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By Demian

Demian: Baron von C., you are the wind beneath my wings.
Couch Baron: Oh, come on. I'm still trying to heal over here, and you hit me with Beaches? Ew!
Demian: I meant that in the best of all possible ways.
Couch Baron: Get over yourself. Though I suppose it's better than being a complete DICK DICK DICK DICK ASSHOLE dumb-ass who sucks the ass of a llama, right?
Demian: True. Hey, not to change the topic or anything -- because, you know, llama ass? Yowza! -- but I was wondering…
Couch Baron: Yes?
Demian: Do you think I could borrow Miguel Alvarez for a couple of nights? Maybe after sweeps?
Couch Baron: You realize Miggy doesn't go for the guys, don't you?
Demian: Oh, no. I knew that.
Couch Baron: Well, what the hell are you going to do with him?
Demian: I just thought it might be nice to have him kick the holy crap out of Brad Kern. Repeatedly.
Couch Baron: Done.

Fade up on one of the ugly Done Ones writhing about in his bassinet in the Manor parlor. Oh, don't look at me like that. Granted, this Percolated Infant isn't a complete eyesore, but that one from last week is way cuter. No offense to the stage mom pimping out her newborn here, but lady? Your kid's head really is quite oddly misshapen. Just thought you should know. Raige, crooning a lullaby, hovers above Quasimodo as a roach-infested dark demonic force lurks in the background, waiting for the right moment to fry Raige's distracted derriere with a Flaming Ball Of Death. Ooops! That's not a dark demonic force at all! He's actually Raige's new slampiece Nate Parks, as portrayed by Norman Reedus. Those of you who caught Norman in Gossip should not be surprised to learn that he looks just as pestilential here as he did in the movie. It's called a shower, you skank. Look into it. A little something to tighten up the luggage beneath your eyes wouldn't hurt, either. Anyway, once Quasimodo's drifted off to sleep, Raige and Slampiece Ratbag retire to the sofa for a bit of flirtatious banter. Ratbag compliments Raige on her vocal skills, noting that she's "better than most of the singers [he] book[s] at the club." Raige titters nervously. She's been painfully self-conscious about her voice ever since an unfortunate incident dating from her eighth-grade graduation, wherein she froze up in terror when it came time to warble out the school song. She emphasizes that she's avoided public singing ever since that awful day, so we all know Ratbag's going to haul her up onstage for a manky duet before we hit the half-hour mark, right? Right