04x08 - Lights, Camera, as*h*le

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Californication...

We could actually use a lead guitarist.

- What do you call yourselves?
- Queens of Dogtown.

sh*t. f*ck. The rabbit done died.

- So whose is it?
- I don't know!

- Charlie's?
- f*ck, no!

That kid's all snipped to shreds.

I've had a couple of vasectomies.

What exactly are you saying here, doc?

There still could be swimmers in his junk?

How about you rewrite
the script that I loathe?

With Sasha's interest, we could be
at Sundance this time next year.

I'm trying to make the character a little more
likeable, cos on the page he's an as*h*le.

You understand that you are
kinda talking about me.

Wanna know how many
women I've slept with?

No. No, no, no.

I gotta get it up to 100.

I'm makin' my move.

I'm dropping out.

OK, so... no movie.

What's the good news?

The good news is that
I still wanna have sex with you.

At least once more.

You know, that is pretty good news.

All right. You gotta stop that.

I'm serious,
I feel a hate crime coming on.

No, no, no.
Don't be hatin' on the good news dance.

Does this mean what I think it means?
They finally came out with Spanx for men?

No, silly. That was months ago.

I'm wearing one right now,
as a matter of fact.

Yeah, yeah, firms my chest.
Flattens my tummy.

Here, here, feel.
You can do it, come on.

- Rock hard.
- I know, right?

I'm talking about myself.
I'm rock hard right now.

So am I! Get a load of this.

Sasha is back on board.

Sha-fa-tha!
Why? What? Why?

Eddie Nero's on board.

Well, that makes sense.

In a crass, sleazy,
opportunistic kind of a way. Sure.

Sasha Bingham is also starring
in Slowly We Rot - Deux.

Yeah.
That means nothing to me.

It's a zombie-cop-action-thriller.
First one did 274 domestic.

Right on. Sounds like a sh*t sandwich,
but, hey, the girl's gotta eat, right?

- Good for her.
- No, no, good for you!

Because Sasha Bingham wants her one
Hank Moody on set to polish her dialogue.

What makes you think that one Hank Moody
has any interest in doing such a thing?

They got 100 grand to spend
for one week's work.

A hundy large?

That is a most excellent
number of quatloos! Sold!

Good! Cos I already said you'd do it!

- Turn that over.
- Oh, yeah.

- Gimme that.
- See, it's the good news dance.

Let me guess.

She's asking for you.

- Tell her to f*ck off. I'm smoking.
- You want me to tell her that?

f*ck it. I'm comin'.

The things we do for quatloos, huh?

You don't get paid.

First team is ready.

Action!

Die! Die, m*therf*cker, die!

And cut. All right,
let's go again right away. Reset.

Really? Don't you have it already?

If I had it already, you'd be second-guessing
me from down here instead of up there.

Hank, can you pitch me
a bunch of alts for this scene?

I don't think my character
would say this sh*t.

First of all, who says
it's your f*cking character?

And secondly, I don't give a f*ck.

Say the line. Don't say the line.

I'm going Alan Smithee on this b*tch.

I can't work like this. Get me down.

Let's go again, OK? Right away, right?

And... Everybody!

And action!

Suck my d*ck, as*h*le.

Cut. Get her down.

- Got 15 minutes, OK?
- I don't want 15 minutes. I wanna go home.

You're telling me? f*ck' sequels.

Quick. We have 15 minutes.

- Well, not too quick.
- I thought you wanted to work on the scene.

Please. There is no fixing that thing.

I just wanted to play.
With you.

Again? I'm still a little sore
from this morning's playdate.

p*ssy.

You know, I'm a writer, Sasha,
not a f*ck toy.

Don't look now,
but your manpon string is hanging out.

You see that? You're funny.
You can write your own stuff.

Of course I can.

But it's so lonely.

No. No. You're not answering that.
Don't do it.

You're answering it.

I'm hating you right now.

You know, I don't like you
when you're working.

Just sayin'. Hello?

What?

f*ck me.

OK. Just cut her off,
and I'll be there as soon as I can.

f*ck.

- Where are you going? You can't leave.
- My kid. She's up to no good again.

- I gotta go deal with her.
- No, no. You have to take care of this kid.

You're bought and paid for, Moody.

Now, there's that writer's mind at work.
Now we're talkin'.

Get your freak on, Officer.

No. Where the f*ck are you going?

This isn't funny, as*h*le.

f*ck.

You know, Bex, you're really making me
regret ever signing you up for guitar lessons.

I only ever did it
because you wanted me to.

