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Last year, Americans purchased
upwards of $3 billion in greeting cards.

Weddings, romance,
thank-yous, and birthdays

are all sales leaders,

with major holidays
providing steady profits.

It's a thriving industry
where it's often said

the right card can make the day.

Yeah, I'm a writer.

Cards.

Greetings. Uh...

romantic ones.

So, yeah, I'm a poet,

if you've got to label me.

'Cause women,

they love poets.

I mean...

I could see her pupils dilate.

I had her hooked.

Then she asked,

"Well, if you're so famous,
what have you written?"

I just shrugged, then I said...

"Only the top Valentine's Day card
for the last three years in a row."

What year was this again?

So, then what happened?

Then, my dear Mad-man,

the lady did the splits.

Whoo, dog!

Sex.

At what point did the poor woman
find out you're a hack?

Sadly, it was but a single night
of sweated bliss.

So she had some taste, then.

God, no.
She was a fan of your work.

Hmm. Smart girl.

By the way, 90% of all cards
are purchased by women.

You better get with the program.
You're no Taft.

Taft, he was... he was great, right?

Only one ever better.

What happened to him?

He quit cards to write novels.

He's writing a novel.

Don't be fooled, intern.

Novels are for people
who can't edit themselves.

Cards are still the ultimate challenge.

For you, maybe.

Sweet talk will get you nowhere.

You.

Mr. Wentworth,
Mr. Styvesan wants to see you.

Good.

I was just about to ask
for a meeting.

Good luck, pal.

Well, who's to say it's not good news?

We'll keep our fingers crossed.

Styvesan,
I'm so glad you made the time.

Got some great ones here.

-Ray--
-"Dear, sweet love...

I've been missing you.
Why did you leave me?"

-That's kind of bleak.
-Ray, why don't you just--

"Honey, come back.
It was my fault."

I'm thinking
a whole line of "I Regrets."

A whole new line!

-Could there be a song chip in there?
-No.

Playing a sad song or something?

No song chips, no glitter--
just the truth, all right?

'Cause that's what cards
have been missing.

Besides, I've heard complaints
about the glitter.

You know, I campaigned
for a stronger glue about two years ago.

-Ray, why don't you have a seat.
-Let's go retro.

Could be hip. I'm thinking...
dime trees.

Girl opens the card,
there's ten dimes for her.

In a romance card?

Could be great for someone you love
who you owe money to.

Okay, fine. Class it up.

Quarters. That's your idea. Good.

You want to put quarters
in a romance card.

Ray...

I'm gonna have to let you go.

No.

Yeah.

Move me to another department.

What department, Ray?

I'll proofread.

-I'll fold.
-What was that?

I'll fold.

Fold what, cards?

We have machines behind you
that fold cards, Ray.

I'll do it faster.

Faster than a machine?

Faster than 300 cards a minute?

I'll double it.

Okay, Ray, I'm sorry.

I'm gonna have to take
your guild card.

Come on.

Ray, why don't you, um,
get your stuff some other time, okay?

We'll keep it safe for you.

What are you looking at?
Get back to work.

And somebody water this damn thing.
My daughter gave it to me.

Too many things dying around here.

Ray. Here he is.

Man.

You're in a little early.

I'm celebrating.

Hit me.

Taft?

Raymond.

How's the novel coming?

Ah, it's-- it's difficult.

My publisher says it has to be
120 pages, minimum.

How much you got?

Well, I'm up to... three.

Chapters?

Words.

Actually, I'm thinking
of getting back into the card game.

No. Don't.

You're... you're so... good. You...

You know, you're honest, and, uh...

I...

I have writer's block.

Oh.

Well.

Listen.

You're still divorced, right?

Yeah.

Still.

Good for you.

'Cause the chase is the key.
The chase.

I got a wife, I'm settled in,

but I don't have that-- that drive,

that sand.

You, the love of your life left you.

You got that hole inside.

It's a gift.

You're lucky.

Thanks.

I never thought of it like that.

Remember...

Never write for anyone.

-Always write for...
- ...someone.

Yeah.

Fuck the bastards.

Hey!

Hey!

Hey!

And on my left,

Skid Row's pride and joy,

Shitfoot!

I've got twenty bucks in my pocket,

to the last bum standing.

All right, gentlemen:

Fight!

Go, Shitfoot.

Mr. Ray!

Hey, Mr. Ray, I know you're in there!

Give me a sec.

And the giraffe baby
will be at the city zoo

for just two more weeks,

so you'd better get down there.

Open, sez me!

A new holiday? Maybe.

The governor's office
is about to make an announcement,

one he says will give
the greeting card industry a boost.

Rent.

That's it? Just "rent"?

No "Good morning, Ray.

Have you noticed
the flowers I planted?"

Nothing in Spanish?

Alquiler.

Let me guess. That--

Rent.

Listen, I cut a tendon.

They don't heal so fast.
I can't ply my trade.

And you can't write
with the other fingers?

You're gonna have to figure out
a way to pay me.

So?

You want me to blow you?

Hey, watch what you're saying.
There's children present.

I have to watch him for my damn sister
while she goes to school

to learn how to clean teeth,

and it's against the law
for me to take him to the track.

And I can't push him off the roof.

You're in a real pickle.

-Well, how about that.
-What?

I thought he'd be afraid of you.

Come here, 'jito.
I want you to meet Uncle Ray.

Why is that woman crying?

Who can say?

Probably a love thing.

Do you love anybody?

Maybe.

You?

I love trucks.

Consider yourself lucky.
Trucks never leave you.

But they break down all the time.
That's what my uncle says.

Except he says they break down
all the damn time.

I suppose so.

Hello, Nellies.
What's the scoop?

Nothin'.

Styvesan's looking for you.

Told him you'd be here tonight.

How'd you know?

'Cause you're an alcoholic.

Okay.

Hey, Styvesan, how's tricks?

The same. Look, I got a business
proposition for you.

-You been writing?
-Yeah.

What have you been working on?

Notes mostly, you know.

Uh...

some thank-yous, "I'm sorries."
I'm-- I'm branching out.

That's great. Listen, I got
a little side project going.

Off the books. Romance-oriented.

Interested?

Maybe.

Yeah.

Yeah, sure. Please.

I need you to write a card.

A romance card, a great one.

Like the ones you used to write.

And instead of using words
like "my love" or "my wife,"

I need you to use the word...

"girlfriend."

Listen, I... I can't promise
anything, you know.

There's good money here for you.

Here's an advance.

I'll pay you triple freelance rate.

Listen, I...

I know I said a lot of
nasty things about you.

I just want you to know
I was just being

really, really honest and...

Yeah.

Thanks.

Hey, I might need to get
into the office,

get some of my
old notes and such, okay?

Sure. After hours.

Make sure you use the back door,
the one with the broken lock.

-Ray.
-Yeah.

-This is hush-hush.
-Yeah.

So put the fuckin' money away.

You know, if you had it,
then you can get it back.

And I believe that.

Do you remember the first card
you ever wrote?

Eight years old.

It had macaroni on it.

Glued on the front.

Was it for your mom, or...?

Mother's Day.

Did it at school.

It had a heart on it, and, uh...

crayon color.

It was a mess.

What did it say inside,
do you remember?

"I love you, Mom.

Come back soon.
Your son, Raymond."

Come back? Where'd she go,
on a trip, or...?

She died.

She had a thing.

I don't...

She only had a few weeks
left to live.

They kept saying to me

that she was going away.

"Your mom is going away."

Like I was supposed
to understand that.

I just thought she'd be coming back.

Well, did she like it?

She loved it.

I think they buried her with it.

Yeah.

Okay, y'all ready
to get your poems on?

She barks.

Light.

Stop.

Light.

Brumble brumble.

