Last year, Americans purchased upwards of $3 billion in greeting cards.
Weddings, romance, thank-yous, and birthdays
are all sales leaders,
with major holidays providing steady profits.
It's a thriving industry where it's often said
the right card can make the day.
Yeah, I'm a writer.
Cards.
Greetings. Uh...
romantic ones.
So, yeah, I'm a poet,
if you've got to label me.
'Cause women,
they love poets.
I mean...
I could see her pupils dilate.
I had her hooked.
Then she asked,
"Well, if you're so famous, what have you written?"
I just shrugged, then I said...
"Only the top Valentine's Day card for the last three years in a row."
What year was this again?
So, then what happened?
Then, my dear Mad-man,
the lady did the splits.
Whoo, dog!
Sex.
At what point did the poor woman find out you're a hack?
Sadly, it was but a single night of sweated bliss.
So she had some taste, then.
God, no. She was a fan of your work.
Hmm. Smart girl.
By the way, 90% of all cards are purchased by women.
You better get with the program. You're no Taft.
Taft, he was... he was great, right?
Only one ever better.
What happened to him?
He quit cards to write novels.
He's writing a novel.
Don't be fooled, intern.
Novels are for people who can't edit themselves.
Cards are still the ultimate challenge.
For you, maybe.
Sweet talk will get you nowhere.
You.
Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Styvesan wants to see you.
Good.
I was just about to ask for a meeting.
Good luck, pal.
Well, who's to say it's not good news?
We'll keep our fingers crossed.
Styvesan, I'm so glad you made the time.
Got some great ones here.
-Ray-- -"Dear, sweet love...
I've been missing you. Why did you leave me?"
-That's kind of bleak. -Ray, why don't you just--
"Honey, come back. It was my fault."
I'm thinking a whole line of "I Regrets."
A whole new line!
-Could there be a song chip in there? -No.
Playing a sad song or something?
No song chips, no glitter-- just the truth, all right?
'Cause that's what cards have been missing.
Besides, I've heard complaints about the glitter.
You know, I campaigned for a stronger glue about two years ago.
-Ray, why don't you have a seat. -Let's go retro.
Could be hip. I'm thinking... dime trees.
Girl opens the card, there's ten dimes for her.
In a romance card?
Could be great for someone you love who you owe money to.
Okay, fine. Class it up.
Quarters. That's your idea. Good.
You want to put quarters in a romance card.
Ray...
I'm gonna have to let you go.
No.
Yeah.
Move me to another department.
What department, Ray?
I'll proofread.
-I'll fold. -What was that?
I'll fold.
Fold what, cards?
We have machines behind you that fold cards, Ray.
I'll do it faster.
Faster than a machine?
Faster than 300 cards a minute?
I'll double it.
Okay, Ray, I'm sorry.
I'm gonna have to take your guild card.
Come on.
Ray, why don't you, um, get your stuff some other time, okay?
We'll keep it safe for you.
What are you looking at? Get back to work.
And somebody water this damn thing. My daughter gave it to me.
Too many things dying around here.
Ray. Here he is.
Man.
You're in a little early.
I'm celebrating.
Hit me.
Taft?
Raymond.
How's the novel coming?
Ah, it's-- it's difficult.
My publisher says it has to be 120 pages, minimum.
How much you got?
Well, I'm up to... three.
Chapters?
Words.
Actually, I'm thinking of getting back into the card game.
No. Don't.
You're... you're so... good. You...
You know, you're honest, and, uh...
I...
I have writer's block.
Oh.
Well.
Listen.
You're still divorced, right?
Yeah.
Still.
Good for you.
'Cause the chase is the key. The chase.
I got a wife, I'm settled in,
but I don't have that-- that drive,
that sand.
You, the love of your life left you.
You got that hole inside.
It's a gift.
You're lucky.
Thanks.
I never thought of it like that.
Remember...
Never write for anyone.
-Always write for... - ...someone.
Yeah.
Fuck the bastards.
Hey!
And on my left,
Skid Row's pride and joy,
Shitfoot!
I've got twenty bucks in my pocket,
to the last bum standing.
All right, gentlemen:
Fight!
Go, Shitfoot.
Mr. Ray!
Hey, Mr. Ray, I know you're in there!
Give me a sec.
And the giraffe baby will be at the city zoo
for just two more weeks,
so you'd better get down there.
