Before we begin, there are a few things you should know about this recap: It was written in its entirety somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, on a small, godforsaken island which is apparently best known for its foreboding skull-like topography and vast native population of genetically-engineered mutant human-animal hybrids. Although I do have to admit it was nice to see my whole family again like that. Additionally, significant portions of the text were subsequently edited and annotated by the highly inquisitive seven-year-old seated in the row in front of me on the flight home. Staci definitely disapproved of Sofie and Libby's lesbian scene, although I did catch her casting the occasional meaningful glance at her younger brother during that final Justin and Iris bit. Best not to dwell on that too much. It's also worth noting that this particular island just recently saw the introduction of such niceties as indoor plumbing, universal women's suffrage, and some newfangled gizmo the kids are all calling an "infernal combustion engine," so it goes without saying that TiVos and 57-inch big-screen Sonys are few and far between in this shithole. In other words, I'm writing this entire recap on a ten-year-old 486 laptop I stole from work, using nothing more than whatever notes I managed to hastily scribble before heading out to the airport. So if it's lacking in the usual level of descriptive (yet ultimately pointless) detail I'm usually so pleased to provide, you'll just have to forgive me. With that said: Razorblades, lesbians, Mexicans, snakes, worms, haircuts, semi-naked children, adultery, wet t-shirt contests, incest, inappropriate confessions, huckey duck, hammer suck, fiddler's bitch, Ruthie is dead, the end. See you week!
Oh, and I also just spotted Doug E. Doug getting a shoeshine in the USAir terminal. Best not to dwell on that one for too long, either.
We fade up on Brother Justin, giving communion in Father's Walton's church. And just out of curiosity, is "giving" really the proper sacramental verb here? No one seems to know, not even my normally reliable Catholic co-workers. Give me an email if you know. The kicker to this otherwise pastoral scene is that young Ben Hawkins is also in line with all the other parishioners. Hmm. Does this mean that Ben is actually a long-lost cousin of the Coin-Puking Dirty clan, home for a joyous holiday meal of mudbugs, wild turkey, smelts, and dirt pie? Not to mention the razorblade communion wafer appetizer, which is what Brother Justin has elected to distribute today in lieu of the usual Saltines or Wonder Bread or whatever you're supposed to be using for this sort of ceremony. Ouch. And also ew. And while we're at it, how come Christians always think it's so funny that we Jews do wacky stuff like eat nothing but Matzoh for a full week each year, but think nothing at all of satiating their mid-morning munchies with "the Body of Christ" each and every Sunday? Oy vey. When it comes to disturbing rituals, nobody's got nothing on the Catholics. Justin's congregation, however, doesn't seem to have any problems with the razorblades, which means that a) this is obviously a dream sequence, and b) you don't ever want to go trick-or-treating in Mintern. The various razor/tongue close-ups really sell the "ew" factor, but it's the shot of the woman in the third row chewing happily with blood trickling down her face that cracks me up every time. As Ben finally makes it up to the front of the line, the congregation chants "The Body of Christ" over and over again. "No, it ain't," snarls Ben, as he grabs Justin's arm to hold off the proffered razorblade. Our two main characters lock arms, and stare deep into each other's eyes, and then things suddenly get very Over the Top (in just about every sense of the phrase), what with the grunting, and the arm-wrestling, and the swelling music, and the glacier-sized cakes of dirt getting shaken off Ben's quivering biceps. Before either of them can attempt the patented Sly Stallone wrist-bend maneuver, however, the scene ends, and Ben jerks awake, in a bed this time as opposed to his usual spot under the truck. The dirty girls among you may be interested to know that there's no sign of Adrienne anywhere at this point.
Over in Management's trailer, we get to catch the tail end of yet another conversation between Lodz and the boss. Once again, all the good parts apparently occurred off-camera, because all we get to hear Lodz say is, "We both know it's the only way to reach the boy." Before learning what that way might be (although I personally like to imagine it has something to do with everyone ganging up to pummel him with bars of soap like they did in Full Metal Jacket), Samson barges in, looking peeved and explaining that the local sheriff has arrived to collect his piece of the gate. Lodz chortles because such mundane concerns are beneath him, Samson looks pissed because Management has dumped him for a boy with better hair, and I just sit there enjoying the beautiful exterior shots that led into and out of this scene. We had some truly excellent cinematography this week.
