Previously on Californication...
I can't believe you made me get a vasectomy.
- What do you know about it? - I know you fucked and punched him,
set him up, stole his book.
What are you gonna do about it?
- You guys are officially back together? - Until we fuck it up.
We're going to this party up in Laurel Canyon.
What the fuck!
I leave you alone for 2 seconds. You're not supposed to do that.
- What are you doing? - Assuming the posish.
I'll be right back.
Lew, this fucking perv just tried to mouthrape me.
- I accidently went down on her. - How is that possible ?
- Have you been drinking, sir? - Hours ago...
Out of the car.
Why don't you just mind your own fucking buisiness?
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Silent treament?
Yes.
- How long? - Hard to say.
You think we can skip the part where I apologize profusely
and tell you what a lame parental figure I am?
No.
- I'm sorry. - I know.
Me too.
Why are you sorry?
Because we're not bailing you out.
- You shitting me? - I shit you not.
Mom says you should use this time to think.
About what? How much my balls ache?
What about Mom's heart?
Don't you think that aches a bit too?
Touché, daughter.
Check it out.
You're on the*****
- It's a pretty good picture. - I thought so.
I'll work on her.
In the meantime,
don't bend over for the soap.
- What's the occasion? - Do we need an occasion?
Life is good, business is better.
Let's party while this bitch can still get wet!
You guys are great together.
Baby, tonight we are kicking it old school.
Condoms, coke and lobster claws.
Meet me after work.
I reserved our favorite room.
- Marce... - Don't "marce" me, short bus.
Turn over. I got to get your tail.
You don't want me to step outside?
Please, I've had way grosser dudes than you
staring into the busines end of my cudra all day long.
Porn.
Thanks, got it.
- How's that working for you? - I don't know.
I mean, I love it, I do.
But I'm just not getting the kind of jobs I really want.
You gotta be careful, one wrong move and you end up the asslicker.
Unloath to ask.
You're watching some porn, and there is two girls and a guy.
One girl, she's clearly the star, but the other one...
She ends up tonging the dude's balloon knot while he fucks the shit out of the leading lady.
That's why I'm afraid of: chocolate starfish duty.
You're far too pretty for such things.
- You really think so? - I do.
You could cross over. Go mainstream. I've seen it happen.
Don't tell her that.
Don't fill her pretty little head full of Hollywood bullshit.
She does what she does and she's good at it.
That's the secret.
You find your fucking niche and you stick to it.
Like me: I could branch out. I could diversify.
But no! I wax hairy tacos.
Maybe I bleech an asshole or two. That's my thing.
One wrong move, you end up the asslicker.
Words to live by.
Give me some.
Yeah, Charlie Runkle.
No, he's not at a meeting, He hates meetings. Come on.
Try his cell.
Don't hang up, listen. Tell him Hank Moody called. Tell him they set bail.
Just...
One more.
I'm trying to reach my agent.
Maybe you should think about new representation, homie.
Everybody is a fucking comedian.
What the fuck?
What?
You touched my ass.
Not my thing man, trust me.
My sweet sexy ass, and you touched it.
Can't say I blame you.
What are you on? I want some.
Now you're looking at it.
You're not giving me a whole lot of choice in the matter, are you?
A beauty, ain't it?
This nice white mid-crowd ass of mine.
There's no place like home, there's no place like home.
Prisoner coming in on the gates.
You?
I know you.
Last night.
The whole cunilingus switcharoo incident.
- Right! - Mouthrape!
That chick?
Stone freak. I ended up banging these other two.
She flips out, calls the cops, cries domestic abuse.
I'm pretty sure I never laid a hand on her.
Lew Ashby.
Hank Moody.
The writer?
- So how's the script coming? - Really good!
I don't see what the big deal is. Screenplays are easy.
- What's hard is adapting your own work. - Sure, sure, I would imagine.
I bet you just look at those pages sometimes and have no idea
where all that brilliance came from.