Really?
It seemed to me you were pretty into it.

Yeah, I'm just trying
to make you feel bad.

Well played, young lady.
Well played.

Really partying like a rock star
these days, aren't ya?

Oh, yeah.

I'm a f*ck' rock star, all right.

Can't even convince a boy
to let me give him a blow job.

- Becca...
- What?

I'm not allowed to be honest?

Isn't that the Moody family thing?

Our most prized virtue?

The honesty.

Go ahead, be honest.
Give your father a massive coronary event.

- I'm not a happy camper, Dad.
- Really? I hadn't noticed.

I don't like how things are changing.

You're never around.

But I'm not sure I even miss you.

I'll always be your father.

No duh, Dad.

But what the f*ck does that mean?

And you know what really scares me?

What?

I like being f*cked up.

Now more than ever.

Is that a kid thing...

or a genetic thing?

Cos I'm starting to get it now.

Things are way funnier when I'm high.

And the sad stuff is just...
way less sad.

It's almost...

romantic.

- Are you OK?
- I'm fine.

What is the big f*cking deal?

I mean, it's not like I haven't
done this before, twi... once.

In college.

Right.

So let's talk about something else,

something pleasant,
something with...

rainbows and... unicorns.

Stu asked me to move in with him.

He did?
Well, I mean, that's exciting.

- Have you met Stu?
- No.

- Because you won't let me.
- Yeah, because you'll judge me.

That's ridiculous.

I've been judging you for years.

Jesus!

That's what you call a late-term ab*rtion.
Is that sh*t even legal?

Marcy, I don't think
everyone is here to have an ab*rtion.

You never know, Karen.

Just because we have a black president,
doesn't mean we talk about that sh*t.

- She looks so happy.
- Yeah, she does.

I have never been that happy.

Just because she doesn't
know what's ahead of her.

Well, what if this is it?

What if this is my last chance
at being truly happy,

and I'm just snuffing it out
because it's inconvenient?

Marce, you know what?

You've changed this appointment
a bunch of times.

I think you need to face the fact that there's
a part of you that wants to have a baby.

But that's the thing - I don't.

I hate kids. They're annoying little shits.
It's a terrible burden.

Runkle?
Marcy Runkle?

- What do you want to do, baby?
- Marcy Runkle?

Marcy Runkle?

Look at you.

You're such a regular, you just walk on in,
they slide your drink, no questions asked?

Membership has its privileges, lady.

And I have no shame.
I need this drink.

And I will need another shortly thereafter.

Bad day?

Medium shitty, yeah.

I hear that.

No stranger to misery, are you?

I like that in a woman
sitting alone at a bar.

Tell me all your troubles.

- Tell me what ails you.
- No. It's just a bunch of boring kid stuff.

- I got some of that sh*t too.
- That's not a line?

No, no, no. I got plenty of boring, angsty
kid sh*t that keeps me awake at night.

At least, until I pass out.

Boy? Girl?

"Girl" makes it sound so pleasant.

I have one big pain-in-the-a*s
teenage daughter.

Oh, my God. That's the worst.

Word.

Well, here's to...

difficult daughters.

Cheers.

And...

Here's to mothers
who drink with strangers.

Cheers, cheers.

- Good evening.
- I'm sorry. The gate was open.

No, I'm sorry.
About everything.

- I'm Peggy, your real estate agent.
- Right, right.

Marcy says nice things about you.

Well, I'm not sure she will any more.

- Why's that?
- Well, don't k*ll the messenger, but...

- the house has fallen out of escrow.
- Of course it has.

- The buyers couldn't get a loan.
- Of course they couldn't.

Looks like it's time
to put it back up on the market.

OK. Well...

I'll talk to Marcy...

and we'll get back to you.

OK.

What adult film were you watching?

Excuse me?

You were watching p*rn*graphy,
weren't you?

- I was. Yes.
- What kind?

- You must think I'm such a sl*t.
- No, no, no. Not at all.

You must. Call me one. I insist.

Oh, you like that?

OK. You're such a f*cking sl*t.

What the f*ck?

- You can choke me if you want to.
- No, no, I'm really not into that.

I had a bad experience
with autoerotic asphyxia recently.

Really? Tell me all about it.

- Some other time, OK?
- I just wanna feel something!

Pretend my father
could walk in at any second.

- But this is my house.
- Just pretend!

OK, OK, OK!

I think I hear your father in the hallway.

Oh, no, I wanna stop, but I can't!
Your big black c*ck feels so good!

Yeah? That's him. There he is.
I see him coming in the room.

