All language subtitles for Dirt s02e03 God Bless the Child.eng

Previously, on Dirt...

How are you feeling today, Don?

- Weird.
- Weird how?

Because I'm starting to feel normal.

Well, we'll keep an eye
on those feelings of normalcy.

Hey, Brent.

- Spiller! You're...
- Alive.

- Are you back for good?
- Looks like it.

You can't run those photos.

I wish I had other options.
I really do.

But I'm looking at a deadline here,

so unless you tell me
what happened to Aundray G,

you leave me no choice.

Tweetie had his head, okay?

In a jar.

Look at my boy.

Aundray G.

Y'all don't mind if he sits in a hand,
do you?

Tweetie loves church.

As you all know, I recently spent
some time at St. Edmunds

after a rebuttal to one of my articles.

It is an incredible institution,

which I'm sure so many of you
have counted on.

So, Hollywood, please,

not that Botox
and call girls aren't important,

but if you could take half the money
that you spend on that

and leave it here tonight,
we could build this wing in a week.

Thank you so much.

There are some malnourished twins
that seem to have rented

a permanent stall in the ladies room.

- Coke or vomit?
- Dealer's choice.

Oh, I love options.
Knock on the stall,

see if you can borrow a cup of blow.
Take a shooter.

How are you? Good to see you.

Farber. Ease up on the Old Spice before
you burn a hole in the ozone layer.

W... I'm not sure, but I think an A-list
heterosexual actor

just asked me if I'd like to go camping.

Ooh, somebody's about to go Brokeback.

I'm sure that's what my parents
took out a second mortgage for

- to get me through J-school.
- Oh, come on. Be a team player.

- There's no "I" in blow job.
- "I" in... What?

- Look at you.
- Hi.

Great night for the hospital, Lucy.

You remember our son, Craig.

- I'm gonna get a drink.
- Oh, of course. Hello.

Well, you look wonderful.

- Thanks for showing up, Cassie.
- Oh, why wouldn't I?

I've weathered much bigger storms

than your magazine's
attempt to discredit me.

You did give a hand-job to your
campaign manager in a parking lot.

An egregious error in judgment, I admit.

But you'll be happy to know
that we are in counseling

and we have recommitted to the marriage.

You know, Lucy, a marriage
is not judged by the actions

that one takes in the good times,

but rather how you step up
during the moments of crisis.

I already heard that speech on E.T.

Well, regardless,

I'm willing to have Dirt
come do a little photo-op

of the family
around the breakfast table.

That would be riveting for my readers.

Before I left acting, you would
have kissed my ass in Macy's window

to get an interview with me
inside my home.

Now you're running for Senate,
and Dirt doesn't back politicians.

- You have my number.
- I sure do.

Such a shame about Julia Mallory.

I always liked her.

Get close to their son, Craig.

Get a read on the happy couple.

Husband looks like he's got a bomb
strapped to his chest.

All right, I'll ice up a nipple
and start chatting.

He may not want to talk,
but I think his 18-year-old hormones

might want to meet me for coffee.

Somebody's growing up.

Hey, Lucy.

Hi, Prince.

Hey, Craig. I'm Willa.

I just, um, heard your father

telling someone
what a gifted athlete you are.

Actually, my true gift lies
in the oral arts.

Wow, that's smooth.
You should write for Hallmark.

Not to worry. I don't do reporters.

I hope everyone at your magazine
gets cancer and dies.

Ciao.

Got another surgery on...
Next month, coming up.

There's not a day that goes by
I'm not in pain

but, you know,
what birth isn't painful, right?

I never meant for that to happen.

It's not the way I do business.

I'm truly sorry.

Between the drugs, the women,
and all the other people

I chose to hang out with,

it was just a matter of time before
I lost everything I really cared about.

Tweetie did me a favor.

Wow. It's amazing
how you can feel that way.

Doors and windows
open and shut all the time.

You of all people
should know that, Lucy.

Yeah, I try to keep mine locked.

Bad things didn't happen to you and I
because we're bad.

It happened because we weren't
paying attention to what's important.

Is that why the book?

Everyone was talking about my loss
of a basketball career

like it was a loss of my God-given gift.

