All language subtitles for Youre the Worst s03e02 Fix Me, Dummy.eng

The five most truly free
moments of a human's life

in ascending order...
leaving his parents' home,

dumping a girl hard,

deciding to eat a whole pizza,

hammocks...

and finishing a writing project.

Jimmy, did you finish

your book proposal?

Your sarcasm

is but an impotent fusillade of arrows

plinking off the Sherman
tank that is my relief.

Nay, it is

a Verdi aria to my
brand-new cochlear implants,

for it means 'tis true I indeed

finished my book proposal.

Also I am exceedingly
drunk and cannot trust

my grip on the truth.

"Grip." (chuckles)

Oh...

Um...

Uh, sorry. I just need to grab my, um...

- (alarm beeping)
- (groans)

Oh, what are those? Gimme.

Uh, they're boring.

I finally saw that
psychiatrist. He put me on these.

He's making me see this stupid
therapist for the talky-talky.

I always wondered, what
exactly is the difference

between a psychiatrist and a therapist?

A psychiatrist is like,

"Here, take this pills, ho."

A therapist is all, "Oh, tell me your shit.

I couldn't make it as an actor."

I'm bored.

- Let's go to the bar.
- Ugh.

I have to go to that stupid therapist.

Don't worry, it won't take long.

I'll go in there, she'll
wave her magic wand,

and boom, Gretchen's 100.

(gasps) Oh, you're moving out.

Thank God. Make sure
you leave your mattress

on the curb before you go.

And spray paint "unclean" on it,

in Spanish.

No, Dorothy found a place.

Thanks for letting me crash.

I will leave a check for
all the stuff I broke.

- Kidding.
- (Jimmy sighs)

Edgar, why in God's name haven't
you been opening the mail?

You made mail Gretchen's, as
you said, "one little chore."

Well, I already have one little chore.

Aw, Jimmy's dick... ya burnt.

No, he's right.

"Gretchen opens the mail"
is on the chore list.

Right under "Jimmy takes out trash,

i.e.: his own butt."

Fine. I'll get to it.

Never.

Damn. Big day for burns.

Ooh.

- Ugh.
- Hey, um,

I just wanted to say thank you

- for valuing my opinion.
- I don't.

Never have.

Worse than a dog's opinion.

- What are you talking about?
- Your book proposal.

First of all,

it's a really great start.

I love the world.

But I thought I'd do the
10,000-feet notes first,

and then we'd go page by page, hmm?

Hmm. How about you literally
throw them in the trash?

The proposal went out already.

Well, then, why did you have me read it?

Because I wanted you to go,

"Wow, you're so smart, Jimmy.

I could never do that; I'm a stupid baby."

(paper rustling)

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull
www.addic7ed.com

I understand your frustrations,

but sometimes hearing others' opinions can,

at worst, make us feel more
confident in our decisions.

Wow.

For a therapist, you
are a wretched listener.

I didn't ask him for notes,

because one, my proposal went out already,

though I've heard nothing,
which is potentially worrisome.

And two, I don't even know
for sure that he can read,

let alone comprehend the sui generis,

unabashedly erotic, multigenerational,

literary family epic.

Gretchen, you said you wanted Jimmy here

because he can help tell
the story of your depression.

Sorry, what?

Can you tell me why you're here?

No. Can you?

I thought the happy pills
were supposed to fix me.

He had notes.

What notes?

The proposal is perfect.

Talk therapy along with medication

is the most effective long-term
approach to managing depression.

You mean, beating depression.

- Winning depression.
- Oh, I like that.

- That's not a thing.
- Winning it.

Let's start here.

Name one small thing you've been avoiding.

I already did one small thing this morning.

Aw, rough day for Jimmy's dick.

So, we done?

THERAPIST: We can be done,

or you can do the next thing.

Self-improvement is a lifelong process.

How is this a real profession?

- This feels like a scam.
- It's not a scam.

I calls 'em like I sees 'em.

JIMMY: I still don't understand
why my issues are unimportant

to you people.

I want you to make a to-do list,

but with just one thing on it at a time.

I don't have anything I need to do.

You want to fight?

Oh, are you trying to fight me?

'Cause we can go.

Can't you just assign me the one thing?

Oh, I will.

Launder your clothes.

Don't wear your shoes to bed.

Stop giving Killian food.

Titty massages for Jimmy.

That's when the girl runs her
dangling titties up and down your body.