She rants and she raves,

unmuffled by mufflers.

Loud is my truth.

Light. Stop. Light.

That's right. Okay.

And my hog loses balance...

falls to the pavement.

I weep.

Stop!

Light.

That one's called Stop Light.

Please stick around.
There's more to come.

So, Ray, uh, what'd you think?

Of what?

Of the poem.

Well, your motorcycle
tipped over on you.

There was more to it than just that,

but, yeah, that was at the core of it.

We loved your poem.

Yeah. Well, she loved it
more than I did, but...

-I loved it.
-Mm-hmm.

Oh, thank you, ladies.

Pretty great.

Who's your friend?

Oh, uh, this is Ray.

Yeah, he writes, too.
Or wrote, I guess.

Romance cards.

Some really great ones.

- Wow.
-I love romance.

Romance and thank-yous.

-Oh, yeah?
-Yeah.

Big Ray here used to be the best--

the Bill Shakespeare of romance cards.

Ah, but he's single now.

His wife left him for...
Harold Lamb.

Oh, I know who Harold Lamb is.

Oh, yeah. So you know the guy
that draws Optimistic Owl.

He knows me.

Ladies, um, do you guys
want to get a booth,

maybe, um,
talk about some poetry?

-Yes.
-Sure!

Bro, lose the bitter act.
It ain't gonna get you laid.

Please. Tell me how to get laid.

Drew, turn this up!

In other news today, Governor Speakman
made a big announcement.

Listen up, everybody.
The governor's on.

Today I am pleased to announce

the state of California
will establish a new holiday:

Girlfriend's Day,

an occasion for men,
and women as well,

to tell their favorite lady friend
just how much she means to them.

This was my niece Coco's idea.

We're going to hold a contest

to see who can write
the most romantic card

to initiate the new holiday.

"In an effort to inject new blood
into the failing greeting card industry,

the governor is limiting contestants
to amateurs and...

out-of-work professionals."

That is you, my friend.

Circled the paragraph for reference.

Look, maybe it was
providence you got fired.

Lucky me.

You know, what I loved about your class
is that you always made us write.

You know, actually write in class.

Yeah, that was so I could write.

I know. It was something to see.

I want to see you do it again.

Truth is, I haven't written
anything good in three years. I...

Three years.

Gosh, that is-- that's a bummer.

Wonder what could have happened
three years ago that would have

crushed your spirit.

I wonder if it was maybe when
your wife left you for another guy.

-It's not that.
-It is that.

It's not that.

-'Tis.
-It's not.

It's like talking
to one of my seventh-graders.

Ray.

You gotta forget about Karen.

I have.

Look, I only see her
when it's legally mandated.

You're not still
picking up the cat, are you?

Oh, shit. What day is it?

-Saturday.
-Ah. Gotta go.

You hate cats.
You're not an animal person.

-That includes humans.
-Alquiler, let's go.

Don't do it, Ray.

Thanks for the advice.

Come on, Denny.

Karen, Ray's here!

Well, I guess I should invite you in.

Sorry. Out of ice.

That's okay. I like it warm.

How's business, Harold?

Ah, well, quite good, actually.

I don't know if you've heard, but they're
doing a spin-off of one of my--

I was kidding.

Karen!

Say, I've been meaning to ask you,
uh, do you get a cut

off those wonderful rip-offs
I see of your work all over town?

I'm sorry.

Sure, you must have seen 'em.
Uh, the owl's getting the B.J.

Or he's biting the head
off your chicken character.

-What's her name?
-Cordelia.

Yeah. You must have sued
those guys, right?

Oh, there's one where two owls
are pissing in each other's mouths.

I must have seen that
on 12 trucks today.

Oh. If it isn't the only two men
I've ever slept with.

Finally!

How are you, Ray?

I see you still haven't lost
your talent for pissing people off.

Tell me, when you make love,
does he make you wear an owl costume?

Or does he wear the costume?

