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, huh?
- You guys are officially back together? - Until we fuck it up.
We're going to this party up in Laurel Canyon.
- My mama! - What the fuck?
I leave you alone for two seconds! You're not supposed to do that!
- What are you doing? - Assuming the posish.
I'll be right back.
Dude, this fucking perv just tried to mouth-rape me!
I accidentally went down on her.
How do you accidentally go down on someone?
- Have you been drinking, sir? - Hours ago.
Out of the car.
You just mind your own fucking business!
No!
Silent treatment?
Yes.
- How long? - Hard to say.
Think we can skip the part where I apologise 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're 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?
Touchй, daughter.
Check it out. You're on Defamer.
- That's a pretty good picture. - I thought so.
- I'll work on her. - OK.
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 kickin' it old-school.
Condoms, coke and lobster claws.
Meet me after work.
I reserved our favourite room.
- Marce... - Don't "Marce" me, short bus.
Turn over. I got to get your tail.
You sure you don't want me to step outside?
Please. I've had way grosser dudes than you
staring into the business end of my cooter 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 got to be careful. One wrong move and you end up the ass-licker.
I'm loathe to ask.
You're watching some porn with two girls and a guy.
One girl, she's clearly the star.
But the other one, she ends up tonguing the dude's balloon knot
while he fucks the shit out of the leading lady.
That's what I'm afraid of. Chocolate-starfish duty.
Come on, 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 bleach an asshole or two. That's my thing.
One wrong move, you end up the ass-licker.
Words to live by. Give me some.
Yeah, Charlie Runkle.
Yeah. No, he's not in a meeting. He hates meetings. Come on.
Try his cell. No, 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. Come on.
Maybe you should think about new representation, homey.
Everybody's 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 ya.
What are you on? I want some.
Now you're looking at it.
Not giving me a lot of choice in the matter, are you?
Thing of beauty, ain't it?
This nice, white, mick-kraut ass of mine.
There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
Coming in on the gate!
You. I know you.
Last night.
The whole cunnilingus switcheroo incident.
- Right. - Mouth rape.
That chick, stone freak.
I ended up banging these other two.
She flips out, calls the cops, and 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.
You know, 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, OK? Please.
Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, you sweaty, little perv?
I've got a meeting.
Good luck. Just be yourself.
- 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'd rather sit down with David Fincher.
Word of advice, if he's about to come, just let him come.
Don't punch the poor guy in the face.
Dick.
What's your problem?
- She's an important client. - Not to me.
Well, she is to me and the agency.
She is everything that's wrong with Hollywood right now, much like yourself.
- 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 three 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...
play dates.
Wrong move, Charlie.
Wow, you are just totally bat-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, all right?
It's time I have a little chat with our president.
He's had his share of psycho-hosebag assistants. I think he's gonna have my back!
Don't go there, Charlie.
Instead, maybe it's time to think about doing something 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 got a lot of fans in the music business.
Yeah?
Your writing always had this in-your-face, rock 'n' roll energy to it.
Hunter S. Thompson meets a lost Stooges album.
God Hates Us All. That 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. Always whining about L.A.,
and how New York is like a holy land. Well, 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... I got this book deal.
They wanna write about why everything I touch turns to gold,
platinum, zirconium, or some such shit.
FSG is trying to push these dweeby Rolling Stone writers on me.
You write it.
Be my Boswell.
Slow down there, charm school. I don't put out on a first date.
I'm not trying to put it in your pail, buddy. 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. You're not going anywhere.
You took a swing at a cop. You need a fuckin' lawyer.
- Ashby. - A good lawyer is everything.
I got a great one.
- Good hanging with you, Moody. - Ashby.
Get writing again. Peace.
Thank you.
OK, look, I know I'm supposed to be like a sister here,
but it's not like he did it on purpose.
Sonja, you slept with the father of my child in my very own bed,
then you vomited all over it.
I would never accuse you of being a sister.
- You hooked me up with him, so... - What the fuck was I thinking?
I'm sorry about the comforter.
You ready?
For what?
My pitch.
What, are you peddling screenplays now, or...
Oh, God. No, no, no.
I think we should go into business together.
I'm flattered, really.
Thank you, but this is kind of a hard time for me right now.
The house is on the market,
- and I'm interviewing for jobs in New York. - How would you feel...
about restoring an original Lautner 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 gonna shit-can 15 years' experience cos a guy messes up one time?
OK, that's it!
I'm ankling! Runkle is ankling!
