Blip blip blip blip blip. 24. Terrorists are plotting to assassinate a presidential candidate. My wife and daughter have been kidnapped. And now that I got the Golden Globe, Ted Casablanca is writing blind items about how I'm stepping out on my wife and partying way too much. My name is Kiefer and this is the longest day of my life. Blip blip blip blip blip.
Previouslys. Palmer learns from Kreepy Karl that power has a price and that price must be paid, and therefore Theo's shrink needs to be murdered. Igor is told to murder the Kieferettes, but they kill him first. Nina tells SubstituteKiefer that she doesn't know where Kiefer is. SubstituteKiefer doesn't believe her. All Kiefer wants is to get his family back and, apparently, make out with a very bloody FauxYork. The following takes place between eleven and noon on the day of the California Presidential Primary. Et cetera.
California multi-lane freeway featuring unremarkable scenery. In fact, I'd say that this is the exact generic image I have in my mind whenever Dionne Warwick sings about how "L.A. is a great big freeway / Put a hundred down and buy a caaaaar!" Kiefer and FauxYork are driving to the TerrorKompound, only FauxYork is refusing to tell Kiefer exactly where they are going, opting instead to give him driving directions on a need-to-know basis. The screen splits, and SubstituteKiefer has everyone gathered in the Kiefer Kube so she can tell them how much progress is being made. Uh, Alberta? I think your workers know that progress is being made, since they are the ones making said progress, while all you've done since you assumed power at CTU is to stare at Nina through the vertical blinds. But thanks for the positive feedback, Empress Alberta. However, she maintains, Senator Palmer is still in danger. And speaking of Senator Palmer, the screen splits again to reveal him leaving the elementary school sans Lady Mac. He pushes his way through the press and his huge Secret Service detail and gets into his limo with Poor Man's Hume Cronyn. But Alberta DeVil isn't finished with her staff meeting yet. Katching Kiefer is a top priority for CTU, according to her. Reaction shot of Nina looking busted. Another top priority is finding out more about Faux-tographer. Reaction shot of Soul Patch looking busted…or thinking about having some new headshots made, I guess.
As the FauxYorkMobile draws nearer to the TerrorKompound, Kiefer calls Nina to brief her on his whereabouts -- somewhere in North Hollywood. He needs satellite photos of the surrounding area so he can identify "structures and personnel." He asks her to download these images and send them to his Palm Pilot via the fabulous CTU WhateverTechnology. Oh, and then, since it's a few minutes past the hour, it's time for Nina to ask Kiefer to turn himself in as Alberta is turning up the heat. Only this time, Kiefer agrees with her…sorta. He promises to call Alberta once he knows that the Kieferettes are safe and back up Nina's klaim that she knows nothing about Kiefer's whereabouts or activities. Nina hangs up her cell phone, because a bunch of Calvin-Klein-clad extras are walking by. Soul Patch comes by to ask Nina if she's going to tell SubstituteKiefer about FamousOriginalKiefer. They discuss the potential trouble they may be in, and Nina concludes that she will have to live with her mistakes. "I appreciate you looking the other way on this," says Nina. "But don't feel like you've got to help me cover for Kiefer anymore." "I'm not doing this for Kiefer," says Tony, glancing down at her pubic area and then stomping off to do work or something. Nina gives the camera a sweaty, haunted look and then returns to her desk. A POV from the Kiefer Kube reveals that Alberta is watching Nina's every move through the vertical blinds.
The time is 11:05:17 AM. At The Stable Of Sensuality, the Kieferettes are in the process of hiding Igor's body. They have found a giant can -- it looks like a Claes Oldenburg sculpture of an oversized sardine tin -- and they place it facedown over his body. Hey, it's literally the giant can of whoop-ass that Bride just served up! Oh wait, my friend Larry just informed me that this is probably a horse's water trough. Bride feels gross about having to kill a man. Spawn -- whose hair keeps getting bigger while her vest keeps getting smaller -- feels pretty cool about the whole thing. I mean, it's not like she had to have non-consensual sex or kill a man in self-defense. Their ethical debate is cut short by a beeping noise coming from the TerrorCorpseCan. It's Igor's beeper. They flip the can over again. Bride winces as she removes the beeper from Igor's back pocket. Oh sure, she'll deal with someone's privates for a cell phone but she's not doing a necrophilia scene for a mere beeper. She checks the number on the LCD display and warns Spawn that the TerrorSquad is probably going to come looking for Igor. They cover up Igor's blood with some hay, overturn the can again, and put the beeper back in Igor's pocket. I don't know why they bothered. Bride sees a couple of TerrorMinions coming. She tells Spawn they need to hide out until these guys pass.
