Previously...
-This better not be an intervention. -Gotta get your ass to rehab.
Why are you wasting our time? Maybe you're just an asshole.
Your friend Charlie said you drank your own urine.
-Hank Moody! -Is that Atticus Fetch?
Let's make a masterpiece. What do you say?
Are you high?
It was such an opportunity, I didn't want to miss out.
-When can you start? -I have the job?
What do you do in the real world?
I traverse the globe with musicians.
-You're a groupie. -I prefer "muse."
I woke up with the most gifted guitar player, but he was dead.
Wanna get high?
Could I stand to lose a few pounds?
I'm a big boy, I get it, but addicted to food?
That's just gay. Gay, man. No offense, but it's gay.
I eat 'cause I like the taste.
If I didn't like the taste of it, I wouldn't eat it.
You know what I'm talkin' about, sweetheart, right?
Wasn't a trip to the emergency room what brought you here?
-Severe chest pains? -Bullshit.
That was a panic attack, not a heart attack.
A panic attack brought on by that shrill voice of that mother of mine.
"You're too fat. You're gonna die".
"You're too fat to do anything, to work the snowblower."
Fuck her. She's the reason I'm in here.
They took an EKG on me. I got the heart of a teenager.
A morbidly obese teenager.
Don't be so sensitive.
Faith? Do you know what time it is?
It's time to get real. Share with us.
As many of you know...
the other day I woke up next to a guy
I was pretty fucking fond of and he was dead.
So tears were shed,
boos were fuckin' hoo'd, and it sucks to be me.
And that led to the drugs and alcohol.
No, not really.
Been on pretty good terms with drugs and alcohol.
Preach on, sister.
I think you need to go and say good-bye to this man.
Too late. Funeral's happening as we speak.
Then you should be there.
That would be a pretty serious breach of groupie etiquette.
Not healing thyself, that's a serious breach of human etiquette.
Bibles of truth, Gabe. As-salaam alaikum, my brother!
"As-alaika mala." I'm sorry.
You should go, Faith. Pay your respects. Say good-bye.
Weight will lift off your chest and you will be able to soar again.
That's all well and good,
but I can't just show up there all alone.
The chick who rolls up solo to a funeral
is usually the one who was fucking the dead guy.
I'll be your date, any time. Here's the thing, though,
can we stop by an In-N-Out Burger on the way?
-Hank? -Yes, Gabe?
You should go with Faith.
I would totally love to, but, funerals kinda bum me out.
I think it would be a good test for you
to go out into the real world, see if you can stay sober.
-I don't see why I would. -I think you should try.
You just want me out of your hair for the day, is that right?
-Yes. -That shit is cold. I'm just sayin'.
A field trip does sound kinda good to me right about now.
Can I bring anything back for you damaged fuckers?
Some coke? Some heroin? Some, pink dot?
Get me some bon bons or a double dog,
and don't tease me, pretty boy. I'll fuckin' lay you out.
CALIFORNICATION Season VI, episode 63
Nothing.
Man-on-man sex is intriguing, yes, but not arousing.
That's very interesting.
It's okay, Charlie.
It was bound to happen sooner or later, buddy.
I support you. In fact, I am proud of you.
No, Hank! I was testing myself,
'cause I'm in a pickle, a big, gay pickle.
I'm sure it is, my bald bromosexual,
I support you no matter how many dudes you plow.
-I gotta grab a suit. -What are you doing out of rehab?
-I got a funeral. -What? Who died?
-A guy I was seeing. -Faith, Charlie.
Charlie is my bald, gay agent.
Lovely to meet you, Faith. I'm sorry for your loss.
I'm not gay. Is there anything I can do?
No. Thank you, Charlie. That's very sweet.
It's true what they say. Gay men are more sensitive.
-Gonna need the Porsche too. -I've got a big, gay meeting today.
I believe funeral trumps big, gay Hollywood meeting.