OK, Becca, dinner.
What are you up to, young lady?
How long are you going to let my father rot in jail?
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?
Hi.
- What's this? - Galley proofs.
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 want to read it.
I think this one might be a little too NC-17 for you, Juno.
What are you talking about?
If 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 want to turn you off men for the rest of your life.
What are we gonna do?
Shouldn't we be calling Chico's Bail Bonds or something?
Mom thinks he needs time to think.
He does need time.
What if, while he's thinking, some Cholo tosses his salad?
Mia...
- What does that mean? - Nothing good.
I got to say, I don't approve of this course of action.
For all of his faults, Hank's a lover, not a fighter.
The man is 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, not his potential.
No, no, no, sweetie.
Shit. Could you watch her?
Sure. Where 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 caught munching the wrong rug,
the warden would go 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?
- That's mighty white of you. - Hey, 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".
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 ll.
You had good taste. Mine was Captain & Tennille.
- I was a homo until I heard the hard stuff. - Indeed.
- Want a blowjob? - I don't know. It might ruin the friendship.
Take your pick. I'll hook you up.
- Her? Her? - No, I'm...
- Him? - I'm good. I had a big breakfast.
- OK. You have a problem with blowjobs? - Actually, I'm a big fan of the blowjob,
as long as she uses two 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 muff dive?
- You would imagine correctly. - Right.
Any...
.. tit-suckers?
Daughter. Rebecca.
She's magic. Plays guitar.
Loves the heavy metal. Worships Satan.
Aw, shucks, you got yourself a little famn-damily, Moody,
which is why you should write my fuckin' book,
cos you need to provide for them.
You know what? What am I gonna write about?
What, you were born a poor, black child, and now you're an icon?
Everything you touch turns to gold?
No offence, but I need a bigger theme.
- Thanks, sweetheart. - Any time.
- Job well done. - Thank you.
Cool. Very cool.
Let's find ourselves a bigger theme.
Hang the fuckin' Pope!
You want some, Daddy?
I got to tell you something, Marce.
Marce? Marce! I got to fuckin' tell you something, baby.
What? What do you got to tell me?
I love you.
Oh, I fuckin' love you, babe.
You want to fuck?
You could choke me if you want.
Just a little.
I don't know if I can do it anymore.
That's cool. Take it easy, baby. Slow down.
I won't bogey any of yours.
Not the blow! The job! Jesus Christ!
You got to listen to me once in a while!
OK! But what the fuck are you talking about?
You love your job. You were born to be a 10-percenter.
Babe, I got to get off the train. It's fucking killing me.
You know what? Maybe I need to produce.
Fuck that, you fucking ass-licker.
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 fuckin' couldn't?
Like, if you ended up in a fuckin' 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'd give you a little something to put in your book.
We drove out here together
in a beat-to-shit Mustang that didn't go in reverse anymore.
I was gonna be a guitar hero. 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.
- Let's 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 who didn't bail you out?
Probably what I dig most about her.
Karen?
Marcy?
What? Hold on a sec. What?
Is somebody crying?
Charlie's crying? What the... You guys are fuckin' retarded.
What's up, Cokey Smurf?
He's saying shit about not wanting to be an agent anymore.
- I didn't know what to do. - You did the right thing, half-pint.
Hey, 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, right, right! I never listen to you! Got it!
- Asshole! - Hold it!
Scarface, you're not helping.
Go elsewhere.
OK, big boy. Lay it on me.
Well, help yourself. Whatever.
They shit-canned my ass, which makes total sense.
My heart wasn't in it anymore.
Well... that and the masturbation videos.
Do I even want to know?
It's sobering, Hank.
Seeing yourself make faces like that.
I hear you.
No man should ever have to bear witness to his "oh" face.
Word.
Well, what's the worst that can happen?
You never work again in this town?
No! OK, look, no, no, sorry.
Sorry, sorry.
Let's cross that bridge when we inevitably come to it.
OK? 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 money.
Well, it just so happens, Lew Ashby is out there right now.
Wants me to write his biography for him.
Really? That's a big deal. They've been trying to put a writer on that for a while now.
You see that? Things are looking up already.
You done with your bath there, King Dong?
Let's towel you off, big boy.
What's with the bib, bub? Come on.
I ate some crustaceans.
You look like you crawled out of a dumpster behind the Red Lobster,
and you smell like a mermaid's ass crack.
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 he's thin, bent, and uncircumcised.
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.