You're the Worst

Edgar: Gretchen, will you please pass the syrup to your boyfriend?

- Gretchen: Ugh! - Jimmy: We're eating!

Edgar: What? You're boyfriend-girlfriend now, right?

Gretchen: Sounds so high school.

Edgar: Then what do you call each other?

Your honey? Your boo?

- Your companion? - Jimmy: What are we, gay

- lovers from the '80s? - Gretchen: We're not calling

each other anything. We just made a verbal agreement

not to sleep with other people. For now.

Jimmy: In a week, we could remember that monogamy is a

social construct free of biological necessity.

Gretchen: Or we could be invited to a really fun sex party.

Oh...

Remember group sex, Jimmy?

Jimmy?

Remember group sex?

- Jimmy? - Jimmy: Actually, I've never...

Gretchen: What?! Not even a standard threesome?

- Edgar: Oh, Jimmy. - Jimmy: You've had a threesome?

Edgar: I'm an adult male in my 30s, so, yeah.

Anyway, uh, Lindsay and I wanted to celebrate y'all making it official,

so I made a dinner reservation for four at 8 o'clock.

Oh, hey, I almost forgot. This package came for you.

Jimmy: Hmm.

Edgar: That was weird.

I guess I should go give him one of my famous Edgar Quintero pep talks.

Wait.

Ha-ha! That's your job now.

Gretchen: What? Ew. Why?

Edgar: Because you're his lady.

Behind every great man there's a great woman.

Or, you know, someone like you. Go.

I think it's time you got to know the real Jimmy.

- Gretchen: Do I have to? - Edgar: Mm-hmm.

Jimmy: Yes!

You've sold out of my book.

It just goes to show that with

patience and strong word of

mouth, true literature...

Manager: You've been remaindered, Jimmy.

Your books are probably being turned into hamster bedding

- right now. - Jimmy: What?!

Well, that seems premature.

Manager: Well, if we suddenly get a big rush for it, we can

always send people to the dollar

bin at costco.

Jimmy: Oh, you would buy your food in bulk.

_

Is that the lesbian from Roseanne?

Manager: Yeah. Unlike you, she wrote a book

that's selling actual copies.

Jimmy: Oh, of course she did.

Did they give Darlene a book?

Let's give Becky two a book!

I look forward to your married with children cast poetry slam.

Gretchen: Dana from work liked my 'gram of the baby

sneaker in the gutter.

Jimmy: And her Internet approval is meaningful because...?

Gretchen: I like her and I don't have a lot of female friends.

I think women are intimidated by me

because I have mean cartoon eyebrows.

Jimmy: Ah.

Gretchen: So, uh...

What's new? Listen, if something is

bothering you and you want to talk about it, I will listen.

Or if you just want to pretend that nothing happened, that's

- totally fine, too. - Jimmy: It was a package from my dad.

A Manchester jersey.

I don't even like sports... Especially Manchester,

the team that ruined every Saturday of my entire childhood.

Also, I sent him a copy of my book, like, months ago.

He didn't say anything about it.

Instead, he sends me gareth Henderson gear.

Gretchen: Well, great.

I'm glad you got that off your chest.

Look! Lena Dunham's dog got a haircut.

Jimmy: I mean, does he think that after, what, 30-odd years

on this planet, I'm magically going to start sharing his

- interests in... - Edgar: Uh, still

waiting for our friends.

- How are you? - Lindsay: No one ever asks me that!

But since you did,

I cheated on my husband with a 19-year-old, named Aiden.

Edgar: Wow... Do you feel guilty?

Lindsay: Ooh, good question. Honestly, I kind of feel like

two different people right now. There's wife Lindsay who helps

Paul with gravestone rubbings on his genealogy trips.

And then there's adulteress Lindsay who just wants to sit on

- everyone's face. - Edgar: Sometimes I feel like

there's veteran Edgar and regular Edgar.

Lindsay: So feeling like this is normal?

Edgar: Maybe. Although, I do have a traumatic

- brain injury. - Lindsay: Me, too!

- Edgar: Huh? - Lindsay: One time I was at a

rave and I stared at a strobe light so long I forgot how to whistle.

What'd you do today?

- Edgar: Nothing. - Lindsay: Oh, my God!

- Me, too! - Edgar: With Gretchen around,

I don't have much to do for Jimmy anymore.