-Depends whose funeral. -Dead rock star.
-Okay, yeah. Sorry. Take the car. -Thanks, Charlie.
Now you can get back to your gay porn.
-Is Krull around? -Depends. Are you on the list?
Most definitely not, my good sir, but,
Krull, the tour manager should be around here somewhere.
Maybe I can vouch for you.
Maybe we can make this whole thing beneficial for both of us.
I want to get it in, you want in, how bad you want it?
Really? At a funeral? Have you no shame?
Are we gonna go behind a tombstone?
You believe this guy?
I'm not gonna suck his dick to get you in there.
Blowjobs open a lot of doors.
Move it along, groupie, and take him with you.
You watch your tongue. This is Faith. All right?
Have a look and grasp the cosmic importance
of this lovely, young lady.
Without her there'd be no rock and roll. Get it?
Got it? Good, now, fuck off, fatty.
Krull, come here. Thank you, you're the best.
Anything for you, love. Who's the civilian?
Krull, Hank.
Krull. Right on. Good to meet you.
One dead rock star,
now we're dating geezers from the real world?
Does he look like he's from the real world?
And do I look like I date? He's a friend.
Frenemy, really.
What are you doing here? You're not playing nice.
I came to pay my respects.
I love you, babe, I really do, but you know what I mean?
It's inappropriate, you bein' here. It's his old lady.
I'll be in and out. No monkey business, I promise.
-Don't make me beg. -You promise.
Scout's honor.
All right. Kruller, comin' through.
-Not you, pal. -All right, no plus one.
Hello. Kiss on the head.
I don't know how I feel about my new agent showing up in a cab.
The Porsche is in the shop.
Charlie's gonna get a big raise. He'll afford a second car.
I'm getting a raise?
Partners talked about it. You're goin' places, Dorothy.
-Charlie, I got a question for you. -What's that?
How many dicks have you sucked today?
Sadly, it has been a dick-free day thus far.
Doesn't have to be that way. Have you tried Grindr?
-I don't believe I have. -You'd know.
It's an app. Here, give me your phone.
It uses your GPS.
Anywhere you are, you can find a guy who's ready to fuck.
Steve Jobs. Respect.
There you go. You're all set. You're the "Bald Bear."
Great.
You're clean, you're sober, let's get you back in the game!
Let's remind this town how fucking good you really are.
I got three scripts here. Any one would be a killer move.
This one, a remake of "Cruising".
-That's an interesting idea. -It's a fucking hot idea.
-Script gave me a raging boner. -Me too.
There you go. Your first dick of the day.
-What? -Go for it. You deserve it.
No. I'm good. I just beat off this morning.
Should carry me right through lunch.
Would you rather beat off or get your dick sucked
by a 21-year-old who just skipped out of crunch?
-I see your point. -Charlie, I insist.
The client insists, Charlie. Go get your dick sucked by a stranger.
Miss you, broheme.
I got the feeling this is the kind of shindig you would dig.
Howdy.
Howdy yourself. I'm the widow.
Shitness. My condolies, and whatnot. I'm Hank.
-How do you know my husband? -I didn't.
I'm here with a friend, and visiting with another friend.
You you know what the weird thing is, Frank?
-My husband's dead and I'm numb. -It's not so weird.
I just want to feel something, you know? Anything.
I'm going through a similar thing right now.
Shut up!
You'll do.
Have you got a few minutes, Frank?
'Cause I'd really love to gob your knob.
Anything in your time of need.
Look at this. Hello.
Brilliant.
Could you give us a few minutes here?
What the fuck, dude? All right, it's your field trip too.
It was very nice to meet you... And I'm so sorry for your loss.
Not as sorry as I am, my love.
Apparently, he is not as sorry as I am.
You.
-Me? -You look familiar.
-I don't believe we've met. -No, I don't believe we have.
-You were on the road with him? -You mean Big Dave in lighting?
Yeah, Bingo Starr.
