Original subtitles

Previously on Californication...

- So, Hank. - Meredith.

Have you written anything I might have read?

Well, that depends on whether or not you read, Meredith.

The good people at Hell-A are very interested in your thoughts.

They would like you to blog for them.

- Jesus H. Christ. - I am 16, you know.

So I've been told.

Hi, Daddy!

Honey, put some clothes on. We have company.

Are you totally serious about marrying Bill?

Yes. Why?

What about Hank?

Game on, brohem.

- You want to get fucked up? - Oh!

Oh, God.

- Must be weird, though. - What?

Becoming the employee of a man you so clearly hate.

- What are you talking about? - My father.

He owns Hell-A magazine.

Once upon a time, I wrote a book.

People seemed to dig it, so I wrote another,

and one after that.

That's when Hollywood came knocking at my back door.

As soon as I cashed that cheque, I wrapped my lips

around the mighty erection that is the film industry

and sucked hard... just like a good whore should.

Unfortunately, I had to be taught not to orphan the balls.

Moody!

Ladies and gentlemen, Todd Carr...

the caramel-coated, chrome-domed auteur

who took my precious little novel,

wiped his ass, and transformed it into the craptastic crowd-pleaser

also known as Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

My people.

You still bitching about whoring yourself out to Hollywood?

Only when my pimp's not around.

You're no goddamn fucking Faulkner, you know.

And you're no Brett fucking Ratner.

Although that could be a compliment, and in that case, I didn't mean to.

I'm sick of you talking shit about me in the press.

Oh, that's why you're here. I thought you might have come by

because you found out I fucked your wife in almost every room of your house.

No? Every room of your house.

And I'm sorry about the rug. I didn't realise the old lady was a squirter.

Hank.

- Where's Karen? - Home, with Becca.

She's funny, that one.

Becca? Yeah, she is a real character.

No... Karen. She knows how to push all my buttons.

I don't think she's trying to push your buttons, Hank.

Bill, I'm not really interested in what you think, but thank you for sharing.

- I wanted to come. - You did?

- I'm not the bad guy. - You're not the bad guy?

Life is complicated, man.

"Life is complicated, man." That's what you got?

Way to dip into the platitudes.

I guess that's why you're the writer, Hank.

Oh, fuck. I didn't ask for you to fucking come bail me out.

I didn't ask for a fucking job.

I don't know who the fuck you think you are.

You think I'm dying to be in business with you?

Some rude, disrespectful jackass

who can't get out of his own way?

You looking for a dick punch?

Do you want to punch me in the dick?

I kind of do, yeah, but standing here talking about it

is beginning to sound kind of gay.

Go ahead. Take a shot. But think...

Would you want Becca to see this?

I'll settle for a titty twister.

God. You're 11.

Fuck.

Keep the job, Hank. Get back on your feet. Get on with your life.

And forget about the woman you didn't want to marry.

Don't make me get up and kick your ass all over again, Bill!

Hi. Remember me?

How could I forget? Best blind date of my life, asshole.

We don't have much time.

Your suitor will be returning from the shitter posthaste,

but in his absence, I would like to offer my sincere apologies.

My behaviour the other night was beyond appalling, despicable, reprehensible.

I was a mess. I have no words.

For a guy with no words, that was a lot of words.

That's funny. I wouldn't have expected that from you.

Because you had me so nailed.

Well, let me make it up to you. Let me... can I... take you out sometime?

I'm out right now... with a guy who's not an asshole.

Right. Well, do you see yourself marrying this fella?

You never know.

Girls know in a matter of seconds whether they want to fuck, marry, or kill a guy.

Which begs the question, how am I doing?

Bye, now.

Be good to her, my friend.

I had a shot with her once, but I blew it.

Rock out with your cock out, but remember...

no gloving, no loving.

Au revoir, mes enfants. Au revoir.

So...

You were brought up on the East Coast.

Jersey, maybe. No... Long Island.

Dad had a chip on his shoulder, blue on his collar.

Mom was a little beat down by it all,

but she was the one who encouraged you to dream big.

They fought a lot, but they stayed together through good times and bad.

You had sisters. You learned about girls.

You were good with them... maybe a little too good.

You read books, and you didn't want to die five miles from where you were born.

So you escaped into the city you romanticised

and reinvented yourself as a poor man's Mclnerney.

How am I doing?

Pretty good... a lot more gracious than mine.

I blacked out there in the middle,

when you were really strumming my pain with your fingers, but...

Well done.

- How long you been working on that? - A couple of weeks.

It's a good story.

Any idea how it ends?

- Hey, where are you going? - I have to get to work.

A job? What do you do?

Well, don't you remember? I'm a poor gal's Martha Stewart.

Don't you remember I'm an asshole?

Right. I'm an attorney.

Oh, then we're both assholes. What's your thing?

Divorce.

You must be a busy girl.

That I am, which is why I have to skedaddle.

I can't believe you were trying to slink out of here without saying goodbye to me.

Hank. Please. I assume this was a one-time thing.