The FauxYorkMobile approaches some cyclone fencing -- the perimeter of the TerrorKompound. Kiefer parks and grabs a blanket from the trunk. Good thinking. I hate it when I have sex outdoors and pine needles get up my butt. His cell rings. It's Nina. She's got the satellite photos, but they're a few hours old. Kiefer is "ready to receive." I'll say. Nina sees plenty of GunWieldingTerrorMinions in the photos and begs Kiefer to let her ask SubstituteKiefer for some CTU backup. But Kiefer doesn't want no stinking back-up. Say it with me now: it's his family in there. Plus, adds Kiefer, CTU could screw things up and make this "another Waco." Nina sends him the satellite photos, which the WhateverTechnology places in Kiefer's Palm Pilot instantly. Kiefer komes back to the FauxYorkMobile, cuts the duct tape around FauxYork's legs, and takes him out of the car. "What are you doing, Kiefer?" asks FauxYork as Kiefer spits on his face and wipes the dried blood off of him. Okay, last week Kiefer threatened to shove a towel down a guy's throat, and this week he's into spit. I'm trying not to be one of those gay men who sees homoeroticism everywhere, but…I'm seeing homoeroticism everywhere. I wasn't aware of this until the last couple of years, but one of the leather bars in the West Village has a "spit" night. A friend of mine used to go to them, and I'd be like, "Spit? Is there any bodily fluid that isn't sexualized?" Not to be TMI or anything, but my kink level is pretty low. And I'm not saying this like I'm more moral or restrained than anyone who likes kinky sex. I simply don't get adventurous sexually because I never truly want to. But, yes, there are times -- on a fantasy level -- when I could see how S&M or role-playing could be appealing. I understand that it might be fun to be tied up. I understand that it might be fun to be spanked. I even understand how it could be fun to be humiliated and called nasty names in bed. Spitting I don't get. At all. My friend says he gets off on it because it's a "degrading head trip," but I will always associate spitting with being in fifth grade and having "lungey" contests with my friends. I did not have sexy friends in the fifth grade. All I can picture is either a dark West Village industrial loft space full of ten-year-olds having "lungey" contests or some dentist wearing Sans-a-belt slacks taking the suction tube out of my mouth and telling me to spit into the basin on the left, and neither of those things are getting me excited in the least. So anyway, once FauxYork is looking a little cleaner, Kiefer makes him drive the FauxYorkMobile the rest of the way to the TerrorKompound, since that's the only way he'll get access. FauxYork isn't too thrilled with the idea. "If Gaines thinks for a moment that I brought you here," says FauxYork, "he'll have no problem killing us both." "Then we should avoid Gaines," says Kiefer, pressing FauxYork doggie-style against the side of the car, his face pressed up against his ear and the gun aimed at his neck. They drive off.
The time is 11:09:23 AM. Palmer and Poor Man's Hume Cronyn drive somewhere while escorted by Palmer's Secret Service detail. PMHC is musing over the fact that the assassination attempt will give Palmer a bump in the polls when he notices that Palmer is looking a little funny, so he asks him what's up. "You've been off your game since you talked to Kreepy Karl," he says. Palmer tells PMHC about Kreepy Karl's plan to take care of Theo's shrink, the key source in Maureen Kingsley's pending story. PMHC tells Palmer that if he's really worried about Karl, he'll call the therapist himself and warn him. Palmer already called him. PMHC scolds Palmer for potentially exposing himself.