As one of my agents, I would think you'd be a whole lot nicer to me.
- I would think so too. - You know what? Ladies, just
don't gang bang up on me, please.
You'd like that, wouldn't you? You sweaty little perv.
I've got a meeting.
Good luck. Just be yourself and a little cleavage is always good.
Done, and...
done.
Don't you have a school to attend, somewhere?
If it's all the same to you,, I think I'd rather sit down with David Finsher.
Word of advice: if he's about to cum,
just let him cum. Don't punch the poor guy in the face.
Dick.
- What's your problem? - She's an important client.
- Not to me. - She is to me and the agency.
She is everything that's wrong with Hollywood right now.
Much like youself.
- How the mighty have fallen. - What's that supposed to mean?
You've gone soft, Charlie.
You lost that killer instinct I used to admire so much.
I see, you've been an agent now for... What is it? 3 whole months.
- You got it all figured out now? - I love what I do. I know that much.
Blackmailing your way into a career doesn't make you a good agent.
- No, just a successful one. - I'm sorry I ever spanked you.
I'm not.
I miss you, boss.
I miss our little...
playdates.
Wrong move, Charlie.
Wow you are just totally bad shit crazy now, aren't you?
A year from now,
when you're selling BMWs in the Valley,
- remember this moment. - I've had enough of this, alright?
It's time I go have a little chat with our president.
He's had his share of psycho hose bag assistants.
I'm thinking he's gonna have my back.
Don't go there, Charlie.
Instead, maybe it's time to think about doing something
a little bit different with your skill set.
What about producing?
The only thing I'd like to produce right now is a fist up your ass.
Once upon a time I might have taken you up on that.
Good luck, boss.
You've got a lot of fans in the music business.
Ah? Yeah?
Your writing always had this
"in your face rock and roll energy" to it.
Dolorès Thomson meets the last Stoogees on.
God hates us all. How was your Gatsby?
- What happened to you, man? - What happened to me?
I came out here from New York to fight the good fight.
I lost. This fucking city happened to me.
Please. All you haters can go
fellate yourselves. I mean, always whining about L.A.
and how New York is like a holy land. Go the fuck move back there.
The sheer amount of talent in this town, any given time?
Mind-boggling. That caveman over there, farting in his sleep?
One of the greatest rock n' roll guitar players of all time.
I got a...
I got this book deal.
You wanna write about why everything I touch
turns to gold or platinum, zirconium or some sick shit
*** is trying to push these dweeby Rolling Stone writers on me?
You'll write it.
Be my buzz well.
Slow down, there, charm school. I don't put out on the first date.
I'm not trying to put in your pale, I got instincts about these things.
Yeah, but I'm one of the haters.
I'm actually doing something about it. I'm moving back to Mecca.
Bullshit, not going anywhere. You took a swing at a cop,
- you need a bucket lawyer. - Ashby!
A good lawyer is everything. I got a great one.
Good hanging with you Moody
- Ashby! - Get writing again.
Peace.
Thank you.
Okay, look. I know I'm supposed to be like a sister here, but...
not like he did it on purpose.
Sonia,
you slept with the father of my child in my very own bed
and then you vomited all over it. I would never accuse you of being a sister.
- You hooked me up with him so I mean... - What was I thinking?
I'm sorry about the comforter.
You ready?
For what?
My pitch.
What are you, peddling screenplays now ?
God, no.
I think we
should go into business together.
I'm flattered, really.
Thank you. But this is a...
This is kind of a hard time for me right now. The house is on the market,
and I'm interviewing for jobs and...
How would you feel
about restoring an original *Locke* house with me?
- Don't fuck with me. - I'm not.
I'm bidding on one tomorrow.
- Are you serious? - Yeah.
I got some things to say to you. Some of it ugly,
some of it embarrassing, but all of it true.
I am not going down without a fight.
So... what?
You're gonna shitcan 15 years of experience
because a guy messes up one time?
