Big day today.
I'm meeting with the publishing house
about the strategy for the new book.
Of course, marketing budg...
Why aren't you listening to me? I'm fascinating.
Oh, I'm on a dating app now.
I was hoping to find romance,
but every girl I match with just ends up wanting to be friends.
Like, on Friday, I'm helping a girl move a futon
into her apartment, but we've got to be done by 5:00
because she's got a date.
Well, the good news for you is that
these sites attract desperate, soon-to-be spinsters
with the self-esteem of a shelter pet.
And that knowledge can help you.
Have you tried negging?
Isn't that something lame dudes did, like, ten years ago?
Now it's making a comeback.
Like pubes and racism.
See, to neg, you employ criticism
couched as compliments to prey on low self-esteem.
Par exemple, "Oh, I love your top.
My mother had the same one before she lost four stone."
I can't be mean to someone I like.
Those are the best people to be mean to.
They never see it coming... ugly.
This is the survival of your genes.
You have to be aggressive.
Like they say, "Tits or GTFO." What does that stand for?
I'm not sure exactly.
I think maybe, "Tits... or get thy fanny out."
Mm, I could give it a shot.
Hey, maybe we could be app buddies.
I'm assuming you're dating now.
That would be a "no."
Actually, I'm guardedly excited about how things went
with Gretchen the other night. Jimmy,
I think it's over.
No. You heard her.
She said that everything between us was, and I quote, "okay."
Did you notice how she said it?
Weird and flat like someone
who's about to do something bad on Facebook Live.
Edgar, bit of advice.
Try not to dig beneath the surface of things.
With your pathetic analytic skills,
you really should take everything at face value.
You know, like, when I say, "Oh, Edgar, you idiot."
Hmm.
I've gotten it down so I only have to sleep
three and a half hours a night.
My metal work is more honest in the pre-dawn hours.
That's so funny!
Why is that funny?
I don't know.
Watch this.
Ow!
Oh, my God, I'm sorry!
Uh, let's go. Right.
'Sup, ninja? Why aren't you answering your phone?
Because I'm busy trying different clothes combinations
on this... alive mannequin thingy.
Shouldn't you be at work, too?
Nah. I was so cranked up
from messing with Jimmy's head,
I decided to blow off work and treat myself
to a liquor-store lunch instead.
So, I forgot to tell you.
I had sex with that dummy Ty.
What?! And then,
later that same day,
I boned his best friend. What?!
Should I try a walk, or...? Shut up!
Plus, he's married, so it can't be a thing.
That's right... Two guys in a row,
just like senior prom.
Ooh! Micheladas are much better when they're cold.
Hey, Lindsay.
Hi, Lindsay's troubled friend.
Good news.
We just signed
to dress Casey Affleck's lawyer for all future
court appearances, press conferences and depositions.
Looks like Mama's getting her boat. That's amazing!
Do you want to stay late with me tonight?
We can get dinner, force Carl
to make coffee and froyo runs. Make it fun.
Oh, farts. I promised my sister I'd babysit,
but I could cancel if you want me to.
No, that's okay. I can harass him by myself.
Pants... as a hat?
I like it.
It's fun, right? Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.
Ew. You have to hang out with that ugly-ass baby?
That thing looks like Billy Corgan fell asleep in a Jacuzzi.
I know, but thank God I had a legit excuse.
Priscilla's always here.
She eats, sleeps and shits work.
I don't want to shit work, Gretchen.
I once shit out one of those little wooden ice cream spoons,
and I couldn't sit down for a week.
Hey, want to do something fun?
We'll be in the man cave recording the podcast,
so if she cries like a little bitch, just babble at her.
You can say anything on account
of her soft-ass baby brain being all stupid and soft.
Check it. Hey, dumb baby.
Guess what Daddy did at work.
He used an oscillating bone distractor
to try and relieve an old lady's
craniofrontonasal dysplasia, and we lost her
on the table. Yes, we did.
We lost her.
Hey, guys.
This is my GBF, Walter.
We met at the bar in Gelson's.
He and his hubby also have a three-month-old.
And I'm definitely the Becca in my marriage.
I would say that Troy is the Vernon, but he has money
and a chin.
- You're late. - I'm "saw-wee."
I had to leave my job as a professional stylist
so I could babysit for "fwee."
Hey, being a mom is the most important job in the world.
Don't indoctrinate my baby with your libtard bullcrap.
Normally, I don't let my sitters bring their friends,
especially when one is
clearly intoxicated,
and the other one's probably in our country illegally.
I can say that because I voted for Obama.
- The first time. - Lock her up!
Lock her up! Lock her up!
Um, I have to run.
Yeah, Troy's on this new thing about eating dinner at the table
and just talking, like friggin' psychopaths?
You should do what I do.
I just make Vernon eat in the car.
Joke's on you.
I get to eat dinner with Joe Rogan every night.
Mmm.
What?! No! Jon Cryer just canceled.
Damn it! We can't just not
do the podcast.
