All language subtitles for Cake.S03E06_English

(chimes, whirring)

‐GLEN: Betsy!
‐BETSY: Hi!

‐GLEN: How are you?
‐I'm good.

‐GLEN: Thanks for coming in.
‐Thank you for having me.

GLEN: Yeah, I wanted to talk

about the character name
before we begin.

‐Oh.
‐GLEN: Sorry about that.

Nah, it's‐‐it's okay.

It was supposed to get changed
before the auditions,

but you know
how these things go.

The director says
we can probably change it.

‐Okay.
‐GLEN: We'll see.

‐Yeah.
‐GLEN: Okay.

It's‐‐it's fine.
It's cool.

Just these writers,
they start writing

and they throw in something,
but‐‐

Yeah, it's‐‐
it is what it is.

‐It's‐‐
‐GLEN: I'm just‐‐okay.

‐It's whatever.
‐GLEN: 'Cause this is a real‐‐

You don't have many lines,
but this is an important part

of the whole story,
this character.

‐Mm‐hmm.
‐GLEN: It's a nuanced role.

‐Yeah.
‐GLEN: Great.

Well, whenever
you're ready, slate.

Okay, great.
(clears throat)

(sighs)
Betsy Sadaro reading for

White Crack Whore Who Gets
a Brick Thrown at Her.

(clears throat)

Dohh!
(groaning)

‐GLEN: Great, that was it.
‐Okay.

(whirs, chimes)

(mellow electronic music)

♪♪ ♪♪

Hey.
Do you want to play a game?

Yeah. What game?

It's called Oranges.

How do you play?

Oh, the best way to learn's
just by playing it.

‐All right.
‐ Great.

‐(slap)
‐Hey.

‐(slap)
‐All right. I get it.

No, no, I'm still in.

‐(slapping)
‐W‐well‐‐

well, how‐‐how do I‐‐
stop for a sec.

‐You can't stop in Oranges.
‐(slap)

‐But how do I get in?
‐Say the code word.

‐(slap)
‐Which is what?

‐Oranges.
‐Oranges?

‐Okay, you're in.
‐All right.

(cracks knuckles)

‐Oranges!
‐Hey!

‐I said the code word.
‐But I‐‐

That's the rules.

‐This sucks.
‐(slap)

If you want to be in again,
say the code word.

‐Oranges.
‐Oranges!

‐(slap)
‐Oranges.

‐Oranges.
‐Oranges!

‐Oranges.
‐Oh, fuck this.

You're not allowed to run away
in Oranges.

I'm not coming near you.

‐You want to call the game off?
‐Yes, I do.

‐Okay, say it, then.
‐Say what?

Well, say you're calling
the game off.

I'm calling the game off.

‐Fine.
‐Okay.

You can come back now.

(chuckles)

‐Well, that was a‐‐
‐(slap)

What are you doing?

You said the citrus phrase.

It means the game continues.

What the hell
is a citrus phrase?

‐(slap)
‐"I'm calling the game off."

‐(slap)
‐What?

But I want to call it off
for real.

‐Then say the secret sentence.
‐(slap)

‐Which is?
‐"Let's keep playing Oranges."

Let's keep playing Oranges.

‐Okay!
‐(slap)

(upbeat music)

(funky music)

♪♪ ♪♪

JOHN: Uh, I'll have
a half order of toast, please.

"A half order
of toast."

‐Correct.
‐Sure.

‐And I'll get you some coffee.
‐Nope.

No coffee.
Thank you very much.

♪♪ ♪♪

Whoa, sneaking in
coffee now, huh?

I know.

We haven't had a case
in two weeks,

‐and I'm totally broke.
‐I know. Me too.

‐It's so liberating.
‐Oh, yeah.

Spoken like a man
who lives with his parents.

No, no, seriously.
Being broke,

it makes that next paycheck
all the sweeter.

Oh, by the way, David...
(slurps)

I can't pay you,
because I'm broke.

God damn it.

Yeah, I had to sell
my refrigerator

just to buy my asthma inhaler
this month.

Wait, what?
That's insane!

What about all the ham
I left in that refrigerator?

Well, David,
your ham is warm now.

Unacceptable!

That's my fucking personal ham

for when I come over
to visit you.

You need to ask him
for a loan.

No, I am not going
to ask him for a loan.

No excuses!

That's where I draw the line,
David.

Here's your half order
of toast.