People in my life are my God-given gift.

This book is my making amends.

I'll send you a copy.

Prince.

Is that you?

Hi, Boots.

What's up?

Oh, man.

Well, you gotta give that nigga his due.

When he does something,
he does it all the way.

She's Tweetie's property.

And the one constant with people
who associate with Tweetie

is one day, it'll be their turn.

- Take care, Lucy.
- You, too.

Transcript: swsub.com

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::ITASA::

Season 2 Episode 3
God Bless the Child

So, the obvious conclusion is
that he got her pregnant

while they were away in Africa filming.

Meanwhile, his wife,
seven months pregnant with their third,

sat back in Ojai,
gaining weight like it was a contest.

It's nicely played, but it's not him.

He had a vasectomy
two weeks before the shoot.

Yeah, but how do we know that?

Because his urologist doesn't pay
his secretary enough.

All right, guys.
What do we know about Tweetie McDaniel?

He's violent
and he chopped off Aundray G's head.

Thanks, scoop!

All right, looks like Alan's gonna be
in charge of all things obvious.

- Um, Naomi.
- Um, Lil'Boots is his biggest client.

She was at the fundraiser last night.

She's gone platinum twice
since her move from hip-hop to R&B,

and she has an incredible voice.

Did you know that "Naomi"
spelled backwards is "I moan"?

Did you know I'm a brown belt and
can kick your nuts up into your throat

so deep you'll be able
to wash them when you gargle?

Do you know you're immature?

We do know that.

Why don't you two see
what you can dig up on Tweetie?

It's kind of a non-story.
I mean, why now?

Because I like screwing with him.

You don't call people back?

My cell's kinda
not been working very well.

Think it has anything to do with it
being a six-year-old piece of shit?

I want you to do some snooping around
our would-be Senator's house.

Do some surveillance.

What, the Hopes? What's the story?

Cassie Hope is addicted to drama.
It's her norm.

She can't function without it.

So, you want me to sit out
front of the Hopes' house

and just kind of wait?

Sure there's not a,
you know, flower show

or panda birth I could attend instead?

Looks like somebody
had their irony shots today.

Come on,
that Craig kid's a loose cannon.

Probably knows all that shit
we wrote about his mom is true.

- Just give it 24 hours.
- Okay.

Can I take my photograph now?

Oh, Don.

All right.

Oh, that's a lot lighter
than the last time.

All right.

That's quite a scrapbook you got
going on there, Donnie.

Mr. Barrow.

So what's this I hear about you
snooping around Tweetie McDaniel?

You really wanna know?

I know how hard it is for you
to keep a secret.

Maybe you should have used that tongue
when Julia Mallory attacked you.

Oh my God,
you could have hacked her to pieces.

- Well, this is fun.
- So, is this your way of punishing me

for screwing up the magazine
when you were in the hospital?

Humiliating me by pushing me
to the periphery? I mean...

- I did the best I could.
- I know you did,

and that's the problem.
You really did do the best you could.

Nicely done.

Look, Brent,
what do you want me to say?

- It doesn't matter.
- No. What you're saying is

- "I don't matter".
- Yeah, but in a much nicer way.

Come on.
We've already had this discussion.

Right here in front of the neighbors.

It doesn't matter, Mom.
You've done it a million times.

Nice.

Lucy, I will never doubt you again.

Why do you always get to do
what you want to do?

You're ridiculous, Mom.

I love you, Mom!

Great!

Later, Mom!

Bye, Mom!

Hey! Hold up a second there, kid.

You okay?

Who the hell are you?

I'm a photographer...

for a magazine.

The lady I work for,

she'd be really interested
in what you have to say.

It's what I do.

Hey, she does that all the time, man.

I don't even have to...

do anything anymore.

You want a...
You want a real story?

Sure.

Oof. I gotta eat here more often.

We thought you'd like the salad.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

It was a joke.

Salad's green, money's green, and...

Ho with an axe to grind.

Is she willing to talk?

I don't know. Call her and ask.

I want six orders
of the chicken piccata to go,

no skimping on the capers.
Please don't drown it in lemon.

