Catastrophe

-Hey. Uh, sir, your wife is very drunk.

We've had to remove her from our establishment,

so now she's on the streets like rubbish.

Jesus! -Whoa.

-Fucking open your eyes! -

Oh, my God!

- -

Oh, my God! Rob!

They're gonna give me a breathalyzer.

Wh-What?

I'm not gonna pass it.

What?

I'm sorry.

Your offense showed brazen disregard

for the safety of others.

While you claim custody would be distressing for you,

incarceration is the only appropriate response.

Your sentence is one of six months imprisonment.

You may go down.

District Judge Hickey

presiding the case of Robert Norris...

You're up. Go on.

-Zip your fly. -What?

Your fly's undone. Zip your fly.

Oh, yeah, no, it's no problem.

Following Mr. Norris's arrest,

blood was taken, and he was found to be

40 milligrams over the limit, the limit being 80.

-Mr. Norris. -Judge Hickey.

Call me "Sir." We're not in Kansas.

Sir Hickey,

when I was six years old, I watched my father--

We don't have time for your autobiography, Mr. Norris.

Right. May I approach the bench?

I don't see a bench.

Okay, I accept full responsibility for my misdemeanor--

Crime. Uh, but this incident

was entirely out of character for me.

I was in a very difficult place emotionally, Your Honor, Sir,

as it had not been long since I found out that...

uh, my wife had masturbated off a young student,

uh, a college boy,

on-- on the roof of a nightclub.

I'm sorry. I just thought if I could

deflect some of the stink onto you--

300 years ago, if you'd have pulled that crap,

I'm the one who would have been sent down.

With a scarlet letter on me.

300 years ago, you were supposed to drive drunk.

What, on your mule?

Your mule.

Want to drive?

Oh, shit. Sorry. Forgot.

Not allowed to because you're a drunk driver.

-And a fugitive. -I'm not a fugitive.

I turned myself in.

You didn't turn yourself in.

If you could have run away from the scene of the accident,

I'm a hundred percent confident you would have.

You wish you were a fugitive.

You were arrested, so you're a criminal.

Criminal in a neck brace.

What a fucking catch.

I mean, I feel like I'm under surveillance with Sharon now.

You know? It's like I never had much privacy before,

but now it's like Stasi level.

What's Stasi?

East German secret police.

Well, at least she gives a shit.

Most women would have flown the coop after that stunt.

That's true, but it's still menacing.

-And you haven't drunk since? -No.

Why not? I mean, what's changed

other than that pussy magnet around your neck.

Honestly, the only thing that's changed

is that I now know that my drinking could kill someone

other than myself.

I mean, I didn't care if I got hurt,

but I don't want to kill any civilian bystanders,

or my kids.

Well, you may not have cared if you got hurt,

but did you think about how lonely I'd have been without you,

you fat cunt?

Can we talk about anything other than me?

With pleasure. Let's talk about me.

-How's your new girlfriend? -Oh, I don't know, mate.

It's movin' at warp speed over here.

She wants to move in, got us a family membership at the gym,

which was like, whoa, there, Nelly.

-What's her name? -Nelly.

-Really? -No, it's Tanya.

Hey, do you want to meet her? What are you doing this weekend?

I have community service for the next 215 weekends.

At a fuckin' charity shop.

Christ. It's humiliating.

Yeah. It's probably less humiliating

than having to ask a judge's permission

to go to your wife's funeral

because you backed over her in the driveway, though, right?

-Yeah. -Okay, have a great weekend.

How did you even know I was here?

You told me. Or it was in your calendar.

I forget. Who cares.

Honey, I'm on probation from the state,

and they're doing a pretty good job.

I'm accounted for.

You need to stop following me.

Don't say it like that.

Like I'm obsessed with you or something.

This isn't "Fatal Attraction."

This is just-- There's 25 pubs between here and our house

that I can't trust you to walk past

because you're a secret alcoholic.

I'm not a secret alcoholic.

I told you that the night we met.

Okay, then a lying alcoholic.

This is inconvenient for me too, you know.

Seriously, why are there so many pubs around here?

Don't we have zoning laws?

It's like Pub, JD Sports, Pub, Bike Shop,

Pub, William Hale, Pub, Pratt, Pub, Pratt Pratt.

Pub, Pratt!

So, how did you guys get into the whole

cerebral palsy charity scene?

My daughter has cerebral palsy.

Oh. Oh, great. Er-- I mean,

it makes sense that you would--

I have cerebral palsy.

Hey, have-- have you guys ever seen, um,

"Last Comic Standing"?

Do you guys watch that show?

A cerebral palsy guy did that,

and he won the whole thing.

Because, as you know,

people with cerebral palsy can do anything.

I can't drive.

Well, neither can I.

Yeah.

Any chance I can put my appropriate weight son on there?

Fuck sake.

You can get on the slide instead.

Go on there.

Hello. Cerebral Palsy Busters.

Do you want to take us for lunch?

I need a drink.

I don't know if I can.

They run kind of a tight ship here.

Nothing happens in charity shops.

Just ask them if you can pop to Greg's

for a fucking sausage roll.

Well, I had Greg's for breakfast.

What? You ate breakfast at home.

Yeah, but then I, you know, I passed one, so...

-Just ask them. -Okay. Jesus. Hang on.

Sorry. Uh, excuse me.

Hi, um, that's my wife on the phone,

and she's wondering when my lunch hour is,

um, 'cause she's on her own with the kids.

Oh, we don't take a lunch break.

We just bring sandwiches in,

in case there's a lunch time rush.

Okay.

Yeah, it's not happening.

Listen, why don't you take the kids somewhere nice for lunch,

you know, treat yourself.

Yeah. Okay. Because, as we both know,

lunch somewhere nice with two loud, dirty children

under the age of four is a real fucking treat.

See you at home.

I have my AA meeting tonight.

-Again? -Well, I mean,

you don't really graduate from alcoholism.

So I'm supposed to watch "Game of Thrones" on my own.

Like a pervert.

-Well, I-- -Fine.

If anything designer gets donated by mistake,

put it aside for me, okay? Bye.

Have you thought about a bit of therapy?

Yeah, I mean, we've thought about it,

but we don't really want to hear our terrible problems...

out loud.

Chris always likened therapy to taking a shit.

Better to do it in a therapist's office

than stink up your own home.

I can only shit at home.

Well, whatever works for you.

Can't be easy being married to a criminal.

Where's Jeffrey today?

He's moved out.

Moved in with Chris.

Turned down a role in a Vin Diesel movie

to do "Twelfth Night" at the theater.

God, that's rough. Sorry to hear that.

We fell out.

But I'm quite happy on my own

in my bachelorette pad.

I haven't put a bra on before 4 p.m. all week.

Aw.

Hello.

Rob, right?