The FauxYorkMobile pulls up at the entrance of the TerrorKompound, where AsianTerrorMinion is standing guard along with half a dozen other assorted gun-wielding extras. Kiefer reminds FauxYork that he'll get a bullet in his head if there's a problem. According to ATM, Gaines has been waiting for FauxYork to show up and isn't too damn happy that he's late. "What happened to your face?" he asks. "I was fighting with your wife," says FauxYork. Heh. Access is gained. The time is 11:12:02 AM.
The time is 11:16:26 AM. Klockwise from the top left, Kiefer's in FauxYork's backseat, Bride hides, and Palmer thinks hard. The FauxYorkMobile parks in a secluded spot on the TerrorKompound. Kiefer asks FauxYork for a briefing on the whereabouts of the Kieferettes and the number of armed men on-site. FauxYork pleads ignorance and tries to play psychological games with Kiefer, implying that he and Bride had a moment. Kiefer refrains from taking the bait and simply waves the gun in FauxYork's face some more. FauxYork points out the location of The Stable Of Sensuality for Kiefer on the map on his Palm Pilot, and then tries to knock him out with a karate chop to the neck. The chop is blocked, and Kiefer retaliates. FauxYork loses consciousness for the third time this morning.
I guess no one wants to pay Zeljko Ivanek's salary this week, because his presence on the TerrorKompound is limited to a voice-over via Gaines's cell phone. "I assume you know we are working against the clock," says ForeignAccentedTerrorBoss to Gaines as various TerrorMinions pack up the TerrorShack. Gaines assures FATB that the TerrorKompound will be vacated within the episode…I mean, "hour," as the Terror Minions continue to march along the hardwood floors and past custom-paned windows, struggling to get the TerrorShack ready for an Ethan Allen commercial being shot there that afternoon. Gaines runs into Rick, who is moving some TerrorGear into one of the TerrorVans. He asks him where Igor went, since he hasn't been seen since he went to go kill the Kieferettes. Rick, a.k.a. The Worst Liar The World Has Ever Known, says he hasn't seen Igor. Gaines tells Rick to go find him. Rick is all, "Do you want me to load this up first?" Gaines stares at him for five minutes, pondering the question like a deer in headlights until he finally decides that Rick should indeed "load this up first."
Elsewhere on the TerrorKompound, Kiefer prances through the forest like a wood nymph, darting from tree to tree with his gun drawn. He finds the TerrorShack, spies Gaines through the window, and checks his Palm Pilot for the location of The Stable Of Sensuality. Noticing that the TerrorMinions seem to be moving out, he darts around them with the wind and sunlight in his hair, stopping at various trees to draw his gun some more and aim it at the imaginary terrorists in his mind.
The time is 11:20:20 AM. The Palmer motorcade continues to make its way around L.A. Palmer's cell rings. It's Dr. Ferragamo, a Poor Man's Eli Wallach, calling Palmer back. Palmer is all, "I wanted to talk to you about my son." Ferragamo, who has one of those Anton LeVay goatees, is all, "I can't do that -- doctor/patient privilege." Doctor/patient privilege? What a prick! I mean, it would be one thing for a shrink to violate doctor/patient privilege to report a murder to the authorities, but this guy went straight to the press. I'm almost glad he's about to be burned to a crisp in his office in a few minutes. Oops! So Palmer says pretty much what I just said, and Ferragamo is all, "Are you calling me to threaten me, Senator?" Palmer tries to explain that he's only trying to warn him about Kreepy Karl, but Ferragamo keeps cutting him off and putting words in his mouth. "You already covered up one murder," says Ferragamo. "And now you're threatening me to keep me quiet!" Jesus! Give me some gasoline and a book of matches already. I'll torch his office for free. Better yet, let's go find that guy who raped Dr. Melfi on The Sopranos, take him to Ferragamo's parking garage, and give him a jar of Vaseline and a tab of Viagra. Nevertheless, Palmer keeps trying to warn the doctor, even after he hangs up on Palmer and refuses to answer his phone.