We already blew the Red Napkin cash on Tallulah's eye medicine.
Gretch, you just had some crazy stuff go down.
You want to come get deep in the man cave?
Mm. No, Vernon, she doesn't... she doesn't want to.
Sure. I am owning what Jimmy did to me.
I am not living in silence anymore.
Plus, I am
drunk as shit on this clam booze,
so I'm down for whatever.
Come on, I'll get you set up. Listen, when I ask you
if you wish you could have all your dinner ingredients
delivered to your door, say yes.
I mean, I know that seems obvious,
but for some reason, Janeane Garofalo said no.
They're ready for you. Ah.
"Simon entered the room as he entered a woman: deliberately,
"with no appetite for the bromidic.
"For Simon, even the humdrum was veined thick
with decadence." "With decadence."
I'm Candace Sebring, head of marketing.
This is my rock star team.
And we all love the book!
We have been
looking for you for three months!
Oh. Our little disappearance artist.
We can't wait for you to see the mock-up of your cover.
Yes. Well, it is a tricky one, what with having to capture
the tenor and zeitgeist
of three wildly different periods in London's...
I'm, um... I'm-I'm just confused,
because that looks like a sex book
for horny airport ladies.
My book is, of course, literature.
Oh, Jimmy. No, this is just marketing.
We want your genius to have the best possible chance to succeed.
Which is why we're putting it in the erotica section.
If it's marketed as erotica and it's in the erotica section,
then it's erotica.
If what's inside is literature, it's literature.
Then why not market it as literature?
Because nobody buys literature.
They do buy erotica.
And they're definitely gonna buy this erotica.
You just said it's not erotica! Which is what makes it
so erotic.
Imagine what happens when an overworked mom
lights her scented candles, slips into her bubble bath,
opens your book and realizes
this isn't just sexy as hell...
It's actually a really good book.
She'll squirt so hard, that tub will overflow!
Besides, we've already paid
for the most prominent spots in all the major chains.
Right next to some of our other hot titles.
Bye!
Jimmy. Jimmy.
Jimmy, we're doing a reading tonight at The Straining Corset.
Some of our authors from our Silk Sheets line are reading,
and we're hoping that you will, too.
All of the top erotica bloggers and tastemakers
will be there.
At least... think about it.
Wow. As if.
Ugh. Unbelievable!
Seriously?
Stop it!
I'm trying to stare at this baby real quick.
Well, Jimmy told me to neg these girls,
but I just keep getting back all sorts of rude comments
and no titties whatsoever.
It's like they don't even care if they get thy fannies out.
What'd you write?
Um, um, "Damn, girl,
"what's up with those nostrils?
You Airbnb'ing them shits?"
"Titties or GTFO."
That would work on me,
but why are you talking like that?
It sounds wrong. Like if your cat started barking.
Oh, my God, how cute would that be? I know!
That would be so cute! As soon as I said it,
I was like, "Aw!" Aw!
Well, being nice
didn't work.
And doing Jimmy's strategy
of being mean didn't work.
So... what can I do?
Give up. Die alone.
Or... oh, and stay with me here... What if I combine
the intensity of my natural, intimate approach
with the aggressive manipulation of negging?
That's ridiculous. It'll never work.
I'm gonna go practice this in the place
where all the greatest flirting is done:
the toilet.
The toilet. I was gonna say that.
And once I realized
it wasn't some elaborate heckle
and he really wasn't coming back,
I walked down toward the Hollywood Bowl to get a signal.
I almost got trampled by a pack of wine-drunk
50-year-olds
with picnic baskets, but my cab finally came.
I just can't believe what I'm hearing. That's not Jimmy.
You must have misunderstood.
How? Unknown.
You just had to have. No way. Uh-uh.
Jimmy is way too manly a boss to punk out on a bitch like that.
I just want to say that you are so brave
for showing your face after that humiliation.
I would've changed my name, cut off all my hair,
gotten a neck tattoo,
joined a golf league at the local par 3,
maybe rent a little efficiency
in Marina Del Rey where the water
meets the sky and...
a woman can just live her life out loud
without judgment or labels...
Whatever. He's the one who should be ashamed, not me.
I know Jimmy better than anybody.
He could never do something like that.
It was probably some cool-ass prank
like Jamie Kennedy would do.
Jimmy is a psychopath.
I woke up in the middle
of the night one time,
and he was editing a picture of my feet
on one of those Facetune apps.
I once walked in on him
masturbating to a story written by an 11-year-old.
That was supposed to be sexy moaning.
Stop it! Stop ripping on my best friend!
I am just glad to be done with the whole thing!
Sure, I'm out some rent money, but it's a small price.
Wait a minute,
you paid rent in advance?
Yeah, like, half a year.
I was once right up on that same hill
getting proposed to by Jimmy.
I said no and you said yes,
which really adds extra humiliation for you.
But that's not the point. The point is,
why does Jimmy get to decide everything?
Yeah! He disappeared and I don't get to live in my house anymore?
Stop it! It's not fair!
