You're the Worst

Jimmy.

Hey, buddy.

You okay?

Good morning.

About what?

God! Absolutely blotto last night.

You... You don't remember what I told you?

No.

But tell me again.

Okay, seriously, dude.

I think you might have a drinking problem.

Like, you need to go to church basements and shit.

Oh, my God. Okay, um...

I am... so sorry, but, uh...

Sweetheart, your dad died.

What?

Papa?

Oh, my God.

I know. Oh, God. I'm so sorry.

I... I don't know what to say.

Do you want to talk about it?

Ha!

I was kidding. I totally remembered.

Wait... what?

You knew?

Yeah. You told me last night.

You're not getting that one back.

I stole one, dummy. Jimmy!

You do not need to steal blow jobs. Yeah, but

you know how amazing free food tastes.

Seriously, are you okay?

Your dad died. That's a big deal.

Yes, I am absolutely fine.

I feel... nothing about it.

Really? Yeah.

Great!

Oh. Phew! Thank God that's over.

Huh? Hey, do you want to do, uh, one of those Korean gel masks?

Not really. I got a snail one.

It's supposed to be extra goopy.

Huh.

I made my special heart pancakes,

because we love you, Jimmy.

We really do. What kind of jank-ass hearts are these?

That one looks like a butt.

Sorry. It was... it was kind of a rough night.

Uh, but later this afternoon, I'm finally gonna have

my consultation with the chief of staff at the VA.

Yeah, chiefs'll do that sometimes.

Hey, can I get some sticky sauce for these pan-butts or what?

Do you know, I actually just

read something interesting about PTSD?

Oh, yeah? Yeah, it turns out in World War I,

the official term for "PTSD" was "cowardice,"

and you were shot for it. That is interesting.

How are you holding up, Jimmy?

My guinea pig died.

I couldn't jack off for, like, half a day.

I'm telling you guys... false alarm.

He truly doesn't give a shit.

Look, when a relationship

has been virtually non-existent for 33 years,

we're not talking about a major tectonic shift.

Nothing has changed.

I still have exactly zero off-track bettors

with IBS in my daily life.

I almost wish I knew more dead people.

I think funerals are hella sexy.

All right, everybody out. I have work to do.

Wait!

Jimmy's dad died, and he doesn't care.

Yes? I'm going to have a baby.

What's happening? Is Lindsay

processing thought?

Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh. And when I'm old,

my kid will have a feeling about me dying.

Oh, my God, she's doing it.

I want my kids to be sad when I die.

Yes? So I need to be

a good... a good...

This is really happening. A good...

dad.

Aah! It almost had it. Oh.

I should probably sign up for one of those stupid

classes Becca's always yammering about.

Edgar? Edgar?

Uh, yeah. What's up?

Big writing day ahead of me. I need you to get

all my usual writing snacks from the British specialty store.

Shrimp-flavored crisps,

Wallenger's choco-knockers, tartar biscuits,

and then all your standard candies...

Lemingtons, fluffingtons, rum Christophers,

salted licorice knib knobs.

I'm not mad, Felix.

No, and when you constantly accuse me of being mad,

you deny my right of actually being goddamn mad at you.

No, I'm not "therapizing" you, all right?

Stop saying that.

Holy shit.

I-I'll call you later.

What's up? Give me a cigarette. Who was that?

What that your shitty boyfriend with his cargo shorts?

None of your business.

What's going on?

So, I told Jimmy his dad died, like you told me to, and he said

that he feels nothing, and then he stole a beej,

which is a pretty good heckle, actually.

Is there a question? Nope.

I just wanted you to know that you were wrong.

You were wrong.

Jimmy can say he's fine all he wants,

but sooner or later, his dad's death is gonna hit him,

and when it does, you're gonna have to be there for him.

When? We're going on a rad cruise.

Are you saying this could come out on the rad cruise?

Sure. Yes, it could happen on the rad cruise.

What's the rad cruise?

No, I don't want to know. I mean, I do want to...

Never mind. So you're telling me

I need to help him get it all out now,

just pop it like a pimple.

No, that is not how humans work. Yeah, I get it.

Get him to cry, boo-hoo, there, there, we'll be done by Wheel.

Of Fortune. Seven years in school? Really?

Gretchen, Jimmy has got to go through his grieving process.

All right?

It's not gonna happen on your exact schedule.

Eh. I think I'm gonna do it my way.

Thanks for nothing.

Your boyfriend... sucks.

Sucks.

Simon's sisters and Kitty sprawled on the carpet,

watching Top of the Pops, their bums in the air.

From his perch on the coach, Simon noted

that while Cynthia and Patsy had gotten quite porcine,

Kitty's bottom had an almost otherworldly lift,

as if in the process of being raptured

for being too perfect to dwell any longer on Earth.

Goddamn it!

What's wrong with me?

It's been hours,

and I still haven't perfected the bum metaphor.

My fingers hurt. My dad died.

At least you know where he is. Edgar, I need sustenance. Where are my snacks?

Uh, sorry, Jimmy. There was some police activity near the store.

That's my last food!

I've been thinking about it all day,

and you really need to cry, Jimmy. My therapist says

it's very... Gretchen the sheer breadth

of my labyrinthian abstruse psychological composition

cannot possibly be second-handedly grasped

by some Long Beach Community College graduate

who deals with the... tragically maladroit all day.

No offense.

None taken, because I do not know that word.

Just give me the afternoon.

We'll do some super-sad shit,

you'll poop out some tears and we'll be home by Wheel.

Of Fortune.

It won't work. I feel nothing!

But fine. Let's go.

Work day's already a disaster.

I don't know why I'm suddenly blocked.

I'm rewriting the same paragraph over and over.

Hey,

Killswitch, while I'm out,

copy edit the chapter where Simon watches Kitty bathe

after the trip-hop concert.

Oh, and for the love of God,

finally learn how to spell "anilingus," will you?!

You never say "thank you."

That's what the money's for!

I'm so glad we're gonna learn how to be a family.

Family.

But we're already a family.

You can't just have two people in a family, Paul.

Name one family that's two people.

Gilmore Girls.

We have to learn how to be good parents,

so that when we're old, they'll take good care of us.

Plus, you're so accident-prone.

You turned into my knife, and it's taken, like,

forever for your skin to grow back together.

You mean heal?

Dogs heel, Paul.

Men get strong.

Nerds! Oh, my God.

I still can't believe you're keeping it.

Oh, Rebecca,

you josher.

Such a bummer about the timing though.

By the time it comes flopping out,

our entire family's gonna be so babied out,

your poor little lump's not gonna get any attention.

You're just mad I didn't get all fat like you.

You're barely pregnant.

Yo, dingus, help me gaffle some of these brews.

Becca's being a cooze and doesn't want me to drink

so I actually pay attention.