Faster, Jimbo.
That's not helping. Talk hot.
- Oh, my feet are so sweaty. - There you go.
Oh, I can't wait to take my shoes off,
stretch my toes apart.
- Oh, yeah, keep going. - Flex my arches
back and forth, back and forth.
Ooh!
Oh, yeah.
Give 'em a little soak.
Oh, boy, they're so wriggly!
Hut!
3:44!
- Ah! - I think I have the bends.
We broke our record.
Jimmy, we could medal in speed fucking.
Yeah, or we could just wait until after the reception.
- Like people. - Open bar, bro.
We'll be way too schnozzled by then.
- Huh. - And you have to bang
on your wedding night.
Like how if you break a mirror,
your grandmother's ghost sees you masturbate.
Uh...
Can I answer any questions about the venue?
Did the Goodwin sisters really get murdered here?
Yeah. They were garroted in the main hall.
All three of them?
Yeah, if you could just give us a moment to discuss...
We'll take it. Take our money.
Just take all our money!
Okay, then.
Uh, here's the schedule of fees.
Just read and sign at the bottom.
I need someone to air out the east annex
and buy new towels.
Uh, is this a prank?
This can't be the price for a single event.
Just put it on a credit card.
Here. Oop...
How many credit cards do you have?
Like, 70.
Seventy?!
You're, like, 50/50 with flushing the toilet.
How do you remember to pay off 70 credit cards each month?
You don't need to pay off credit cards.
When one stops working, you just get another.
Um, how much do you owe,
like, in total?
Who cares? It's not real.
It's just some numbers on a computer somewhere.
Why have you never told me of your debt before?!
Honey, it's our debt now.
Oh, my God, I'm marrying an actual child.
Not even a skilled one.
Just because we have different ideas
about personal finance doesn't mean
you get to patronize me.
It does if I'm your literal patron.
Just lock down the venue already.
Ugh, I have to go hire my replacement.
I'm gonna make these twats Hunger Gamesit out,
see who wants it the most.
Well, since that will surely lead to your firing,
I will whore myself out to Hollywood for the both of us.
Why, because you're the man? Please, Jimmy.
I can take care of myself.
- Which way is my job? - Yeah.
Sync and corrections by btsix www.addic7ed.com
And he's like, "I thought you were a veterinarian."
"At least now it makes sense why you're cupping my balls."
"While you're down there, I lost my keys."
- Ah, oh... - Doug, I can't say it enough.
Thank you for doing this with me.
Please, I've been dying to collab for years.
And thank you for diagnosing my cat's cancer.
I know a tumor when I feel one.
It was a tumor, and an important lesson for us all.
Get your rectum checked regularly.
Oh.
I thought he really had his finger up the cat's ass.
Let's take five.
I'm telling you, this show's gonna be
a real tent pole for Metro PCS.
Soup?
I always carry an extra cup.
You know what they say:
you'll never be hungry if you carry soup with you.
Ah, thanks, but I'm all souped-up.
Edgar, let me ask you something.
What do you think about Dutch?
Every time I work, I try to take someone under my wing,
like a mama bird or a sentient airplane.
Oh, well, that's nice.
- What is it? - Ah, nothing.
It's just it seems like Dutch is doing well.
He's pitching, he's contributing.
I'm the one too intimidated to even open my mouth.
Yikes. I hope it's not me.
Oh, no, no. Uh...
My ex-partner made me question my abilities as a writer.
Not to mention encouraged me
to get into a lot of financial trouble.
Well, that sounds just terrible.
I'm glad you spoke up.
Because I would be proud to take you under my wing instead.
What about Dutch?
What about that mongoloid ginger fucking Sasquatch?!
Edgar, no.
You volunteered.
That's never happened before.
I'm gonna focus all of my attention on you from now on.
And I insist.
There's five kinds of beans in there.
All right.
It was an emergency. I had to poop.
A poopergency.
Lindsay, toilet's not for pooping.
I can't poop at work because of my new squeeze.
He's the big boss.
I thought your boss was that fashion ho
who wouldn't let me nap under your desk.