Open, sez me!
A new holiday? Maybe.
The governor's office is about to make an announcement,
one he says will give the greeting card industry a boost.
Rent.
That's it? Just "rent"?
No "Good morning, Ray.
Have you noticed the flowers I planted?"
Nothing in Spanish?
Alquiler.
Let me guess. That--
Rent.
Listen, I cut a tendon.
They don't heal so fast. I can't ply my trade.
And you can't write with the other fingers?
You're gonna have to figure out a way to pay me.
So?
You want me to blow you?
Hey, watch what you're saying. There's children present.
I have to watch him for my damn sister while she goes to school
to learn how to clean teeth,
and it's against the law for me to take him to the track.
And I can't push him off the roof.
You're in a real pickle.
-Well, how about that. -What?
I thought he'd be afraid of you.
Come here, 'jito. I want you to meet Uncle Ray.
Why is that woman crying?
Who can say?
Probably a love thing.
Do you love anybody?
Maybe.
You?
I love trucks.
Consider yourself lucky. Trucks never leave you.
But they break down all the time. That's what my uncle says.
Except he says they break down all the damn time.
I suppose so.
Hello, Nellies. What's the scoop?
Nothin'.
Styvesan's looking for you.
Told him you'd be here tonight.
How'd you know?
'Cause you're an alcoholic.
Okay.
Hey, Styvesan, how's tricks?
The same. Look, I got a business proposition for you.
-You been writing? -Yeah.
What have you been working on?
Notes mostly, you know.
Uh...
some thank-yous, "I'm sorries." I'm-- I'm branching out.
That's great. Listen, I got a little side project going.
Off the books. Romance-oriented.
Interested?
Maybe.
Yeah.
Yeah, sure. Please.
I need you to write a card.
A romance card, a great one.
Like the ones you used to write.
And instead of using words like "my love" or "my wife,"
I need you to use the word...
"girlfriend."
Listen, I... I can't promise anything, you know.
There's good money here for you.
Here's an advance.
I'll pay you triple freelance rate.
Listen, I...
I know I said a lot of nasty things about you.
I just want you to know I was just being
really, really honest and...
Yeah.
Thanks.
Hey, I might need to get into the office,
get some of my old notes and such, okay?
Sure. After hours.
Make sure you use the back door, the one with the broken lock.
-Ray. -Yeah.
-This is hush-hush. -Yeah.
So put the fuckin' money away.
You know, if you had it, then you can get it back.
And I believe that.
Do you remember the first card you ever wrote?
Eight years old.
It had macaroni on it.
Glued on the front.
Was it for your mom, or...?
Mother's Day.
Did it at school.
It had a heart on it, and, uh...
crayon color.
It was a mess.
What did it say inside, do you remember?
"I love you, Mom.
Come back soon. Your son, Raymond."
Come back? Where'd she go, on a trip, or...?
She died.
She had a thing.
I don't...
She only had a few weeks left to live.
They kept saying to me
that she was going away.
"Your mom is going away."
Like I was supposed to understand that.
I just thought she'd be coming back.
Well, did she like it?
She loved it.
I think they buried her with it.
Yeah.
Okay, y'all ready to get your poems on?
She barks.
Light.
Stop.
Light.
Brumble brumble.
She rants and she raves,
unmuffled by mufflers.
Loud is my truth.
Light. Stop. Light.
That's right. Okay.
And my hog loses balance...
falls to the pavement.
I weep.
Stop!
Light.
That one's called Stop Light.
Please stick around. There's more to come.
So, Ray, uh, what'd you think?
Of what?
Of the poem.
Well, your motorcycle tipped over on you.
There was more to it than just that,
but, yeah, that was at the core of it.
We loved your poem.
Yeah. Well, she loved it more than I did, but...
-I loved it. -Mm-hmm.
Oh, thank you, ladies.
Pretty great.
Who's your friend?
Oh, uh, this is Ray.
Yeah, he writes, too. Or wrote, I guess.
Romance cards.
Some really great ones.
- Wow. -I love romance.
Romance and thank-yous.
-Oh, yeah? -Yeah.
Big Ray here used to be the best--
the Bill Shakespeare of romance cards.
Ah, but he's single now.
His wife left him for... Harold Lamb.
Oh, I know who Harold Lamb is.
Oh, yeah. So you know the guy that draws Optimistic Owl.