Daddy, no! I'm a big girl now.

- Is he still here?
- No, he went to get his g*n.

He's gonna k*ll both of us, Charlie.

Daddy doesn't like it
when I f*ck the sl*ves.

God, that was f*cking intense.

I almost wanted to f*ck you to death.

But in a good way, you know?

Yes.

You know what I like about you?

I mean, aside from the fact that you're like
seven different kinds of naked right now.

Oh, my God!

Do you have any idea
how nice that sounds?

Do you know how long it's been
since a guy has said that to me?

Sorry, go ahead. What were you gonna say?
What do you like about me?

You're very age-appropriate.

You really know how to piss
all over a girl's happy buzz.

No, that's a good thing. I think it means,
maybe, I'm growin' the f*ck up.

That's very good for you.

But I am leaving for New York
in a couple days.

I didn't mean to suggest
that we had a future or anything.

You really are quite the romantic,
aren't you?

f*ck. Everything's coming out
wrong this morning.

I know. Next you're gonna say something
less than flattering about my a*s.

Nope. No way.
That thing is b*llet-proof.

That is an a*s wrapped in Kevlar.

If you said to me, "Hank,
all you can do right now is eat that a*s",

I would put on a lobster bib
and eat that a*s.

For hours. With gusto.

Thank you.
My a*s thanks you.

Your a*s is welcome.

And don't worry...
I had a little bit of fun.

A little bit of fun it was.

And I think that we should do it again.
Cos, you know...

I'm here a couple times a year,
checking up on my daughter.

Yeah?
What does she do?

Not a good time.

Don't worry, girly man.
I'm all about the work right now.

Yeah, well, I've kinda got some... company.

I see. It's cool.
I know we're not exclusive.

- I see other people too, you know?
- Yeah, well, I know that.

'Course you do.

- Yeah, but like... how many?
- I'm not some big f*cking sl*t, Hank.

Oh, no, I'm not judging.
I'm just curious.

- Well, I did sleep with Eddie Nero.
- Gross!

That is disgusting.
He poops on people.

And he took a man in his mouth once.

OK, come on.
I need to go over today's pages.

I can't say this sh*t.
It's all exposition.

I'm gonna give you my notes, then I have
to go meet my mother for breakfast.

- Your mother?
- Yeah, she's in town from New York.

She comes in every once in a while to check
on me and make sure I'm grounded.

Your mom.

Are you having a stroke?

You sound kind of Ret*rded all of a sudden.

- Mama.
- I say we go once more, cos, you know,

I do not think that I sucked
enough of your d*ck last night.

- Sasha!
- Mom?

- Mom?
- You f*cked my mom?

Dude! That was seriously uncool!

I think I...
I gotta go after her.

- You better put on some clothes first.
- Oh, sh*t! Good idea.

How do you know my daughter?

- I'm kinda writing something for her.
- Poor baby.

Yeah, it turns out she's really quite
the f*cking diva, huh?

No, poor baby her.
It doesn't matter how old you get,

it's always gonna be really weird
to see your mother in a sexual situation.

Especially when you've already been with
the awesome dude your mom just boned.

- Right.
- Yeah.

- What?
- What?

Did you just say what I think you said,
which is that you slept with my daughter?

- No, no, no!
- No, you're lying now, because you did.

You misunderstood. I was merely
talking about writers and actresses,

and Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller,
and how that sh*t never seems to work out.

She's a f*cking kid!
You f*cked my f*cking kid.

That's not very age-appropriate,
now is it, you as*h*le?

Touché.

Sasha, dear. Hello!
Can you come out and play?

It's quite warm out here.
Do you know why?

Because we're burning money.
It's a bonfire of cash.

I'm f*cked.
My career is over.

Settle down, Alfred Bitchcock.
Let me try.

You didn't sleep with her, did you?

No way.
That's what the extras are for.

Sasha!
It's Henry Moody.

The writer. Remember me?

The polisher of your crackling exposition.
I'd like a word with you, please.

One word.

If it's any consolation, your mother smacked
me upside the head pretty good.

And my ba*ls are k*lling me.

- I'm just grossed out right now.
- Well, that's pretty normal.

How would you know?

I once bumped uglies
with my daughter's boyfriend's mother.

That was a terrible time.
We got through it, though.

This too shall pass.

- Do you know what the worst part is?
- No. But tell me.

I was really starting to like you.

Well, despite the fact that I am
this swirling black hole of chaos,

I am pretty f*cking awesome sometimes.

- Best sex of my life.
- Really? Better than Eddie Nero?