No one's in an owl costume.

You're missing out.

Here's Tony. Give him his medicine
and have him back on Saturday.

I don't know why the judge
just didn't make you keep him.

Because you insisted
that we share custody.

God.

Hey.

Why?

Why'd you do it?

Why did you leave me for this
cardboard cutout?

For a romance card writer,
you weren't very romantic.

I never brought my work
home with me.

You should have.

Nice. That's good.

Ray...

Bye.

Bye.

Denny.

I need the kid. Pays the rent.

Who?

Let's go.

-Oh, my God.
-Let's go.

More booze.

Can I have a vodka soda, please?

Hello.

-I like your tat.
-Oh.

I saw it on the back
of a truck once.

I thought it was cuckoo.

It is... cuckoo.

You're not, though, are you?

Excuse me?

You're not cuckoo, are you?

I...

-I'm-- I'm Ray.
-I'm Jill.

You're not Ray Wentworth, are you?
The card guy?

"Dear wife.

That's all. I just love
saying 'Dear wife.'

Happy anniversary."

-I wrote that.
-I know.

I'm a weirdo for cards.
That's why I come here.

How many cats do you have?

I don't have any cats.

Okay, y'all ready
to get your poems on?

This first one is about my jet ski.

For a romance card writer,
you weren't very romantic.

You gotta forget
about Karen. You gotta let her go.

Big Ray here used to be the best,

the Bill Shakespeare
of romance cards.

Words.

You're not still
picking up the cat, are you?

'Cause you're an alcoholic.

"I'm with you
in hard times especially.

Look for me in your heart.

My name is... God."

Ooh.

"Somebody broke your heart.

Good for me."

Hey.

"Now I get a piece.

Thanks for sharing."

Thanks for sharing.

That is so sad, don't you think?

It's brutal.

That's a person
who's asking for so little.

You still got that awesome tattoo?

Yep. Hasn't washed off yet.

What are you doing here?

I'm looking for inspiration.

Anything good?

Yeah. Seeing how awful these are
is a real pick-me-up.

Ohh.

Ah, yeah, it's pretty gross.

I actually work here.

Really?

You don't walk around all the time
in a red smock with a name tag?

No, I do not.

Ooh.

Optimistic Owl.

Oh, man!

"Surrounded by clouds.
Good for you.

That's where the rainbows hide."

These are the worst.

I hate optimistic people.

They bum me out
with their upbeat attitude.

All they ever do is
make me feel more alone.

Are you real?

So, why did you quit writing?

I didn't.

I just quit being good at it.

Yeah, well, you'll get it back.

You gotta have the feelings first,
and then you can write about them.

Yeah.

Shitfoot?

Ray?

You okay?

Hey, um, do you think that--

do you think that, um...

we could, uh...

I like to get that shit over with.

My God! Taft!

Shit!

Sorry.

Who did this to you?
What are you doing here?

Paper Hearts.

What, are you working
for Paper Hearts?

-I can't say.
-What can't you say?

I...

love...

you.

I think very highly of you, too.

Hey!

"Girlfriend.

You've heard the expression
'penny for your thoughts.'

Well, here are ten dimes
for your thoughts.

Signed, the numb-nuts
that's dating you."

Stupid.

Who the fuck are you?

Who the fuck am I?

Well.

I'm Detective fucking Miller,
fucking Homicide, that's who I am.

Can I see a badge?

Yeah.

Have a gander.

It's pretty, isn't it?

What kind of cards
you write, Wentworth?

Romance.

Romance.

So every time I forget to give

one of your mushy-ass cards
to my girl,

I get cut off for a month.

Perhaps if you were well-endowed,
you wouldn't need one of my cards.

Right.

You punched me in the throat!

Mmm.

What do you want?

Investigating a "homo-cide."

One of your butt buddies
was found in the river this morning

with a bunch of water
where his internal organs used to be.

Who?

Orwell Taft.

Taft.

Taft is dead.

