Wilfred

Do you remember that,

when I used to help you paint?

What the hell is going on?

I would like to ask you the same question.

Just a drawing I did

when I was a kid.

Who's the dog?

Sneakers.

Not that dog.

This dog.

I-I-I don't know.

Ryan, I'm only seven years old.

This picture's at least 20.

What aren't you telling me?

You're no crazier than anybody else.

Said the dog to the man.

If I really drew that picture when I was a kid

and you don't know what it means,

we're on a plane with no pilot.

I drew the picture, Ryan.

I was just messing with your head like I usually do.

3x01 Uncertainty

Bear, look.

There's a fresh can of Febreze down there.

What?! No, of course I'm not gonna shove you

down the stairs, Bear.

I promised I wouldn't do that again.

Hey, Ryan, since Jenna and Drew

are still on their honeymoon

and Bear has a fractured vertebra,

I was thinking "boys night out"?

What say we head over to Mr. Meyerson's

and get all Clockwork Orange on his rose bushes?

Hey, what's going on down here?

So you know about the drawing.

For a couple weeks now.

I'm sorry, mate.

I shouldn't have lied to you about drawing it.

But you just seemed so hopeless.

It's okay, Wilfred.

Because I think I've figured it out.

You see, at first, I couldn't understand how you could be

in that drawing but still exist today.

So I thought maybe you've been reincarnated

or maybe I had a premonition when I was a kid

that we'd meet someday.

Then, hell, why not time travel?

I was just grasping

at these ridiculous theories when I realized

that the most logical explanation

has been right in front of my eyes this whole time.

Mental illness.

Look...

at-at certain points in my life,

I experienced emotional trauma:

watching my parents fight,

quitting my dad's law firm, attempting suicide.

And the way I dealt with that trauma

was by having these

sort of psychological breaks from reality.

You think I'm only in your head.

Well, Jenna's dog is real.

But... yes, I think the part of you

that no one else can see is in my head.

And you're happy about this?

Well, yes.

I mean, the first step to me getting better

is finally understanding that-that this

isn't actually happening.

Look, Ryan,

I wasn't gonna bring this up,

but I've actually been doing some thinking of my own.

Wait, when did you...?

See, I know for a fact that I exist

because I am, well, me.

So I can't possibly be just in your head.

Therefore, the only logical explanation

is that I am a magical being.

What?

A wonderful magical being.

I've been around forever,

and I will always be around forever.

Okay, well, then how come when you first found the drawing,

you didn't remember meeting me as a kid?

Well, I don't remember not remembering that, so...

Well, you didn't.

You said it right here in this basement two weeks ago.

Ryan, there's a lot of things I don't remember. How can I...?

Wait-- that's it!

Dogs have terrible memories! It makes perfect sense

that I wouldn't remember meeting you as a kid.

Hell, there's probably lots of people

I don't remember meeting.

The Ottomans, ancient Greeks, troglodytes.

Actually, no, I vaguely remember the troglodytes.

Overall a pretty nice bunch.

I mean, sure, some of them were dicks.

Wilfred, you're not immortal. That's completely illogical.

If you finally figured out

that I'm only in your head, why am I still here?

That's a good question.

What are you doing?

- Wilfred isn't real. - Ryan, stop it.

- Wilfred is only in my head. - Don't say that.

Wilfred is only in my head.

Ryan, stop.

Wilfred is only in my head.

Please!

Wilfred is only in my head. Wilfred is only in...

Ha ha! (laughs)

Oh, man, you should see your face!

You look like

such a little bitch right now.

You were all, like, "Oh. He's only in my mind."

You're an asshole.

Look, maybe I'm magical, maybe you're crazy.

The answers will come in good time.

For now, you're just gonna have to learn to live

with a little uncertainty.

I know what I'm doing.

If you want to give up so easily, be my guest.

Okay. In that case,

why don't we put my little theory to a test?

What's that?

A little cocktail I call antifreeze-tini.

If I'm an immortal, magical being,

then this can't possibly kill me.

Bottoms up.

Oops, almost forgot the olive.

Wilfred, no!

Well, I'm still here.

I drank antifreeze and didn't die

on account of me being magical and all.

No, you got your stomach pumped.

I don't remember that.

You don't remember screaming,

"Okay, I'm not magical, I'm not magical,"

while the vet shoved a tube down your throat?

I do remember... certain things from my past.

Yes.

It's coming back to me now.

1945.

My owner was a little girl-- Anne.

Anne Frank.

Seriously, don't.

Anne and her rules:

no walks, no trips to the groomer's.

In the end, I just snapped.

I screamed at her, "Anne, I'm dying here!

It's like we never leave the house!"

And thank God, these well-dressed German men

heard my barking and-and broke into the attic.

Those brave heroes rescued me.

Well, it looks like

Wilfred's blood ethylene glycol levels have dropped.

And by the way, his microchip still lists

an address up in Sacramento.

Sacramento? The state capital?

Might want to update his information.

Whoever lives in Sacramento

probably owned you as a puppy.

Which means we can prove you were actually born.

Therefore, I'm crazy.

If you really think you're crazy,

why the need to prove it to me?

Maybe you're the part of my brain that's so crazy

it won't allow me to accept that I'm crazy.

God, you're so crazy.

You remind me of my old owner Vincent.

Vincent?

Fancied himself an artist.

One day, he was at his easel,

and he'd gotten some paint on his ear.

And I mistook it for banana pudding,

and so, obviously, I...

Wilfred, you can't sit on my lap right now.

I'm driving.

Which, to me, seems like the perfect time

to have your lap sat on. I mean, am I crazy?

And what happens if my old owner

wants me back? I'd want me back.

I mean, look at this shit.

The statute of limitations on lost pets is three years.

Wait.

I-I remember this.

Right. Like Anne Frank?

This was my home.

And this yard.

I used to run around this yard all day.

God, I was so free here.

And my toy. My favorite toy.

Good Green Hippo.

He was little and green with pink spots, and he was a hippo.

And I bit off one of his legs. He was fine with it.

The last time I saw him, I buried him...

there.

He's not here.

Obviously. You can't know something

I don't already know if you're only up here.

(hums along with doorbell melody)