Californication - First Season

Previously on Californication...

- So, Hank. - Meredith.

Have you written anything I might have read?

Well, that depends on whether or not you read, Meredith.

The good people at Hell-A are very interested in your thoughts.

They would like you to blog for them.

- Jesus H. Christ. - I am 16, you know.

So I've been told.

Hi, Daddy!

Honey, put some clothes on. We have company.

Are you totally serious about marrying Bill?

Yes. Why?

What about Hank?

Game on, brohem.

- You want to get fucked up? - Oh!

Oh, God.

- Must be weird, though. - What?

Becoming the employee of a man you so clearly hate.

- What are you talking about? - My father.

He owns Hell-A magazine.

Once upon a time, I wrote a book.

People seemed to dig it, so I wrote another,

and one after that.

That's when Hollywood came knocking at my back door.

As soon as I cashed that cheque, I wrapped my lips

around the mighty erection that is the film industry

and sucked hard... just like a good whore should.

Unfortunately, I had to be taught not to orphan the balls.

Moody!

Ladies and gentlemen, Todd Carr...

the caramel-coated, chrome-domed auteur

who took my precious little novel,

wiped his ass, and transformed it into the craptastic crowd-pleaser

also known as Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

My people.

You still bitching about whoring yourself out to Hollywood?

Only when my pimp's not around.

You're no goddamn fucking Faulkner, you know.

And you're no Brett fucking Ratner.

Although that could be a compliment, and in that case, I didn't mean to.

I'm sick of you talking shit about me in the press.

Oh, that's why you're here. I thought you might have come by

because you found out I fucked your wife in almost every room of your house.

No? Every room of your house.

And I'm sorry about the rug. I didn't realise the old lady was a squirter.

Hank.

- Where's Karen? - Home, with Becca.

She's funny, that one.

Becca? Yeah, she is a real character.

No... Karen. She knows how to push all my buttons.

I don't think she's trying to push your buttons, Hank.

Bill, I'm not really interested in what you think, but thank you for sharing.

- I wanted to come. - You did?

- I'm not the bad guy. - You're not the bad guy?

Life is complicated, man.

"Life is complicated, man." That's what you got?

Way to dip into the platitudes.

I guess that's why you're the writer, Hank.

Oh, fuck. I didn't ask for you to fucking come bail me out.

I didn't ask for a fucking job.

I don't know who the fuck you think you are.

You think I'm dying to be in business with you?

Some rude, disrespectful jackass

who can't get out of his own way?

You looking for a dick punch?

Do you want to punch me in the dick?

I kind of do, yeah, but standing here talking about it

is beginning to sound kind of gay.

Go ahead. Take a shot. But think...

Would you want Becca to see this?

I'll settle for a titty twister.

God. You're 11.

Fuck.

Keep the job, Hank. Get back on your feet. Get on with your life.

And forget about the woman you didn't want to marry.

Don't make me get up and kick your ass all over again, Bill!

Hi. Remember me?

How could I forget? Best blind date of my life, asshole.

We don't have much time.

Your suitor will be returning from the shitter posthaste,

but in his absence, I would like to offer my sincere apologies.

My behaviour the other night was beyond appalling, despicable, reprehensible.

I was a mess. I have no words.

For a guy with no words, that was a lot of words.

That's funny. I wouldn't have expected that from you.

Because you had me so nailed.

Well, let me make it up to you. Let me... can I... take you out sometime?

I'm out right now... with a guy who's not an asshole.

Right. Well, do you see yourself marrying this fella?

You never know.

Girls know in a matter of seconds whether they want to fuck, marry, or kill a guy.

Which begs the question, how am I doing?

Bye, now.

Be good to her, my friend.

I had a shot with her once, but I blew it.

Rock out with your cock out, but remember...

no gloving, no loving.

Au revoir, mes enfants. Au revoir.

So...

You were brought up on the East Coast.

Jersey, maybe. No... Long Island.

Dad had a chip on his shoulder, blue on his collar.

Mom was a little beat down by it all,

but she was the one who encouraged you to dream big.

They fought a lot, but they stayed together through good times and bad.

You had sisters. You learned about girls.

You were good with them... maybe a little too good.

You read books, and you didn't want to die five miles from where you were born.

So you escaped into the city you romanticised

and reinvented yourself as a poor man's Mclnerney.

How am I doing?

Pretty good... a lot more gracious than mine.

I blacked out there in the middle,

when you were really strumming my pain with your fingers, but...

Well done.

- How long you been working on that? - A couple of weeks.

It's a good story.

Any idea how it ends?

- Hey, where are you going? - I have to get to work.

A job? What do you do?

Well, don't you remember? I'm a poor gal's Martha Stewart.

Don't you remember I'm an asshole?

Right. I'm an attorney.

Oh, then we're both assholes. What's your thing?

Divorce.

You must be a busy girl.

That I am, which is why I have to skedaddle.

I can't believe you were trying to slink out of here without saying goodbye to me.

Hank. Please. I assume this was a one-time thing.

Why would you assume something like that?

No offence, but you don't seem like the kind of guy

who's looking for a lot of repeat business.

- I'm offended. How about tonight? - Are you sure?

Yeah, a proper date... dinner, 20th-century style.

I'd be just as happy to come back here.

No. No, no, no. Dinner. A girl's got to eat.

That she does.

Are you gonna flush?

- What the fuck are you doing here? - The redhead let me in.

Question... does the carpet match the drapes, Hanky-panky?

- You scared the shit out of me. - I know. You screamed like a little girl.

- Kind of a turnoff, actually. - What the fuck do you want?

- I'm late. - What?

That's not possible. I wore a condom.

That's... that would be like the Immaculate Conception.

And you... you're the one who... you... And then you left.

I'm late for school.

OK. Well, then, what do you want from me, besides the obvious?

Don't flatter yourself, champ.

I have a creative-writing course,

and I need to turn something in today, so...

OK, what's the problem? It's creative writing.

Be creative. Write something.

This from a guy who hasn't written a word in five years?

Nobody likes a smartass.

You must have some piece-of-shit short story you never published.

- No. No, nothing. - Hank?

Stop that. And don't move.

Do not fuck around!

It's not funny.

Hey, look who's here.

You don't call. You don't write.

- You look like shit. - And you look beautiful.

Far too beautiful for these four walls. Let's go out and get some breakfast.

- Get a coffee. - No, we'll go out. We'll get it.

- Look, get dressed. - Fuck!

- Hank? - Yeah?

I just wanted...

- What, no points for safety? - Yes, but magnums? Wow.

- Yeah, well, you know. - Did you have a growth spurt?

Well, no, I been... I been working out. Just a lot of vitamins.

I got a whole...

I got a regimen.

Hank, do not quit this job.

It's hardly a job, Karen. It's a blog.

It's the best thing that's happened to you in a long time, and you're good at it.

- Well, I just can't work for Bill. - Why not?

Well, for one, he's a dick.

Could you just swallow your stupid pride

and keep the job, keep writing, keep doing what you were put on this planet to do?

What else is there for you besides drowning in a sea of pointless pussy?

It's the neighbours.

OK. Do you know what? I should go in there. I'm gonna go in there.

No!

I'm gonna and tell her what to expect and how to treat it. It's only fair.

There are some images

you don't want floating around your pretty little head.

Trust me, it's like a Mapplethorpe shoot in there, except with less cock.

Shut up, OK? Shut up.

Keep the job, Hank. Do it for Becca's sake.

Give her something to look up to.

Thanks for stopping by.

Just suppose you're a guy and you're getting a massage from another guy,

and it's nice, it's relaxing.