Now, I would just like to say that I have been served well by various mental health professionals over the years and have nothing but respect for the industry as a whole. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to give a warm shout-out to all the poor souls over the years who had to listen to me rant about some lady at the Korean deli or a Kinko's cashier who gave me attitude, therefore tapping into my worst childhood fears of being unlovable and invisible. If it weren't for these people's love, patience, and ability to control rolling their eyes in my presence, I wouldn't be the semi-functional adult I am now. However, through various social encounters and anecdotes, I have long since realized that there are some fucked-up shrinks out there, and unlike, say, a fucked-up cable installer or a fucked-up pizza delivery guy, a fucked-up shrink can do some serious damage. Let's face it, there are some accredited people out there who use their expert knowledge of the human psyche for non-therapeutic purposes.
Like, there was this one time when I first moved to New York City and I decided that I needed to see someone. I went to this gay referral service where they interview you and try to match you to an appropriate therapist who is either gay or gay-friendly. So I go see the first guy they recommend to me, and I just know immediately that it's not going to work. There's no conversational chemistry whatsoever and it doesn't help that he looks like one of those sincere New Age-y queens who sip Kukicha tea and lecture you about how toxic the bar scene is, yet troll AOL chat rooms at night for straight-acting muscle boys. But it's not like you can just decide not to hire a shrink within five minutes, so I end up staying for the full hour just to be polite. So this guy says, "So tell me why you decided to use [Gay Referral Service]?" So I go, "Well, I wanted to see a gay male therapist and it seemed like the best way to look for one." So Dr. Kukicha smiles tightly and says, "Uh, if you'd like to ask me what my sexual preference is, you may do so now." So I say, "Gee, Dr. Kukicha, what is your sexual preference?" Dr. Kukicha is all, "For your information, not everyone who works with [Gay Referral Service] is gay. We are a network of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and heterosexuals who are sensitive to gay issues." Like, was it therapeutically necessary to critique my semantics right off the bat? "But to answer your question," he continues. "I am gay." So now I'm struggling not to roll my eyes, and I go, "Well, I wouldn't have a problem having a straight therapist who'd be cool enough to register with [Gay Referral Service]. And I'm sorry for making assumptions. I just figured you were gay…you know, just from meeting you." So Dr. Kukicha gets really twitchy at that last statement because you just know from the rugby shirt he's wearing -- sleeves pushed up to display his manly forearms -- that he prides himself on "passing," and he's all, "And why would you assume that?" "I dunno," I say. "Intuition. The A Chorus Line poster hanging in your waiting room. And the fact that you are wearing ironed jeans." Dr. Kukicha laughs breezily to show me just how not insulted he was by that last remark and says, "And is that what being gay is to you? Showtunes and attention to appearances?" And so it went. I don't even remember how I got out of there. Furthermore, he kept calling my machine for months afterwards trying to get me to make another appointment, after I told him I'd found someone else. I guess there weren't many other takers for the gay attitude-adjustment services of Dr. Kukicha.
So anyway, Palmer insists to PMHC that he's got to drop by Poor Man's Eli Wallach's office and talk to him face to face. PMHC reminds Palmer that he's got to deliver a "policy statement on public health care" in one hour. "I'll be late," says Palmer. "You're getting in way over your head," says PMHC. Palmer tells the driver to pull over so he can ride over to PMEW's office in one of the Secret Service vans.
Back at The Stable Of Sensuality, Bride and Spawn are getting ready to make a run for it when they hear someone coming. They go into the room where Bride went with Igor earlier and stand by the door with their weapons out -- Bride has Igor's gun, and Spawn has Igor's knife. But first, there's a little Thelma & Louise moment where they acknowledge their love for each other. Someone comes through the door and tackles Bride to the ground. Fortunately, Spawn has such a slow reaction impulse that she fails to stab her own father. Yes, it's Kiefer. The family is united again. Big group hug with joyful tears and whispered promises of a conflict-free future together at Casa Kiefer. The time is 11:23:52 AM.