It's quite nice.

Wash your legs.

- What?
- I don't wash my legs.

Okay. Fine.

Mail.

There is a stack of mail
that I have been avoiding.

- Why?
- They always want money,

or you have jury duty,

or your grandma sent you
a check for your birthday,

and then you feel guilty
that you never call her,

and then you can't get
out of bed for a month.

Anyway... mail.

Does that count for your stupid-ass...?

Ugh, sorry.

It's all right, I'm a professional.

You can say anything you want in here.

Hmm.

Anything?

Really?

Does opening the mail count for
your one little asshole thing,

you goddamn cock?

You suck-balls dumb dick?

- Sure.
- Fine,

jizz-magnet.

I will open one piece of mail.

Say "whore."

- Whore.
- Whore.

I'm regretting giving you
license to say anything.

Plus I do kind of want

- to fight you right now.
- Too late.

No take-backsies.

Titty-sucking bitch.

PAUL (whining): Ow.

Lindsay, it hurts.

I know.

It'll be over soon.

- (groans)
- Well,

it's not often I get
to fill your holes, huh?

- (chuckles)
- (grunts)

Oh, I'm falling so far
behind on my big year.

Rhett Gherkins has spotted a
paint-billed crake, Lindsay.

- A paint-billed crake!
- I know,

but his wife has no tits and
looks like a Gila monster.

(laughing)

(groaning): Ow.

No, don't make me laugh.

Ow!

(whimpering): I'm sorry.

I'm so annoying.

You're fine, bear.

I'm a terrible patient.

When I had the mumps, Mother
threatened to send me to foster care.

Pill time, hmm?

And wash it down with this.

This is so much medicine.

Well, maybe you shouldn't
have backed into my knife.

(gagging): It's just like
me to go backing into things.

I crawled in reverse until I was two.

(crying): I'm so stupid.

I'd better go refill these again.

Credit card, please?

I don't remember taking all that.

You keep taking extra
and you don't remember it.

(sighs)

- (crying)
- Bye, now.

(whining): Please hurry back.

(groans)

- This is on Paul, right?
- Yes.

What a poor little patient he is.

I was so caught up
preparing the mise en place,

I didn't see him. He
ran right into my knife.

I didn't even push that deep.

Lindsay.

How are your pancakes?

Are you saying that you, on purpose,

- like murderer-style, stabbed Paul?
- No.

What? No.

I loved him.

Love?

Right.

He's my current husband.

I love him now. I do.

Now I'm wishing I got the pancakes.

I can't believe that
bitch gave me homework.

No, you fix me, dummy.

You know what?

I'm a goddamn A.F. adult.

I quit.

- She can suck it.
- (laughs)

Fine. (clears throat)

Since you won't let it go,

tell me one of your stupid notes.

Okay.

Ah, macro.

Uh, was the sex supposed
to be erotic or disturbing?

Both. Dumb note. Next.

Yeah, I wasn't sure the
"randy, Bohemian aunt"

made sense as a character.

You don't make sense as a character.

Very one-note. Next.

Why do Kitty and Simon
install a two-way mirror?

Right, give me those.

Okay.

Actually, I have to move Dorothy
into her new apartment today

and... I could use some help.

- I'll come.
- Oh, thanks, Jimmy.

I've been a little rocky lately,
and I could really use the support.

Oh, I'm not helping.

I'm coming so that I can
eviscerate your notes,

one by one, to show you how dumb you are.

Oh, and if you must know,

they install the mirror
because they're siblings.

So, obviously, they can't
partake in each other's

tight, little bodies,
but this way, at least,

they can observe each
other's erotic dalliances.

Duh.

I just want you to know I am
not coming back! First of all...

I am with a patient.

Wait, what?

No, I'm angry!

Get out.

I'm so sorry.

DOROTHY: So, last night,

guess your body adjusted
to the new pills, after all.

Yeah, guess so.

Good, because that whole thing that
I said about non-penetrative sex,

check, please.

So, the apartment could be cute, right?

If I pick up some extra Chore
Monkey shifts to buy a couch,

and figure out how to
hide those weird pipes.

The baby handprints on the
ceiling are a little disconcerting,

but you can't see them at night.

Edgar?

Have you noticed how many more
tent cities there are lately?

Do you know any of them?

Any ex-hobo girlfriends
that I need to beat up?

Sorry, bad time for comedy?

No, it's-it's fine.

