Bad News: Dude's Dead

You're the Worst 3×3

Justina: Your appointment isn't until next week. You cannot just show up places.
Gretchen: Well then, stop Foursquaring yourself every time you leave the house, like the Mayor of Thirsty Town. Also, stop using Foursquare like the Mayor of 2011.

Gretchen: Can you take a little break?
Jimmy: God, no, woman! There's too much to do, now that the starting gun on the Grand Prix has sounded, the instant that I take my foot off the proverbial gas to celebrate, shall materialize five other writers in my side mirror just ready to pass me on the Autobahn that is the publishing industry... to clumsily mix European race car metaphors. As a veteran writer girlfriend now, you know that the work is never-ending.

Jimmy: ...as a pre-ward, I want to take you on a restorative trip.
Gretchen: Like a cruise? Can we go on a cruise?
Jimmy: Um...
Gretchen: That's my dream vacation! My parents always thought it was tacky.
Jimmy: Okay... Well, if your idea of paradise is succumbing to Norovirus on a floating red state, then sure!

Lindsay: New Lindsay can put any thought in her brain. ... If I can incept myself I didn't stab Paul, maybe I can incept myself into loving him.

Edgar: We also have a cutting-edge new lineup of the hottest new hybrid workouts. Piloxing: Pilates and boxing, yogitsu: yoga and jujitsu, spowing: spinning and rowing, Zustified: that's Zumba while you binge-watch Justified, it's actually not really...

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Edgar: I got to go, you guys. I'm late teaching Treadsparent. It's running on a treadmill while you watch...
Gretchen: We get it.

Gretchen: Uh, thank you so much for coming to Jimmy's surprise/congratulations-you-sold-the-book party...

Gretchen: Wait, crazy idea. Um, why don't we tell him together?
Becca: He doesn't know?!
Gretchen: Well, it happened in England. And there's a time difference, so...

Gretchen: Yeah, uh, so, when he comes home, I'll give the signal, you guys drop the bomb, and boom... it's your fault. Thanks so much for doing this. Eat cheese, have fun.

Edgar: When are we delivering the package, you know? The top secret intel?
Gretchen: Shut. Up. After he buys the tickets... This is the greatest day of my life! I am gonna meet Grumpy Cat!
Jimmy: I sold my book!
Gretchen: We're gonna live forever!

Jimmy: They don't want me to succeed... Look at them! Sirens singing, "Come play with us." But really they just want me to pilot my literary schooner into the rocks of do-nothingness!

Vernon: Delivering tragic news is a kind of service. To sacrifice your own comfort so they can have the gift of truth? That is true nobility....

Edgar: Uh, so you know how, uh, people come into your lives and, and they touch you?
Jimmy: Is this about you being molested? Boo-hoo. Every neighborhood had a handsy fishmonger.

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