You're the Worst, Season 2

Paul:
Do you even know what love means?

Lindsay:
Yeah, it's like, "Hey, I love you. Smooch, smooch. Now go make me some bagel bites."

Paul:
Love isn't about having someone to get you things. Love is putting someone else's feelings above your own. Do you think you could ever do that? Honestly?

Lindsay:
Ew. [beat] I didn't mean that.

Saleswoman:
You've been standing here for 20 minutes. Can I help you find something?

Gretchen:
No, I'm fine. I'm waiting for someone. My son... actually. Jayden?

Saleswoman:
Cart paralysis. It's very common. What do you need to get?

Gretchen:
Everything! I just moved in with my boyfriend and I don't have any stuff except for a food processor and, like, nineteen thongs, because even though at first we were like, "I am not wearing that," the patriarchy somehow convinced us that visible panty lines were unacceptable, so now I've just grown accustomed to the feeling of a fabric rope against my actual asshole all day. And anyway, even if I did buy the stuff of a life, there's nowhere for me to put it because I'm not sure this dude really wanted me to move in because I'm an irresponsible monster who burned down her apartment with her vibrator!

Saleswoman:
I'm just gonna leave you with this checklist for college freshmen.

Edgar:
Whose house is this?

Paul:
My biking buddy Conner, his wife Mimi died recently.

Edgar:
What happened?

Paul:
Recumbant bikes have many good qualities but sometimes they're hard to see from up high. The driver of the semi never knew she was there, poor thing was dragged three miles. I've never seen Conner pedal so fast. He kept motioning frantically for the truck to stop. But the driver thought he wanted him honk. She was actually alive until the semi got on the freeway.

Edgar:
Well that's the most terrible thing...

Paul:
Sad thing is Mimi didn't want to go out that day because her safety flag had been stolen outside the junior high but Conner told her that they could stop at the bike store after they raced to Starbucks for tea.

Edgar:
Please give my condolences to Conner...

Paul:
The really sad thing, is that Conner wanted to let Mimi win, because her impetigo had been flaring up again, that's the only reason she reached the intersection first.

Edgar:
I don't really need to hear...

Paul:
The extra sad thing? The whole time she was being dragged towards the on-ramp she was texting Conner, her phone still accessible in its holder on the handlebars. I saw the texts...they're quite chilling.

Jimmy:
It's just like I told Gretchen. Friends are for babies. And just because I fell in feces and all the kids called me "Shitty Jimmy," and I was the smartest kid in my class, that has nothing to do with why I don't need friends.

Jimmy:
[talking to Gretchen on Facetime] Hey. Do you want to get a lap dance with me?

Gretchen:
Oh, hell yeah, I do. [Jimmy puts phone in jacket pocket and maneuvers around] Oh, no, no, no, no, the one with the C-section scar.

Jimmy:
Which one?

Jimmy:
Do you know what I'd rather experience than long-form improv? Long-form bone cancer.

Edgar:
Point taken.

Jimmy:
No, I don't think it is. See, you just described an improvised comedy scene to me. That's worse than telling someone about a dream that doesn't feature them sexually. I mean, you've had some awful, awful hobbies, but this is by far the worst. And I'm including heroin and not knowing things are a school.

Edgar:
I didn't know it was a school.

Jimmy:
What is going on with you?!

Gretchen:
The only thing going on with me is I am trying to make-do being stuck in this house, and you're obsessed with this stupid mouse! I know, let's do shots. [Picks up two empty bottles] Oh, my God, we're out of booze.

Jimmy:
Good. I think you've had enough.

Gretchen:
You've had enough. Edgar! Edgar! We're out of booze.

Edgar:
We'll make a run later. [beat] M-Maybe Jimmy's right. Relax.

Gretchen:
Relax? Says the guy so riddled with anxiety, he can't sleep through the night without screaming!

Edgar:
Yes, well, uh, we all know that I'm taking the prescribed steps to overcome the very common issues caused by combat situations.

Gretchen:
Ugh! We know. You were in a war. Get over it! And while you're at it, get over Lindsay. Have enough self-respect not to focus on someone who's still clearly obsessed with her lame, soft ex-husband.

Lindsay:
This is really hard for me.

Gretchen:
Oh. "Waah. My husband left me for a female him, and now I can't function in life. Waah!"

[Dorothy laughs, causing Gretchen to turn to her]

Gretchen:
Oh, and you! Theater girl!

Dorothy:
Yes?

Gretchen:
Improv is the lowest form of comedy. That whole school of yours is just a bunch of actors so janky-looking, no one will write lines for them, so you have to make them up yourself.

Dorothy:
[into it] Aw, shit.

Gretchen:
You're what this town calls a tweener. You're not hot enough to be the lead, and not fat enough to be the funny friend.

Lindsay:
You already did me!

Vernon:
Do me, do me.

Gretchen:
Not worth it.

Vernon:
Aw, man.

Jimmy:
Look, as spectacularly entertaining as this is, maybe you should take a breather.

Gretchen:
And then there's Jimmy.

Jimmy:
Aw, shit.

Gretchen:
No, seriously, Jimmy, I feel such empathy for you, being a writer. I mean, everyone feels sorry for kids forced to work in the diamond mines in Sierra Leone, but where is the telethon for the noble writer? Bravely drinking coffee, spilling his blood to get his feelings out, filling two, maybe three whole pages before his heroic effort is cut short by the desire to watch Internet porn or get a snack! All of you! Sucking the air out of the room with your self-pity-riddled non-problems! Except you, Vernon. You got real issues. You're married to Becca.

Vernon:
Ha! Vernon, ya burnt!

