Family Guy

Send in Stewie, please.

Oh, I can go in now?

Oh, fantastic. He's ready. Marvelous.

Thank you, Barbara.

I hope you get those Adele tickets.

You deserve them.

She won't get them. No way.

She needed to get them, like, a month ago.

So, um, is that me over there?

- If you like. - Here we go.

I saw the kid who has cancer leave.

That must've been fun.

I don't know why his parents are still bringing him to school.

It's uncomfortable for everyone.

I've never seen him when he's not just thrown up.

Charming. This is charming.

It reminds me of the therapist's office Bethenny Frankel goes to

on The Real Housewives of New York City.

I hate her.

She looks like a wooden doll you'd find

in an Eastern European toy shop.

Oh, don't act like you don't know who she is.

Please, that doesn't impress me.

We live in the world.

We all know who Bethenny Frankel is,

whether we like it or not.

You know, I actually don't mind her.

And she's built quite a business for herself.

You have to hand it to her.

I don't mean to name-drop, but I kind of know Andy Cohen.

I guess I'm his type.

Which, of course, is very flattering.

He's outrageously successful.

He originally wanted me for The Rachel Zoe Project,

but I said no, so they went with Brad.

And now look... that could've been me on Fashion Police

with Melissa Rivers 14 times a year.

Ah, well, hindsight.

I see the tissue box is empty.

Somebody was going through those like...

well, tissues.

Mm, I hope he didn't get cancer all over this seat.

Ugh. Yuck.

Bad luck.

Although I did hear Ryan Reynolds visited him.

Something to do with Deadpool, I guess.

So it's not all horrible.

If they don't give us a day off when he dies,

I'm gonna be so pissed.

Oh, look, you got your Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

I don't know why those cups always depress me.

It's-it's like you've already given up

before the day's even started.

You might as well tattoo "Can't afford Starbucks"

on your forehead.

What do I care, though?

None of my business.

I haven't heard of any of the schools you went to,

but I'm sure they were great.

I mean, you're here, right?

And why are you here, Stewie?

Uh, that was lame.

You seem to have a lot of strong opinions.

I do. Mostly because I come across a lot of dicks.

Or I guess I should say "wankers."

We do like that word, hmm?

Or "tosser," "git," "prat,"

"sod," "chuffer."

Take your pick, eh, Dr. Pritchfield?

- "We"? - Yes, "we."

I'm not following.

- The accent. - The accent?

You speak with a British accent.

Yes, I'm aware.

Well, I've often been told that I have a British accent.

Oh?

That's-that's all you're going to say? "Oh"?

What is it you'd like me to say, Stewie?

That I have a British accent.

I apologize, but I can't hear it.

You mean to tell me you don't hear me speaking

- with a British accent right now? - No.

That's odd, because everybody else does.

Have you spent much time in Britain, then?

No, I haven't.

- Excuse me? - I said no!

But you're the absolute only person who hasn't noticed it.

Really? Everyone hears this?

Well, just the people who can understand me,

which you appear to be one of.

But that's too complicated to go into.

I'm not even sure I get it.

The point is, Stewie has a British accent.

That's, like, a known thing.

Ask anyone.

I'm afraid I don't hear it.

Yeah, you've said.

It sounds like it's very important

what other people think of you.

Oh, is-is that what it sounds like?

To me, it does, yes.

To you it does. I see, I see.

So after five minutes, you think you know me, is that it?

A little, perhaps.

I am trained, Stewie, to observe things

that give me an insight.

And, yes, I do feel I know you a bit.

You do feel you know me a bit. Mm-hmm. Okay.

All right, all right. Well, that's-that's fair.

Might I?

I'm not sure how this is going to help.

Indulge me.

Thank you.

I see you're on vacation in Rio de Janeiro in this photo

with your partner, I'm guessing.

Or is he your husband?

Yes, probably wanted to make it official, didn't you?

Never thought you'd see it in your lifetime.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

At a quick glance, I'd say there's roughly

a 26-year age difference between the two of you.

Not quite large enough to raise eyebrows

while still giving you a younger mind to shape.

"Oh, you mean you haven't seen All About Eve,

Gypsy, Valley of the Dolls?" Et cetera.

And a younger body to make you feel more virile.

Taking into consideration the math,

he was probably born at a time

when the most popular name was...

Michael.

From the dog-eared pages of that volume of Shakespeare,

I imagine you wooed Michael with a sonnet or monologue each day.

And no one had ever done anything so romantic

as reciting Shakespeare for Michael before.

And he was smitten.

While not as physically attracted to you

as you are to him, that's okay...

You each bring something important to the relationship.

Isn't that what you believe, Dr. Pritchfield?

I see a prescription

for heart medication on that table.

My guess is you keep that at the office.

You don't want to worry Michael, you say to yourself,

even though the truth is it embarrasses you.

Your age, your mortality.

Best to keep appearing as vital as possible.

And no need to have reminders at home

of what's just around the corner, is there?

And your office is your haven,

since Michael doesn't work and is often at home,

perhaps as a result of a low-level depression

that you don't really want to get into with him.

Oh, he always planned to have a career,

but he could never settle on exactly what it was

he wanted to do.

And at first you liked having him at home

to take care of the house and plan trips.

So that's just what happened.

"And that's a job, too," he reminds you over the years.

Michael likes to travel, and he prefers the finer things.

And you'd like to give them to him, wouldn't you?

But it's a bit difficult on a child psychologist's salary

at a Rhode Island preschool, I'd imagine.

Fortunately, you don't have children,

so you do have some disposable income.

Oh, you have talked about it with other couples,

just for show, probably at dinner

with younger friends of Michael's

who are starting a family,

you know, to be part of the conversation,

to feel included.

But you said you preferred your trips

and your rescue dog named after a character

most likely from Dickens.

Ah, how accomplished and affluent

you both look in this photo.

Just the image Michael is so desperate to project.

Let's look a little closer, shall we?

Now, I see you're both wearing Ralph Lauren Purple Label

dress shirts that retail starting at $495.

But from the disfigured button holes on one

and the small discoloration on the other,

I can see you bought them at the outlet in Providence.

Probably third markdown,

in which case, $49, give or take.

Since you also have light jackets on,

I can see that you went there during summer vacation,

which is, in fact, winter in Rio,

outside of the high tourist season.

And I see that you're on the rooftop pool deck

at the Fasano Hotel in Ipanema,

the most exclusive hotel in all of Brazil.

Michael would've been dying to stay there.

Had a friend that went with his older boyfriend,

who makes a lot of money in, most likely, banking,

much to your chagrin.

But even in August, it's almost $1,000 a night.

You tell him people are starving in the streets in Brazil.

How do you justify paying those prices?

When the truth is, you simply can't afford it.