Previously...
It's time you stopped this business and went back to school.
I'm not doing that.
There's a lot more to being an artist than altering your consciousness.
-That's why I'm writing. -How many pages?
-300. -I hate you.
Get me the guy who wrote the book.
-Do what? -God hates us. I loved it.
They're turning it into a Broadway musical.
You write the script, I write the music and lyrics.
Congratulations. You have made it to the next round.
I'll give you one of daddy's long, slow tongue baths.
Men are the enemy.
I advocate the use of a cock cage.
Ophelia's gonna be so pissed at me.
This is the first thing to cross your mind?
-So how was the fun zone? -There was this one mom...
-Did you do something with her? -No!
I'd know that bent chode anywhere.
-Is that what I think it is? -Sure is.
-Would you mind taking a look? -Of course. I'd be honored.
-What are you doing? -Studying your face. For the truth.
-You hate it. -That's not true.
I can see it on your face.
I could be hating on a million other things right now.
Thanks.
Is it perfect? No, it's not, but first drafts rarely are.
So what are your notes?
I would take this draft, and I would put it in a drawer.
It doesn't have to be real, it could be a virtual drawer,
and then go out tonight and celebrate its birth.
Hoist an alcoholic beverage or two.
I will join you. And then, in the morning,
you shut that drawer and forget about it.
And then you start on the next one.
-The next one? -Yeah.
-What kind of note is that? -A big one?
-So it's a disaster. -No, not at all.
You don't even think I'm a writer, do you?
I think you're a writer if you keep on writing.
Am I a writer?
When I saw you read your pages here, I was proud of you.
-You saw me? -I snuck in and out again unseen.
-I asked you not to come. -But you didn't mean it.
Yes, I did.
Aren't you touched that I cared enough to disobey your wishes?
Thanks for the destructive criticism, Dad.
To be continued, sweetheart. One page at a time.
I'm an asshole.
CALIFORNICATION Season IV, episode 8
Hi, Charlie.
How come you haven't been returning my calls, my texts?
I took a major step backward, and I disrespected my sheness.
Your what? I don't... Your "sheness"?
I don't know what the fuck that is.
Is this about the Housewife Hannah thing?
I'm sorry, but you've been to the fun zone.
If somebody offered you an ice cream cone in hell, wouldn't you take it?
You know you would. You know what I'm saying?
-His pictures don't do him justice. -Thank you.
-What a worm. -I'm sorry?
You should be, you creep.
Who is she, and why is she being so mean to me?
-This is Ophelia Robins. -This is Ophelia, the author.
Congratulations. You've created a cult for yourself with those books.
Charlie Runkle, formerly of UTK. Very nice to meet you.
How dare you offer me that diseased appendage?
She's very hostile.
-I can't see you anymore. -Why?
You've disrespected this woman time and time again.
You've had your chance. You blew it. Go away.
You have no business telling me what to do.
How dare you raise your voice to me?
You're one of those guys who likes to raise his hand to women too.
No! Unless she wants it. There are some women
who sometimes want to be a little light slapping.
Some even like to have their breasts slapped...
God, he's more of a monster than I ever imagined.
Even you asked one time. You asked me to! Marcy!
I'll call you.
Jesus! I have to schedule the deprogramming.
How's the next Broadway smash coming?
-Whiskey, weed, and Zevon time? -Almost. Hold your bald horses.
Stu and Atticus were expecting a draft weeks ago.
I'm aware, but I've been busy putting 'em off.
-You're not helping. -Sorry. Jeez.
-How do you feel about it? -How the fuck should I know?
You write a few pages, and then somebody breaks into song,
and I don't have to worry about that part.
-Winning! -I love musicals.
-Since when? -"Guys and Dolls" in high-school.
I fingered a girl for the first time at the opening night party.
She was incredibly dry. I think I was hurting her.
She cried.
Nothing like a sweet, little Chuck Runkle coming-of-age story.