And, uh, put it
on Barbie and Dane Cook's tab.

Are you disappointed your bid
for cable giant Andromeda Entertainment

was rejected?

And do you think it has anything to do
with your unconventional lifestyle?

I like women.
I like going to parties.

The women in my life walk in through
the front door and leave the same way.

I inherited $50 million when I was 20.

In 14 years, I have turned it
into two and a half billion.

That is the true fruit of my labor.

The deal

fell through because they would like
to keep ownership domestic... simple.

Thank you.

They have separate bedrooms.

They haven't slept together in years.
It's all bullshit.

Well, I'd like to see that.

- I have something better.
- Yeah?

Yep.

I think...

you're gonna want to see
their wine cellar.

Go ahead.

This is a sex dungeon.

It's so secret, they don't even know
that I know it's here.

Yeah.
When I was six, I heard them down here.

And they thought I was asleep.

Scared the shit out of me.

I bet.

They never saw me.

This is gonna be an incredible story.

Yeah...

but you'll never tell it.

You let me out of this, you freak!

What do you want?

What do I want? What do I want?

Man.

If I could answer that question...
question...

You know, I guess it would be

what we all want, really. You know?

Peace on earth, good will towards men.

Yes!

No, don't, don't!

You shouldn't be upset.

It's what I do.

How old were you when Tweetie raped you?

Seventeen,

the first time.

What was your relationship like
before that?

Relationship?

People don't have relationships
with Tweetie.

Just because a dog wags its tail
from time to time

doesn't mean that it won't tear
your throat out, given half the chance.

Were you ever sexual with him
prior to the rape?

Everybody who gets into business
with Tweetie gets that way with him.

No matter.

Women...

and men.

Was it ever consensual?

About as consensual as sex
after a beating-down can be.

He did what he did 17 years ago,

and I got my baby girl Alisha
to prove it.

And why are you willing
to come forward now?

You print
that I'm thinking about suing him,

- he'll settle.
- Meaning?

He's got a whole lot more to lose now.

Yeah, but a rape 17 years after the fact

and back child support aren't exactly
what's needed to bring him to his knees.

Sweetheart, ain't nothing gonna bring
Tweetie McDaniel to his knees.

That's your fight.

Right now, I'd be willing to settle
for just a little justice.

- What do you want?
- Uh, hi.

I'm Brent Barrow.

Publisher, DirtNow magazine.

I spoke to your lawyer.
He said to come on by.

Adam Proteau?

None other.

Who's this loser?

Don't be hurt.

They think Jon Favreau
is going to stop by.

Come.

If I don't sterilize these burns
with vinegar,

infection could set in,
and what kind of host would I be

if I were to let that happen?

What in God's na...
What is going on...

Who is he?

Please!

Please, your son invited me in.

- And then he knocked me out.
- Craig?

He's a liar!

- He's a paparazzi, Mom. Hit him.
- Oh, God.

Hit him!

How the hell do you explain
how I got in here?

I mean, look. Look at my chest,

look at my shoulders,
look at my back.

Your son invited me in here,

and then he hit me
over the back of the head,

- Mom...
- and when I wake up, I'm in this thing.

Mom! Mom. He's lying to you, okay?

- He was snooping around, all right?
- No, no, no.

- No! No! No!
- He saw you...

I'm sorry, Mom!

All right? I'm sorry!

I did this for you!

All right?
He wanted me to talk about you,

to lie about you, and try to ruin you.

I was trying to protect you, Mama.

- Mom, I was trying to protect you.
- Oh, God. Oh, God.

Baby, baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

No. Maybe later.

- Is there something wrong?
- No, no, no. Not at all.

I... I was, um...

- I wanna talk to you about Dirt...
- Let me see your penis.

- You're kidding, right?
- No.

Great. You're a psycho.

Okay. Well...

thanks for, you know, everything.

You are Brent Barrow,
the publisher of DirtNowmagazine.

Average newsstand first
2 months of operation,

1,113,285.

Total ad pages during that time period,
385.

Your total circulation at the time
of your editor's stabbing

was 1,486,360.

Your ad sales currently are up
36 percent.