The time is 11:28:35 PM. Klockwise from the top left, Kiefer checks the Palm Pilot for an escape route, Soul Patch and Nina pretend to do some non-Kiefer-related work, and Palmer broods on his way to Ferragamo's office. SubstituteKiefer approaches Soul Patch's desk and stares over his and Nina's shoulders at their computer screens. I hate it when my clients do that to me. They say it's bad feng shui to have your desk positioned so that your back is to your boss. I couldn't agree more. She asks them how their work is going, they start to answer, and then she cuts to the chase. "I think you both know where Kiefer is," says Alberta. "This means that you are interfering with a criminal investigation and harboring a fugitive." And just so you know the kind of pressure that Soul Patch is under, whenever SubstituteKiefer uses the words "criminal" or "fugitive," the camera zooms in on a very nervous Soul Patch. Nina points out that Kiefer isn't a threat to Palmer…um, if she even knew where he was, that is. Alberta tells Nina to go into "Holding Room One" and for Soul Patch to go into "Holding Room Two." She is placing both of them under suspension until they tell her where Kiefer is. Wait, doesn't "suspension" mean that you get to go home and take a nap? Apparently not. "The first one who tells me where Kiefer is will have a career and a future here," says Alberta. "The other one will be prosecuted and discharged." Heh -- she said "discharge"! Oh, and at some point since 11 AM, Alberta went to a salon and had a blow-out.
Back at the TerrorKompound, Gaines steps out of the TerrorShack to oversee the TerrorMove. He notices Rick loading a van and reminds him to go check on Igor. Rick is all, "Yes, sir!" and heads for The Stable Of Sensuality, where Kiefer and the Kieferettes are hanging out and looking at Igor's body. Kiefer asks Bride who the guy is. You know your marriage is in trouble when you're hanging out with a dead man against your will, your daughter is present, and your husband still acts jealous. Bride is cool, though. She tells Kiefer that Igor tried to kill them earlier, but neglects to mention the whole squeaky-squeaky thing. Kiefer koncludes that someone is going to kome looking for Igor pretty soon and they need to get out of there. Bride has more stomach pains. Kiefer, who seems to know what they are, holds her until the pain passes. Rick knocks at the door. Kiefer draws his gun. Spawn is all, "Dad! He's, like, the one who gave us the gun and he's totally cute and stuff!" Kiefer wrestles him to the ground anyway. After Rick explains that he's just a cash-poor pothead and not a terrorist, Kiefer lets him live.
CTU. Holding Room Two. Close up of SubstituteKiefer interrogating Soul Patch. Tamara Tunie has one of those perfectly imperfect faces where you could see one of her managers or agents pressuring her to get a nose job early on in her career, but fortunately she never did. Another shot of the two of them reveals that Holding Room Two, while devoid of any fussy decoration, is equipped with the same DWR furniture as the interrogation room of the LAPD where they brought Kiefer after he killed Officer Macy Gray. I guess there's something about the "simple undisturbed beauty" of the Modotti Table and the "practicality and standard-issue aesthetic" of the Emeco Naval Sidechair that makes the most hardened criminals of L.A. spill their guts. Plus a bad-ass crime-fighting diva like Alberta really shouldn't have to sit on a Staples desk chair, ever. She goes over the reasons why Soul Patch should rat out Nina, while a shot of him reveals a really nice stainless steel wall hanging framed in birch behind his head. I wonder if it also functions as a CD holder. But I guess I'll never know, since I can't find anything like it in the usual catalogs that I study like porn. Oh, and speaking of furniture -- and as some of you have emailed me to remind me, I haven't in a while -- I went to Ikea this weekend and I was quite impressed. My boyfriend wanted to go, and I tried to talk him out of it because every time I've been in the past, the stuff that looks nice in the catalog always looks like ass in real life. I don't know what it is about this guy I've been going out with for almost a year now. All my friends think he's really sweet and quiet, but there I am on a Sunday at 10 AM aboard a bus to Elizabeth, New Jersey, and I don't know how someone convinced me to get out of bed and into the shower by 10 AM on a Sunday -- let alone to Port Authority to catch the free bus to Ikea -- without suffering serious bodily harm. Talk about the longest day of my life. Nevertheless, Ikea was full of stuff I wanted -- well, except for the endless supply of screaming children everywhere. I bought a faux Noguchi lamp for $14.95 and some birch desk organizers for $6 each. Anyway, the screen splits to reveal Nina in Holding Room One, which also contains a Modotti Table, a pair of Emeco Naval Sidechairs, and the same stainless steel wall hanging/CD rack, and the minimalist design scheme is driving her crazy. Alberta gives Soul Patch ten minutes to reveal Kiefer's location before she has him prosecuted for endangering the life of a presidential candidate. She leaves the room to go make out with Nina while Soul Patch weighs his options.