Gretchen, Priscilla is a girl. I'm talking the real boss.
And he's visiting from corporate,
so the whole building is kind of his office.
- Check out our wedding venue. - Holy...
Nice bones. Decent lighting.
That room back there looks like a good place
to sneak a quick fuck in. When can I see it?
At the wedding.
Gretch,
you shouldn't be making decisions
without your maid of honor.
You'll regret it.
Are you threatening me?
I'm just saying,
who's gonna dab your butt sweat?
Or hold your weave back when you're vomming up
a 12-pack of Sno Balls you panic-eat before big events?
- You? - Or slip Xanax in your bitch mom's
Earl Grey so she'll
chill the fu... ? Oklahoma! ?
What is the one thing we don't talk about?
Politics. Math.
That one crow who has it out for you.
What happened between you and Matthew Perry. Coachella.
Your bitch mom.
My bitch mom.
Sorry.
Anyway, doesn't matter, she won't be there.
Why not?
I'm not gonna tell my mom I'm getting married.
- Gretchen. - If I tell her about the wedding,
she'll get in my head and I'll give myself a butt ulcer,
and then when I'm puking up stomach acid
all over Court Seven in the All County Mixed Doubles finals,
it'll be my fault
for being such a total disgrace to Grammie Gretchen's name.
Oh, no, I can't do it. I'm gonna kick it.
Kick it? Till when?
Don't know. I've been rescheduling
the same dentist appointment for, like, 12 years.
- Idiots. - Gretchen.
This isn't teeth, this is important.
As your maid of honor, if you don't call your mom,
I'll be forced to call her.
Fine. I will call her.
But when she destroys me emotionally,
your dumb ass has to pick up the pieces.
Ooh! You're hiring the new Gretch today?
Trying to. These Post-Millennials
with their high GPAs and multiple internships,
as if being smart and working for years for free
means you deserve an actual job.
Oh!
Edgar, you're just in time
to help me convince "feature people"
that I can adapt my own novel.
I thought you weren't doing that.
Yeah, well, I've come to the realization
that there is some value in experiencing the same story
in a secondary, inferior medium.
Like when you roast a delicious hen,
then boil the bones to make a soup.
Oh, so you're doing it for the money.
Turns out that blockhead Gretchen is drowning in debt,
so I have to get to something called Culver City
to pitch my take on my book,
and I need your help.
Sure. Uh...
pitch away.
No, I need you to come and pretend to be my assistant
so I look important.
Jimmy, I'm a writer now, remember?
- I'll pay you 100 bucks. - Okay.
My Yeezys plummeted in value again.
So...
why do you want to be a publicist?
Actually, you made me want to do this.
You mediated the weirdest feud in hip-hop.
It's an honor to meet you.
Aw, that's so sweet.
- It's an honor to send you home. - Wait, what?
Our La Croix budget won't cover you. You're too thirsty.
Bam! You got Cutlered!
Mm-mm.
PR isn't just about learning celeb secrets
and stealing retinol creams from their swag bags.
It's about power.
Power over celebs and the shit they don't need,
like retinol creams.
Surviving the next elimination will be much harder
with lots of steps, which will take many hours.
Come on.
Round two's at a bar. I need to see if you can hang.
You coming, sausage wallet?
- Sausage wallet? - Uh, no.
This is obviously a test. It's, like, 1:30.
You're right. It is a test, and you failed. Ciao, suck-butt.
Don't hug her.
She was Cutlered. Ugh, I don't like it.
Find me a new catchphrase by 3:00.
Uh...
And as Simon runs from the hooligans,
he's actually running from his own sexual awakening
at his uncle's knee.
But before he can reckon with this,
he finds himself in Primrose Hill,
its gentle swells reminding him
he has someone for whom to survive this night... Kitty.
- Oh. - Mm. Love Kitty.
She's an incredible character. Charming.
- Raw. Love. - It's her movie, really.
Kitty's?
She's really the perfect protagonist for today's climate.
Everyone is gonna want to be Kitty.
- Or bang Kitty. - Consensually.
Obviously consensually.
- Jesus, Sheila. - Sure.
But to be clear, Simon is the protagonist, so...
Simon's running from the hooligans from his past.
I mean, certainly we can all agree
that Kitty is a reprehensible character, right?
She's immature, squalid, untrustworthy.
That's what we love about Kitty. Her messiness is aspirational.
What is? Her utter reliance on everyone around her?
Or the way that she bankrupts her father's cobbler shop?
I'm starting to feel like you're not Team Kitty.
I hate Kitty!
Oh, what he means is that he hates Kitty
because he hates himself.
Wrong! Love myself.
- Hate Kitty. - Exactly.
It's why no one else could write Kitty.
And it's that same
kind of hatred that binds Kitty to Simon.
And Jimmy to them both, who are both... well, him.
Jimmy.
- Huh. - Hmm.
It's the garter belt.
Goddamn it, Rachel, I told you to just stand there
and be quiet. I know it's the garter belt.
Point to where you think it is.
Yeah, that's where I thought it was.
Nice, Rachel. You passed the test.
Wait, so you wanted our help?
Shut up! Half of PR involves
sitting silently next to your client,
who will be annoyed by the very fact of you,
like how you breathe too hard, Rachel.
No one here is named Rachel.
Bad news.
Turns out my big corporate boss
isn't actually a boss at all.
- He really is a janitor. - Linds.
Did you think the janitor was an undercover boss?
One of these times he has to be an undercover boss. It's math.
Can I set your purse down? It's heavy.
No. Most of PR is carrying other people's shit around.
Why are these basic hos here?
I am being thorough.
Goldman Sachs has a ten-step interview process.
Oh, does Old Man Sachs have all those steps
to avoid calling his mom, too?
All right, bitches.
New test. In PR, you are often asked to pull tail for your client.
Find Lindsay someone at this bar she can bang
and realistically fall in love with.
But we don't know her.
Go!
And while they find someone who makes my heart horny,
let's practice calling your mom.
What? No!
Ring, ring, ring.
- Hi, Mom. - Hello, Gretchen.
Your father and I were just complaining about you.
- Hi, Mommy. - Is there a reason you called?
Jimmy and I are getting married.
Well, I'm obviously aghast,
but someone whose sell-by date has long since passed
might as well grab the first immigrant
who needs a green card.
Jimmy loves me and he already has a green card.
- I think. - Did you schedule your Botox?
Do it now so your face settles before June.
And only eat steamed fish and veggies.
- Mommy, I don't want to... - Fine!
Gallumph down the aisle a fat, wrinkled pig for all I care.
- I didn't say that! - Have you just grown
so comfortable with failure
that you don't even notice it anymore?
Like how people who have litter boxes in their house
get used to the smell of cat shit?
What? No.
At least you'll be his burden now.
- I hate you! I hate you! - You've been nothing...
- I hate you! - ...but dead weight since
the day they cut you out of my uterus!
Lindsay!
Oh, that's right, run to the bottle.
I hung up on you. You can't see what I'm doing.
Ugh. Time! Bring it in, bitches!
You didn't specify a time limit.
Oh, well, you're Cutlered.
- Yes? No? - Mm.
All right, Linds.
Which guy?
Neither. This is who they pick?
A wizard? Pocket shorts?
Hard pass.
You're both Cutlered!
Oh, it works. You just have to attack it.
Thanks for no help with that, dummies.
Call your mom. Do it.
Um, just wondering how much longer the interview is?
Oh, the real interview hasn't even started yet.
Lightning round.
Let's Coyote Uglythis bitch!
I'm gonna kill you!
What is she doing?
Get her!
Should we just go?
Is that what they taught you at Mount Holyoke? To quit?
You know where I went to school?
I know about all of you...
About Thirsty's internship at Dentsu.
About how No Drinks went to Duke.
I know all about your special skills
and all the languages you speak,
and all the hobbies you think make you sound interesting.
Bouldering. Indoor cycling.
Who stays in Girl Scouts through high school, Debbie?
Don't listen to her. She's a psychopath.
So all of this was part of the interview?