Your sell-through is 39 percent.
Your rate base is 1.4 million.

Your editor is Lucy Spiller.

And Gibson Horne, your owner,

has been quietly entertaining offers
for your magazine

ever since your editor's
unfortunate occurrence.

Is that right?

And you're here to convince me
to buy your magazine.

But I must know:

What's in it for Brent Barrow?

May I?

Yeah.

But first...

Really?

Nice.

Small men,

they are angry, not to be trusted.

I'm six and three-quarters when erect.

Average penis size worldwide
is five and one-quarter.

You've beaten me in length,
but I have defeated you in width.

I think he's thicker also.

Shut up pig! He looks thicker
because his balls are lacking!

Let's talk business.

- I'll call you back.
- Uh, hey, Lucy.

There's a Tweetie McDaniels
here to see...

There they are.

Alex, wait outside.

Know what I like about Russians?

They're always in a good mood.

What do you want?

- Mind if I take a seat?
- Oh, you won't be here that long.

Photos of you don't do you justice.

You are a very beautiful woman.

That and busy.

I'm with you on that, baby.
There're just so many hours, right?

I don't think you got any idea

what a dangerous neighborhood
you inhabit.

Yeah, I'm thinking of getting a dog.

I like you. Know that? I really do.

I pray to God that what happened
to that poor, unfortunate woman

who left your offices earlier today

- doesn't happen to you.
- What did you do to her?

What's her name again?

Sherri, right?
Yeah, that's it, Sherri.

Seems after Sherri left your offices,

some thugs... ruthless animals,

not like you and me...

with no regard for the sanctity of life,

beat her like a bad dog.

Is she alive?

That's up to you.

First Prince, now Sherri.

I'm beginning to think you're bad luck.

I'm beginning to think you're bad luck.

Yeah, I got him... I
got him right here, Gib.

No, he's sitting right across from me.

Magazine and radio.

Yeah. Yeah, here, here. Here he is.

Um, excuse me. Would you...

Gibson. Long time no see.

- Try not to touch me, okay?
- Okay.

How long have you
known about this place?

Since I was six. Oh...

Craig.

I need you to go upstairs

to call Dale and tell him
that you're not feeling well

- and that he does not need to pick you
up for lacrosse practice. - Okay, mama.

- What do we do?
- Let me go.

I won't say a word. I promise.

Oh, yes. A promise from a pap.

That's worth its weight in dog shit.

Where have I seen you before?

Who gives a rat's ass where you saw him?
Could be anywhere. They're like flies.

I can't do this.

What are you suggesting that we do,
just turn him in? Oh, please

Turn in your own flesh and blood.
Is that what you're saying?

I love my son every bit as much as you,
so don't get all self-righteous.

Call the police. Tell them,
you know, you caught me trespassing.

Tell them you were scared.

You have every right to
beat me unconscious and tie me up.

Just don't press charges
and everybody's okay, okay?

Yes, great. We're just going to walk the
police down to our private S&M dungeon

and let them escort you out of here.

My political career, it's
gonna be over before it even starts.

Maybe you shouldn't think
about your career and focus instead

- on what's best for our son.
- My career is what's best for our son.

A working mother,
a good home, the right college.

That is what's best for our son, and
that sure as shit is not gonna happen

on your lousy,
direct-to-video residuals.

You know our couch upstairs
produces more change

than this man's last
two flops combined?

Well, maybe if she kept her
dick in her pants and didn't get caugh

fondling her campaign manager's balls...
Are you kidding me?

Maybe if you'd get it up more
than twice a year, I...

That's not fair.
I'm diabetic and you know it!

Well, I'm sick!
You know? I'm hurt and I'm bleeding.

I have a medical condition

which if left unattended,
I could have a seizure and die.

You don't want that on your hands.

You're both textbook codependents.

Cassie, your narcissism
is on a Greek god level.

And Bill-- Bill,
you should start an enablers' workshop.

Please. Please let me go. I swear

you know, I'm harmless.

Lucy.

Lucy Spiller.

I knew I knew you from somewhere.

This is my third message,
and it's a simple one, sweetie.