Yes.

He was killed.

To death.

What happened to him?

Shouldn't I be asking you that?

-You think that I--?
-He was your competition, right?

You got somebody watching over you.

For now.

But you've got to deliver.

Deliver what?

Oh, I'll tell you what.

You get out your feather pen,

and you write a nice little card

that'll open
my girlfriend's legs again.

Maybe, just maybe...

I might consider dropping
your bloody shirt at the dry cleaners.

And tossing that blade in the river.

Police have identified
the body as one Orwell G. Taft,

a self-described writer.

Nothing more is known at this time.

He probably had
a second family somewhere.

Or he was an S&M junkie,

liked to be whipped and kicked around

or held underwater to get his jollies.

Those types are everywhere.

I'm just saying.

Hey, what's shaking?

Why is everybody so much more
depressed than usual?

Jeez Louise, Mr. Wentworth,
did you get into a car accident?

No.

A shoe.

It hit me in the face.
Somebody's shoe.

So, what's up?

Didn't you hear?

-Taft killed himself.
-What?

They found him floating
in the river this morning.

Shit.

Another one bites the dust, huh?

-Hey.
-Hi.

-Hey.
-Oh. Sorry.

Something happened to my face.

I-I hurt it.

Sorry about that.

Do you want to drink about it?

I...

I think I'd better not tonight.

Um, I...
I brought you something.

I hope it comforts your face.

Thanks.

Uh, and my phone number's
on the bottom of it.

It's open.

Rent.

I got nothin'.

I'll watch the kid.

There is no kid.

My sister dragged his ass
back to Chicago,

to hassle my other brother.

Shoot. All right.

Oh-- uh, I got an idea.

How about a yard sale, then?

You can put price tags
on everything here.

Uh, this couch.
My bed frame.

That's a thousand bucks right there.

I got all this small stuff,
like the kitchenware

and, uh, my shoe horns.

The Christmas ornaments.

You put all that on one card table
right in the middle of the room

and a little sign that says,

"Everything on this table,
hundred bucks."

People will go nuts.

Everything for a hundred bucks.

On the table.

I mean, well, name your price.

And what about you?

Well, see, I still--
I get to live here while it goes on.

It's kind of like a living showroom.

Never been done.

You're crazy.

Did you hear about that writer who, uh--

Oh, the guy that drowned?

He didn't drown.

Well, he didn't swim very good.

Very well. He didn't swim very well.

You teach English with that mouth?

Fuckin' "A"!

I think it has something
to do with this, uh...

Girlfriend's Day.

They're killing people
over a new holiday?

Who would do that?

Follow the money.

Yeah.

Wait, what?

Follow the money. It's--
I saw it in a movie once.

Oh.

Hey, but if you're actually worried,

you know,
you can move out to the 'burbs.

We die slowly here.

Yeah. Too slowly.

Get you a job teaching Driver's Ed.
Speed things up.

And we have come
to the moment in our service

where we can go no farther,

and stand on the edge of a chasm,

yearning to hear...

Sad day.

Huh?

Oh, yeah. Sad.

You got the card?

I'm working on it.

Our God,
we are grateful that Orwell...

What happened to Taft?

Guess his novel wasn't working out,
so he gave up.

Bullshit.

And we know
that he is wrapped tight...

Somebody killed him.

Let's pray together.

Our God...

I think he was writing a card
for this new holiday.

What are you--?
No one's getting killed over this, Ray.

We're talking about a card here.

A card.

...grateful
that he now sings with angels...

Really?

...wrapped tight in the arms
and the bosom of Abraham...

I don't know, I just work here.

Condolences.

-I'm sorry.
-Uh-huh.

It's professional curiosity.
Taft and I worked together.

Your husband and I.

I'm Ray.

Can I...?

Yeah, sure.

Your husband was the writer
I always measured myself against.

And I always came up short.

Well...

won me over with a card.

I'm afraid I wasn't the greatest prize.