No, I'm sorry.

This is your big day.

Yeah! I am moving into a
beautiful studio in WeHoCa.

That's L.A.'s newest, hip neighborhood:

West of Homeless Encampment.

Hey.

I think it could be so cute.

Right? I think so.

- Thanks.
- I mean...

it's obviously an idiotic note,

but, gun to my head,
I could show the origin

of Malcolm and Sally's erotic coupling.

Well, if I did that,

then I'd be introducing a
soup?on of narrative Anschauung,

which would allow me to
get inside Clementine's head

when she allows the punk rock bassist
she's just met urinate on her britches.

This is so stupid.

(classical music playing)

(classical music stops playing)

Okay.

How can I help you, Gretchen?

Nice magazines.

So boring, I almost died
rather than read them.

You obviously want very badly
for me to understand something.

You told me there were things
I could do, insinuating that

I could have fixed
myself any time I wanted,

and that is negating my story.

It is tired. It is patriarchal,
and it is rape culture-y.

You are basically a rape apologist.

I don't believe you don't
believe therapy can help.

Why don't you don't tell me
more about how I don't feel?

- You really want to quit?
- Yes.

Okay, then.

It was nice to have met you.

You are memorable.

You know... I'm proud of you for
standing up for what you want.

(chuckles lightly) Who are you, my mom?

Joke's on you. My mom would never say that.

I know you're not my mommy.

Like, what if I started
calling you "Mommy"?

(chuckling): How weird would that be?

I'm gonna go in now.

Good luck, Gretchen.

(whispering): Bitch.

I really like the adjustments.

Well, your asinine notes started a
thought process of actual, usable fixes.

I had to cut the scene in
the cockpit of the plane

where Joachim Kirschner masturbates
during his bombing run on London,

but the section is still highly erotic.

Did you take out the thing
with Roger spanking his nephew?

What, you let Dorothy read it?!

I thought the sample chapters were great...

Thank you.

It's so nice to hear from fans.

...just potentially
very alienating to women.

This is literature, okay?

It shall sing its own song,

uncaring if sensibilities are too delicate.

Anyway, it feels like we keep
forgetting the proposal's in already.

It's done.

Okay.

Just so many descriptions
of semen on stockings.

Stockings are a sign
both of the deprivation

of the Second World War
and how much the repressed

Kitty's slutty little
legs wanted semen on them!

What is alienating about that?

(indistinct conversations)

EDGAR: Uh, hey.

Uh... are people being generous today?

Man, I ain't got jack shit yet today.

Hmm, well, you know, I
was noticing that, um,

y-your sign's a little confusing.
It looks like you need money

for dog food for yourself.

No, I-I need money for
my dog, food, and beer.

May I?

Yeah, please.

Oh, that is clearer. Thanks, man.

- Yeah.
- MAN: How's mine?

_

Between you and me,
civvies feel super guilty

around us veterans, so they've trained

themselves to ignore us.

So, um...

uh, you know may-maybe write
something funny instead.

Like what?

Well, can I get a...

like, a suggestion of a
topic from one of you guys?

You know, something light.

- Cookies.
- Demon rape.

I heard "cookies."

Um... oh, all right.

How about, uh, "Can only afford Hydrox,

need money for Oreos."

(laughs)

Because they're discount-ass Oreos.

Yeah, that's funny. Wr-Write that.

All right.

To think you know how other
people should think and feel.

That is someone with something
seriously wrong with them.

That's psychopath behavior.

So what do we do when
she finally comes out?

We follow her home and egg her house. Duh.

I had a better plan, but apparently
pig's blood is, like, 12 bucks a quart.

Can I have some more of
those? Those are good.

Gretchen...

...tell me what I may or may not have...

maybe did by sorta-or-
not-mistake is okay.

I'm not gonna absolve
you for stabbing Paul.

What?! I didn't!

Are you crazy?

Who's watching Paul, anyway?

He's fine. I set him up with a pile of DVDs

and yummy sandwiches.

(panting): Please.

(grunts)

Please go in. (grunts)

Please.

Please. Please go in.

(panting)

Last one.

Please! (grunts)

(TV chimes)

Yes.

Yes!

Where's the thing? (panting)

Where's the...

(screaming)

(sighs)

(squeals, exhales)

What are you doing?

Nothing. What? Me and my
girlfriend were just making out.

No. Don't... no.

Okay.

(sighs)

I don't know. Nothing.