He knows me.
Ladies, um, do you guys want to get a booth,
maybe, um, talk about some poetry?
-Yes. -Sure!
Bro, lose the bitter act. It ain't gonna get you laid.
Please. Tell me how to get laid.
Drew, turn this up!
In other news today, Governor Speakman made a big announcement.
Listen up, everybody. The governor's on.
Today I am pleased to announce
the state of California will establish a new holiday:
Girlfriend's Day,
an occasion for men, and women as well,
to tell their favorite lady friend just how much she means to them.
This was my niece Coco's idea.
We're going to hold a contest
to see who can write the most romantic card
to initiate the new holiday.
"In an effort to inject new blood into the failing greeting card industry,
the governor is limiting contestants to amateurs and...
out-of-work professionals."
That is you, my friend.
Circled the paragraph for reference.
Look, maybe it was providence you got fired.
Lucky me.
You know, what I loved about your class is that you always made us write.
You know, actually write in class.
Yeah, that was so I could write.
I know. It was something to see.
I want to see you do it again.
Truth is, I haven't written anything good in three years. I...
Three years.
Gosh, that is-- that's a bummer.
Wonder what could have happened three years ago that would have
crushed your spirit.
I wonder if it was maybe when your wife left you for another guy.
-It's not that. -It is that.
It's not that.
-'Tis. -It's not.
It's like talking to one of my seventh-graders.
Ray.
You gotta forget about Karen.
I have.
Look, I only see her when it's legally mandated.
You're not still picking up the cat, are you?
Oh, shit. What day is it?
-Saturday. -Ah. Gotta go.
You hate cats. You're not an animal person.
-That includes humans. -Alquiler, let's go.
Don't do it, Ray.
Thanks for the advice.
Come on, Denny.
Karen, Ray's here!
Well, I guess I should invite you in.
Sorry. Out of ice.
That's okay. I like it warm.
How's business, Harold?
Ah, well, quite good, actually.
I don't know if you've heard, but they're doing a spin-off of one of my--
I was kidding.
Karen!
Say, I've been meaning to ask you, uh, do you get a cut
off those wonderful rip-offs I see of your work all over town?
I'm sorry.
Sure, you must have seen 'em. Uh, the owl's getting the B.J.
Or he's biting the head off your chicken character.
-What's her name? -Cordelia.
Yeah. You must have sued those guys, right?
Oh, there's one where two owls are pissing in each other's mouths.
I must have seen that on 12 trucks today.
Oh. If it isn't the only two men I've ever slept with.
Finally!
How are you, Ray?
I see you still haven't lost your talent for pissing people off.
Tell me, when you make love, does he make you wear an owl costume?
Or does he wear the costume?
No one's in an owl costume.
You're missing out.
Here's Tony. Give him his medicine and have him back on Saturday.
I don't know why the judge just didn't make you keep him.
Because you insisted that we share custody.
God.
Hey.
Why?
Why'd you do it?
Why did you leave me for this cardboard cutout?
For a romance card writer, you weren't very romantic.
I never brought my work home with me.
You should have.
Nice. That's good.
Ray...
Bye.
Denny.
I need the kid. Pays the rent.
Who?
Let's go.
-Oh, my God. -Let's go.
More booze.
Can I have a vodka soda, please?
Hello.
-I like your tat. -Oh.
I saw it on the back of a truck once.
I thought it was cuckoo.
It is... cuckoo.
You're not, though, are you?
Excuse me?
You're not cuckoo, are you?
I...
-I'm-- I'm Ray. -I'm Jill.
You're not Ray Wentworth, are you? The card guy?
"Dear wife.
That's all. I just love saying 'Dear wife.'
Happy anniversary."
-I wrote that. -I know.
I'm a weirdo for cards. That's why I come here.
How many cats do you have?
I don't have any cats.
Okay, y'all ready to get your poems on?
This first one is about my jet ski.
For a romance card writer, you weren't very romantic.
You gotta forget about Karen. You gotta let her go.
Big Ray here used to be the best,
the Bill Shakespeare of romance cards.
Words.
You're not still picking up the cat, are you?
'Cause you're an alcoholic.
"I'm with you in hard times especially.
Look for me in your heart.
My name is... God."
Ooh.
"Somebody broke your heart.
Good for me."
Hey.
"Now I get a piece.
Thanks for sharing."
Thanks for sharing.