Why would you assume something like that?

No offence, but you don't seem like the kind of guy

who's looking for a lot of repeat business.

- I'm offended. How about tonight? - Are you sure?

Yeah, a proper date... dinner, 20th-century style.

I'd be just as happy to come back here.

No. No, no, no. Dinner. A girl's got to eat.

That she does.

Are you gonna flush?

- What the fuck are you doing here? - The redhead let me in.

Question... does the carpet match the drapes, Hanky-panky?

- You scared the shit out of me. - I know. You screamed like a little girl.

- Kind of a turnoff, actually. - What the fuck do you want?

- I'm late. - What?

That's not possible. I wore a condom.

That's... that would be like the Immaculate Conception.

And you... you're the one who... you... And then you left.

I'm late for school.

OK. Well, then, what do you want from me, besides the obvious?

Don't flatter yourself, champ.

I have a creative-writing course,

and I need to turn something in today, so...

OK, what's the problem? It's creative writing.

Be creative. Write something.

This from a guy who hasn't written a word in five years?

Nobody likes a smartass.

You must have some piece-of-shit short story you never published.

- No. No, nothing. - Hank?

Stop that. And don't move.

Do not fuck around!

It's not funny.

Hey, look who's here.

You don't call. You don't write.

- You look like shit. - And you look beautiful.

Far too beautiful for these four walls. Let's go out and get some breakfast.

- Get a coffee. - No, we'll go out. We'll get it.

- Look, get dressed. - Fuck!

- Hank? - Yeah?

I just wanted...

- What, no points for safety? - Yes, but magnums? Wow.

- Yeah, well, you know. - Did you have a growth spurt?

Well, no, I been... I been working out. Just a lot of vitamins.

I got a whole...

I got a regimen.

Hank, do not quit this job.

It's hardly a job, Karen. It's a blog.

It's the best thing that's happened to you in a long time, and you're good at it.

- Well, I just can't work for Bill. - Why not?

Well, for one, he's a dick.

Could you just swallow your stupid pride

and keep the job, keep writing, keep doing what you were put on this planet to do?

What else is there for you besides drowning in a sea of pointless pussy?

It's the neighbours.

OK. Do you know what? I should go in there. I'm gonna go in there.

No!

I'm gonna and tell her what to expect and how to treat it. It's only fair.

There are some images

you don't want floating around your pretty little head.

Trust me, it's like a Mapplethorpe shoot in there, except with less cock.

Shut up, OK? Shut up.

Keep the job, Hank. Do it for Becca's sake.

Give her something to look up to.

Thanks for stopping by.

Just suppose you're a guy and you're getting a massage from another guy,

and it's nice, it's relaxing.

Then all of a sudden, you get a little tingle,

a little unintentional stim.

What do you call that, where you get a little turgidity?

You know, you get a rollover going there.

That was Nora from Hell-A magazine.

She wants to know when she can expect the new piece.

What would you call that phenomenon?

The whole idea behind the blog is an ongoing narrative. You understand?

A series of events that follows another series of events.

I get that. I get that. I really do.

I just can't whore myself out to the tall man any more.

Ongoing or not, I can't do it. Capisce?

With all due respect, Hank, grow the fuck up already.

Come on, you're the lying cocksucker that got me into this in the first place.

You set me up.

If you mean that I contrive a situation

in which you might actually start to produce words again,

then, yes, OK, guilty as charged.

You should have told me what you were up to. That was bullshit.

You wouldn't have done it! OK? You see what I'm getting at here?

Oh, fuck you. You're fired.

You know that you've fired me every 90 days since we started to work together.

Yeah, because I'm a consistent motherfucker.

Don't do this, Hank, OK? Not now.

No other agent in their right mind would take you on at this point.

And the ones who would wouldn't be able to get you a job writing kiddy porn.

Yeah, we'll see about that. It's a broner. The word I'm looking for.

Unintentionally man-inspired boner... broner.

Duly noted.

Broner!

What is so fucking difficult about distinguishing diet from regular, huh?

Here. Just go. You're fired, all right?

Get out. Go! Fucking get out of here!

You OK there, tiger?

Did you ever have one of those days where you feel like a tired, old whore

whose uterus is about to fall out?

I think I'm in touch with that emotion.

Really? I was just being dramatic. Do tell.

That guy you saw me with last night?

He's married.

Oh, you dirty cheater, you.

Five years.

Been fucking a married guy for five years?

Classy, huh?

I tend to think of myself

as a whatever-makes-you-happy kind of a guy,

but I have to ask... What's in it for you, lady?

I love him.

And I tend to believe him when he says he loves me.

That sounds like a charming little romcom,

except for the part where he won't leave his wife.

The guy's richer than God. He doesn't want to cut it in half.

I haven't known you very long, and this probably means precious little

coming from a guy who treated you like a piece of prison ass on a blind date,

but I think you deserve a hell of a lot more.

My baby.

You have a baby with the married guy? Holy fuck.

No...

my dog...