(whispering)
I brought you a lot of jelly,

because I know
you're struggling.

(soft groan)

Okay, let's go ask him.

TUCKER: You want a loan?
(chuckles)

That's not happening.

Tucker, you need
to help us out, man.

I know you have money.

You live in this
big house.

You have all this fancy shit.

Plus, your name is Tucker.

Do you know
what N‐O spells?

‐Yes.
‐TUCKER: Wrong.

‐It spells "no."
‐DAVID: Fuck my life.

Come on, David, he just
got you with that last week.

It's nothing personal,
Detectives.

All my cash is tied up
in catering

for my croquet tournament.

Wait, whoa‐‐
croquet tournament?

‐When?
‐Saturday.

‐I've partnered with SCKR.
‐(John gasps) SCKR?

The internet
seersucker suit company

that cuts out the middle man
and bought their own

seersucker suit factory
in Germany?

Yah.
I'm a brand ambassador.

I provide SCKR with beautiful
teens to play croquet.

‐(gagging)
‐SCKR provides the wardrobe.

I blast the photos
across my platforms.

SCKR puts up
a thousand‐dollar first prize

and a little money
for my trouble.

It's all about looking good
and having fun.

Everything you're saying
sounds really dumb.

Wait a minute, Tucker, did you
say a thousand‐dollar prize?

I did...and now
I regret saying that.

(laughing)
My problems are solved,

because I'm going to win
that croquet tournament.

Tucker, your fancy friends
are about to become

victims of FOBOCM.

Which is...

"Full‐on, balls‐out
croquet murder."

(dramatic music)

(car horn honks)

Let's go, John!

The sooner you win
this stupid tournament,

the sooner you can buy
a new fridge, and then we‐‐

‐(laughing) Oh, my God.
‐Huh?

DAVID: What happened?

I got this suit 20 years ago.

I've been waiting for
the right moment to deploy it.

Oh, my God, you deployed
the shit out of that.

You look insane.

Yeah, it's my secret weapon.

It is a really tight suit,

and when were you gonna tell me
about your robotic penis?

David, that's my inhaler.

Took me 20 minutes
just to get it into the pocket.

‐Oh.
‐(coughs)

I do think these pants
might be a little tight.

Damn, son.

Let's ride.

Uh, actually, can you put on
my seat belt for me?

I can't move my arms.

I can't believe you're excited
about playing croquet.

Have you ever even played
this dumb game before?

Mm, David, of course.

When I was young, I played
with people all over the world.

Wait.
How'd you do that?

JOHN:
Croquet by mail...

DAVID: (whispering)
Oh, fuck.

JOHN: Allowed me
to master strategy

without the physical risks
of an actual game.

It was a rush like no other,

for the asthmatic child,
at least.

DAVID:
Croquet by mail.

That is hardcore.

When it comes to croquet,
I'm fucking hardcore as shit.

♪♪ ♪♪

Don't look now.

Here come those aggro
motherfuckers.

Yo, what's up, idiots?

You guys know anybody
who wants to fight?

If you really want
to fight so bad,

why don't you go fight
that new guy

who's just
a circulatory system?

We'll kick
a circulatory system's ass!

Oh, yeah?

You're gonna go fight the
circulatory system, tough guy?

You're mentally fucked up.

You dudes really have
no concept of reality, huh?

‐Don't do it!
‐And who might you be?

Don't fight
that circulatory system.

You can't defeat him.

Oh, Big Head, Big Head,
how do you know?

Because I'm the one
who created him.

I created a monster
with me big head.

Also, I am officially retiring
from karate,

so good‐bye to everybody
at this temple.

‐Bye.
‐Good‐bye.

‐And good‐bye to you.
‐So long.

I'll think of you
when I eat my soup!

Did you hear that?

You can't fight
a circulatory system,

you dingbat.

Oh, yes, we can!

We're gonna track him down
and kick his ass,

and then you're gonna cry.

‐Aww.
‐Yeah, man. Whatever.

Oh, shit, there he is.

Holy shit, man.

That guy looks tougher
than a horse's skull

with three nails
sticking out of it,

and then it turns out the nails
are made of your nightmares

and that you went
to the bathroom in your pants.

‐Fuck!
‐Come on, man.

He doesn't look that tough.

He's not even moving.

‐Hey, you!
‐Fuck.

Hey, if you're so tough,
touch your toes.

Or do a jumping jack.

Um, I'm gonna go check on...

uh, buying a microwave oven
or something.