I feel this is, like, a new chapter in my friendship with him.

Hey, this is nice.

I can't remember the last time Jimmy asked me a question about myself.

Lindsay: I've been trying to talk to Gretchen about Aiden for days.

Edgar: We should just ignore them tonight until they ask about us.

Lindsay: Ooh, I love that.

Like an experiment, but without the boring science part like

milligrams and elements and shit.

Edgar (Chuckling): Great!

Lindsay: They're not showing up, are they?

Edgar: I don't think so, no.

Jimmy: I wrote a novel and still there's no response from him.

He's barely literate,

so who knows if he could even read it, but if he did manage to sound it out,

it'd just be nice to hear that he was proud of me.

You know?

- Are you listening to me? - Gretchen: What?

Of course. I just, I listen better

when I have something to do with my hands.

Jimmy: Okay.

That bikini top doesn't have straps.

Gretchen: Oh, good call.

My eyes always go straight to the bush.

Gretchen: I know it's, like, my "job" to be there for him,

but at one point, I thought he was gonna cry, and I was like,

"this is it. I'm never going to be able to

have sex with him again." I just don't think I'm equipped

to handle this part of a relationship.

- I will sample the aztec vanilla. - Wallace: It's do-it-yourself now.

One sample cup per customer.

So I guess you guys feel pretty...

Lindsay: I know what you mean about emotions.

Ever since I cheated on Paul, I've been feeling hella guilty.

Wallace: You can't reuse the sample cups.

Lindsay: Part of me thinks I should just tell Paul.

- What do you think? - Wallace: It's like you guys

- willfully don't even hear me. - Lindsay: I could just take

this one to the grave. Like Titanic said,

a woman's heart is an ocean of secrets. Right?

Hello? Are you even listening to me?

Gretchen: Yes, totally. I just listen better when I have

- something to do with my mouth. - Lindsay: So, what do you

- think I should do? - Gretchen: Honestly, Linds,

I wasn't gonna say anything, but I can't take it anymore.

First, you get these new berkin-toting westside friends

with fake teeth and even faker tits.

- And then the minute I get a... - Lindsay: Boyfriend?

Gretchen: Ugh! As soon as Jimmy and I

become a thing, you go out and start taking dicks.

Can you imagine how abandoned I feel?

Lindsay: I'm sorry, Gretchen. Wait, why am I apologizing to you?

You stood me up last night.

- Dana: Hey, bitch! - Gretchen: Hi.

Dana: Ready to go back to work?

- Lindsay: Um, who is this? - Gretchen: This is my work wife, Dana.

Dana: Hi.

- Lindsay: You're work-married? - Dana: Come on, wifey.

There is ice cream cake in the office kitchen.

Gretchen: Cake? Eat a dick, yogurt.

- Bye, Linds. - Dana: Bye!

Wallace: Ma'am, could you not do that?

- Can you just buy something? - Lindsay: I can't believe

they flaked again.

Why are they treating us like this?

Edgar: Lindsay, I think we're sidekicks.

Lindsay: Ew, I am not a sidekick.

I'm Beyoncé, not Kelly Rowland.

If I'm on a motorcycle, I'm driving the motorcycle,

not riding in that shitty little side motorcycle thingie

- for poor people and dogs. - Edgar: Think about it.

In your relationship with Gretchen, are you the Mary Tyler Moore

- or the Rhoda? - Lindsay: Who are those people?

They sound ugly.

Edgar: Okay, uh, in flipping out on-on bravo...

- Lindsay: Ooh! - Edgar: ...Are you the Jeff Lewis

or the-the Jenni We Don't Know Her Last Name?

Lindsay: Oh, my God! I am totally the Jenni "We Don't Know Her Last Name".

Actually, I do... it's Pulos. I'm a big fan.

Gretchen: Yes. Okay. Oh... I, I'm not gonna tell him that.

Okay. Bye.

That was Lindsay. She wants us to get dinner with them tonight.

Since we flaked last night,

- we should probably go. - Jimmy: Whatever.

- As long as they have booze. - Gretchen: Aw.

Cheer up, Jimster.

Or you could just really wallow in it.

We could listen to some...

The Smiths. They're sad and English, too.

Or I could read you a little, uh, Jude the Obscure.

: I hope our kids don't hang themselves

because we're poor.