Back at the TerrorKompound, Kiefer wants to go get FauxYork's car and drive back to The Stable Of Sensuality to pick up the Kieferettes. Bride is all, "You're not leaving us!" and although she doesn't have a wet towel handy, she doesn't need one to force Kiefer to reconsider his plan. Rick volunteers to use his TerrorStatus to go get one of the vans and pick them all up. Spawn vouches for Rick's trustworthiness and competence, despite the fact that Rick, since midnight, has kidnapped her, botched said kidnapping a couple of times, failed to help her escape, failed to escape himself, encouraged one of his buddies to rape her, and given the Kieferettes a bad gun. While Kiefer weighs Spawn's expert recommendation, Rick's walkie-talkie goes off. It's Gaines. He wants to know where Igor is. Rick thinks fast for once and tells Gaines that Igor is still burying the Kieferettes. Gaines threatens to "come down there" if he doesn't see Igor soon. Kiefer gives Rick five minutes to fetch the van. He exits, giving Spawn a little wave. Spawn's bosom heaves. The time is 11:34:50 AM.
Okay, this Nike ad with the little boy running, which cuts to the hockey player skating, which cuts to the soccer player dribbling, which cuts to the gymnast on the pommel horse and then to the baseball player running the bases et cetera is the most beautiful thing on TV right now. Most commercials like this are relatively simple to make, since all you have to do is get some nice shots of athletes doing their thing and edit them together randomly with some music, but this one is different. Every shot had to be planned specifically so that each image rhymes visually with the one that comes after it. For instance, as the gymnast dismounts the pommel horse, his body has to be the exact same size within the frame as the baseball player's body, who is standing in a similar position in the shot before he runs to the left and is replaced by a football player, who is the same size and running in the same direction. It's brilliant, and I get misty every time I see it.
The time is 11:39:15 AM. Klockwise from the top left, Nina tries not to spill her guts to an Emeco Naval Sidechair, Soul Patch tries not to spill his guts to a Modotti Table, and Spawn waits by the window of the SoS for Rick like Penelope herself waiting for Odysseus to come home from the Trojan war. Elsewhere on the TerrorKompound, AsianTerrorMinion -- the only TerrorMinion with a speaking part tonight, apparently -- takes a TerrorWhiz in the woods and notices the FauxYorkMobile in the distance. He approaches the car with his gun drawn and finds the unconscious duct-taped body of FauxYork just as Rick arrives at the TerrorShack to grab a van. After cruising several hot TerrorMinions -- like, where have these guys been all morning? -- he finds an empty van with a set of keys in the ignition and an unused semi-automatic weapon, and gets the engine started. Gaines taps on the glass. Rick explains that he's using the van to help Igor with the bodies. Gaines makes a bitchy comment about Igor and Rick not being able to "pick up two women themselves." Rick is about to surrender the van when AsianTerrorMinion calls Gaines on his walkie-talkie and tells him about FauxYork. Gaines changes gears and has Rick drive him to the FauxYorkMobile.
Palmer and PMHC arrive at BadShrink's office complex just in time to see some firefighters pulling dead bodies out of the burning building. "They torched his office," laments Palmer. "It could have been an accident!" counters PMHC. Palmer still wants to go over to the burning building and do something, but PMHC stops him. "Even if you're right," says PMHC, "this is the absolute wrong way to play it." Touching yet frantic piano music underscores Palmer's frustration.
Back in Holding Room Two, Soul Patch's time is up. Alberta enters and asks him what he's decided. Just as Soul Patch opens his mouth, some chubby CTU agent enters and tells Alberta that Kiefer's on the phone. Alberta whips her cell phone out of her jacket and takes the call. Kiefer tells her the location of the TerrorKompound and asks her to send in back-up. He also lies and says that he hasn't been in kontact with Nina or Soul Patch. Alberta pretends not to be weakened by the persuasive powers of the trademark Sutherland velvety whisper -- now in professional strength! -- but his klaims of his kidnapped family konvince her to kommand one of her minions to check out Casa Kiefer and find out where the Kieferettes have been since midnight.