Well, the time has come.

I'm gonna kick this guy's ass.

(dramatic chords)

SINGERS: ♪♪ I think I need
a little wiggle room ♪♪

♪♪ To move my body
and to go to zoom ♪♪

JOHN: Well, well, well,
look at these pathetic losers.

Uh, are you kidding?
This is amazing.

‐JOHN: What?
‐DAVID: This is like

that book we read
in high school

about the guy
everyone thinks is so great.

‐Oh, really? Which book?
‐"The Greatest Guy"

by F‐This Fitzgerald
or something.

All right.
I'll ignore that.

Listen up, everyone.

My name is John Hunchman.

I came here to smash balls
and make money,

and I'm all out of money.

(laughs)
Nice outfit.

He looks like a gummy bear
going to Sunday school.

He looks like if Mark Twain
lived in a basement

with a freezer
full of human heads.

‐Brutal.
‐Okay, I can hear you.

He looks like
if a riverboat captain

and a Double Stuf Oreo
had a baby.

‐Ooh.
‐Keep it coming.

Every insult
makes me stronger.

Looking like
"Brideshead Regurgitated."

(snorts)
Oh, my God.

All right.
You know what?

That's‐‐that's actually
a good reference.

He looks like
a bag of mustaches

trying to sneak
into the Kentucky Derby.

‐(laughing)
‐Okay.

Enough meaningless nonsense.

Let's play croquet.
Where's Tucker?

Rise and grind, bitches.

BOTH: Wow.

JOHN: SCKR really does send
quality seersucker suits

straight to your door.

Remember, no matter
who wins or loses,

this is all about looking good
and having fun.

Right, but there's still
a thousand‐dollar prize.

‐Correct?
‐(sighs)

That's correct.

Now, everyone remember,

the official hashtag
is #sucklife.

And that's paid out
immediately, the prize?

Sure.

And you should promote that

across all your‐‐

‐In cash?
‐Cash, check, Bitcoin.

Whatever,
but you gotta win first.

‐Okay. Got it covered.
‐All right, champ.

Good luck.
You call me when it's over.

We'll hit the Fridge Pit.

We'll get you a fresh,
shiny fridge.

ANNOUNCER:
Fridge Pit!

Whoa, whoa, David,
you can't leave.

(sputters)
Croquet's lame.

I'm gonna go read magazines
at the gas station.

No, no, it's‐‐it's‐‐
it's two‐person teams, David.

‐I‐‐I need you.
‐DAVID: Ugh. Really?

‐You need me?
‐Uh‐‐

Do it for the ham.

‐Fine.
‐Yes!

Okay, but if this isn't fun,
I'm gonna be pissed.

Put us on the board,
Tucker!

Fine.
What's your team name?

Uh, how 'bout "Best Buddies
Ball Bonkers LLC"‐‐

‐Weak...
‐Oh, my God.

Our team name is

"Your Face Is
My Slaughterhouse."

Oh...kay.

MAN: Round one!

(rock music)

Boom!

We win.

In your face, Toby!

All right,
chill out, man.

‐It's just a game.
‐"Just a game."

The catchphrase of losers.

Who's next?
How 'bout you two?

Who, us?

We won the tournament
last year.

We get a buy.

Oh, well, wowee.

What's up with him?

This is supposed to be about
looking good and having fun.

Dude, I don't know.

‐I've never seen him like this.
‐Come on.

Come on.
You want some?

You want some, right?
Come on.

Which one of you is gonna
take a piece of this?

He looks like a toll booth
having a panic attack.

MAN: Round two!

Come on, Britney!

You got this, Brit!

(camera shutter snapping)

(coughs)
Missed the ball.

‐(coughing)
‐Oh, shoot.

My turn.

♪♪ ♪♪

‐Aw, man.
‐Lesson here, Britney:

you come at the king,
you best not miss.

♪♪ ♪♪

JOHN: Ha!

Why are you being
such a little bitch?

(blabbering)

This is a croquet tournament,
okay?

It's not a cuddle puddle.

‐Dude.
‐What?

You're acting insane.

This is supposed to be fun.

I literally can't afford
to have fun, okay?

Now get out of my way.
You're blocking my shot.

♪♪ ♪♪

Mm...mm.

Yes!

ALL: Boo!

♪♪ ♪♪

‐GLEN: Betsy.
‐BETSY: Hi, Glen.