The singing, the fighting,
the making out with the random guy?
Yes! Wait, that was a guy?
Oh, goddamn it, he had such soft lips.
Your clients will be terrible people
with no impulse control.
Musicians are babies who will shit all over you
and laugh about it.
So you're not actually drunk?
I am completely sober.
Fooled you, Rachel.
Cutlered.
What a sham. They trick me
into describing how to adapt my work
just so they can pass my clear roadmap along to some hack
who will strip away all the heady eroticism
and write a film about a quirky girl named Kitty.
You don't know that you didn't get the job.
They said "Good stuff," at the end.
You think someone who'd been rejected as often as you
would recognize when it happens.
Oh, crap. I have to go in for a late-night writing sesh.
Hey, did I tell you I'm under Paul F. Tompkins's wing now?
Well, at least you know where
your next paycheck's coming from.
God knows when the first payment
for my next book comes in, or the royalties on Width.
And whilst I wait, I'll have to default on my mortgage,
sell my resplendent hot rod...
I don't think it's been street legal
since Gretchen set it on fire.
And then marry that self-same pyromaniacal redhead
somewhere cheap and disgusting,
like Reno or some botanical garden.
I still think you're gonna get it.
If they were to give me the job, it would probably
only be because of your offensive yet succinct
oversimplification of my sweeping epic.
Thanks.
Yes.
All right. Fine.
I'm sorry, Jimmy.
- I got it. - What? Seriously?
- That's amazing. - Do you know what this means?
You don't have to worry about money.
I have to write a screenplay.
That's good.
Remember your soup metaphor?
Soup? Soup isn't food.
It's just bone water. Seriously, Edgar.
All you had to do was just sit there
and keep your mouth shut.
Aw, shit.
Oh, did we bang?
How was it? Did I do anything weird?
What happened to Rachel?
She had to feed her cat.
Did you do all this?
I like to stay busy.
I think I figured out what the last test is.
Are you really afraid of what your mom
will think about you getting married,
or are you actually afraid of what you think?
You don't know my mother.
She withheld food, human touch
and Breyer model horses to control me.
After seeing what you put yourself through today,
I think you can handle it.
Whatever she says.
Hi. Sorry it's so late. I...
Mommy, I have some big news.
What if we switch it up
and make her the doctor?
Yes. I love male nurses.
But I hate how they never ask doctors for directions.
Yeah, they're real Florence Nightinmales.
There's our title.
Where has this Edgar been hiding?
- Right here. - You got to sing out more, man.
I don't think we're gonna be able to top that.
Hey, Edgar, you want to take the rest of the sandwiches home?
Oh, man, my roommates don't like when I take up
too much of the fridge.
Oh, man. I... I really hate to see food get wasted.
Edgar, I tell you what.
I'll pay you a thousand dollars
to eat the rest of these sandwiches right now.
What do you say?
Hell yeah, Edgar. You got this.
I love watching people eat food.
Now the minute you feel sick or even a little bit uncomfortable,
you can stop, we won't think any less of you.
Sandwich number one.
So...
did you find a new you?
Nah. None of them really stood out.
But Lindsay pulled a Lindsay
and boned a janitor, so I'm gonna hire her.
She's feeling pretty low. What'd you do today?
Eh, nothing. Just became a professional screenwriter.
And locked down our wedding venue.
You whored yourself out for us.
Aw.
I'm so lucky.
I can't wait to marry you.
I love you so much.
You've been mixing off-brand cough syrups again.
No, Jimmy. I called my mom.
- Oh, boy. - No, it was good.
It was, like, really good.
We've never had a conversation like that.
We laughed, we bonded, she told me about her menopausal dryness.
I even told her about the wedding.
She didn't say anything shitty.
She was just happy for me.
Seriously? That's it?
She didn't trick you into having the wedding
in Missouri or anything?
Nope.
Aw.
Well, I'm proud of you for calling your parents.
That was shockingly mature of you.
- Thank you. - Hmm.
They think I'm marrying Boone.
- And there it is. - Good night.
Sync and corrections by btsix www.addic7ed.com