Okay, that's it! I'm ankling!
Runkle is ankling!
Okay, Becca? Dinner.
What are you up to, young lady?
How long are you going to let my father rot in jail?
Look, I know this is hard for you.
But your father has to understand
that there are consequences to his actions, OK?
He can't just go around saying
and doing exactly what he wants at all times.
I mean, you get that, right?
- Hey! - Hey!
- What's this? - Galley proofs.
Once upon a time, before you humiliated my father on his wedding night,
you promised to read my book. High time I collect, don't you think?
You're right, I did, and I will.
I wanna read it.
I think this one might be a little too NC-17, for you, Juno.
What are you talking about?
I've read all my father's books, I'm sure I can handle yours.
Where is the esteemed author this evening?
In the big house.
Jail. He's in jail.
- No shit. What did he do? - I'm not allowed to know.
Because I don't wanna turn you off men for the rest of your life.
What are we gonna do? Shouldn't we be calling Chico's Bail Bonds?
- Mom thinks he needs time to think. - He does need time.
What if all he's thinking is some cholo tosses his salad?
Mia.
What does that mean?
Nothing good.
I gotta say I don't approve of this course of action.
For all his faults, Hank's a lover. Not a fighter.
And he's far too pretty for jail, mom.
What if he's someone's bitch right now?
Instead of being yours?
That is not fair... Or nice.
He is who he is, Mom.
You knew that when you jumped into the car with us.
If you're worried you made a mistake, that's not his fault.
You have to love him for who he is.
And not his potential.
No, no, sweetie.
Shit.
- Could you watch her? - Sure.
- Where are you going? - To bail him out.
Because that
is the...
infuriating magic of Hank.
You can never stay mad at him for very long.
I'll be back
with the Hank.
Dude?
You ate the wrong pussy. That's all there is to it.
That shit is fucked up.
Beyond fucked up.
Fuck!
If I got a caught munching the wrong rug,
the woman would go all Lorena Bobbitt on my ass.
My sweet sexy ass.
Moody! You're out of here.
Gentlemen... Lady...
It's been a slice. Let's keep in touch.
- You? - That's right, motherfucker.
- Why the fuck would you bail me out? - Why the fuck not?
- It's mighty white of you. - It's only money.
Now, you got to drink with me.
I hate to seem unappreciative, but I got some girls back home
who deserve the full-court press on this one so I'm gonna have to pass.
Come on. One drink and then, I'll drop you off.
One.
Come on.
Yes. Silence is a yes.
Oh, my balls...
Take a whiff...
Smell the history. This was Led Zeppelin's table.
Jimmy fucking Page used to get under-the-table oral from Miss Pamela
right here.
I bet you could still scrape some of his DNA off the floor.
First album I ever bought with my own money. Zeppelin II.
You had good taste. Mine was Captain and Tennille.
- I was a homo until I heard the hard stuff. - Indeed.
Want a blow job?
I think that might ruin the friendship.
Take your pick. I'll hook you up. Her?
- Her? Him? - No, I'm...
I'm good. I had a big breakfast.
Okay. You have a problem with blow jobs?
Actually, I'm a big fan of the blow job.
As long as she uses 2 hands and doesn't meander too much
I just have a woman at home who might not appreciate
somebody else's lips wrapped around my monkey.
I imagine she's still a little miffed about the accidental mouth thing.
You would imagine correctly, right.
Any...
Titsuckers ?
A daughter, Rebecca.
Magic. Plays the guitar.
Loves the heavy metal, worships Satan.
Shucks. You got yourself a little fam-damly, Moody.
Which is why you should write my
fucking book, 'cause you need to provide for them.
You know what... What am I going to write about ?
What you were born a poor Black child, now you're an icon
everything you touch turns to gold.
No offense but I need a bigger theme.
- Thanks, sweetheart. - Anytime.
Job well done.
Cool.
Very cool.