‐GLEN: Hey.
‐BETSY: Hi.

‐GLEN: Thanks for coming in.
‐Thanks for having me.

Hey, I just wanted to say this
is another one of those movies

with a weird character name,

and unfortunately,
this one we definitely‐‐

there's no changing it.

‐Yeah, okay.
‐Okay? You good with that?

‐Mm‐hmm.
‐GLEN: Okay, well, let's, uh‐‐

slate your name
and let's begin.

Okay, great.
(clears throat)

Betsy Sadaro reading for
Stupid Shithead with no Teeth.

(howling)

(brakes hiss)

(light music)

‐(woman coughs)
‐(phone buzzes, rings)

(devices chirping)

♪♪ ♪♪

MAN: To the lovely lady

I encountered on the crosstown
bus this morning

at roughly 10:00 a. m.

Hello.

I was the bearded gent with
the whimsical comedic bent,

pantomiming subtle
satire to you.

Hopefully an oasis
in this tech‐flooded world

of phone zone zombies.

(chuckles)

Your sunglasses
were a mysterious touch.

All the better
to play coy with

when presented with a suitor
such as myself,

uncomfortable luddite
in a homemade birthday shirt.

I feel no shame for
my unique countenance,

and the fact that
your cool exterior

displayed no judgment
had me swooning inside.

Yes, the jig was a bold move.

A proclamation of my belief

that there was connective
tissue between us.

I'm sure you could see
the passion

with which I imbued
the performance.

Alas, my lack of balance
at a crucial moment

led to a break
in that connective tissue,

not to mention a possible
fractured wrist.

As the bus stopped
at your destination,

the last thing I saw
was your lovely back

heading toward the rear exit.

Trapped and immobile
and the target

of many a scornful look
for waking those around me

from their brain‐dead slumber
with my amorous antics,

I was forced to watch you
walk out of my life,

the one woman who finally
connected with me

on a deeper level
than an angry shove

or harsh word about
the quality of my breath.

You disappeared
into the ether.

But you had seen me.

That much I can hold dear
to my heart.

I danced for you,
showed you my true self.

We shared a delightful moment,

unfettered by
handheld computers

and the chaos
of the modern world,

and for that,
I thank you heartily.

I do hope we meet again.

But for now,
I bid you adieu.

‐(brakes squeal)
‐(thud)

SINGERS: ♪♪ Gold on bond
make a whistle ♪♪

♪♪ Like a rocket ♪♪

♪♪ 'Cause when I gonna
whistle like that ♪♪

TENANT: I lost
a lot of things recently.

A lighter, a pen,
a pair of pants.

But a lot of that
is to be expected

when you have a black hole
in your apartment.

Mine is massive and swirling.

Gravity intensifies
in the living room,

and all forms of matter

begin breaking down
in the kitchen,

which makes cooking
nearly impossible.

I had a friend come over
last week,

and he got trapped
in the black hole,

and now I can always hear him
screaming.

MAN: Ahh!

TENANT:
At the right angle,

I can see my future
through the black hole,

but I avoid looking
to avert potential paradoxes

and the sight of myself
in shorts.

Light bulbs became useless
since the black hole

immediately sucked up
their light,

leaving me in darkness
at sundown.

Sometimes when I'm around
the black hole,

I get this odd feeling,

as if there's someone watching
me from the other side

and that they might
have a black hole

in their apartment too.

Maybe they're also
frustrated by it

and don't like the fact
that it's in their space

when it should be out
in space

and find the whole thing
just ominous and foreboding.

Or maybe they're better

at dealing with black holes
than I am.

It might even
be a positive force

at the center
of their universe,

as opposed to something
to fret about like I do.

After all, having a black hole
isn't all that bad.

Makes for a great
conversation piece,

provided you keep
a safe distance.

The event horizon
around the black hole

is perfect for preserving
the fine cheeses

I spoil myself with
on occasion,

since time moves slower
around there.

A black hole is also
pretty handy for cleanup

if you're as bad
and lazy at cleaning as I am.

I just scoot everything
into a pile

and slowly nudge it with
my designated nudging stick

until it disappears
off the cusp of infinity.

When my parents come over
to my apartment,

they always complain
about my black hole.

My dad says, when he
was my age, he didn't have

cosmic formations like this
in his home.

I don't care what he thinks.

So I guess I'll just stick
to avoiding the black hole

on my own terms, at least
until the lease is up.