Cat Stevens.

You have a dog named Cat Stevens?

Holy fuck!

A gift from married guy.

I know it sounds incredibly lame, but he was like our baby.

The one thing that was ours... just ours.

So, his wife goes out of town, and I bring Cat Stevens over to the house.

Naturally, the bitch comes home early.

I barely have enough time to put on my clothes and sneak out the back.

And then I realised I left him behind.

That fucking bitch thought sweet little Cat Stevens was a gift for her.

- Married guy doesn't say anything? - How could he?

That is sick. Come on.

- Where are we going? - We're gonna fix this.

Hey, honey.

You're insane.

You've been fucking a married guy for five years,

you've got a dog named Cat Stevens, and I'm insane?

Point taken.

I got to figure out a way to get in there without breaking a window or something.

How about this?

Cat?

And you'll never have dried-up meat in the refrigerator.

Hey. Cat Stevens.

Come here, Cat.

Roast beef, lamb, turkey.

This knife is like a hot knife going right through butter.

It has a fork with the end,

so you pick up the meat, dip it into the gravy.

Remember, here's a grapefruit. Look at this.

Not a seed, not a drop of juice comes out.

Come here.

I'll take you away from all this.

Cat! Yusuf Islam!

Be Straight is a good song.

Come here, Cat. Come here.

Come on.

Go!

Go. Go, go, go.

Don't worry, I'll be gone for good in a few minutes.

Actually, I was... I was gonna call you.

You could've emailed.

I think I overreacted yesterday, and I'm sorry about that,

So, the job is yours if... if you still want it.

- I want it. - Good.

But...

But?

From now on, if I make a mistake or I screw something up,

you should feel free to discipline me in whatever way you see fit.

You're the boss.

Oh, and Hank called.

He said you could still be his agent if you want.

I thought that was you.

I would have focused on a different area altogether.

- Get your ass back in bed then. - I got to go to work.

Ah, yes, I don't think I've ever dated a woman who had a job before.

Is that what we're doing? Dating?

It does feel that way...

Kind of, sort of, maybe, a little bit.

Yeah. I guess it kind of does.

Too many tongues.

Hey, take your fucking dog.

I didn't have the heart to tell you, but that's not Cat Stevens.

- What? - You took the wrong dog.

So not your fault... the bitch has a lot of them.

Look on the bright side. He seems to really like you.

Thank you.

This is not a macchiato. A macchiato...

What am I going to do with you?

Whatever you want, boss.

Look what a mess I've made.

- Guess who. - Something's familiar.

Did you switch to Camel Lights?

Ah, that's cute. What you reading?

Oh, you're not gonna go through with that barbaric ritual, are you?

- I was thinking about it. - You don't sound too excited.

I am. It's just weird. I never thought I'd get married.

You had me convinced it was all a bullshit fairy tale.

- And it's not? - Not if you meet the right person.

You say it's about meeting Mr Right.

I think you're settling for Mr Right In Front Of You.

I'm asking you to consider Mr Lurking Right Above You.

Hank, Hank, Hankie.

I wouldn't want to erase the fact that, once upon a time, I used to love you. But...

Hank!

- Hello. - William.

I have something for you.

Hank, uh, Hank, you didn't have to do this.

Considering I got my precious bodily fluids all over yours,

I felt like, yeah, I kind of did.

But that piece of art is worth a small fortune.

Don't look a gift piece of overpriced pop art in the mouth.

I know people who know people. Just enjoy it.

Consider it a belated engagement present.

Hang it over your marital bed.

What's up with you? You seem kind of, um...

- Jaunty? - Yes.

- Devil-may-care? - Yes.

- Happy? - Even.

Well, maybe I met a girl.

- Hey, Dad. - Hey, honey.

I've got something for you, too.

Just hold on. Stay right there.

I'm partial to Yusuf Islam, but you can call him whatever you want.

And, Bill, don't worry. He can stay with me.

That's so nice of you, Hank.

Yes, Hank, that's very nice of you.

Well, you guys look like one big happy.

I am proud to report that my daughter has just penned

one of the most impressive short stories I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

Now, the prose was a bit on the purple side,

but still, I had no idea she had it in her.

- I'm sure the prose wasn't that purple. - No, it was, but still, it was good stuff.

That is something.

Well, it's what I do.

Speaking of which, dare I ask about the blog?

Honey, to quote the Clash,

should I stay or should I rock the casbah?

Do what you want, Dad. I love you no matter what.

"Good morning, Hell-A.

"In the land of the lotus-eaters, time plays tricks on you.

"One day you're dreaming.

"The next, your dream has become your reality.

"It was the best of times. If only someone had told me.

"Mistakes were made, hearts were broken,

"harsh lessons learned.

"My family goes on without me,

"while I drown in a sea of pointless pussy.

"I don't know how I got here.

"But here I am, rotting away in the warm California sun.

"There are things I need to figure out,

"for her sake, at least.

"The clock is ticking.

"The gap is widening.

"She won't always love me no matter what."