I was just gonna follow
you home or whatever.

- Why?
- To egg you.

Not necessarily!

I just wanted, you know,
to prove that you don't have

- any right to judge me. Obviously.
- You're right.

I don't. Good night.

Being vulnerable makes me angry!

(sighs)

I get that.

Being vulnerable is scary.

But most people don't even try.

Like my boyfriend. He never
wants to talk about his stuff.

He just squashes it down
and keeps it all on lock.

Okay. So what happens to
people like your boyfriend?

Oh, no... I don't know.

We'll see, I guess.

Hopefully he stops wearing
zip-up cargo shorts.

But I know locked-down shit

eventually becomes unlocked-down.

Eventually, a person has to start
taking responsibility for their own life.

(gasps) See? There it is.

- You're-you're blaming me again.
- Calls 'em like I sees 'em.

(sighs)

What was that you were saying

- about taking responsibility?
- Ow.

Look, I can guide,

but a patient has to
do the work themselves.

Eventually we all have to take
responsibility for our own life.

So, I'll see you next week, maybe?

And don't stalk me again.

'Cause you guys suck at it.

I am so wet right now.

Back off, bitch.

- (indistinct police transmission)
- That part you just read,

it sounds too fancy. Like, just
make the language more regular.

Tristan and Iris are from
upper-crust, early 20th century London.

Why can't he just say something like,

"Iris, your twat's driving me up the wall"?

- Okay. Anything else?
- Shouldn't Simon

and... the redhead...

Kitty.

Yeah. Kitty.

Shouldn't they end up
together so people are happy?

But theirs is a taboo love forbidden

by our current, ironically
more repressive society.

Okay. That's a good note.

All right. Find a different ending,

colloquialize the language
in the first third,

find motivation for the face-sitting,

a few other tweaks. All
right, thank you, everybody.

- Here we are.
- Also, there's too much sex.

_

-

Edgar?

What are you doing?

So, I was thinking,

"From future. Time machine's broken.

Need money for plutonium."
Then, in parentheses,

"FYI, the Cowboys win
the Super Bowl next year."

What do you think?

What is going on with you?

I got out of it. But they're still here.

Plus, I have useful comedic
skills and a Sharpie.

I think that it's really nice
that you want to help them,

but how 'bout helping your girlfriend?

- Isn't that why you're here?
- You don't need it,

not like they do. You have a place to live.

Maybe we could get the
rest of my stuff upstairs,

and then we could use the boxes
to help you make some signs.

Thank you.

(fly buzzing)

- LINDSAY: Paul? Sweetheart?
- Wha...

Lindsay? Is that you?

(grunting)

It is.

Poor dear.

(grunting)

Paul?

Hmm?

I'm sorry I was gone all day.

I'm prepared to...

take responsibility for that.

Do you forgive me?

- Of course I forgive y...
- Great!

- (groans)
- I took responsibility,

and now it's in the past.

Whoosh! Gone.

I'll make us Red Napkin.

I love you.

Of course.

We're family.

(grunts) Ow.

Should we just give up?

Yeah, guess so. (grunts)

I just keep thinking about my book.

Therapist all up in my cabeza.

We're better than this!

I don't know why I'm so scared of doing

some stupid, Dr. Phil bullshit task.

She's the one making it
seem like this Miyagi test.

That's it. I'm gonna
open this goddamn mail.

Then I'm gonna call my agent and
tell him to pull the proposal.

Maybe this isn't even the
book that I want to write.

Who knows?

(exhales)

(exhales)

Gas bill. Easy.

(laughs)

Oh. Yeah, right, electricity.
I'm not paying you.

No, I don't want your stupid magazine!

Nope.

(exhales)

_

_

No.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.

JIMMY: Gretchen!

My book! My book!

The proposal sold!

Ha! Suck it, Edgar and-and Dorothy

and that cop, old lady, and businesswoman.

I did it. Ha!

- I did it!
- (yelps)

Oh, my God, that's-that's great.

Um, have you... have you
talked to your family recently?

Mwah!

Hell no. I blocked all their numbers

after their disastrous visit. Why?

Nothing.

We get the offer on Monday.

God, I love being a writer!

I mean, not that I'm surprised.

This one felt so good, you know?

I sure left it all on
the page with this one.

And my faith in it never
wavered. Not really.

Nope, never wavered at all.

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull
www.addic7ed.com

Repair and Synchronization by
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