Well, he talked about you.

A lot.

I pushed him around.

I didn't kill him, though.

I don't recognize you.

Did you attend the company picnics, huh?
Christmas party?

No, I hate holidays.

Right. Now, wait, you're
in the greetings industry.

Romance, purely.
I don't have time for that other shit.

Yeah.

You tell me, was he writing
a card for this new holiday?

Yeah, sure.
Couldn't help himself.

Sentiments just poured out.

-Who was he working for?
-Gundy, of course.

Yeah, I know him.

Owns AAAAA Greetings.

No, come on. Not Robert Gundy.

Dillon, his brother,
the owner of Paper Hearts.

Anyway.

Wait. Gundy has a brother?

I guess.

I've just been feeling so lonely,

without Orwell's voice
buzzing in the air, you know?

-Clomping around.
-Listen, can I use your back door?

Seriously?

Yeah, of your house.
Can I use it?

Oh. Uh, yeah.

What are you doing with the lady, huh?

You getting bi-curious, huh?

God!

Where's the goddamn card?

This just keeps getting weirder.

Who are you working for?

Gundy pays me. Who else?

Gundy? Which Gundy?

I don't have to tell you anything.
Now, where's the card?

I'm trying.

Get to it, or I might have to find
my favorite bloody shirt.

Hmm?

Take a picture.
It'll last longer.

I'm not Jewish.

We wouldn't care if you was, mister.

We's former racists.

Good for you.

I'm Betcher.
This here's Adolph Haggert.

Call him Sonnyboy.
He don't like Adolph no more.

Sonnyboy is good enough.

-We're reformed.
-Yeah.

I spent two years
in a maximum security prison

for a hate crime I did not commit.

It was planned as a hate crime.

I couldn't get that fucking cross
into the ground.

It's a lot tougher than it looks.

Besides...

hating a whole race of folks,
now that's an awful lot of work.

Yeah.

So you don't hate anyone now?

So, who do you hate now?

Elitists!

Yeah.

You know what them are, fancy man?

Them's people think they're
better than other people.

They ain't!

Nobody's better than nobody,
that's our motto these days.

And if you think you is,
we'll fuck you up till you isn't.

Mr. Ray.

Please come this way.

All right, man.

This way.

Just down here.

Through this vestibule.

And through this door.

Ah!

Good to finally meet you,
Mr. Wentworth.

Robert Gundy.

My wrist is still a little broken.

Oh, I'm sorry.

My goodness.
Your lip-- looks like fresh blood.

Yeah. Tastes like it, too.

Hmm.

I hope you don't mind watching me eat.
I'm famished.

Oh, liver and beets!
Exquisite.

Can I offer you a beer?

I'm on medication, so... yeah.

Ah. Rupert.

A beer for Mr. Wentworth, please.

-Is this actually...?
-The first card. Yes.

Napoleon gave it to his mother

after she had a tumor
removed from her ankle.

It's French, and it translates into,
"Feel better."

She died two days after receiving it.

Sit down, Mr. Wentworth, let's talk.

You own AAAAA Greetings.

Mmm.

And Paper Hearts.

No, no, no. No, that
belongs to my brother, Dilly.

Well, Mr. Wentworth, they tell me
that you were Card Writer of the Year

in 2005, '06 and '07.

Congratulations.

Also that you're divorced,
you live alone,

and you like to watch Bumfights.

What can you see in them, I wonder!

They make me feel better somehow.

-Yeah.
-Moving on.

What happened to Taft?

Our nation's fattest president?

No, former associate of mine.

He was writing a card
for your brother's company.

They found him
floating facedown in the river.

Oh, yes, yes. It was tragic.

Styvesan told me that he was
a very skilled writer,

that he made hearts quiver.

Said there was only one ever better.

Yeah, well, his wife is distraught.

Mmm.

Someone ought to send her a card.

Fuck cards!

Did you have him killed?

That is a hefty accusation,
Mr. Wentworth.