Get a new goddam cell phone.
Call me.

Hi. What did the police ask you?

Oh, not much. Seems dealing
with Tweetie is nothing new.

Seems he's not just
a thorn in your side.

What do you mean, my side?
This is aDirtstory.

Well, no offense, but no, it's not.

Our readers don't care
about Tweetie McDaniels.

They want to read about Lindsay Lohan's
latest implosion

or whose ass is getting
a beating from gravity.

- I just... I... It's reckless, Lucy. I
just think... - Willa, okay. I like you

not as much as these shoes...
but I don't care how you feel.

- Lucy? Excuse me.
- What?

You might want to take this. She
says it's Tweetie McDaniel's daughter.

Do you have children, Don?

No.

I have a little brother.

He's grown now.
It's hard always knowing what to do,

always feeling like you're failing them,
failing everyone.

Not this mantra.

Bill, you're depressed.

Have you talked to anyone?

Who hasn't he talked to?
I had the friggin'Dalai Lama over here.

I see a woman, Dr. Shalba.
She could help.

You suffer from depression?
I'm schizophrenic.

Depression sort of goes hand in hand.
Sure.

I... I got it pretty bad.

I tried to kill my friend. No.

I almost died myself,
wandering out in the desert.

But Dr. Shalba saved me.
Dr. Shalba and my friend.

You know who suffers from depression?
Me.

I tried everything I could think of
to help you, snap out of this disease.

Cass, this isn't about you.
Oh, yes it is. It is about all of us.

You think it's hard living with it,
you should try sleeping with it,

or talking with it, or having...

having any semblance
of a normal life with it.

Everything is buried under
this shroud of constant misery.

Are you blaming me for this? For Craig?

I'm just saying that your
being submissive down here

was fun way back when, but your being
submissive up there

and to this disease, it's killing us.

I love my son,
and I'd do anything not to harm him.

My little brother, the one who's
grown now,

I loved him so much. I tried.

Sometimes things break in such a way
that, you know,

the pieces just don't go back together.

You gotta learn to accept
and love the pieces that are left.

I understand about Craig.
No, you don't.

Nobody understands but Bill and me.

The schools,
the teachers, the therapists,

all they see is the pathology.

They don't see the beauty...

and the kindness.

People only fear what
they don't understand,

and they don't understand our Craig.

Hey, sleepy boy.

Okay. Family meeting upstairs,
and we'll figure out how to right this.

Excuse us, Don.

Of course.

Come on, buddy.

That was some nap, huh?

Tweetie got Mama
pregnant when she was 17.

I see him in the studio, but that's it.

How long have you been
the voice of Lil'Boots?

I've been lipsynching all her music

since she switched over
to R&B 2 years ago.

She never sings any of her own songs?

When she was hard core. But that career
never went nowhere.

She wanted to switch over.

Girl couldn't carry a tune
if you strapped it on her back.

Someone told Tweetie about
me singing gospel in church one day.

He had me come in, lay down some tracks.

And that's the last time Lil'Boots
ever opened her mouth,

except to say thank you for a check.

- All right. Thank you. - You're gonna
pay for my mama's hospital bills, right?

- Of course we will.
- Thank you.

You won't leave here without protection.

Uh, Gib?
You just made one hell of a deal.

Oh, Gib, Gib, Gib. Before
you go... Listen, before you go public

could I be the one to tell Spiller?

Gib, you just helped make this
the happiest day of my life.

I know. Okay. All right.

Your buzzards and my buzzards
should have the principles

hammered out by the end of the week.
I insist we celebrate. Ciao.

Oh, my God. I can't wait
to see the look on Spiller's face.

Don.

God, this is really hard.

May I please go now?

Don, I'm very sorry.

Let me go. Please.

There's no other way.
We have to kill you.

He's gonna kill me. He knows!

Where are you?

I'm in the hotel room you sent me to.
He just called.

You're gonna be okay. Kenny, my purse.

Let me speak to your bodyguard.
She wants to speak to you.

I got one in the hallway,
one in the lobby, and two in the room.

Nobody's gonna put a hand on this girl.
I'm on my way.

