|Transcripts - Forever Dreaming
|03x06 - The Last Sunday Funday
|Page 1 of 1|
|Author:||bunniefuu [ 10/06/16 10:59 ]|
|Post subject:||03x06 - The Last Sunday Funday|
(restaurant patrons talking and laughing)
Oh, nude beach.
Lindsay: Dildo party.
Edgar: Turtle races.
Lindsay: s*x trampoline.
Edgar: Ah, yes.
Can we do that at the nude beach?
That could be like third.
What are we doing?
Making a list, ho.
Look around, guys.
Sunday Funday is so played out.
Oh, no. They've corporatized your cloying, fabricated, feckless drinking holiday.
'Tis nothing pure anymore?
But this is our special thing.
It's the last thing that's distracting us from the constant dangers...
We have to do Sunday Funday.
It's my one day off from Paul.
No. You have two choices.
You can either be with Paul for realsies, or you can dump him.
I am sick of listening to you complain about stuff, and not do sh1t about it.
I won't bring it up anymore, bitch.
Bad friend bitch.
Hey, you can't take Sunday Funday away from us.
I love it, too, but, clearly, it cannot continue in its current form.
But... maybe with a little creativity...
Well... legend has it, there is a bar, a secret bar, so exclusive...
No. We're not doing your stupid scavenger hunt for some dumb bar.
You pitch it every Sunday.
It is not just a bar.
It is a secret bar with a hidden entrance.
A magical land full of beautiful people, and strong beverages, and retro decor, called a speakeasy.
Goddammit guys, I need this.
I had depression.
That is a legit-ass, mental-ass illness.
I can't be a pilot. It's a fact.
Also, Jimmy's dad died.
Yeah. About which, I didn't care.
And I think we both deserve to have a little fun after all that.
Also, there's a bar in L.A. I can't get into.
That is unacceptable.
Well, accept it, 'cause I'm not going on a scavenger hunt to find a speakeasy.
Easily the worst development in bar culture since Internet jukeboxes and big ice cubes.
I will come along, but I'm not solving any riddles.
If it keeps me out of the house... I'm in.
Oh, can we call it Sunday Funday, anyway?
I have the first clue bookmarked on my phone.
The site is blank except for this dumb symbol.
You can't click on anything.
There. See those numbers?
They're outside any command fields.
It's a message.
It's an address.
Too short for coordinates.
Maybe it's date and time.
Do we what?
Do... we... decimal?
Yeah. When I'm writing money.
Or when I get to the end of the thing, and you go "boop" with your pen.
Jimmy: Jesus Christ.
The numbers refer to the Dewey Decimal system.
So we should go to the library.
Gretchen/Lindsay: ♪ Sunday Funday ♪
♪ Can only do it one way. ♪
I got it.
Ew, books are gross.
Here Lindser, I got you a book.
Here's a book for you.
It's called "How Not to be a Bitch for No Reason on Sunday Funday".
Oh, look. Here's one.
It's called "I'm Living a Double Life, "and I Can't Be Myself Around My Husband: The Lindsay Jillian Story", volume two.
Where's volume one?
There is no volume one. You're just that stupid.
Edgar: She he be doing that here?
That's weird. Isn't that weird?
I look at p0rn all the time.
The bank, the nail salon.
That dog store on Fairfax that won't let me foster puppies anymore.
Here we go.
"Speakeasies of Los Angeles."
This must be it, right?
It has most of the numbers.
But then what are the extra numbers in the secret code for?
It's a page number.
Oh, my God.
Duh. You're so smart.
(gasps) There's a photo.
This whole thing's just so mannered.
A library, rare books.
So twee and completely...
Could it be something about the sheet music?
Ah! That's ingenious.
It's a ragtime.
You can tell from the stride in the left hand.
I took piano lessons.
Mom used to challenge me to see how loud I could play while her and her scene partner ran lines in her room.
Do we know anyone who knows ragtime?
God damn! These pixels look big as sh1t!
So I just got a fun piece of news.
Shitstain and Jaclyn eloped.
Oh, my God! Sweetie!
That's amazing. Congratulations.
Yeah. We were in Vegas checking out Gilles Goujon's new schnitzel restaurant in the Wynn, and figured, why not start the rest of our life today?
Yeah. Isn't that a fun surprise?
It puts sh1t into perspective, like how you can live your whole life alone and... it's-it's fine.
I mean, I'm... (chuckles) I'm-I'm fine.
Sam: Now, let's see, it looks like it could be the "Hot For Florida Rag."