Perhaps you should take that up
with the police.

Hello, darling!

The word is, you have a sweetheart,
Mr. Wentworth.

How do you know?

Detective Miller.
He works for me on the side.

I thought Styvesan worked for you.

Among many others.

But this girlfriend of yours,

congratulations.

That's good, that's very good.
I mean, after all,

you need to feel the feelings
before you can write about them.

So I write the card for her and I give
it to you. That doesn't seem fair.

Well, my father used to say,
"Fair is where you end up."

Write the card, Raymond.

Why me?

I have a sixth sense about
these things, Mr. Wentworth.

You've been a fool for love before.

You've got the gene for it.

No. I'm a cynic.

No, I'm a cynic. You're cynical.
There's a difference.

I never believed in the first place,
but you,

you wake up every morning disappointed
to find the world the way it is

because you're a dreamer.

Write the card, Raymond.

Rupert, show Mr. Wentworth out.

-Hi.
-Hey.

Welcome to my house.

-Nice place.
-Nice sarcasm.

-Oh.
-Oh.

-They're fake.
-Yeah.

I mean, they're made
out of real... plastic.

But, uh, if you have
a magic act, they can--

Get out.

I'm kidding. Totally kidding.

I can water them with soda pop.

They're beautiful.
They-- they smell funny.

Here you go. Look at this.

Oh, that's my, uh,
collection of ugly purses.

-They're really ugly.
-Yeah, thank you.

Baby shoes.
Um... who do those belong to?

Yeah, those--
those are actually mine.

Um, they're-- they're my sho--

Beat you to it.

Doing okay there?

Yeah.

I think I'm doing great.

I think I'm...

unstuck.

You unstuck me.

-Yay!
-Hooray.

I'm feeling...

feelings.

Last couple of years, I've been...

looking for those feelings, and, uh...

feelings have been like...

"Quick! Ray's coming! Hide!"

That's great.

I have an idea.

-Yeah?
-Yeah.

Why don't you write me a card
and tell me all about it?

I intend to.

Sorry for calling you so early.

You kidding me?
I've been up since 5:30 a.m.

How many fish did you catch?

Just give me the card.

Da-da.

You did it.

God.

You did it.

Give it to 'em.

Get your reward.

Don't worry, I will.

Ray! Tell me you got something for me!

I did it. It's the best I ever wrote.
It-- it's pithy and it's sweet.

It's got heart, and after this,
I'm done, okay?

I'll make sure
you're well-compensated.

This is blank.

Yeah. The real one's right here.
You can't have it.

What?

You can't have it!
I didn't write it for you.

I'm gonna give it to the person
I wrote it for,

and you can suck my dick, okay?

Give me the card!

Hey. You up for
some spaghetti and booze?

Uh, Ray...

I know this is impromptu,
but this is...

"Real Champagne-Flavored
Alcohol Drink." It...

What?

-Ray, I-I don't think--
-Don't worry. It's done.

-What's done?
-The card.

Go ahead. Take a look.

And guess what--

I'm not giving it to anyone.
Just you.

Because I wrote it for you.

You should go.

I'd love a gander at that,
if you're done.

Come on in.

Hmm?

So, it was a chick
that did the trick, huh?

Well, Gundy figured one of us
would get it.

Nice job, huh?
Well, beauty wins. Whatever.

Did the trick? Jill--

Shut the hell up.

All right, let's see what gay sentence
turned on the lady's faucets.

You piece of shit.

This is really good.

Now no one gets it.

Hey! Where's the card?

-Where's the damn card?
-You got it, fancy pants?

-Where's the card?
-Where is the card?

There it is!

Shit, it's not here.

Ah! Oh!

Come on!

Man, it's all burnt up!

He's still got it in his mind.

Come on.

-Get up!
-Get in there.

No! Stop!

Hey, what are we waiting for?

Use your brain, Sonnyboy.