That is so sad, don't you think?
It's brutal.
That's a person who's asking for so little.
You still got that awesome tattoo?
Yep. Hasn't washed off yet.
What are you doing here?
I'm looking for inspiration.
Anything good?
Yeah. Seeing how awful these are is a real pick-me-up.
Ohh.
Ah, yeah, it's pretty gross.
I actually work here.
Really?
You don't walk around all the time in a red smock with a name tag?
No, I do not.
Ooh.
Optimistic Owl.
Oh, man!
"Surrounded by clouds. Good for you.
That's where the rainbows hide."
These are the worst.
I hate optimistic people.
They bum me out with their upbeat attitude.
All they ever do is make me feel more alone.
Are you real?
So, why did you quit writing?
I didn't.
I just quit being good at it.
Yeah, well, you'll get it back.
You gotta have the feelings first, and then you can write about them.
Yeah.
Shitfoot?
Ray?
You okay?
Hey, um, do you think that--
do you think that, um...
we could, uh...
I like to get that shit over with.
My God! Taft!
Shit!
Sorry.
Who did this to you? What are you doing here?
Paper Hearts.
What, are you working for Paper Hearts?
-I can't say. -What can't you say?
I...
love...
you.
I think very highly of you, too.
Hey!
"Girlfriend.
You've heard the expression 'penny for your thoughts.'
Well, here are ten dimes for your thoughts.
Signed, the numb-nuts that's dating you."
Stupid.
Who the fuck are you?
Who the fuck am I?
Well.
I'm Detective fucking Miller, fucking Homicide, that's who I am.
Can I see a badge?
Yeah.
Have a gander.
It's pretty, isn't it?
What kind of cards you write, Wentworth?
Romance.
So every time I forget to give
one of your mushy-ass cards to my girl,
I get cut off for a month.
Perhaps if you were well-endowed, you wouldn't need one of my cards.
Right.
You punched me in the throat!
Mmm.
What do you want?
Investigating a "homo-cide."
One of your butt buddies was found in the river this morning
with a bunch of water where his internal organs used to be.
Who?
Orwell Taft.
Taft.
Taft is dead.
Yes.
He was killed.
To death.
What happened to him?
Shouldn't I be asking you that?
-You think that I--? -He was your competition, right?
You got somebody watching over you.
For now.
But you've got to deliver.
Deliver what?
Oh, I'll tell you what.
You get out your feather pen,
and you write a nice little card
that'll open my girlfriend's legs again.
Maybe, just maybe...
I might consider dropping your bloody shirt at the dry cleaners.
And tossing that blade in the river.
Police have identified the body as one Orwell G. Taft,
a self-described writer.
Nothing more is known at this time.
He probably had a second family somewhere.
Or he was an S&M junkie,
liked to be whipped and kicked around
or held underwater to get his jollies.
Those types are everywhere.
I'm just saying.
Hey, what's shaking?
Why is everybody so much more depressed than usual?
Jeez Louise, Mr. Wentworth, did you get into a car accident?
No.
A shoe.
It hit me in the face. Somebody's shoe.
So, what's up?
Didn't you hear?
-Taft killed himself. -What?
They found him floating in the river this morning.
Shit.
Another one bites the dust, huh?
-Hey. -Hi.
-Hey. -Oh. Sorry.
Something happened to my face.
I-I hurt it.
Sorry about that.
Do you want to drink about it?
I...
I think I'd better not tonight.
Um, I... I brought you something.
I hope it comforts your face.
Thanks.
Uh, and my phone number's on the bottom of it.
It's open.
Rent.
I got nothin'.
I'll watch the kid.
There is no kid.
My sister dragged his ass back to Chicago,
to hassle my other brother.
Shoot. All right.
Oh-- uh, I got an idea.
How about a yard sale, then?
You can put price tags on everything here.
Uh, this couch. My bed frame.
That's a thousand bucks right there.
I got all this small stuff, like the kitchenware
and, uh, my shoe horns.
The Christmas ornaments.
You put all that on one card table right in the middle of the room
and a little sign that says,
"Everything on this table, hundred bucks."
People will go nuts.
Everything for a hundred bucks.
On the table.
I mean, well, name your price.
And what about you?
Well, see, I still-- I get to live here while it goes on.
It's kind of like a living showroom.
Never been done.
You're crazy.