Gretchen:
This place is an emotional black hole, and if it wasn't for the runners—yes, they have a name, they're not just "the people," you giant doofus—I would be driving as fast as I could away from you all! But I can't! Because apparently, I live here now, due to completely-beyond-my-control wiring issues for which there will be a lawsuit. Yes! There will be a lawsuit! [sniffles] There will be no lawsuit.

Jimmy:
I have here three envelopes stamped and addressed, each containing something horrible I do not want mailed under any circumstances. On the back are dates and page counts. I miss a deadline, you mail the envelope. In ascending order of horribleness: a check to BAMLA, a love letter to Becca, and the worst, an invitation for my family to come visit, all expenses paid. I mean, the horror of any of these being mailed is so severe that it will serve as all the motivation I need to write.

Lexi:
To be a slave to an idea of coolness is why some of your friends never grow and in the end are actually less themselves, and counter-intuitively live less authentic lives than the buyers-in.

Jimmy:
"Flight itinerary: Heathrow to L.A.X." No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening. Why would my family be flying here?! They can't do that.

Gretchen:
So tell 'em to suck your dick.

Jimmy:
Well, I can't tell them "to suck my dick," Gretchen, because they're already in the air! They arrive in the morning. "For four days"?! Why the hell are they...? Gretchen, the, uh, the-the... the letters that I gave you, you-you didn't...?

Gretchen:
Yeah, I mailed them like you asked.

Jimmy:
No! Why would you do that?! They were just threats, so if I didn't hit the page count, you were to mail the letters!

Gretchen:
I don't get it.

Jimmy:
Oh, my God, and the love letter to Becca. And there was a third one. What was it?

Gretchen:
Oh, yeah, it was bad. I remember that.

Jimmy:
I'm already regretting not slapping you harder.

Jimmy:
You must be in university by now.

Lilly:
Oh, I was going to go, but they pointed out that university is just a place wankers go to study poetry and fist themselves.

Jimmy:
Did you know my entire childhood was spent with the lot of you incessantly mocking me. The first time I learned to ride a bicycle and fell into that pile of loose lead. [The family laughs] My phase of wearing Mum's high heels. And, yeah, the famous Shitty Jimmy incident, which, if you remember, only happened because Fi pushed me!

Fiona:
In my defense, I only pushed you so you'd fall in shit!

Jimmy:
And now you've come to cow me again? Well, it will not work. Do you know why? Because I understand that you're not the sisters I looked up to, or the father whose... or the father whose approval I desperately wanted. You are just unhappy, uneducated garbage! And I want you out of my house! [They laugh more] It's not funny!

Vern:
Killer hook, Linds.

Lindsay:
Thanks. And guess what. We're going to Fire 103 today to drop the song on Trace's show.

Vern:
Nice!

Becca:
Well, I better get back to it. Oh, creating a human life. I got to tell you, it is so fulfilling. But making a grammatical nightmare of a song with Gretchen's psychopath client, that's a really big deal, you know, for you.

Lindsay:
Oh, hey. Tomorrow I'm eating runny cheese and going on an inverted roller coaster. Want to come?

Becca:
[getting it] Okay.

Lindsay:
Oh, sorry, I forgot. You can't ever do anything fun because you're ruining your body with some ginger-headed parasite.

Vern:
Ha!

Becca:
Whatever. In five months, I will be on a Disney cruise with my family, while you're at divorce court, looking back on the time someone took pity on you and let you sing on their stupid song.

Lindsay:
"New Phone Who 'Dis" is not a stupid song. It's about texting!

Jimmy:
Red licorice vodka? Were you expecting Chris Hansen?

Gretchen:
Why are you here?

Jimmy:
Last night, a certifiable fox hit on me, and I did not respond. I masturbated furiously afterwards, but only after I'd rejected her.

Gretchen:
You need to stop. It's like you have amnesia. Every day, you think things are gonna be different, and I'll just be happy. Well, maybe you can understand this. I feel nothing. About anything. Dogs, candy, old Blondie records, nachos, you, us, nothing. So for the last time, please go.

Gretchen:
I can't say it again. I can't.

Jimmy:
I just still can't understand. Can you...can you explain it to me, please?

Gretchen:
I'm scraped out. I'm... that car we sent to Mars, flipped upside down so the sun can't reach my solar panels. I've always been able to flip myself back over eventually but...I ran out of times. This is how I am now. And it's not okay with you. Nor should it be.

Jimmy:
Okay. Well...I suppose it's good that this happened now, instead of like... ten years down the line.

Gretchen:
Yeah.

Jimmy:
I'll be back in a couple of days.

Gretchen:
I'll be out by the time you get back. Have fun. You deserve it. Whoever she is.

Gretchen:
[waking up to find Jimmy has built a blanket fort around her] You stayed?

Jimmy:
Yeah.

Gretchen:
[crying] You stayed.

Gretchen:
So you kissed, and then what happened?

Jimmy:
Then she showed me her bronze medal.

Gretchen:
She did? Why?

Jimmy:
Because she was understandably proud of it.

Gretchen:
She...she was proud of her bronze medal?!

Jimmy:
It's quite beautiful, close up. [Gretchen is disgusted] What?

Gretchen:
Why would a person just show someone their butthole?!

Jimmy:
What?! No! A real bronze medal! Why would you think I meant a butthole?

Gretchen:
Well, you said "bronze medal." I mean, it is the third-best hole. Brownish.

Gretchen:
You know, after I cleaned the fries off your face and put you to bed, you said something to me that was pretty dark.

Jimmy:
Don't tell me.

Gretchen:
Okay. I won't. [pause] I love you too.