But... that repeating figure could be...
Hold my bigifier.
(playing ragtime melody)
It's called "Happy Toes," and it was written during World War I by Cornelius "Eight Fingers" Gimble.
"Happy Toes"? That's the clue?
Edgar: Oh, I don't... I don't know. I'm not sure how weed will affect me these days.
Actually, studies have shown that marijuana can curtail being completely lame.
Jimmy: Ha! You gave in to peer pressure. (chuckles)
This is really smooth.
Do you want to join the scavenger hunt with us?
Hell no! I am frightened by puzzles and general trickery.
The dope thing about this song is, midway through... blam... switches into a minor key.
So it's like "Happy Toes," but then it's like "Sad Toes."
(playing in minor key)
Happy toes, sad toes...
So, what's the clue here?
Hand job massage parlors?
Girls wearing jeans that give them long butt?
Give us your secrets!
I guess he's not for us. Oops.
Paul would be so good at this.
You've said his name twice.
Once more, you summon him like Beetlejuice.
If you want to say something, say it to my face.
Fine. A: You're boring. B: I know it's you who's been wiping boogers into my glove box, and C: you're a liar.
You told me to wear my stains on the outside!
You can't even let Paul know you have stains.
You and me... we're in a fight now!
Woman (over phone): Sigh for me now.
Oh, my God!
Sigh for me now.
She wants us to sigh for her?
Sigh for me now.
How do you sigh again?
Sigh for me now.
(all three sighing)
Jimmy: "Sigh for me."
It's a cypher. It's a code!
Cypher the words "me now" on the keypad.
Six, three, six, six, nine.
(laughs) - Nice.
(loud clink in phone)
Oh, my God! I mean, yes.
It's cool, that.
(gasps) It's a key!
How are we supposed to know what it's for?
Where you going?
Lindsay: Oh, no. We scared that man so much, he dropped his typewriter.
He was for us. I knew it!
And what was the plan if we hadn't scared him?
Hand it to us? Stupid.
It's okay to admit that you like this, Jimmy.
I just want to find this bar so that I can tell whoever made this amateur game what a minor league effort it is.
Gretchen: Oh, my God!
That's quite clever.
The m*st*rb*t*ng homeless man's computer took the photo.
But why photos of us? What does it mean?
That we're the bar.
The bar's inside us.
There's something on the back.
It's a map.
But of what?
Looks like titty veins.
Train lines, maybe?
Do we know anyone who's knowledgeable about trains?
Paul is a long-time t... No!
I bring Boba, or bubble tea.
Oh, no! Aah! Oh, no!
I'll just have a sip of yours.
No, you won't.
You girls and your antics. (laughs)
Okay, so, the blank map you sent me is indeed the old Pacific Electric Railway system.
And you see here is the one spot they erased from your map.
We are standing in the exact spot of the missing Red Car station for what is now known as "Chinatown," or... (speaking Chinese)
It's got to be the fortune cookie factory.
Come on, Lindser.
Don't you want to come with your husband whom you love so?
Yes, Lindsay, do come!
(Paul speaks Chinese)
How's it going?
I went off my meds because my dick didn't work, and now I'm totally freaked out by everything, but this pot is mellowing me out, so, that's an illegal temporary fix.
How about you?
I have to Gone Girl myself and start over where nobody knows me.
I'm the hottest girl by, like, millions, because, you know, America.
You know, the scariest thing for me was to decide that I needed to try to figure out my stuff on my own, not just what they tell me to do.
Maybe before you do something drastic, why not just try the thing you're most afraid of?
You mean ask Paul to accommodate my needs within the confines of the marriage?
You had that right in the chamber, didn't you?
I mean, sure.
So everything triggers you?
I'm worse than ever. Even, like, small noises or someone yelling will just send me, like, to...
Edgar? Turn around.
(drumming, firecrackers popping)
Has that been going on for a while?
I didn't even flinch.
I'll be right... I'll be right back.
"The sun always shines after a downpour."
Well, first of all, meteorologically inaccurate.
Second of all, meaningless. I don't think the clues are in the fortunes.
I shouldn't have inhaled all that slippery shrimp.
I'd already chugged the egg drop soup.
And that whole fried fish.
I have such a weakness for Cantonese, Sichuan, Shandong and Zhejiang cuisines.
Jiangsu I'm a little iffy on.
Ooh. Anything to eat in there?
(siren wailing, train bell clanging)
(shouting): Are you sure about this?