Did you hear about that writer who, uh--
Oh, the guy that drowned?
He didn't drown.
Well, he didn't swim very good.
Very well. He didn't swim very well.
You teach English with that mouth?
Fuckin' "A"!
I think it has something to do with this, uh...
Girlfriend's Day.
They're killing people over a new holiday?
Who would do that?
Follow the money.
Yeah.
Wait, what?
Follow the money. It's-- I saw it in a movie once.
Oh.
Hey, but if you're actually worried,
you know, you can move out to the 'burbs.
We die slowly here.
Yeah. Too slowly.
Get you a job teaching Driver's Ed. Speed things up.
And we have come to the moment in our service
where we can go no farther,
and stand on the edge of a chasm,
yearning to hear...
Sad day.
Huh?
Oh, yeah. Sad.
You got the card?
I'm working on it.
Our God, we are grateful that Orwell...
What happened to Taft?
Guess his novel wasn't working out, so he gave up.
Bullshit.
And we know that he is wrapped tight...
Somebody killed him.
Let's pray together.
Our God...
I think he was writing a card for this new holiday.
What are you--? No one's getting killed over this, Ray.
We're talking about a card here.
A card.
...grateful that he now sings with angels...
Really?
...wrapped tight in the arms and the bosom of Abraham...
I don't know, I just work here.
Condolences.
-I'm sorry. -Uh-huh.
It's professional curiosity. Taft and I worked together.
Your husband and I.
I'm Ray.
Can I...?
Yeah, sure.
Your husband was the writer I always measured myself against.
And I always came up short.
Well...
won me over with a card.
I'm afraid I wasn't the greatest prize.
Well, he talked about you.
A lot.
I pushed him around.
I didn't kill him, though.
I don't recognize you.
Did you attend the company picnics, huh? Christmas party?
No, I hate holidays.
Right. Now, wait, you're in the greetings industry.
Romance, purely. I don't have time for that other shit.
Yeah.
You tell me, was he writing a card for this new holiday?
Yeah, sure. Couldn't help himself.
Sentiments just poured out.
-Who was he working for? -Gundy, of course.
Yeah, I know him.
Owns AAAAA Greetings.
No, come on. Not Robert Gundy.
Dillon, his brother, the owner of Paper Hearts.
Anyway.
Wait. Gundy has a brother?
I guess.
I've just been feeling so lonely,
without Orwell's voice buzzing in the air, you know?
-Clomping around. -Listen, can I use your back door?
Seriously?
Yeah, of your house. Can I use it?
Oh. Uh, yeah.
What are you doing with the lady, huh?
You getting bi-curious, huh?
God!
Where's the goddamn card?
This just keeps getting weirder.
Who are you working for?
Gundy pays me. Who else?
Gundy? Which Gundy?
I don't have to tell you anything. Now, where's the card?
I'm trying.
Get to it, or I might have to find my favorite bloody shirt.
Hmm?
Take a picture. It'll last longer.
I'm not Jewish.
We wouldn't care if you was, mister.
We's former racists.
Good for you.
I'm Betcher. This here's Adolph Haggert.
Call him Sonnyboy. He don't like Adolph no more.
Sonnyboy is good enough.
-We're reformed. -Yeah.
I spent two years in a maximum security prison
for a hate crime I did not commit.
It was planned as a hate crime.
I couldn't get that fucking cross into the ground.
It's a lot tougher than it looks.
Besides...
hating a whole race of folks, now that's an awful lot of work.
Yeah.
So you don't hate anyone now?
So, who do you hate now?
Elitists!
Yeah.
You know what them are, fancy man?
Them's people think they're better than other people.
They ain't!
Nobody's better than nobody, that's our motto these days.
And if you think you is, we'll fuck you up till you isn't.
Mr. Ray.
Please come this way.
All right, man.
This way.
Just down here.
Through this vestibule.
And through this door.
Ah!
Good to finally meet you, Mr. Wentworth.
Robert Gundy.
My wrist is still a little broken.
Oh, I'm sorry.
My goodness. Your lip-- looks like fresh blood.
Yeah. Tastes like it, too.
Hmm.
I hope you don't mind watching me eat. I'm famished.
Oh, liver and beets! Exquisite.
Can I offer you a beer?
I'm on medication, so... yeah.
Ah. Rupert.
A beer for Mr. Wentworth, please.
-Is this actually...? -The first card. Yes.
Napoleon gave it to his mother
after she had a tumor removed from her ankle.
It's French, and it translates into, "Feel better."
She died two days after receiving it.
Sit down, Mr. Wentworth, let's talk.
You own AAAAA Greetings.
Mmm.
And Paper Hearts.
No, no, no. No, that belongs to my brother, Dilly.
Well, Mr. Wentworth, they tell me that you were Card Writer of the Year
in 2005, '06 and '07.
Congratulations.
Also that you're divorced, you live alone,
and you like to watch Bumfights.
What can you see in them, I wonder!
They make me feel better somehow.
-Yeah. -Moving on.
What happened to Taft?
Our nation's fattest president?
No, former associate of mine.
He was writing a card for your brother's company.
They found him floating facedown in the river.
Oh, yes, yes. It was tragic.
Styvesan told me that he was a very skilled writer,
that he made hearts quiver.
Said there was only one ever better.
Yeah, well, his wife is distraught.
Mmm.
Someone ought to send her a card.
Fuck cards!
Did you have him killed?
That is a hefty accusation, Mr. Wentworth.
Perhaps you should take that up with the police.
Hello, darling!
The word is, you have a sweetheart, Mr. Wentworth.
How do you know?
Detective Miller. He works for me on the side.
I thought Styvesan worked for you.
Among many others.
But this girlfriend of yours,
congratulations.
That's good, that's very good. I mean, after all,
you need to feel the feelings before you can write about them.
So I write the card for her and I give it to you. That doesn't seem fair.
Well, my father used to say, "Fair is where you end up."
Write the card, Raymond.
Why me?
I have a sixth sense about these things, Mr. Wentworth.
You've been a fool for love before.
You've got the gene for it.
No. I'm a cynic.
No, I'm a cynic. You're cynical. There's a difference.
I never believed in the first place, but you,
you wake up every morning disappointed to find the world the way it is
because you're a dreamer.
Write the card, Raymond.
Rupert, show Mr. Wentworth out.
-Hi. -Hey.
Welcome to my house.
-Nice place. -Nice sarcasm.
-Oh. -Oh.
-They're fake. -Yeah.
I mean, they're made out of real... plastic.
But, uh, if you have a magic act, they can--
Get out.
I'm kidding. Totally kidding.
I can water them with soda pop.
They're beautiful. They-- they smell funny.
Here you go. Look at this.
Oh, that's my, uh, collection of ugly purses.
-They're really ugly. -Yeah, thank you.
Baby shoes. Um... who do those belong to?
Yeah, those-- those are actually mine.
Um, they're-- they're my sho--
Beat you to it.
Doing okay there?
Yeah.
I think I'm doing great.
I think I'm...
unstuck.
You unstuck me.
-Yay! -Hooray.
I'm feeling...
feelings.
Last couple of years, I've been...
looking for those feelings, and, uh...
feelings have been like...
"Quick! Ray's coming! Hide!"
That's great.
I have an idea.
-Yeah? -Yeah.
Why don't you write me a card and tell me all about it?
I intend to.
Sorry for calling you so early.
You kidding me? I've been up since 5:30 a.m.
How many fish did you catch?
Just give me the card.
Da-da.
You did it.
God.
You did it.
Give it to 'em.
Get your reward.
Don't worry, I will.
Ray! Tell me you got something for me!
I did it. It's the best I ever wrote. It-- it's pithy and it's sweet.
It's got heart, and after this, I'm done, okay?
I'll make sure you're well-compensated.
This is blank.
Yeah. The real one's right here. You can't have it.
What?
You can't have it! I didn't write it for you.
I'm gonna give it to the person I wrote it for,
and you can suck my dick, okay?
Give me the card!
Hey. You up for some spaghetti and booze?
Uh, Ray...
I know this is impromptu, but this is...
"Real Champagne-Flavored Alcohol Drink." It...
What?
-Ray, I-I don't think-- -Don't worry. It's done.
-What's done? -The card.
Go ahead. Take a look.
And guess what--
I'm not giving it to anyone. Just you.
Because I wrote it for you.
You should go.
I'd love a gander at that, if you're done.
Come on in.
Hmm?
So, it was a chick that did the trick, huh?
Well, Gundy figured one of us would get it.
Nice job, huh? Well, beauty wins. Whatever.
Did the trick? Jill--
Shut the hell up.