The time is 11:46:18 AM. At The Stable Of Sensuality, Kiefer and the Kieferettes wait anxiously for the TerrorVan. Kiefer has a moment with Spawn by the window. They discuss their unfinished chess game while Bride beams warmly at them from her bale of hay. Kiefer's gonna make everything okay -- for Spawn and for Bride. To paraphrase Flannery O'Connor, it's too bad that your loved ones can't be kidnapped by terrorists every day just to remind you how important your family is. The time is 11:48:05 AM.
The time is 11:52:31 AM. Spawn keeps watch, Kiefer keeps watch, Palmer and PMHC keep driving away from the fire. Back at CTU, Alberta is going over the details of the upcoming TerrorKompound raid. "I said I wanted two choppers!" she barks into her cell phone. It's like she's talking about an ice sculpture for her daughter's wedding. Nina and Soul Patch are escorted back to their desks. Alberta gets off the phone and tells them that Kiefer kalled with his location, so the broom-closet twins are now no longer under suspicion due to a lack of aktionable evidence. Nina manages to think quickly enough to look shocked and ask if Kiefer is okay. Alberta is all, "We'll find out soon enough," and gives her the stink-eye of disbelief. After she exits to hole up in the Kiefer Kube, Nina thanks Soul Patch for covering for her. They hold hands and stuff. Aw! But then Soul Patch walks away and Nina makes another one of those ambiguous facial expressions, which could indicate that she is mentally going over the shopping list for a special meal she's making Soul Patch for being such a good boyfriend, or that she's glad Kiefer's okay so she can fuck his brains out later.
Gaines and AsianTerrorMinion revive FauxYork, who tells them that Kiefer is there at the TerrorKompound. Rick, who is standing by the TerrorVan, hops in and drives away. "Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ck!" screams Gaines, his voice bubbling with extra mucous. He radios the TerrorMinions to warn them about Kiefer, and orders them to seal the gates.
Back at The Stable Of Sensuality, Kiefer keeps his gun out and aims it all over the SoS, just in case. The van finally arrives, and Kiefer escorts the Kieferettes inside. They drive off just as Gaines, AsianTerrorMinion, and FauxYork arrive at the SoS in the TerrorJeep. As a chorus of synthetic choir boys sings in the background, Gaines enters The Stable Of Sensuality. Something about those choir boys singing just screams, "Big-ass hellfire in three minutes!" Gaines finds the TerrorCorpseCan with Igor inside. Unfortunately he doesn't wail, "Igor was my…boyfriend" a la Cloris Leachman in Young Frankenstein, but instead returns to the TerrorJeep, starts the engine again, and drives off in hot pursuit of the KieferKlan.
The TerrorVan, which is now the KieferKamper, speeds towards the entrance of the TerrorKompound. It's a bumpy ride and there are no seatbelts -- or even seats for that matter -- in the back, so the Kieferettes are giving these girly shrieks every so often. They come upon the TerrorGates, but they've been sealed and a band of ArmedTerrorMinions is waiting for them. The KieferKamper changes kourse and runs past the TerrorJeep. Gaines, FauxYork, and AsianTerrorMinion take out some huge guns and start firing at the KieferKamper, blowing out the tires. Rick and KieferKlan exit the van. Kiefer sends the Kieferettes into the woods to escape while Rick and Kiefer shoot back at the TerrorTrio. Kiefer promises to be right behind Bride. Whatever. More shooting. Kiefer and Rick realize they don't have enough firepower to fight the TerrorTrio, so Kiefer punctures the gas tank and runs with Rick into the woods. The TerrorTrio follows them, but right when they reach the KieferKamper, Kiefer shoots it, kausing an explosion. Gaines and FauxYork don't die, but a couple of TerrorMinions get thrown a few yards. Rick gets hurt too, but Kiefer keeps him moving. The screen splits in three to reveal Palmer and PMHC driving away from their fire and the Kieferettes seeing the KieferKamper fire from a distance, not knowing whether their men are okay or not. The time is 11:59:58…11:59:59...12:00:00 PM.