- Weirdest sex of my life.
- I don't wanna know.

- Do I?
- No. You don't.

I'm still haunted by it.

- The things he made me do.
- Jesus.

Don't blame your mom...
because she didn't know anything,

and don't take it out
on these good people out there.

They work their f*cking asses off.
You should be happy.

You're Sasha f*cking Bingham,
America's sweetheart,

the girl next door, the dirty girl next door.
That's the bestest kind.

- Weird?
- Oddly, no,

but I'm really good
at compartmentalising sh*t.

You are one dirty cop.

Sometimes I hate my conscience...

...but right now it's telling me
that this may not be the best idea.

Yeah? Well, it's the only way
you're gonna get me back out there.

Oh, well. In that case...

Well...

This is a fine how-do-you-do.

We need to talk business, Marcy.

What?

OK.

I mean, if you're gonna do it, just do it.

I'm a man.
Sorta.

I mean, I could take it. I think.

What the f*ck are you talking about, Stu?

It's just you're so quiet,
and that is weird.

I mean, usually you're
yakking up a storm and...

...I've become quite fond
of that obscene verbal diarrhoea.

That's lovely.
And disgusting, Stu. Thanks.

In my experience, when a woman
has run out of things to say to me...

Done.
Time to throw another ex-wife on the fire.

I wasn't planning on
breaking up with you, Stu.

Not any time soon, anyway.

Well, I'm guessing
you're not moving in with me.

Look, man, we could talk about
the "shacking up" sh*t later, OK?

But I do have to be honest with you.

- It's my p*nis, isn't it?
- What?

The size.
It hurts you, doesn't it? God damn it!

No!

- Your p*nis is fine, Stu.
- Fine? Fine?

Yes. Fine. In a good way.

In the best possible way.

I mean it. And I've seen some weird,
f*cked-up wangs in my day,

so good on you.

OK.

Then honesty it is. OK?

Come on, baby. Go for it.
I'm all ears.

I'm pregnant.

Oh, God, Stu.

Please don't cry.
No. It's not what you think!

Not what I think?
It's not a f*cking miracle?

- Hardly.
- I'm gonna be a father!

No. Stu! Stuart!

You are not letting me tell you
what's going on.

You mean you're not keeping it?
You're gonna get rid of it?

- No. I'm keeping it.
- Thank God.

I thought about doing the deed,
but I couldn't go through with it.

- But there is just... other things.
- What?

- Charlie.
- Runkle? God! I didn't even think of that.

Oh, my God, he must be so upset!
Poor b*stard!

Well...

It's mother!
What am I gonna tell her?

I gotta tell her the truth, obviously.

- Obviously.
- Hello, Mother? Guess what.

I'm gonna be a father.

Yeah! Talk about
the g*dd*mn Christmas miracle!

Oh, boy.

f*cking kids.

- They're just a terrible burden, aren't they?
- Ever feel like you're losing the w*r?

Yeah. I think that
I'm in touch with that emotion.

What the f*ck are we supposed to do?

Hope for the best...

plan for the worst, and...
set a good example.

I don't know, just embrace the fact
we're all a bunch of f*cking hypocrites.

True dat.

- I still hate you.
- I know, I know.

But I need you right now,
because I'm in over my head

- and I feel like I'm losing my sh*t.
- Honey. Come here. It's OK.

Listen...

what say you to a couple
of room service burgers...

and an $18 hotel movie?

That sounds pretty f*cking awesome.
Can I come?

- I'm not talking to you right now.
- Sure. I get it.

But if I were, I'd probably apologise
for my behaviour today.

Well, if you were actually speaking to me
and you actually said something like that,

I might even respond
by saying that I deserved it,

and maybe I'd even apologise
and say that I was sorry.

For everything.

- Maybe?
- Definitely.

- I'll see you upstairs.
- Yes. I'll be up in a second.

You know, it's funny.

It doesn't matter how rich, how famous,

they're all just little kids who need
their mommies and their daddies.

Here's hoping.

And I know I don't really
know you that well, so...

this might be out of line,
but I'm gonna say it anyway.

- You don't have to.
- I'm gonna.

- All right.
- You...

are coming dangerously close
to the point of no return.

What does that mean?

This thing that you got going...

It's very romantic and charming
and certainly devil-may-care.

But... it's last call, pal.

You should get out
while the getting's good.

What if it's already too late?

Well...
Could be. I don't know.

Certainly doesn't mean
that you shouldn't try.

Meanwhile...

Why don't you keep your grubby
f*cking paws off my daughter, yeah?

Yes, ma'am.