Wilfred s03e01 Episode Script


Do you remember that, when I used to help you paint? What the hell is going on? I would like to ask you the same question.
Just a drawing I did when I was a kid.
Who's the dog? Sneakers.
Not that dog.
This dog.
I- I-I don't know.
Ryan, I'm only seven years old.
This picture's at least 20.
What aren't you telling me? You're no crazier than anybody else.
Said the dog to the man.
If I really drew that picture when I was a kid and you don't know what it means, we're on a plane with no pilot.
I drew the picture, Ryan.
I was just messing with your head like I usually do.
Bear, look.
There's a fresh can of Febreze down there.
What?! No, of course I'm not gonna shove you down the stairs, Bear.
I promised I wouldn't do that again.
Hey, Ryan, since Jenna and Drew are still on their honeymoon and Bear has a fractured vertebra, I was thinking "boys night out"? What say we head over to Mr.
Meyerson's and get all Clockwork Orange on his rose bushes? Hey, what's going on down here? So you know about the drawing.
For a couple weeks now.
I'm sorry, mate.
I shouldn't have lied to you about drawing it.
But you just seemed so hopeless.
It's okay, Wilfred.
Because I think I've figured it out.
You see, at first, I couldn't understand how you could be in that drawing but still exist today.
So I thought maybe you've been reincarnated or maybe I had a premonition when I was a kid that we'd meet someday.
Then, hell, why not time travel? I was just grasping at these ridiculous theories when I realized that the most logical explanation has been right in front of my eyes this whole time.
Mental illness.
Look at-at certain points in my life, I experienced emotional trauma: watching my parents fight, quitting my dad's law firm, attempting suicide.
And the way I dealt with that trauma was by having these sort of psychological breaks from reality.
You think I'm only in your head.
Well, Jenna's dog is real.
But yes, I think the part of you that no one else can see is in my head.
And you're happy about this? Well, yes.
I mean, the first step to me getting better is finally understanding that-that this isn't actually happening.
Look, Ryan, I wasn't gonna bring this up, but I've actually been doing some thinking of my own.
Wait, when did you? See, I know for a fact that I exist because I am, well, me.
So I can't possibly be just in your head.
Therefore, the only logical explanation is that I am a magical being.
What? A wonderful magical being.
I've been around forever, and I will always be around forever.
Okay, well, then how come when you first found the drawing, you didn't remember meeting me as a kid? Well, I don't remember not remembering that, so Well, you didn't.
You said it right here in this basement two weeks ago.
Ryan, there's a lot of things I don't remember.
How can I? Wait-- that's it! Dogs have terrible memories! It makes perfect sense that I wouldn't remember meeting you as a kid.
Hell, there's probably lots of people I don't remember meeting.
The Ottomans, ancient Greeks, troglodytes.
Actually, no, I vaguely remember the troglodytes.
Overall a pretty nice bunch.
I mean, sure, some of them were dicks.
Wilfred, you're not immortal.
That's completely illogical.
If you finally figured out that I'm only in your head, why am I still here? That's a good question.
What are you doing? Wilfred isn't real.
Ryan, stop it.
Wilfred is only in my head.
Don't say that.
Wilfred is only in my head.
Ryan, stop.
Wilfred is only in my head.
Please! Wilfred is only in my head.
Wilfred is only in Ha ha! Oh, man, you should see your face! You look like such a little bitch right now.
You were all, like, "Oh.
He's only in my mind.
" You're an asshole.
Look, maybe I'm magical, maybe you're crazy.
The answers will come in good time.
For now, you're just gonna have to learn to live with a little uncertainty.
I know what I'm doing.
If you want to give up so easily, be my guest.
In that case, why don't we put my little theory to a test? What's that? A little cocktail I call antifreeze-tini.
If I'm an immortal, magical being, then this can't possibly kill me.
Bottoms up.
Oops, almost forgot the olive.
Wilfred, no! Well, I'm still here.
I drank antifreeze and didn't die on account of me being magical and all.
No, you got your stomach pumped.
I don't remember that.
You don't remember screaming, "Okay, I'm not magical, I'm not magical," while the vet shoved a tube down your throat? I do remember certain things from my past.
It's coming back to me now.
My owner was a little girl-- Anne.
Anne Frank.
Seriously, don't.
Anne and her rules: no walks, no trips to the groomer's.
In the end, I just snapped.
I screamed at her, "Anne, I'm dying here! It's like we never leave the house!" And thank God, these well-dressed German men heard my barking and-and broke into the attic.