All right, let's see what gay sentence turned on the lady's faucets.
You piece of shit.
This is really good.
Now no one gets it.
Hey! Where's the card?
-Where's the damn card? -You got it, fancy pants?
-Where's the card? -Where is the card?
There it is!
Shit, it's not here.
Ah! Oh!
Come on!
Man, it's all burnt up!
He's still got it in his mind.
Come on.
-Get up! -Get in there.
No! Stop!
Hey, what are we waiting for?
Use your brain, Sonnyboy.
You know, I got a card when I got out of prison one time,
from my momma.
"Young man,
with brains, muscles, looks, and girls chasing you...
you'll go far.
Love, Mom."
It's a pretty good one.
Did you write this one?
Let's see that.
Aah! Damn thing cut me!
Now... where's your card?
I don't have it.
Styvesan told the boss that you did have it.
He said that you said that it was your best card ever.
So, tell it!
Ask the woman. She saw it.
I'm never gonna tell you.
Then you're gonna have to say what was on it.
Ooh, I know.
Give me his fuck-you finger.
Yeah, split it open.
Yeah. Wanna tell us?
Jesus!
Oh, lookit.
Hey, what's the worst place you can get a papercut?
Ooh, how about the pee hole?
Ohh! Pee hole's bad!
On the eye. The eye!
-That's it, the eye. -Yeah, right on the eyeball.
Give me that.
Tell 'em what the card said. Just tell them. Why does it even matter?
'Cause. You got paid to be with me.
You know what that makes you? A whore.
Hey!
He said the "W."
Not in this house!
Everybody's equals here.
Mr. Gundy?
Hello, Raymond.
You crazy asshole.
Oh, language! There's a child present.
Hi, Aunt Jill!
Ellen.
I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's Take Your Daughter To Work Day,
and I guess I take even the most off-brand holiday seriously.
Ellie, that's enough. You'll see Auntie Jill soon enough.
You okay?
Adolph, would you kindly escort my daughter outside and sit with her?
Well, stop looking at me like I'm a donut and keep my daughter company!
Go on. Go.
What-- what'll we do?
Well, I don't care.
Look at the clouds. There's some fascinating shapes today.
There. The children are gone.
Now, let's us adults have some straight talk.
Where's the card, Mr. Wentworth?
You killed Taft.
Taft was writing a card for my competition.
You mean your brother.
I learned long ago, never let the trappings of shared DNA
impede my path to success.
-All this for a fucking card? -Shut up!
Is your brother as crazy as you are?
My brother? My brother?
My brother had everything handed to him.
The blind luck of the firstborn. But not me, Mr. Wentworth.
I had to fight and claw my way for everything.
Now, where's the card?
No. You get nothing.
Because of Taft?
Come on, Raymond, he was your competition.
Why did you have to kill him?
Tell me, sir...
what do you know about holidays?
About bloodshed?
Holidays are born in blood.
Fourth of July? Nothing less than a war.
Mother's Day.
A woman goes through nine months of excruciating pregnancy,
and tops it off with a small human awash in her own blood.
And what did it take to have Christmas and Easter?
Biggest holidays of them all, the top two.
It took the greatest man who ever lived
to be crucified.
Do you understand, Mr. Wentworth? It's all about sacrifice.
The universe cries out for sacrifice,
and I'm simply following the template.
Ray.
He's serious.
That little girl, she's--
You needed a muse.
Now...
when my junky nephew and Jill bore a child,
I simply wanted to have the little bean brought up properly.
Of course, I was foolish enough to let her stay in the child's life.
It was a tangled web indeed,
but now I intend to clear the situation up,
once and for all.
You can have it.
You get the card, Jill gets the girl.
Ah, no, thank you.
That child is going to grow up knowing herself
in a higher class than she was born to.
After all, she's my legacy.
I intend for her to have the best and be the best,
and she will never hear a whisper
of her no-account, drug addict birth father
or her whore of a mother.
Nobody better'n nobody.
After all that, I gave them the damn card.
They found a nice, cheery front to sell it, and that did the trick.
Made people feel good, I guess,
the kind of good feeling some dumb card can give you.
I don't sell my feelings anymore, either.
I'm saving 'em up for somebody special.
Slow down, slow down.
Just... just slow down.
-What, did I do something wrong? -No, no, no. Pull up a little bit.
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.