That butthole can't do that!
You guys can't say that stuff about my friend!
I'll walk out!
This is my show!
Did you ever catch him plucking his nipple hairs?
That's it!
Podcast over!
Hey! We have a financial commitment, mister.
Oh, yeah.
Just joking around there, guys. Ha-ha.
You guys,
I love Ned Rapkin so much.
Are you ever in the mood
for a spinach and fried leek "frittoto"
surrounded by a bed of "rugala..."
What's wrong?
In the middle of messaging all these girls, I just...
started thinking about the relationship you and I have...
Whatever it is... And how, yeah,
we're just a couple of wild cards who don't add up to much,
but if nothing else during this time,
I learned firsthand just...
how absolutely amazing you are.
Me?
Your smile.
The way your eyes catch fire when you laugh.
I mean, sure, you regularly get outwitted by dogs,
but that's what makes you unique. And yeah,
you get Doritos stuck in your eyebrows sometimes,
but I still want to make out with you all the time,
because our connection, despite whatever,
it's true and deep and good.
Now I'd love to see those beautiful bosoms of yours,
if I might.
Yeah. Okay.
Wouldn't work, huh?
You!
You cannot bring that technique into the world, Edgar.
It's too dangerous.
Mmm.
Whew.
Your Uncle Edgar is a bad man.
He's gonna make all the girls show him their titties.
I don't know what titties are
because my mommy doesn't let me suck on hers.
Give me the thing.
How's the podcast?
I hate Jimmy. Why is your boob out?
I was showing it to Edgar.
It's not weird. We're doing it.
What?! Why?! Since when?!
For a while. Don't worry, we just bang.
And do mouth stuff. And he loves the booty.
Ew. Ew. Wait.
You don't do it on the couch where I sleep, do you?
Oh, yeah, all the time.
Oh, that reminds me, Gretchen,
you should definitely buy a new pillowcase.
"His tongue explored her inner sanctum
"with varying degrees of fervor,
"whimsy giving way to desperation.
"On her uncle's farm, Chastity had seen newborn kittens
"and foals licked clean
by their mothers. With careful..."
I knew you'd show.
Ugh, did I put the mustache on crooked?
I'm not reading. Listen, Jimmy,
I've done my research, and I know you need this
now more than anything.
It's been a while
since your last significant paycheck.
House isn't gonna pay for itself.
This is anathema
to everything I love about literature.
Genre, groupies, fandom...
I can't really think of a good analogy right now,
but why pre-judge something before you've even tried it?
Oh, and amazing news,
People magazine read the book and they want to do a profile,
because a little white girl hasn't been murdered in a while,
but that clock is ticking.
Jimmy, I think this book could really be a thing.
That's why I need you to get up there.
"With the taste of her."
Thank you. Buy the book.
Up next,
we have one of our most exciting new writers.
A man who can take a World War II bombing raid
and turn it into a sensual siege on your entire body.
Please join me in welcoming
the author of the forth coming,
The Width of a Peach,
Jimmy Shive-Overly.
When I set out to write
the sexiest, erotic literary novel
since Portnoy's Complaint,
I knew I was going to ruffle a few feathers.
Take off your pants!
"Simon stroked himself gently..."
Becca, we're leaving.
Yo, we getting paid or what?
Becca?
Jesus Christ!
What the hell is wrong with you?!
Tallulah needs you, and you're passed out drunk.
Yeah! We want our money, too, bitch.
Eh, what happened?
I'm not dirty.
Drag that deadbeat out of the shower
and force-feed her coffee till it shoots out of her butt.
I guess I didn't realize it,
but I never actually felt love before in my life.
Not real love anyway.
But as I stared at that baby,
I felt my heart swell.
And in that moment, I knew
that even though the magical feeling came
with the possibility of one day losing it,
the pain would totally be worth it.
All of my life,
I'd been trying to resist that feeling,
but I couldn't anymore.
And that knowledge forced me to really think about my future.
Because, you see, it was all too vulnerable, and...
I never want to feel that way again.
I never want to care about something that might go away.
So, I choose...
for my job to be my everything.
Just like you, Priscilla.
Just like you.
What the hell are you talking about? I'm married.
I have two kids and three stepkids.
Emily is 32, and we get Botox together.
What? Then why are you in the office all the time?
Because there's a lot of work to do.
Oh.
Well, I'm still choosing my job.
Okay, sure, whatever.
Eh, can I have an eggroll now? I'm starving.
Oh.
Okay.
Gretchen? $600.
Mm-hmm? "T."
What are you doing here?
What do you mean? This is my home.
I never moved out.
You just brought a bunch of my stuff, unasked, to Lindsay's,
where I happened to be staying for a little while.
But now I'm back here,
where I already paid rent, because why wouldn't I be?
I didn't do anything.
You did.
Now, get out of my room.
Jack FM.
Like if the worst kid in detention
had sex with a radio station.
If you have any questions, comments, or concerns,
e-mail it to Jack at stick it up your dot com.