Done. Hit it!
-Where's my weed? -We're out.
You can't have whiskey, weed, and Warren Zevon without the weed.
I'll pick some up on the way back.
I'm making copies, and I'm hand delivering to Atticus and Stu.
That's the kind of simple-minded lackey you are.
Karen is here, and she does not look happy.
What else is new?
Peace out, bitches.
-What did you say to her? -What did she say I said?
It was a piece of shit, she should throw it out and start again.
That is not what I said... Exactly.
Why would you be so blunt? Why do you want to hurt her feelings?
She ambushed me. And she does need to throw that out and start again.
It's a good lesson for a young scribe.
She's way ahead of where I was at that age.
So did you tell her that?
She stormed off into a silent treatment. Just like her mom.
-Very effective. Works every time. -You don't know how to talk to her.
I know how to talk to my own daughter.
If you did, she wouldn't be so depressed.
She's talking about going to law school.
-Really? Awesome. -That's awesome?
If I can talk her out of being a writer, she shouldn't be a writer.
Because there's only room for one writer in this family?
-You called us a family. -Shut up.
People who aren't writers should not be writers.
How you can be so harsh and so mean to someone you love?
You could save that for when you have to go back to teaching.
Who's being mean and harsh? Storm off into silent treatment!
Must be me.
Have you met this Ophelia character?
-She is a fruitcake. -I know. She slapped me.
You think that's bad? She had me in a fucking cock cage.
-What is a cock cage? -It traps your penis in its flaccid...
You haven't said anything about the script. Have you even read it?
-I have. -What'd you think?
It... was... very you.
-What the fuck does that mean? -It's a little dark.
-That's what you hired me for. -It's a Broadway musical.
It's a rock opera, it's true to the book, which is what Atticus wanted.
Thank you for coming. I have to go in a moment.
I'm flying to London to sit down with Eddie Nero and sir Bob Geldoff.
We're talking about doing this global relief concert thing.
Speaking of relief, this is a fucking disaster.
-What? -It's shit, Hank.
It's a fucking shambles. It's bollocks.
I agree. Hank, I'm sorry. It needs work.
We're really gonna have to roll up our sleeves on this one.
It's a rock opera with the tone of my book.
-That's what you wanted. -I don't even like the book.
You said you loved it. On your flying whorehouse?
I remember, but when I said that, I hadn't read it.
-So you lied? -I liked the title.
Titles mean a lot to me,
but when I got around to reading the book, it's so depressing.
It's like it's Dickensian but not in a good way.
The working classes want to leave a Broadway theater
feeling the way they feel when they leave one of my concerts.
Happy, uplifted, inspired, preferably a little bit horny.
That's very funny 'cause I'm not feeling very horny.
Just homicidal maybe.
We're gonna need you to burn this draft, forget all about it.
Chalk it up to a creative miscarriage.
But when you get up tomorrow, you take a fresh page,
you put it in your typer, and you start a new one,
one that hues closer to the tone of the movie.
Can you do that?
Aaron Sorkin has expressed interest in working with Atticus.
-I hear he's quite good. -He's the best in the business.
-And a big admirer of your work. -As I am of his.
This is bullshit.
-You know why? -Why?
Because you can't handle the truth!
That's so good!
Hank'll be able to pull a decent draft out of his ass?
Sure. It's his process, Stu.
He brings in something underwhelming, and then he knocks it out of the park.
And when has he ever done that exactly?
Enough about Hank. I got a confession to make.
I know you are broke. I'm not going to lend you any money.
-Don't be a beggar. It's unbecoming. -I don't want your money.
Okay. Cool. What is it then?
-I slept with Marcy the other night. -You did? You fucking dog.
Now I am jealous. Good for you, bro. Up high.
-I'm still in love with her. -Me too.
So what are we gonna do?
I am prepared to write you a check right this very instant.
What? You said you would never give me...
I'll not lend you a dime, but I'll pay you not to pursue Marcy any longer.