(train whistle blowing, Edgar inhales)
♪ Ah ♪
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
♪ Oh ♪
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
♪ Oh ♪
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
Hey. Hey, wait.
I did it.
Come on, guys. Let's get serious.
What's the next clue?
(mocking): What's the next clue?
There is nothing here. We have wasted a whole day!
Oh, look, look.
Shut up, asshole, and look at the dragon!
You are a genius.
If it gave me a virus, I'll...
Gretchen: Holy sh1t.
It's taken over my phone.
Give me back my phone!
This has to be it.
Let's just go to a bar.
Paul: This does seem fruitless.
Plus, my stomach isn't quieting down.
Yes, Jimmy. You got this.
Go, boy. Get us to that bar.
It's the symbol.
The wire is the arc.
The street is the line.
Gretchen: The house is the triangle!
It's the house.
The bar is the house!
Of course it's gonna look like not the thing.
That's the whole stupid point of stupid speakeasies.
Yeah, but... this really doesn't look like the thing.
Shut up. Have faith.
(people speaking indistinctly inside)
(woman speaking Spanish)
I'm sorry, wrong address?
Well, great, Gretch. You wasted this entire Sunday Funday.
You have been a gigantic bitch all day, and I'm sick of it.
Oh, are we seriously gonna do this?
Because I've been waiting my whole goddamn life to do this.
I was born to do this!
They were too happy.
They were too happy. No families are happy!
They were actors.
Jimmy, I think this is over.
No. In battle, we risk all for a taste of the immortal.
In retreat, sure, we lose nothing, but what we gain is far worse than nothing: Ignominy.
We don't give up because they make us.
We give up because we're lazy!
Or would rather drink and watch Treehouse Masters.
Plus, no one tells my girl she can't go to their bar!
I can go anywhere!
Except Nina's... she's mad for some reason.
And Ye Rustic.
The Ace Hotel. Saddleranch. Sagebrush Cantina.
The Alcove. 4100. The Tap Room at the Langham.
Oh, my God. How was I supposed to know Wolf Blitzer was married?
Once more unto the breach.
Gretchen: It's gonna be somewhere weird!
A closet, a wardrobe, the fridge!
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Ha. Nice touch.
I don't understand what you're saying.
Mexico's spring roll.
Oh, nice acting, dummies.
It's got to be in here.
I really thought they were actors.
It's okay, Jimmy. We tried.
It's cool, man.
Why are you so relaxed?
Wait, the police let you keep your drugs?
Excuse me! It is with great distress that I must ask for a moment of privacy.
No, Paul! You are not using the toilet in here.
Paul: Were that I could make it so, wife, but the situation has become dire.
Gretchen: Lindser, I'm sorry.
Even though it's super boring for me, and believe me girl, it is like TED Talk boring.
But it's my job to listen no matter what.
Lindsay: But you're right.
Sometimes I do wish he would just disappear.
I'm a witch.
I wish for $100.
Gather 'round quick.
(latches opening, all laughing excitedly)
(jazz music playing, people talking indistinctly)
You have traversed a great and difficult distance.
A night like no other awaits.
Jimmy: Thank you.
My, it was an ordeal indeed.
I have so many questions!
Two rye Manhattans please.
That'll be $42.
Oh, my God, you got to be sh1tting me.
I'm sorry, Jimmy. This place sucks.
Speakeasies are lame.
Well, I told you.
But I found it for you.
I beat them.
We wanted each other to be happy.
(gasps) Ah, there you are.
Excellent work with the QR code.
Let-let me ask you about the, uh... m*st*rb*t*ng homeless man. Was he...
Why didn't you want to be with me today?
Paul, I can't pretend to be someone I think you'd like anymore.
If we have any chance, I have to tell you what I want, and you have to decide if you can live with it or not.
All I've ever wanted is the real Lindsay.
Your wish is my...
I want to bone other guys.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.
(sing-songy): No, no, no. Jimmy.
You can't do that.
That would break my heart.
No, Paul, it's for us.
You can watch.
I mean, I'd like you to watch.
I want to be a family, but I also want to be happy.
You want me to be happy, right?
I love you so much.
This is going to be so good for us.
(exhales, then soft chuckle)
♪ Oh, it's right time... ♪
Jimmy: Hello, hipster dorks... (music stops) .. of the speakeasy.
My name... is Jimmy Shive-Overly. And I'm gonna sing you a song!
(jazz music plays)
♪ Happy toes ♪
This is the last Sunday Funday, isn't it?
♪ ...decompose ♪
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