Those brave heroes rescued me.
Well, it looks like Wilfred's blood ethylene glycol levels have dropped.
And by the way, his microchip still lists an address up in Sacramento.
Sacramento? The state capital? Might want to update his information.
Whoever lives in Sacramento probably owned you as a puppy.
Which means we can prove you were actually born.
Therefore, I'm crazy.
If you really think you're crazy, why the need to prove it to me? Maybe you're the part of my brain that's so crazy it won't allow me to accept that I'm crazy.
God, you're so crazy.
You remind me of my old owner Vincent.
Vincent? Fancied himself an artist.
One day, he was at his easel, and he'd gotten some paint on his ear.
And I mistook it for banana pudding, and so, obviously, I Wilfred, you can't sit on my lap right now.
I'm driving.
Which, to me, seems like the perfect time to have your lap sat on.
I mean, am I crazy? And what happens if my old owner wants me back? I'd want me back.
I mean, look at this shit.
The statute of limitations on lost pets is three years.
I- I remember this.
Like Anne Frank? This was my home.
And this yard.
I used to run around this yard all day.
God, I was so free here.
And my toy.
My favorite toy.
Good Green Hippo.
He was little and green with pink spots, and he was a hippo.
And I bit off one of his legs.
He was fine with it.
The last time I saw him, I buried him there.
He's not here.
You can't know something I don't already know if you're only up here.
See? How could I know that? Everybody knows that.
My name's Ryan Newman.
This is gonna sound crazy, but I think you maybe used to own my dog.
His name is Wilfred now, but Who the hell's that fat, ugly piece of shit? A clone? I know.
When I first heard about pet cloning, I was like, "Am I in a science fiction movie?" My name is Lord Charles Beevwelt II of Shropshire.
Welcome to my home.
Look around.
Do you like what you see? Actually, cloning isn't that uncommon anymore.
Back in 2006, Stinky here cost almost half a million.
Stinky, huh? Just an affectionate nickname.
Okay, there's no way this guy is my clone.
He looks nothing like me.
Ooh, I love it.
Such a jester.
Can we keep him? Itch.
So, you paid someone to do this? Oh, no, not me.
I'm just Stinky's caretaker.
I'm Heather Williger, by the way.
So you knew Wilfred when he was a puppy? Oh, no.
I only started working here last year.
Miss Covington was vacationing in Wisconsin when the first Stinky um, uh, Wilfred ran away.
She decided she would do whatever it took to bring him back.
All right, that's enough.
I said that's enough! Uh, would it be possible to speak with Miss Covington? I'm sort of here for a specific reason.
I'm sorry, she passed away last year.
She left everything in her will to the dog.
I just get paid to live here, and, you know, make sure Stinky "maintains the lifestyle he's grown accustomed to.
" What? He owns everything? That's right, Wilfred-- it's all mine.
And I can do whatever I please with it.
It's like my life is one long dalliance with pleasure.
Dalliance? That's not even a word.
Is! Say, Wilfred, do you see this charming little vase over here? Oh, Stinky, be careful.
Its craftsmanship is without equal.
But how would I know that? I'm just a dog.
Oh, Miss Williger? It seems there's a little something left over from this morning's bowel movement.
Come and get it if you can! I hate it when this happens.
Damn, this guy really lives the high life.
Oh! Sorry about that.
So you were saying you're here for a specific reason? I've owned Wilfred for six years now.
And I never got to see him as a cute, little puppy.
So I-I was just wondering if maybe there's some photos lying around? Oh, oh, shoot.
Can you hold that thought? It's time for Stinky's midday snack.
Stinky is such a finicky eater.
So I usually mix chicken broth in.
More broth.
No, less broth.
No, more broth! You're doing it all wrong! This is bullshit.
That clone stole my life.
You're the one who ran away.
I don't remember that.
You know, your memory seems pretty selective.
Hopefully a puppy picture will help refresh it.
You won't find one, Ryan, because I was never a puppy.
Because I was never born.
I have been eternally dalliancing That's not how you use the word.
Wilfred? Are you smelling this? It's a symphony of flavors-- peas, carrots, pork parts, bone meal and a delectable sawdust filler.
It's an old Covington family recipe we call "Healthy Dog Chow Pro with wet stuff on top.
" It's all I'll eat.
That wet stuff on top should belong to me! All of this should belong to me! Hell, I bet that asshole's got my Good Green Hippo, too.
No, because it doesn't exist.