So how much you want? Give me a number.
I don't want your... How much are you willing to pay?
I would sign over my entire fortune
if it meant I could have that firecracker back in my life.
Seriously? This is crazy, Stu.
It ain't over till it's over. May the best man win,
and by "best" I mean the richest and the most well-hung.
How do you propose we get past this Ophelia broad?
-We could have her killed. -You think?
It's a matter of money. Now I don't know a guy,
but I probably know a guy who knows a guy.
Solid plan, but perhaps a little extreme.
-Maybe we talk to Marcy first. -You're right.
And if I know my favorite pint-sized stoner chick,
I bet she is running low on weed.
Hank Moody! Long time no see.
-He's been working. -Good to hear.
You had a lot to do with it.
After our weekend in New York,
I banged out a draft of that thing I'm doing with Atticus.
It's what I do. How'd it go?
I like it. Others, not so much.
They're calling it a creative miscarriage.
God, no. That is no way to talk about our love baby.
It isn't. And I wanted to ask you if you might give me your notes.
I don't know if you muse types do that, but I'd appreciate it.
Of course I do that. But only if you can handle the truth.
-No, don't use that phrase. -Okay.
All right. Yeah. Grab a drink. I'll read it.
-Take a swim. -That that sounds pretty relaxing.
Or... We could have sex. You seem a little mopey.
Baby! Poor you!
Maybe we should combine the two.
-Where is it? Hand it over. -Sit. Marcy, please.
I just want you to give me my weed,
so I can go home and smoke it.
Sit down, Marcy. Just hear us out.
I knew that this was a fucking setup!
-We are worried about you. -Ophelia has you acting loopy.
I know she comes off a little intense...
But her heart is in the right place, and she speaks the fucking truth.
Marcy, the woman put me in a cock cage.
You deserved it, Stu. You betrayed our love.
I did, and I will forever be sorry,
but at what point can I take the damn thing off?
-You're still wearing it? -Yes.
I'm trying to prove that I'm deserving her love.
-Doesn't it hurt? -It's excruciating!
Do you have the key?
Only Ophelia has it, and she's the one who decides when it comes off.
This is ridiculous.
-I'm still in love with you. -I'm still in love with you.
Yes, but we have a child together.
I am far more capable of taking care of you, financially and sexually,
and I know what you are thinking at all times.
Look at that pool table over there. I know you are thinking,
"Maybe we could play Jodie Foster in The Accused."
We had such fun together. Our bedroom games were delightful.
See, there you go. I find that revolting.
But it proves that you're still in there somewhere.
-I'm going. -Stay, Marcy!
One drink. Just hear a couple brothers out.
Some appletini to start?
What do you think? You hate it. I can tell you hate it.
-I don't hate it. -And that bums me out.
You could have pool sex with me again, and I'll maybe feel better.
-What do you think? -What do I think?
It's very dark.
Dark. Funny.
And I do really get what you're trying to do as far as...
You're doing something really different with it.
But...
It doesn't have any heart.
And if there is one thing that I know about you,
it's that you have a huge... heart.
I think that maybe you were posturing a little bit.
You were trying to show that you are not gonna write
some fluffy Broadway musical.
And I think, in the process of doing that,
maybe you forgot that it's still a story of boy meets girl.
It's simple.
-I think I get that. I get it. -Anyone can be cynical, Hank.
Dare to be an optimist.
You know it's all just a big can of karmic whoop-ass anyway.
'Cause my daughter, she just wrote her first novel,
and I was really fucking hard on her.
You have to be really gentle with those little girls.
God, my parents, they hit me pretty hard once upon a time.
-I'm still smarting. -What happened?
Do you know Big Yellow Taxi? By Joni Mitchell?
No, I don't know any Joni Mitchell songs.
What self-respecting guy knows any?
I played that song at this stupid, little church social.
I was obsessed with Joni Mitchell when I was a teenager.
I wanted to be a lady of the Canyon.
-Me too. -We have so much in common.
And so I got together with this cute boy who played the guitar,
and we practiced every day after school.
And finally, the big day came,
and we played our little hearts out,
and, you know, he forgot a few chords,
and I forgot a few words, and my voice cracked and...
But people clapped. And I was so thrilled.
They kind of loved us.
And I went looking for my parents,
and all my mom had to say was that I looked like a slut.
And my father said: "Don't quit your day job, kid."
Nice, huh?
The whole thing was not a bust, however.
I lost my virginity to that cute guitarist.
I think it's becoming a pattern.
Take that, bitches.
-Marcy! -My!
I'm so disappointed in you. I'm not surprised.
The road to sheness is long, and it's paved with potholes.
That makes no sense.
You don't pave with potholes. You pave over potholes.
It makes sense. It's in my third book, Menis to Society.
-M-e-n-i-s. -Catchy title. And subtle.
And what have you written that's changed lives, little simian?
-Let's go. I'll drive you home. -Wait one second, Ophelia.
How did you even know where I was just now?
I tracked your iPhone.
Okay, that's just... what? That's so fucking weird.
I've seen you check your email several times,
and I happen to be very good at recognizing keystrokes.
And your password is distinctive and disgusting,
that's when I really realized that we had a problem
that was just much bigger than I ever imagined.
You're kidding. It's not still...
"I love my hubby's big, fat cock" all one word.
Yes, it is. You must be so proud.
-I am, and you still care. -I was too lazy to change it!
-Either way, I am thrilled. -And I'm nauseous.
Are you ready to come home? You can spend the night at my house.
I think that you should let Marcy embrace her sheness
and make up her own mind where she wants to spend the night.
I heartily concur.
Need I remind you that I hold the key to your cock cage.
I'll write you a check right this very instant.
Don't worry. We will make sure you get home.
You want worse than you got yesterday, you little sea otter?
You gonna slap me again, in front of all these people?
Woman, you are a fucking fruitcake!
Ophelia! What the fuck is the matter with you?
Every woman should have one of these puppies.
It just totally neutralizes the height-weight advantage.
This is too fucking weird. You get out of here. Go!
You're gonna regret this.
Jesus! Are you okay? What did that feel like?
-This table is all wet. -You pissed your pants, Charlie.
What? No! Who pissed on my pants?
-I didn't take you for a book burner. -What else am I gonna do?
It's a piece of shit.
You might as well throw another one on the pyre.
-What's that? -The play I was writing with Atticus.
Apparently, it's not very good. They don't like it very much.
-It happens to us literary lions too. -How does that feel?
-Like getting shanked in prison. -I would imagine.
Maybe you could read it for me and give me your thoughts?
I'm not a writer.
Becca, you wrote a novel. Do you know how amazing that is?
Nobody your age is doing that.
They're too busy texting, tweeting, and facebooking
and feeling entitled to a life they don't want to work for.
-Way to slam an entire generation. -Thank you.
And I'm sorry that you stormed off before I could give you my notes.
You know what I really dug about your work
was the relationship between the daughter and the asshole father.
Obviously you took a lot of creative license there,
but it felt authentic to me.
If you flesh it out, you could maybe turn it into a novella.
-You think so? -I do.
And I'm sorry that you walked away from me,
thinking that I didn't think you were special.
I think you're so special. And I hope you don't go to law school
'cause I don't think that's you,
and I don't think the world needs another lawyer.
I'm not sure it needs another writer either.
Maybe not, but if you're doing what you were born to do,
then that's a good thing.
-I guess. -Yeah.
Anybody can be cynical. Dare to be an optimist!
-Who are you right now? -Just your asshole father.
Okay. I'll think about my next move.
In the meantime, I'll read this.
But I'm going to be brutal with my thoughts, Dad.
I think you need some help reaching a younger demographic.
Fuck the younger generation! I just like you.
END OF EPISODE 48