- Show some respect. - To a fucking whore? Come on.
What are you doing, Moody?!
Slash traded me that Les Paul for an eightball! Fuck!
Get him!
I swear to God, I'll kill you!
Back to work, assholes.
We're making rock history here. Act accordingly.
Look how great your tits are! Celebrate them!
That's it, Daisy! Moan like it hurts a little.
Not like an operation.
More like a dentist visit. Come on, baby! Slam her, flex!
How long does this generally go on for,
these cinema vérité masterpieces of yours?
Asshole, shut the fuck up!
I'll mind my business. I'm just a passenger on the slam van.
Just along for the ride. Although I got to say, Daisy,
I'm a little bit surprised to see you like this.
You knew I did porn.
I did but the girl I met back at hot lips
had bigger plans for herself. She had goals, she had dreams,
she had ambition. She did not, and I quote,
"Want to end up the ass-licker."
I'm not. You see any other girls in this van?
I'm the star of this production.
This production is one notch above snuff film.
Easy, brother. Two more payments, and I own this van.
Did you negotiate before you got on this van?
Did you lay clear rules for what you will and will not do?
Then how you gonna get respect, get paid accordingly?
What's the industry standard? Double for anal?
We're shooting in a van.
Does fairness not exist in a van?
Just because we're not on a sound stage does this young lady
not deserve the same dignity,
as someone on a sitcom or a broadway play?
Mr. Runkle, it's fine, really.
No, Daisy, it is not fine. There's a limit to how much
someone can get fucked in the ass without getting paid for it.
And you, young lady, today, have reached that limit!
That's it! Bigs, stop the van!
Ovitz! Hit the bricks!
- Get the fuck out! - With pleasure!
- Daisy? - I'm good.
Little girl, you're going too, sweetheart.
- Go make your dreams come true. - I didn't do anything!
She's real scared of you. Al Goldstein, talent runs this town!
See you at the Oscars, pal.
Let's go! Let's just shoot it solo, baby.
You left your shirt. No problem.
- Here you go. - Thank you.
Looks good.
Where the fuck are we?
It's basic instinct, really.
When I see a girl in trouble, I react. I don't think. I just do.
Hank Moody, my hero.
Just say the word if you want to be properly rewarded.
- My treat, of course. - Seriously, you'd comp him?
Sure. I've sampled the merchandise. I know it's fresh.
I remember you telling me that you never came that hard with a John.
I thought it was a line, but as you walked away,
your knees were wobbly, so I thought, "maybe, yeah..."
Slow down. Are you saying he's fucking better than me?
Fucking better at the fucking. That's what she's getting at.
That is not what I'm getting at.
A stupid question. Are the Stones better than the Beatles?
- Fucking A they are. - I must agree with the man.
There's only one way to settle this.
- We both have to have her. - We both have had her.
- Now. Right here. - No. Trixie, you know I'm a fan.
- You got mad skills and all... - Whip it out, Moody!
One girl, two cocks... Ultimate showdown.
So tempting. I'm still gonna have to pass.
- What's that word again? Pussy. - Thank you.
But any scenario involving two cocks I'm not down with.
Unless they're my own.
Don't you sometimes wish you had two cocks? I know I do.
I guess not.
For the sake of business, that prick should think
I'm kicking your ass. Feel free to fight back anytime.
- What's going on? - Typical male-ego bullshit.
I've had both of them, but what they seem to forget
is that they both paid for the sex. It is my job to make them feel good.
Though I must say that the brown-haired one, Hank,
he's pretty damn good in the sack department.
- Have we met? - No.
- I'm Trixie. - Karen.
- You're Karen. Hank's Karen. - That's right.
You jumped in the car! Happily ever after. That's awesome!
- Good for you! - Thanks.
Sweetie!
- Hey, did you get the job? - Yeah.
Fantastic.
So, you want to get something to eat?
Moroccan? Ethiopian?
Italian. Indian!
Hey, sweetie.
Are you tucking me in or avoiding mom?
I can't do two things at once?
- Was it worth it? - What?
Whatever you did to piss her off.
- How was school? - Fine.
Already your vocabulary has decreased.
I met someone with frontal-lobe capacity.
- Name? - Damien.
They have girls named Damien now?
We're IMing as we speak.
Not anymore, honey. T.T.Y.L., Damien. T.T.Y.L.
I hurt you.
- My God, you reek of cigarettes. - But they're not my cigarettes.
Hank... What are you doing?
I am charming you into our first Post-Snip,
safe/unsafe romance explosion.
- Are you as excited as I am? - No.
No? That's it? No?
Nothing about you is really turning me on right now.
There's always angry sex.
- You actually think this is funny? - It's a little funny...
You think sleeping with prostitutes is fucking funny?
One prostitute. I didn't know she was a prostitute until after.
Until after you paid her to have sex with you?
- Charlie paid for the sex. - That's disgusting.
But you met her. She was nice. She didn't seem like a prostitute.
I have no idea, Hank. You're the expert. You tell me.
Is there like a group-discount thing?
Do you have a little punch card that you use?
One time. I was lonely. She was nice.
I don't think it's any worse than buying somebody a drink.
It's more honest. There's no bullshit element of seduction.
- What right does the government... - Shut up.
Don't give me one of your fucking bullshit lectures
on libertarianism right now!
That makes me kind of sad, because you used to love
my shitty lectures on libertarianism.
- You're still joking. - We weren't together.
I'm not gonna be held accountable for those sins.
You're not accountable for any of it.
"I accidentally went down on her. Not my fault."
"Officer, you know, that cop, he provoked me."
Hank, you always have some fucking excuse!
And I'm just meant to stand here and accept it
over and over again and I'm sick of it!
Fuck, Karen, you wanna be mad about that shit? Then go ahead.
But don't give me some bullshit about how you forgive me
and then dredge up shit from the past I can't possibly fix!
That's not forgiveness! That's not giving it another shot!
I'm not talking about the past. I'm talking about right now.
I'm talking about trying to make this work, Hank!
How am I different from this morning? What's changed?
Yeah, nothing's changed. You're right.
That's the fucking problem.
The fucking problem is that I won't sit here
and be crucified for shit that I did while we were apart.
- Did I fuck half of Venice? Yes. - I don't need to hear that.
Not really, but for the sake of this argument, yes.
But I didn't move in with any of them.
I didn't set up house with Becca and the fucking dial tone.
Now, who's crucifying who?
That's not very forgiving, Hank, is it?
It's not very nice. I fucking hate you!
Subtitling MONICA REU
CALIFORNICATION II, episode 15