You're the Worst

Soda water.

- Lime wedge? - Nah.

Who am I trying to fool?

Hey there.

Hi.

- Are you staying at the hotel? - I am.

Yeah, me, too, you know.

I'm, uh, I'm Curtis.

Gretchen.

Wow. I don't think I've ever actually met a Gretchen.

Well, Curtis, now you have.

Yes, I have.

So, uh, are you... are you here alone,

or...?

Yes, I... I am alone.

Uh...

I-I guess what I'm asking in a larger sense is...

single?

Are you, uh... are you single?

Single like a fox.

Although, I did almost get married once.

Oh, uh. Almost.

Well, I mean, would you want to tell me the story over a drink?

Aw, fuck it.

Whiskey, rocks.

You live exactly once, right, Curtis?

*YOU'RE THE WORST* Season 05 Episode 11

*YOU'RE THE WORST* Episode Title: "Four Goddamn More Days"

Okay, the final options for Gretchen's.

"Walk Down", the Aisle music.

"Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba, "Juicy," Biggie,

"Poison" by Bell Biv DeVoe.

As Shakespeare said, "Never trust a big butt and a smile."

"Freak on a Leash" by Korn,

- "Marry Me" by Train. - Oh, nix that one.

I don't want to ruin my mascara crying too hard.

"Sweet Child of Mine," GNR,

"Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood.

- You do know that's about butt sex? - I do.

Madonna, "Like A Virgin,"

"2 Become 1," Spice Girls. Aw.

"Sabotage," Beastie Boys, "Waterfalls," TLC.

Oh, too sad. AIDS. Change it to "No Scrubs."

"Pop That Pussy" by 2 Live Crew,

"Girls Just Want to Have Lunch" by Weird Al,

"Maneater" by Hall and Oates

and "Cherry Pie" by Warrant.

- Great list. - Greatest list.

So, shall we winnow it down?

Oh, gonna have to winnow lata, playa.

I have to head into the office

before the shitstorm du jour starts. Oh!

Aw, damn it!

Calgon, right?

Anyway, office drahms.

Debbie's inner-ear problem is flaring up,

so she's always weaving when she walks.

And Mike's cat's butt is jacked

after she had all those baby cats.

Blah, blah, blah. Work shit.

Yeah, yeah, mi-might I remind you that your first wedding

is but five days away,

and we still need to choose the font for the name cards

and pick a punny name for our signature cocktail.

And we're totally gonna do all that bullshit,

but again, supes swamped at wiz-erk.

Yeah, no, that's actually fine, 'cause Edgar and I

have our notes "phoner" with the studio today.

Because we finished the script. Which I told you about already.

At which time your reaction was similarly,

dishearteningly muted.

Cool, bud. See ya.

Huh.

What?

Oh, nothing.

It just doesn't seem like.

Gretchen's very excited about the wedding.

Edgar.

As clearly evidenced by not even having time

to close the front door, Gretchen is incredibly busy

with important work things.

- Hi. - Hey, everybody.

Hey, guys. Sheila here.

Uh, hi, Sheila.

We just... Are we just waiting for everyone else, or...?

Uh, we just wanted to say

you two did a great job.

Hey, Sheila, it's Edgar.

We're just a little confused.

Isn't this a notes call?

Yeah, it sounds like our wires got crossed.

No, we're all set. Again, amazing work.

So, then, th-the next step would be...?

Absolutely. Take care, guys.

No notes? Boom!

I don't know, Jimmy.

No notes isn't really a thing, remember?

I'm gonna call my agent.

Oh, no, Jimmy.

Check Deadline.

Hi, Grace.

The studio's hired Diablo Cody

to adapt my book?!

But we already wrote it.

They probably just kicked you a draft

to keep the relationship good while you finish

the other two Peach books.

Sort of how Tom gets "story by" credit

on all the Reachers.

Oh, guess I haven't seen you in a while, huh?

My dad sobered up and found religion for us.

Now I get to wear this cool sailor's costume,

and I live in a room above a GameStop on Sunset

- with four other children. - I left word.

Hey, you know what I just caught on cable?

Jack Reacher.

It's really good.

You should tell people it's good.

Can I count on you to tell people it's good, Jimmy?

Another great living novelist felled by the studio system,

Like F. Scott Fitzgerald or Chuck Palahniuk.

How utterly cliché.

Well, at least my better half is still gainfully employed.

You got the shit?

Why can't I meet you somewhere normal?

Hit me with the hot work goss.

It turns out, Mike's cat actually has hemorrhoids.

Debbie took a header coming out of the bathroom.

Yvette's still a giant bitch for firing you.

- How's Toilet? - How would I know?

He's great. Okay?

Gretch, I can't keep doing this. I think these papers

you're making me steal may be important.

If they were so important, why are they in the trash?

Jimmy's never once looked at your work stuff.

Why do you need Caliber papers

to make him believe you weren't canned?

I can't let him know I am losing it

right before the wedding.

I'll tell him after.

Divorce is so much paperwork.

He'll never get around to that shit.

Stupid Yvette.

I mean, who fires someone right before their wedding?

You know what?

I am going to march in there and chew her ass out for you.

Plus, it's only four episodes,

so we can probably watch it all tonight.

Ooh. Let's order Thai.

Okay. Hey.

You know what else we should do?

- Rehire Gretchen. - What?

Hey, where'd your butt go?

I understand that Gretchen is your friend,

but she royally screwed up.

Did she, though?

She set off a fire alarm to avoid

disappointing one of her clients.

That is insane.

I feel like you're upset.

So what color curry should we get tonight?

Yellow? Red? Blue?

Something came up.

Just now?

Okay.

My own creation, ripped from my heaving bosom.

No!

Edgar, be a dear and answer this, will you?

Whoever it is won't stop calling,

and I'm far too distressed

to synthesize any sort of cogent thought.

Jimmy's phone. This is Edgar.

Uh-huh, hold on.

The caterer wants to know if you want

red or white quinoa in the farro salad.

We'll get back to you.

I'm gonna ask Gretchen.

Caliber PR.

Uh, hi. Gretchen Cutler's office, please?

You are hearing this prepared statement

because you called for Gretchen Cutler,

whose employment was terminated immediately

upon the incident on the 12th.

If Ms. Cutler has personally injured or assaul...

I left word.

Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.

Good girl.

Time for sleepies.

You get some sleep, okay? Good night.

Shh...

Hey, you want to help me find a new apartment?

Bec and I talked Paul into springing for a sweet Airbnb.

"For the baby." Oops.