You know, I got a card
when I got out of prison one time,

from my momma.

"Young man,

with brains, muscles, looks,
and girls chasing you...

you'll go far.

Love, Mom."

It's a pretty good one.

Did you write this one?

Let's see that.

Aah! Damn thing cut me!

Now...
where's your card?

I don't have it.

Styvesan told the boss
that you did have it.

He said that you said
that it was your best card ever.

So, tell it!

Ask the woman. She saw it.

I'm never gonna tell you.

Then you're gonna
have to say what was on it.

Ooh, I know.

Give me his fuck-you finger.

Yeah, split it open.

Yeah. Wanna tell us?

Jesus!

Oh, lookit.

Hey, what's the worst place
you can get a papercut?

Ooh, how about the pee hole?

Ohh! Pee hole's bad!

On the eye. The eye!

-That's it, the eye.
-Yeah, right on the eyeball.

Give me that.

Tell 'em what the card said.
Just tell them. Why does it even matter?

'Cause.
You got paid to be with me.

You know what that makes you?
A whore.

Hey!

He said the "W."

Not in this house!

Everybody's equals here.

Mr. Gundy?

Hello, Raymond.

You crazy asshole.

Oh, language!
There's a child present.

Hi, Aunt Jill!

Ellen.

I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's
Take Your Daughter To Work Day,

and I guess I take even
the most off-brand holiday seriously.

Ellie, that's enough.
You'll see Auntie Jill soon enough.

You okay?

Adolph, would you kindly escort
my daughter outside and sit with her?

Well, stop looking at me like I'm a donut
and keep my daughter company!

Go on. Go.

What-- what'll we do?

Well, I don't care.

Look at the clouds. There's
some fascinating shapes today.

There. The children are gone.

Now, let's us adults
have some straight talk.

Where's the card, Mr. Wentworth?

You killed Taft.

Taft was writing a card
for my competition.

You mean your brother.

I learned long ago, never let
the trappings of shared DNA

impede my path to success.

-All this for a fucking card?
-Shut up!

Is your brother as crazy as you are?

My brother? My brother?

My brother had everything
handed to him.

The blind luck of the firstborn.
But not me, Mr. Wentworth.

I had to fight and claw my way
for everything.

Now, where's the card?

No. You get nothing.

Because of Taft?

Come on, Raymond,
he was your competition.

Why did you have to kill him?

Tell me, sir...

what do you know about holidays?

About bloodshed?

Holidays are born in blood.

Fourth of July?
Nothing less than a war.

Mother's Day.

A woman goes through nine months
of excruciating pregnancy,

and tops it off with a small human
awash in her own blood.

And what did it take to have
Christmas and Easter?

Biggest holidays of them all,
the top two.

It took the greatest man
who ever lived

to be crucified.

Do you understand, Mr. Wentworth?
It's all about sacrifice.

The universe cries out for sacrifice,

and I'm simply following the template.

Ray.

He's serious.

That little girl, she's--

You needed a muse.

Now...

when my junky nephew
and Jill bore a child,

I simply wanted to have
the little bean brought up properly.

Of course, I was foolish enough
to let her stay in the child's life.

It was a tangled web indeed,

but now I intend
to clear the situation up,

once and for all.

You can have it.

You get the card, Jill gets the girl.

Ah, no, thank you.

That child is going to grow up
knowing herself

in a higher class
than she was born to.

After all, she's my legacy.

I intend for her to have the best
and be the best,

and she will never hear a whisper

of her no-account,
drug addict birth father

or her whore of a mother.

Nobody better'n nobody.

After all that,
I gave them the damn card.

They found a nice, cheery front
to sell it, and that did the trick.

Made people feel good, I guess,

the kind of good feeling
some dumb card can give you.

I don't sell
my feelings anymore, either.

I'm saving 'em up
for somebody special.

Slow down, slow down.

Just... just slow down.

-What, did I do something wrong?
-No, no, no. Pull up a little bit.

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.