Friends With Benefits Page #3

- Be careful!

- Oh, my God.

- Come down.

- Okay.

- Sh*t. Get back down.

- Okay.

- I'm in.

- What?

- You sold me.

- Really?

- I'll take the job.

- Oh, my God!

- What, are you surprised?

- No! No. Oh, you are gonna crush it!

Amazing.

- You can all go home now! Thank you!

- Very funny.

Come on.

Congratulations, sell-out!

Thank you, thank you.

All I'm saying is,

it wasn't so much the pilot's skill

that landed that plane on the river

as much as the mechanics of the aircraft.

Are you saying

that Captain Sully wasn't a hero?

No, no.

There were just other factors.

Are you not an American?

Hey, fuckface, you want to get your sh*t

out of my car or what?

I... Yeah.

Welcome to New York. Go and f*** a dick.

F***.

So, all I ask is that you give me

a little bit of time to gain your trust.

I know that I'm new at this, but what I lack

in experience I make up for in cliches.

So, my door is always open.

But seriously, my door is always open.

My first order of business, lighter doors.

- Okay. Thanks, guys.

- Welcome, Dylan.

Hey, man. Tommy Bollinger, sports editor.

Tommy, I've read your articles.

Love your writing.

Just trying to keep it realsies.

Listen, I'd love to take you out one night

and troll for cock.

- What?

- You got some pretty boys out there in LA,

but the quality in this town is ridiculous.

We can tear this sh*t up.

I'm not gay, Tommy.

Really? I just assumed,

art director and, you know...

Hey. No skin, more pipe for me.

By the way,

doing a piece on racism in hockey.

I'm thinking Helvetica

but I could be persuaded to Courier New.

But what the f*** do I know?

I'm just the sports editor.

- You sure you're not gay?

- Yep.

- I'm sure.

- Okay.

All right.

- Hey.

- Hey.

I'd knock, but you don't have a door.

- I don't.

- No.

Hey, check this out.

Dunkin-My- Tits-Hynes. Com.

- Yeah, it really does exist.

- I told you, but not that. This.

Awesome.

But it'd be even more awesome

if this happened.

Wait for it.

Nice!

I got in touch with a guy

who puts flash mobs together.

We're thinking about using them

for guerrilla advertising.

Taking something so pure

and commercializing it?

Knew I found the right guy.

- Here I am.

- Okay. Here's your contract.

Sign it and I will be out of here.

Okay.

A whole year?

Why do I get the feeling this is the first

real commitment you've ever made?

It's not. T-Mobile, two years.

And, f***, do I regret that one.

Do me a favor. Don't quit or get

fired before the year's up,

because otherwise I don't get my bonus.

Wait, I can leave whenever I want?

- What's the point of this contract?

- Just sign the damn thing.

Okay.

Nice doing business with you, Dylan Harper.

Hey, I was thinking of getting some lunch.

Do you know a place?

Are you asking me out?

Whoa, I'm not asking you out.

I'm asking you to show me a restaurant.

I mean, I'm the only friend you have

in New York.

- You don't wanna complicate that.

- I know. I'm not asking you out.

I mean, sure, we'd have fun, roll around,

- get into some erotic humiliation fantasy.

- Erotic?

But it'd all blow up in our faces, end badly,

and we'd never speak to each other again.

I'm not f***ing asking you out!

I swear to God!

Okay. You don't like me like that.

You don't have to be so mean about it.

I'm sorry. I didn't...

God, you're such a girl.

Come on, it's my treat.

So was it an easy move?

- It was tough leaving my dad.

- Yeah.

My sister gave me some sh*t.

But timing was right.

Timing was really right.

- Is that your sister?

- No. My ex.

She's great. Loves John Mayer.

Wants us to stay friends.

She's also convinced she can cure me

of my emotional unavailability.

- You're emotionally unavailable?

- Oh, yeah.

Oh, my God. I'm emotionally damaged.

I haven't seen you at the meetings.

I'm done with the relationship thing.

Girl, you are preaching

to the congregation.

- Choir.

- What?

"Preaching to the choir." You're supposed

to preach to the congregation.

- That's the expression.

- Did you understand what I was saying?

Then don't be a dick about it.

Oh, my God. Do you mind?

- Please.

- Great.

Hello. You've reached

Dylan Harper's cell phone.

He's emotionally unavailable,

but if you'd like...

- John f***ing Mayer!

- Hello?

Wow. Hello?

You really do have shitty cell service.

- Right?

- Yeah.

I'm gonna have some friends over tomorrow.

Why don't you come,

and you can meet some new people?

I'm gonna have to check my schedule.

I'm really busy.

I work at GQ now.

It's not some little blog on the Internet.

- Hey.

- Hey.

- You made it.

- Sorry I'm late.

No, no. Please, come in, come in.

Thank you.

Hey, everybody! Hey!

This here is Dylan. He's from LA.

He's the reason I can afford all this beer.

Okay, all right.

Am I an animal?

Yeah.

F***, I'm pretty good at this.

Lieutenant Kali's a West Coast street

artist I got into about five years ago.

- His postmodern interpretation...

- This sh*t is amazing.

I know, right?

You will be able to find the perfect candidate

to fill the position at your company.

Okay, here we go.

First up is Joey Morena,

who's fluent in Vietnamese

and has had 10 years of experience

in the culinary field.

I can't do this any more.

No, I think we both need to go get happy.

It's not adding up to a hundred any more.

Yeah.

Looks like New York's

all out of blueberries.

Goodbye, Flapjack.

Taxi! Taxicab!

Flapjack.

Why do all these movies

have such bad music?

It's so that you know how to feel

every single second.

"I'm heartbroken."

"I'm getting married

to the man of my dreams."

"I'm sneaking through an office."

Madison, wait!

Madison!

Madison, wait!

Bryce.

How did you know

I was at Grand Central Station?

You're not. You're in Los Angeles,

where this movie was shot.

I know you better than you know yourself.

And your crazy friend Susie

across the hall told me.

Susie.

Why are you here?

To tel/ you that

I love that sunsets make you cry

and I don't care that you failed

your real estate exam,

and I'm glad that you

have a five-date rule.

And that I love you.

Not as much as I love you.

Now boarding, track 5, love.

God, I wish my life was a movie sometimes.

You know, I'd never have to worry

about my hair,

or having to go to the bathroom.

And then, when I'm at my lowest point,

some guy would chase me down the street,

pour his heart out,

and we'd kiss.

Happily ever after.

I mean, a horse and carriage?

Come on, that is awesome.

Not as awesome as this

ambiguously upbeat pop song

that has nothing to do with the plot

they put in at the end to try to convince you

that you had a great time at this shitty movie.

You know, why don't they ever make a movie

about what happens after the big kiss?

They do. It's called porn.

God, I miss sex.

Right? I mean, sometimes you just need it.

It's like...

I don't know, it's like cracking your neck.

Why does it always gotta

come with complications?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes