Californication - Fourth Season

Previously on Californication...

Come here, bubby.

Get the fuck outta here, Hank,

before Becca comes home, okay?

I'd like to see her.

Do you want to have to look her in the eye

and tell her that you put your dick in a girl

that's the same age that she is right now?

The D.A.'s office is willing to drop the assault charges.

- That's the good news. - What's the bad news?

You're being charged with statutory rape.

Considering that you actually wrote the book that I love,

how about you rewrite the script that I loathe?

With Sasha's interest,

we could be at Sundance this time next year.

All for a stupid fucking movie.

What are you gonna do, get a real job?

So is there a script?

- Fuck no. - But he's getting close.

Hopefully it'll give you a sizeable boner when I'm done.

Harder.

It doesn't have to be this hard, Becca.

Shouldn't it be hard?

I mean, isn't that pretty much what happens

after the final straw?

Becca hates me, Charlie.

She'll get over it, buddy boy.

Morning, sunshine.

First day of the rest of your life.

Up and at 'em.

Rise and shine, and give God your glory.

Oh, fuckness.

Yeah, having your stomach pumped will do that to you.

Sorry I can't keep you any longer.

That's a shame.

I was just beginning to acclimate.

5150 hold is only 72 hours max.

You're obviously not crazy.

Obviously.

Do yourself a favor.

Stay away from the drugs.

I don't like the drugs, doc.

The drugs like me.

Cute, clever.

Live fast, die young, good-looking corpse.

Guess what, asshole?

There's no such thing as a good-looking corpse.

I see a lot of them,

and they're fucking ugly as shit,

and they smell like shit too.

You wanna know why?

Because there's literally shit

oozing out of every goddamn hole.

So keep it up, chuckles,

and I'll be seeing you again real soon.

Bye now, buh-bye.

Fuck.

Hey.

Oh, my lord.

They must have given me too much morphine,

because I am hallucinating.

How are you? How are you feeling?

Like I've been rode wet and put away hard.

I hear that.

Morning, Hank.

Morning, Marv. How's it hanging?

- Oh, lord. - Oh, my God.

Wait... Ooh.

Oh, hey.

Are you for real or is this your avatar?

Will you stop asking me that?

You didn't have to give me the bed.

I would have taken the couch, the floor, anything.

Shut up.

Are you okay? Do you need anything?

God damn.

You're just being so nice,

it's like I died and went to heaven after all.

Sit down.

The doctor said you need to rest.

No, I'm fine. I'm good, I'm good.

I'll sleep when I'm dead.

That's not funny.

- Dead tired. - Not funny.

- A little funny? - Not really.

Maybe you're right. Too soon?

Yeah.

I'll try again after lunch.

Hank.

Hmm?

I was scared.

I know, baby.

I thought you were gonna die.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.

I mean, I was so busy being mad at you,

I had no idea how much pain you were in.

Well, it ain't easy being me.

You've always been able to laugh it off

and find humor in the most fucked-up situations.

So for you... for you to want to go and kill yourself,

I mean, you must have been in agony,

and I just didn't...

I mean, however furious I am with you,

even when I hate your fucking guts,

at least I know you're out there,

that I'm gonna see you again.

Honey.

I didn't mean to force moisture from your face.

And I'm glad you feel that way.

But I gotta be honest.

What?

What?

I love you.

And I'm sorry...

For everything.

Just don't do that again, okay?

I mean, no matter how bad it gets,

you call me, you text me,

you Skype me, you tweet me,

you can fucking Facebook me, I don't care.

I just... Nothing should be that bad, okay?

You promise?

Well, texting is for faggots, but I promise.

Good. No.

No, no. No, no.

Fuck.

Okay.

You're a cheap date, you know that?

Well, when you come perilously close

to shucking off this mortal coil,

you realize what's important.

A burger, fries,

a nice cold root beer to wash it down.

Priorities.

Karen thinks I tried to kill myself.

Well, you did leave a suicide note.

It was a letter, douche bag.

A letter to Becca.

I was just putting my thoughts in order

when I was rudely interrupted

by the ill effects of self-medicating.

Hey, I'm just glad you have the impulse

to write something.

Don't.

Don't you dare. Don't ask.

I have to. It's my job.

So how's it coming?

Just get me out of it, Charlie.

I can't focus on a stupid fucking screenplay right now.

I can't do that.

Stu's been calling.

- Stu? - The producer.

He's paying you out of his own pocket,

did you know that?

I haven't seen any money.

It's tied up with the attorneys.

Perfect. No harm, no foul.

Then we're even. That's it, I'm out.

It doesn't work that way.

He needs a good script.

A good script attracts talent.

Talent attracts money.

You write a good script,

and they will come all over your face, baby.

Oh, Jesus.

I'm nauseous.

Hey, you know what's weird?

I'm horny as fuck.

No, seriously, I beat off twice this morning.

Oh, okay, fine.

I made love to myself.

Christ on a stick, Karen,

what is it about talking about masturbation

that freaks you out so much?

You know you love to flick that bean of yours.

You do!

Fuck you, don't hang up.

Runkle! Runkle!

Where are you, Runkle?

Hey, is this Runkle's house?

Uh, who's asking?

Where is that slippery son of a bitch?

Is he inside?

Who the fuck are you?

Sorry, Stu Beggs.

Nice to meet you.

Marcy. Pleasure.

You're the wife?

Soon to be ex.

Interesting.

What's so interesting about it?

So where is he?

I left word with him, like, a dozen times,

and the shiny fuck is not returning my calls.

I don't know where the fuck he is.

Lunch with a client probably.

Moody?

How'd you guess?

Well, as far as I know, Runkle only has one client.

You're way too hot for him, by the way.