Just like you and the clone.
For the last time, Ryan, not only do I exist, I am a magical being.
And if I'd gotten my rightful inheritance, I could've lived like a king till the end of time.
I'd be the dalliancer of the world.
Again, you're misusing the word.
Jesus! That's it.
This Stinky character has got to go.
What's up, bitch? You want to do this? How dare you enter my chambers without an invitation! Let's do this! Come on, get some, you shit mound! This skullduggery will not be tolerated! This is how we do it in the hood! Wilfred, calm down.
Stinky, no.
You like to scream hateful shit at cuckoo birds, too? Of course.
They burst out of their homes and run off their mouths.
And then when shit's about to get real, they run back inside like the little pussies they are.
You like licking windows? Unsmeared windows bore me.
I wonder, Wilfred, do you enjoy doing this? It's cool.
It's cool.
We're not so different after all, are we, Wilfred? Come.
Swim with me in the seas of opulence.
Anyway, you wanted to see some old photos of Wilfred, right? Right.
What's mine is yours.
I used to walk Stinky when Miss Covington was alive, so I took some of the later photos.
Photography is kind of a hobby of mine.
When you watch a dog all day, you just have to have some other outlets for happiness, right? Right this way.
Do you see this? Excuse me? Do you see this toy? I- I mean, describe it to me.
What-what exactly do you see? Uh, I see a green hippopotamus.
It has pink polka dots and one leg that's been chewed off or something.
Where did you find it? W- Was it buried in the yard or? Is it real? Hold it.
Uh, n-no.
I uh, okay, you know what? I think you should leave now.
You should get your dog and go.
Oh, dear me.
That is pure as the driven snow.
Wilfred, come.
We're leaving.
Uh, I'm sort of in the middle of something here, mate.
I said come.
Dude, you are such a buzzkill.
It's been such a delight.
Come visit us again sometime, won't you? I mean, you were in that drawing.
And the fact that that hippo toy exists.
Hell, maybe you are a magical being.
Sorry to keep going over this.
I just want to be certain about it.
Ryan, look, I found something back at Stinky's house.
I- I didn't want to show you, but I think it's too important for you not to see.
It's me.
Right after I was born.
Well, the real dog at least.
Me, on the other hand, who's talking to you, maybe I am just some kind of manifestation of your madness.
It doesn't make any sense.
I found the hippo.
That means you're real.
That's got to be the clone, right? Or maybe you bought the hippo on your way to Sacramento and tricked yourself into thinking you uncovered it.
Oh, God, I can't take this anymore! What if you never find any answers? Wouldn't it be best to avoid the anxiety of uncertainty, and simply skip to the end? What are you talking about, Wilfred? I've thought this through, Ryan.
This is the only clear path.
Think about it.
The day we met was the day of your failed suicide.
Maybe I came into your life for a reason.
To show you that life is just a long, torturous wrestling match with unanswerable questions.
Maybe this is why I've existed to you this whole time, to lead you back to this final, fateful moment.
There's no other way.
Why are you doing this, Wilfred? Ryan, drink up.
Come on, one final dalliance with death.
Dalliance? Oh, my God-- you're Stinky.
Oh, please don't harm me.
What the hell is going on here? All right, all right.
Uh, back at the house, Wilfred and I switched places.
Why? Why would you want to leave? You have no idea what it's like back there.
Miss Williger does sick, humiliating things to me when no one else is around.
I baited Wilfred into the switch by making my life seem like paradise.
He told you about my suicide attempt.
We were doing cocaine, Ryan.
A lot of personal stories were shared in a rapid-fire manner.
Why would you want me to kill myself? Honestly, you were just sitting there yammering on and on about your inane problems.
It was so boring.
So much so that the idea of watching you die seemed I don't know orgasmic? Wait a second.
If Miss Williger abused you when no one else was around Wilfred! Oh, please, no.
I don't like this.
Wilfred! That's good.
That's really good.
I love that.
Come on.
Move your little feet around.
What the hell are you doing here? Ryan, you came back for me.
I-I'm sorry.
Th-There's been a mix-up.
I accidentally took Stinky with me instead of Wilfred.
You tricked me.
Was I tricking you when you were snout-deep in giraffe vagina with a gram of cocaine up your rectum? There's only one way to settle this.
Rape fight.
Rape fight.
I'll be in the car.
So, who won the rape fight? Just drive, please.
Wilfred! The answers will come in good time.
What the hell?! Oh, I thought that's what we were doing now.