Gimme a break. You're way too hot for the lighting guy.
-Thank you. -I remember you.
The record company threw some kind of a party.
Was it Greenville?
Maybe, I don't remember, but you were sort of hangin' around.
There was too much eye contact between the two of you.
I really don't know what you're talking about.
He was never gonna leave me. Ever.
Wasn't gonna write a song about you, either.
Is that what he told you? That he wrote a song about you?
How cute!
What was that ballad from the jazz record, Frank? Help me.
-I never listen to a... -What was it? "Faith"?
I bet you think that song's about you, don't you?
Guess I'm just that vain.
Faith!
It's all just rock and roll, right?
You think I give a fuck about all his road whores?
-I'm the one he came home to. -Thought they had an understanding.
I may not be a nun, but I'm no whore.
Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.
And by the way, our bulldog's named Faith.
All things considered, that could've gone a lot worse.
The last thing I wanted to do was upset her.
Just seeing him all laid out like that, it's just too much.
He even had on his necklace. His cross.
It was my favorite, and he knew it.
He gave it to me the night before he died.
I got rushed out of there, and now it's gone forever.
That's the problem with this open casket shit.
In what universe is seeing a dead person a good thing?
Shit's fucked up.
-Let's just get out of here. -Back to rehab, really?
I need a drink, maybe ten. Then back to rehab.
Hold on.
-What are you doing? -Something idiotic, I'm sure.
If I'm not back in ten minutes, blow someone to find me.
Right on, bald bear. Let's do this.
Hold on a second.
I have a confession to make. I'm not really a homosexual man.
You wanna play this straight? That's your game?
I just wanna get my dick sucked.
As you should. I totally understand, and you're entitled.
I'm pro-gay. I'm pro-sexuality in any form,
and I admire the way you are using technology to get your rocks off,
but me, myself, I'm not gay.
I got myself in the middle of a huge misunderstanding.
-"Misunderstanding." -Don't do that.
I led a prospective client to believe I was gay,
that's what he was looking for in an agent.
He wanted a "gaygent."
You're pretending to be gay for career advancement?
That's really offensive, dude. Robbie Mac is a brave man.
He's one of the first fully-out movie stars.
I know. He's incredible. A real trailblazer.
What if I marched out there and told him what you told me?
What if I paid you not to?
Forgive me, father, I am about to purloin some shit off a dead man.
What do you think you're doing?
I'm paying respects to a fallen hero.
-You kissed him. -I was overcome with emotion.
He was my best friend.
If anyone's gonna plant lips on him, it should be me, or his wife.
-It was a miscalculation. -Wait a second.
You're that cheeky fucker who threw up all over my baby grand
and ruined my cocaine, the writer.
Who's not a fan of mine. What are you doing here?
I'm a big fan.
So you're a fan of his, but not of mine?
He's a brilliant guitar player.
And I'm not brilliant in my own regard?
You have any idea how hard it is to be a front man?
To entertain millions of working-class citizens
and reinvent myself and maintain my beautiful...
-Everything okay? -Yeah, it's peachy.
This arrogant wanker is trying to bugger our dead friend.
Maybe we should bugger him.
This is really my fault. He was trying to get my necklace back.
-You're stealing from a dead man? -Technically, yes...
Tony gave it to me. It's the only thing he ever gave me.
Faith, you need to hit the road.
-Wait a second. This is Faith? -Yes.
A pleasure to meet you. Tony talked about you all the time.
He said you had an uncanny ability to suck killer riffs out of him.
What the fuck is this skank still doing here?
-I was just leaving. -Good! No, he can stay.
She should probably stay too.
If she insists on staying,
then I insist on kicking her in the fucking cunt!
I'll kill you!
My hair! Stop it!
Come on, it's time. It's time.
Hello, Los Angeles!
If you're seeing me in this holographic form,
I must be dead, which sucks for me,
but I don't want any of you feeling sorry for me.