Let's find ourselves a bigger theme?
Hang the fucking Pope.
You want some, Daddy?
I gotta tell you something.
- I gotta fucking tell you something. - What? What do you gotta tell me?
I love you.
I fucking love you, babe.
You wanna fuck?
You could choke me if you want.
Just a little.
I don't know if I can do it anymore.
It's cool, take it easy, baby, slow down.
I won't boggy any of yours.
Not the blow, the job, Jesus Christ,
Marce, you gotta listen to me once in a while.
OK, OK, but what the fuck are you talking about ?
You love your job, you were born to be a ten-percenter.
No, babe, I gotta get off the train. It's fucking killing me.
Like, you know what?
Maybe I need to produce.
Fuck that.
Fucking asslicker, you're not creative.
You haven't had an original thought since the day we met.
Which isn't a bad thing.
You need to sell, it is what you do.
And you do the shit out of it.
But what if I couldn't?
What if, all of a sudden, I just... I fuckin' couldn't?
Like what? Like if you end up in a fucking wheelchair, all tweaked and shit.
You're not fuckin' listening to me, you never fuckin' listen to me.
I'm listening, baby. I'm right here.
What the fuck, you're supposed to be taking me home.
I just thought I would give you a little something to put in your book.
We drove out here together in a beat shit,
a Mustang that didn't go in reverse anymore.
I was gonna be a guitar hero and she was gonna design my stage clothes.
I ended up producing, she ended up alone.
All the time.
She wanted the house.
I wanted the freedom.
Sure as fuck got it.
Now I drink what I want,
snort what I want,
fuck what I want.
All I want is her.
Just go knock on her door.
Fuck that.
Not nearly drunk enough for that.
- Thank you. - For what?
- Reminding me to call my old lady. - The one that didn't bail you out?
Probably what I dig most about her.
Karen?
Marcy.
Hold on a sec, what?
Is somebody crying? Charlie's crying, what the...
You guys are fuckin' retarded.
Wassup, cocky smurf?
He's saying some shit about not wanting to be an agent anymore.
- I didn't know what to do. - You did the right thing, half pint.
Runkle, open up.
Charlie, come on, let me in.
Charlie?
Come on.
Charlie!
What the fuck, Runkle?
I got the axe today.
You got fired?
Why the fuck didn't you tell me?
I tried.
You weren't fucking listening!
You never fucking listen to me anymore.
Right, I never listen to you. Got it.
Asshole.
Scarface, you're not helping. Go elsewhere.
Okay big boy, lay it on me.
Well, help yourself, whatever.
They shitcanned my ass.
Which makes total sense, my heart wasn't in it anymore.
Well...
that and the masturbation videos.
Do I even wanna know?
It's sobering Hank.
- Seeing yourself make faces like that. - I hear you.
No man should ever have to bear witness to his o-face.
Word.
What's the worse that can happen?
You never work again in this town?
No, okay! Look,
No, sorry, sorry, look.
Let's cross that bridge when we inevitably come to it.
Look, but till then... it's me and you broheme.
I'm with you, through Hill and Dale, through hell and back.
- That's nice. - I'm right behind you.
But you don't bring in any money.
Just so happens, Lew Ashby is out there right now.
Wants me to write his biography.
Really? That's a big deal.
They've been trying to put a writer²on that for a while.
Things are looking up already.
You done with your bath there Kingdog?
Let's towel you off, big boy. What's with the bib, Bob, come on?
I ate some crustacean.
You look like you crawled out of a dumpster behind the redlobster.
You smell like a mermaid, asspack.
Any points for saying I'm sorry in a romance language?
I don't know.
I'll think about it next time I'm going down on the wrong guy.
Fair enough.
As long as he's thin, bent and uncircumcized.
That's lovely.
Come to bed.
I'm sorry, baby.
I know.
Me too.
I love you.
I love you too.
But what if that's not enough?
This is not very good pillow talk.
Oh shut up.
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