Then it's month‐to‐month,

and I could
just play it by ear.

♪♪ ♪♪

MAN: Round three!

(sighs)
Stupid game.

Whoa, David,
what are you doing?

‐What?
‐Not the red ball.

Green ball's a cleaner shot.

The green ball's
too far away.

No, it's not.
It's perfect.

Listen.
Do you need me or not?

‐(groans)
‐Let me play my game.

‐Fine.
‐Step back two steps.

Goddamn.

Breathing down my neck
over here.

Shit.

Oh, god damn it, David!

Whatever!

I told you, David.

Now I have to clean up
your mess.

Oh, okay, fine.
I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry I messed up
your master plan.

I'm gonna go get a drink.

You're mine now.

‐Ah! Ouch!
‐Shit!

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.
Finger cramp.

‐ALL: Boo!
‐What was that?

Oh, I guess
it's a false alarm.

Tucker, the weird, fat
old man isn't playing fair.

Rein it in, Detective.

We're trying to document
a fun seersucker lifestyle.

Not your menopausal
breakdown.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Just get the prize money ready.

MAN: Match point!

It all comes down to this.

The final wicket.

This is why we love croquet.

Who's looking good
and having fun?

‐(all cheering)
‐Oh, Jesus.

Enough about looking good.

(camera shutter snapping)

Out of my way, "Grey Gardens."

(grunting)
Asthma attack!

Tucker,
this weird old man

is doing another
fake medical emergency.

Oh, shit.
No, no.

He's having an asthma attack.
He's‐‐it's real.

Where's your inhaler?

Can't get it out
of my pocket.

Damn, these pants
are so tight.

Does anyone have an inhaler?

Anyone?

I know he's been a dick
all afternoon.

Doesn't mean he should die.

Fine.
Here you go.

‐Thank you.
‐(gasping)

This inhaler...
(wheezes)

It's beautiful.

Come on, Colonel.

Suck life!

Suck life.
Suck life.

ALL: Suck life!
Suck life!

Suck life!

This is not what I planned,

but thank you for this
incredible spectacle.

ALL: Suck life!
Suck life!

Now there, and zoom...
and match.

See? I definitely would've
won that on paper.

You know what?

No one gives a shit about what
happens on a piece of paper.

What‐‐what is your problem?

Dude, are you not even
gonna thank me?

For helping me
lose the match?

For saving your life,
asshole.

Technically, the inhaler
saved my life.

Admit it; you literally
cannot live without me,

because real life
is not on paper.

Will you stop waving
that ham in my face?

John, this is the talking ham.

Whoever holds the ham can talk.

Now, you listen to me,
damn it.

‐(phone chimes)
‐Whoa.

‐What?
‐Tucker.

He just sent me $500.

According to him,
it turns out,

"Young people
playing lawn games..."

JOHN AND TUCKER:
With a belligerent,

lonely, old man...

TUCKER: Speaks to millennials'
yearning for weird dads

who aren't their actual dads.

Good work, Detective.

Huh.
I'm a brand ambassador.

Goddamn, you're selfish.

We're both brand ambassadors.

‐(phone chimes)
‐Oh.

Uh, did you just order me
five honey‐baked hams?

Well, I don't want you to die
from eating that rotten ham,

and you have a point.

Here we go.

I couldn't have lost
without you.

‐Uh‐huh.
‐All right?

Okay,
apology accepted,

if what you're saying
is you need me.

‐I need‐‐
‐Just say it, man.

Just say it.
Why's it gotta be so hard?

Don't even think about it.
Just say it.

You need...

Need...a new refrigerator.

So I can stuff all this
hot honeyed ham in it.

Ugh, vomit.

‐My hot honeyed ham, homey.
‐Disgusting. Yeah.

‐Euphemism taken.
‐Take it.

Take all that euphemism.

SINGERS: ♪♪ And then
the way it goes, it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way
it goes it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way it goes,
it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way
it goes, it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way it goes,
it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way
it goes, it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way it goes,
it goes ♪♪

♪♪ And then the way
it goes, it goes ♪♪

♪♪ I need a little
wiggle room ♪♪

♪♪ To move my body
and to go to zoom ♪♪

♪♪ Oh ♪♪

♪♪ Ohh ♪♪

♪♪ Oh ♪♪

♪♪ The way it goes,
the way it goes ♪♪

♪♪ Oh ♪♪

♪♪ Ohh ♪♪

VOICES: Yes!