I've had a great fucking life. I want to thank you all
for coming out to celebrate my untimely demise.
I leave you with this...
Come here, baby.
I'm sorry I was such a bitch.
No, God, I'm so sorry I fucked your husband.
-It's rock and roll, right? -Yeah.
It's not the dope talking, but I still dig your writing, man.
Thank you. Yeah, thanks.
Check out my earlier stuff. There's some good shit there.
Before everything got so fucking polished.
Fucking pro tools.
That dead man there was my best friend.
We met when we were five years old.
We used to go around to his mum and dad's after school
and wear out their copy of "Exile On Main Street".
One day he showed me his penis.
It was alarmingly big for a five-year-old.
He told me when he grew up he wanted to be a rock star,
and bugger me if he didn't grow up and do just that.
Before we put that fucker in the ground,
I'd like to play you one of his favorite songs.
After that, you're all invited back to my place.
We'll consume narcotics, and listen to "Exile" and...
get our penises out in honor of our fallen comrade.
You don't seem as fucked-up as everybody else here.
I was tempted to partake,
the kind of night where you need to feel everything.
Even if it hurts so bad you want to tear your skin off.
I hear that, pretty lady. Shit, I almost forgot.
This means so much. Thank you.
-Thank you. -So what now? Back to rehab?
Yeah. Just to pick up my stuff.
It's time to come back to life. Road beckons.
-Another project awaits. -Really? Project?
Yeah. They're my projects.
I see a spark, a flash of true genius and I have to help.
I want them to be the very best they can be.
You sound like quite the patron of the arts.
It's what I do.
-How 'bout yourself? -What about me?
What's next?
I should write something. Sit my ass in a chair.
-The chair beckons. -Good for you.
-Right, 'cause it's just that easy. -Have a little faith, Hank.
Hank Moody, get up off your ass and come with me.
I'll play the greatest song written in the history of the universe.
We shall snort cocaine
and have our assholes tongued by the angels.
Okay, hi.
Good morning, gorgeous.
-Yes, please. I'd love some. -Some what?
Some of your delicious girl scout cookies.
No, I'm not that. I'm here to see Natalie.
Natalie. Natalie's my wife.
Natalie took the children to school. She said, "Let the new designer in."
That's me.
What Natalie failed to say
is how absolutely smokingly gorgeous you are.
-I'm gonna go, and... -You're gonna come in.
I'm interested in what your plans are
for the interior of my home.
-Could you put some clothes on? -Why?
This is the way the baby Jesus made me.
That's nice.
I'm joking. Come on, I'll dig up some trousers.
Are you a fan of mine? As I am of yours?
I don't know.
-You attached? -Excuse me?
Are you spoken for? Do you have a lover?
Or many lovers?
There are no wrong answers here, only arousing ones.
-You know that fucker? -I know this fucker.
This fucker is supposed to be in rehab right now.
That fucker was a million miles away from rehab last night.
We shared an eight ball, among other things.
We spoke of hopes and dreams, of what the world needs now.
I played him a song inspired by his "Magnus Opum",
a song about the healing power of sex and love and rock and roll.
He said it sounded like a pit bull raping a small, deaf child.
I don't think he meant it as a compliment!
No, he can be a tough critic that way.
Stop kicking me.
-Karen, what the fuck? -You stole my line.
No, then it must be a sign.
It appears that I've had a relapse of some sort.
I've been tested and found severely lacking,
and I should probably go back to rehab posthaste.
You can give me a ride? Probably get myself...
Maybe just a few more winks. I was having the nicest dream.
I was on a beach somewhere with you and God was marrying us,
and you turned into a mermaid, and I couldn't find your vagina,
your hair was covering your breasts, and then someone was kicking me.
It's cocaine-induced dementia, there's nothing to worry about.
He just needs his beauty sleep. Would you like to hear a song
that I penned about the problems in the Sudan?
I'd appreciate your take.
END OF EPISODE 63