Back to Ben, who is now getting dressed in Adrienne's trailer. Aww. It looks like she even washed his shirt after the deflowering. Now that's full service. Or the only way she could stand to be in the same room with him. Eventually, Ms. Barbeau returns home to inform Ben that he slept through the entire day, and it's now almost dark again. Ahh, blessed tryptophan, that sweet, sweet narcotic. Like any good midwestern farmboy, Ben knows an ugly coyote when he sees one, so he quickly blurts out that the whole thing was a mistake, and that he never should have been there in the first place. Perhaps realizing that she's dealing with a boy whose emotional IQ can only be expressed through the use of a lengthy, non-repeating decimal, Adrienne quickly damage-controls that "the thing just happened," and that it's nothing to be ashamed of. "It's a sin," snots Ben, which is technically true (depending on your personal religious beliefs, of course) but still not the sort thing you probably want to be preaching about the morning after losing your presumptive virginity to a seventies pin-up queen. "Nobody tells me what to do in my bed," replies a now feisty Adrienne, "including the Lord." Um, okay. At least now we know who got to be on top. She tries to grab his arm to keep him from leaving, but Ben is back in no-touching mode. "I just washed that arm," he gasps. "You know damn well that I need to get a fine base of dirt powder down before I start adding skin oils! How else am I going to top Zonker at the Muddy Waters Memorial International Dirt Napping competition this year?" He storms out of the trailer just in time to encounter Gabe, who seems to be returning home after a long night ofI don't know. Being stupid, I guess. And does this mean Adrienne puts out like a little red snake or something? Because that would be way cooler than the pig. And significantly more symbolic. When Gabe heads inside, his mother is predictably snappish. She orders him to take some dresses over to Lila for mending (which will be important later), and then she even cries a little bit once he leaves. Aww. Don't cry, Adrienne. You're better off without him. Trust me. Also, you'll probably want to wash your sheets. Or maybe even burn them.
“ In any event, the girls now take a moment to stare longingly at each other. Staring, staring, more staring, Stare Bears, stare-way to heaven, twinkle twinkle little stare, still more staring, and then -- finally -- more staring. ”
Elsewhere in Carnieland, Sofie and Libby are laughing and getting drunk on the hood of a truck near Sofie's trailer. This scene is significantly more fun if you skip the visuals and just go straight to the dialogue: "Hey, how'd that get in there?" giggles Sofie. "That's supposed to be there," purrs Libby. "Mexicans say that if you swallow that little fella, it gives you magical powers." Lest anyone think that Libby and I make a habit of using the same pick-up lines, it should probably be noted that they're talking about the worm at the bottom of a bottle of Mezcal, and not whatever your dirty, jiggly little minds might have been thinking. But don't worry. That part comes later. "Of course, you've already got magical powers," adds Libby, which is again unfortunately not in reference to anything sexual. Sofie transfers all credit for the magic to her mother, but Libby isn't convinced by her modesty. Sofie insists that she's never seen Mommatose be wrong (which should add significant fuel to the whole "Sofie is pregnant" fire), but Libby reminds her that Mommatose predicted that they would all successfully escape from the carnival a few episodes back. Which she totally didn't, but I don't have internet access to link that for you right now. In any event, the girls now take a moment to stare longingly at each other. Staring, staring, more staring, Stare Bears, stare-way to heaven, twinkle twinkle little stare, still more staring, and then -- finally -- more staring.