This is hard for us, too, Don.
We're not murders.

We love our son.

California law says he could be tried
as an adult.

We can't take that chance. Craig
already has two strikes against him.

He beat a girl badly. She was a teenager
He thought that she stole his bike.

- She did.
- But this is assault,

kidnapping, torture.

Your son is a sociopath.
And you're not helping him.

You broke into our home,
ranting and raving. We were terrified.

Bill shot you. End of story.
I have to shoot him?

We discussed this, Bill.

Are you going to take a more
active role in this family or not?

If you shoot me, my boss,
Lucy Spiller, she'll be all over you.

If you think she's gonna believe
this little bullshit,

then you're...
you know, you're as nuts as your son.

She'll haunt you till
she finds the truth,

and when she does,
you're all gonna go to jail for murder.

I'll shoot him.

Not now, honey, please. Don's right.
We should think this over for a minute.

I can't believe this.
You're gonna pussy out?

I hate this family! Honey, we

aren't saying that we're
not going to kill Don,

- we're just going to think it
through a little. - Look at him.

You... You can't save him.
You shut up!

- All right? You shut up.
- He's broke.

Give me the gun. And you know it.

You're the psycho. He's broke.

Give me the gun. No!

- I know. You know, too.
- Shut up!

No, don't do that.
Stop it. Give me the gun, Dad.

No! Give me the gun!
Give him the gun, Bill. Cassie!

Let him have it.

See what he does.
See what the pieces do.

No, Craig. Give Mama the gun.

Craig, give Mama...
I'm doing this for us!

Watch. They're the psychos!

See?
Watch. See? See? See the pieces?

Craig!

Craig. I have the bullets.

Give me the gun.

Daddy.

I don't want to be bad anymore.

Help me. It's too late.

No, it's not. What do you want?
Money? Position?

- Anything. Anything. Please.
- No.

Please. He's my baby.
Please. Please don't take my baby.

Anything. Just let us go.
Just let us go. Anything. Anything.

Because... he's not bad.

It's me.

It's me. I'm bad. I'm bad.

It's me.

When he was six years old, he
would give me a hundred kisses before...

Cassie. Cassie.

Cassie! Stop it. It's over. Honey.

It's over. Oh, please.

Come on.

Just leave us, please.

I'm... I'm sorry for your loss.

What is it?
Are you okay? I'm sorry.

I don't think I can go
through with this. He knows.

You don't have to. You don't have to.

You okay?
It's okay, sweetheart. What's happening?

I have asthma.
My inhaler's in the next room.

Where? My bag.

That's Daddy's girl.

Funny thing about some security firms.
Not real big on background checks.

I'm sorry. He said he'd kill my mother.

Her ma thought she's
gonna blackmail Tweetie.

Like I would ever
pay out that skank bitch.

Little something? No.

Come no, take that edge off you.

You fellows make a run for me.

It's gonna be a long night.

See this little girl right here?

Oh, you should hear the Spirit
move through her. I'm telling you.

Then why is she lip-synching
instead of making her own CDs?

Look at her, bitch.

Voice like an angel.
Face like a rhino.

Don't be eyeballing
your daddy like that, baby.

Not unless you want
some of what your mama got.

Oh, we partying now, huh?

Whoo! Just like home, baby.

Don't look at her.
All eyes on Tweetie.

See, I'm the one who's gonna
deliver you. Not the little pig.

Oh, ho, Tweetie's in love

Sit down, baby. Sit down. Sit down.

Whoa. Ooh, look at that face.
Look at that face. She mad now.

Alisha, hey.
I got love for you, baby. I do.

It's your ma saying
shit that ain't true. Rape?

Rape? Money. Looks.

Why would I ever have to resort to that?

Your mama, she came. She came
willing and often. In fact, she told me,

"Don't worry,
baby, I'm on birth control."

Thought she gonna hold
Tweetie hostage for support.

Bam! Shit backfired.

Your mama didn't want you no more...
no more than I did.

Liar. Whoa!

Hey, Lucy.
Yeah. I'm... I'm... I'm going home.

There's nothing happening here.

_/Yellow Sub\_
contact@yellowsubteam.com

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