Fix Me, Dummy

You're the Worst 3×2

Jimmy: The five most truly free moments of a human's life in ascending order... leaving his parents' home, dumping a girl hard, deciding to eat a whole pizza, hammocks... and finishing a writing project.

Gretchen: Jimmy, did you finish your book proposal?
Jimmy: Your sarcasm is but an impotent fusillade of arrows plinking off the Sherman tank that is my relief. Nay, it is a Verdi aria to my brand-new cochlear implants, for it means 'tis true I indeed finished my book proposal.

Jimmy: I always wondered, what exactly is the difference between a psychiatrist and a therapist?
Gretchen: A psychiatrist is like, "Here, take this pills, ho." A therapist is all, "Oh, tell me your shit. I couldn't make it as an actor."

Gretchen: I have to go to that stupid therapist. Don't worry, it won't take long. I'll go in there, she'll wave her magic wand, and boom, Gretchen's 100.

Gretchen: Mail. There is a stack of mail that I have been avoiding.
Justina: Why?
Gretchen: They always want money, or you have jury duty, or your grandma sent you a check for your birthday, and then you feel guilty that you never call her, and then you can't get out of bed for a month.

Justina: It's all right, I'm a professional. You can say anything you want in here.
Gretchen: Hmm. Anything? Really? Does opening the mail count for your one little asshole thing, you goddamn cock?.. You suck-balls dumb dick?
Justina: Sure.
Gretchen: Fine, jizz-magnet. I will open one piece of mail.
Jimmy: Say "whore."
Gretchen: Whore.

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