House of Lies

Previously on House of Lies:

Viva Las Vegas, baby!

You know you've been banned from all betting areas? You need to leave.

Jeannie: Marty's b-school friend, Tamara.

Well, if you've been doing reading, then I'll shut up.

Uh, would you? Because that would be great.

Dushkin!

So, you're in town consulting with Pincus, right?

We're gonna build a better goddamn casino.

Our guy in Washington...

That the restrictions to online gambling

are about to go bye-bye.

Thanks, but no, thanks.

She blew the deal

and showed up to the fucking party?

Cat claw noise.

What do you propose we do now?

My dude Carlson is the new king of Vegas.

Look, I'm not implying that you guys don't know Carlson.

We're seriously tight.

Carlson, Carlson.

Can I just say, uh, you really look like a dick.

Huh? No.

Come on, let's be fair.

Would you stop pushing? Let's be fair.

Wait, let me fix that.

You look like a dick with a mustache.

Doug: Ha, ha. And a hat.

Ooh, Tamara.

All right, let's keep it down, all right?

It's working, isn't it?

I haven't been thrown out yet, so...

Guggenheim.

What? No, not Doug guggenheim.

You say your name is guggenheim all the time.

Would you shut up, Clyde? God. You brag about it.

Oh, my God, that was a close one, huh, boss?

Don't call me boss. Huh? Why not?

I mean, well, with this new promotion,

you are now technically my boss.

The promotion was horseshit.

It is not. I was always your boss.

Okay, boss, you got it.

It doesn't even matter, my friends.

Will you please stop pushing me?

Because it is Marty and I

on a man date with

the douchebag twins

tonight. Let's break this down.

You need Marty, the big dog, to impress them

with his bespoke suits and his fancy ideas,

and they need to-- I don't know--

relate to someone on more of a douchebag level,

so who could we get?

It's so sad the way you try to besmirch my accomplishments.

So sad you consider this an accomplishment.

Girls, you're both pretty.

Marty, I'm gonna fucking kill him one of these days,

I swear to God. Do whatever you want,

but shut the fuck up. You're getting on my nerves.

You're getting pretty good.

Thank you.

I have a ways to go

before I catch up with you, though.

No, but then you'd have to fire me.

Ha ha, never.

Monica: Thank you.

Roscoe, you need to come and finish your crepe.

How about a shot of wheat grass?

Roscoe (ln distance): No. Monica: Okay.

Roscoe, did you borrow my cle de peau liner?

No.

Roscoe?

Roscoe: I'm getting dressed.

Monica: Hmm.

So, that looks like it might be my liner.

Well, maybe if you didn't buy me that shit from rite aid.

Hey, hey, hey.

Thanks, grandpa.

I'm sorry, grandpa.

We need to check the language at the door.

And next time, just ask.

If you want to talk about your makeup needs, we can do that.

We can do that tonight.

Fine, I'll return your cle de peau liner.

Blend it a little.

Jeremiah: You know,

if you buy him shitty makeup,

then you're really telegraphing

your disapproval of his choice to be gender fluid.

I'm not gonna get into it with you over makeup,

something that you know dick about.

Ah, you know, I've learned a little bit about it

over the last few years.

Well, I know more, and you're not his parent,

so if you could just shut the fuck up

while I'm trying to be his parent...

Pardon me if I don't take you seriously.

Tessa: I left my immersion blender in the car.

Okay.

Pardon me if I kick your ass out of my house.

Oh, that would be great for Roscoe.

Yeah, I think it would. You know what?

You put together six months of sobriety...

And I'll vanish. Poof!

Who are you, Jeremiah?

I mean, oh, you're like

the fucking morality Nazi or something.

A moral Nazi?

(Jeremiah laughs)

You need to read a book.

You're a sanctimonious old prick.

And you're a hungry ghost.

Okay, okay.

Why are you... you're fucking... Damn it!

You fucking provocateur. Okay, what is it?

What is a hungry ghost?

Mm-hmm. So glad you asked.

It's a creature that can't be sated.

Always trying to feed itself,

but its arms are too long to reach its tiny little mouth.

Thank you so much for the bullshit sandwich, but I'm full.

Yeah.

Hey, grandpa?

Can we go the side way so I can try to Ollie that gap?

Yeah.

Hey, let's Ollie the gap.

We leave now.

Monica: Ollie that gap.

Oh, Roscoe. Wheat grass!

No.

It's good for ollieing.

I just want to make sure we have enough time to come back.

Glad you like it.

So, look, I say we get there a little early,

before it's 700 fucking decibels of dubstep.

And before we're absolutely shit-faced.

'Cause that is happening.

Yeah, we're gonna drink beverages. Yeah.

So, look, we're gonna tee ourselves up

with the douchebag twins as kingmakers.

You know, show them what we do,

maybe even give them a little entree

into our, uh, online gambling world.

Maybe. Mmm, see how it goes.

Okay. And they're gonna show us

that big-ass billion-dollar Carlson wallet.

Why don't we just set up

a meeting with Carlson?

Because he notoriously hates outsiders,

analysts, consultants.

Considers himself-- what'd he say?--

"the ultimate Maverick."

Really? Renegade, huh?

Oh, man, I've been there.

Yeah. Yeah, I get the feeling

that Mr. Carlson and Doug the gugg are,

uh, gonna have a lot in common.

You okay?

Want me to get the waiter?

No, I'm really gonna throw up.

Waiter? Don't ever refer

to yourself in the third person.

And never as "Doug the gugg."

That was a dramatic response.

I disagree. Use it from here on out.

No.

Nobody... Doug the gugg.

Don't ever fucking change.

Uh-uh.

It's a great nickname.

Okay, so when it's all said and done,

factoring in the after-work,

what are we looking at in fees?

Could be $40 million.

Hmm. Could be 50.

It could be.

Not bad.

And once Julianne Hofschraeger spreads that around,

puts the new bottega veneta desk in her office,

there's a decent chunk of change left over

for your bonus, Marty.

Now you're getting it.

I'm sorry, am I the only one that does not understand

why Marty still even talks to her

after she blew the Pincus account?

It's crazy, right?

It's almost like he respects her.

I don't like you. I don't care for you, either.

Tamara: Oh, Marty, Marty, what was I thinking?

Tamara.

Um, since we both have

the day off, would you like to go to the spa?

Seriously? Yeah.

I mean, we're both women.

We... we work in a primarily male-dominated environment.

And I feel like, you know, we should stick together

and have girl bonding power.

Okay. Let's... let's do it. Thank you.

All right, girl power.