Eventually, Libby tries another tack: "You know who you remind me of?" she flirts. "Katharine Hepburn." Oy. Not exactly subtle, is she? And while we're busy mocking that line, where the hell does Libby find time to see all these different movies, anyway? First Intolerance, and now Morning Glory? Is Ebert's grandfather one of her regular johns? Libby expands on the whole Katherine Hepburn gambit by adding that "she's so strong, and I don't wanna say strange-looking, but" That's okay, Libby, I'll say it. "Exotic?" suggests Sofie, "Hypnotic?" Neurotic? Psychotic? Despotic? Necrotic? The girls' fingers slowly entwine around the Mezcal bottle at this point, and then they both lean in for a kiss. Before the actual lip-lock can be achieved, however, Sofie flashes into a highly erotic, girl-on-girl dream sequence that's pretty racy, even by HBO's standards. I'm thinking it's the When Suzy Met Sally Meg Ryan orgasm-moaning on the soundtrack that does it. Kissing, kissing, licking, groaning, nipple, nipple, more licking, more groaning, rewinding, rewatching, rewinding, rewatching, rewinding, rewatching, flickahh. The vision turns ugly, however, when the moaning on the soundtrack morphs into sobbing, and Sofie suddenly raises her hand to see blood gushing from an open wound on her palm. Now most people seem to think this is a stigmata reference of some sort, but I personally just think it's Mommatose's own little way of telling Sofie that hair will grow on her palms if she keeps doing that sort of thing. Ever the consummate concerned comatose parent, that one. Sofie takes a deep breath to try and recover from the vision, but when she glances down at the Mezcal she sees the worm inside jerking around and thrashing its tail. It's a cute effect, but maybe a just little too subtle. I didn't even notice it the first two times through. Which probably explains why the Fetus in a Jar gets his own thread in the forums, and poor Wormy Gonzales here gets bubkes. You should not, incidentally, take that as permission to start an "Ask Wormy" thread. Sofie jumps up from where she's been sitting and runs back to her trailer, feigning (or possibly actually experiencing) nausea as she goes. And once again, poor, sweet, lonely Libby is left all alone and unsatisfied. Call me, Libby! I can give you magical powers!
“ Uh, stupid question, I know, but where the hell is Ben getting the money to afford all those drinks? And how is it that it's only been two hours and his shirt is already filthy again? ”
Over in whatever hick border town the carnies are camped out by this week, a group of sullen-looking mariachis have gathered to perform outside the local saloon. Ben, meanwhile, is inside said saloon, doing shots and just generally stinking up the joint. He chats a bit with the bartender, who provides him with the standard, stupid-gringo-appropriate, AAA-approved explanation of all the local Dia de la Muerte customs. After pouring Ben another shot, the bartender raises his glass in a toast to La Muerte. "Does she scare you?" he asks. "I seen people die," answers Ben. "They're always choking and gagging every time I come near. Don't much know why, though." Uh, stupid question, I know, but where the hell is Ben getting the money to afford all those drinks? And how is it that it's only been two hours and his shirt is already filthy again?
Cut to later, as Ben walks outside. He immediately runs into a little boy who has an exact replica of Creepy Ugly Naked Tattooed Guy's tree tattoos painted onto his chest and back. Needless to say, I've already decided to call this kid the "Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke." Because Ben is dumber than a chicken chimichanga, he doesn't even manage to say a single word to the kid, and just watches in shock as the Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke takes off running. We also soon see that a gang of turban-wearing, machete-wielding townspeople is chasing the kid down the street, just like in Ben's dreams. Now put yourself in Ben's place for a moment, and think about what you might do in a similar situation. And then sit back and marvel at what Ben chooses to do instead. Does he chase after them? No. Does he go back inside and ask the bartender what all this might mean? Nope. Does even a single thought make its way across the mud-encrusted neurons of his severely underdeveloped occipital lobe? Of course not. He's Ben. Which means that what he actually does is just stand there drooling and muttering that he's an excellent driver until a horde of local kids surround him and start tugging at his clothes. Then he breaks into a passable rendition of "Beat It," and invites the youngest of them back to his trailer. No, not really. He does tell the kids to beat it, however, even if they don't seem to understand a word that he's saying. Finally, an elderly woman comes over and explains that the kids are crying for Ben's "loss," which makes even less sense than my Michael Jackson explanation. She shoos the kids away, and then pulls a slice of bread out of her basket and offers it to Ben. "Pan de los muertos," she explains. "Even the dead must eat." Ben doesn't know what any of those words mean (including, "dead," "eat," and "the"), so he just stares at her. "Flores!" she suddenly shouts. "Flores para los muertos! LOS MUERTOS!" Heh. And as dumb as Randy Quaid was in that movie, he's still ten times the genius Ben will ever be. The old woman finally leaves to make her way back to the alleys surrounding JFK airport, and Ben turns to see a large float coming down the street, with the Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke seated on a throne in the center.