The episode opens with a shot of Warren sitting on the front steps of a house. He's fidgeting and twiddling his thumbs and staring at the road in anticipation, possibly waiting for a life to arrive. Instead, a beige Mercury Cougar pulls into the driveway and an equally beige Carol Vessey gets out. Warren rockets to his feet, runs his fingers through oily hair and smoothes his windbreaker. "Welcome home!" he squeaks, his voice the victim of Puberty's cruel five-act drama. "Did you have a sweet vaco?" he shouts, grabbing Carol's bags and clumsily shouldering them. Warren is so excited and nervous that he's tripping all over himself. Carol laughs tolerantly but doesn't do anything to discourage him, because it's fun to emotionally abuse people who worship you. Eagerly, Warren explains that he's taken care of the mail and the plants, and "the newspapers are stacked so neatly it just might blow your mind." Then he pauses, as if he can't believe he said "blow" to Carol Vessey, but also wants to point out the many ways in which she could blow his mind -- or, blow his "mind," nudge nudge, wink wink. Carol catches sight of a sad little towel lying on the porch, and Warren very seriously explains that he couldn't find a red carpet to use instead. Carol's mind is blown. She shakes her head and pays Warren for the mind-job.
Warren stumbles inside the house with Carol's bags and watches her read mail. "If you need me to stay over tonight and help you reorient yourself to your surroundings," Warren begins, all fidgety and pseudo-suave, "then I could run out and grab a bottle of Merlot, whip up some sizzling fajitas…" Except he pronounces the "j" in "fajitas." Warren is smooth as a nail omelet. Carol suddenly asks why it's so freezing in her house, and Warren helpfully explains that he shut off the heat for savings. Carol freaks and bolts to the basement, saying, "You can't shut off the heat in winter! The pipes may freeze." She finishes the sentence at the foot of the basement stairs, staring at a relentlessly leaking pipe and a fast-forming swanky new swimming pool. "Hmm, I wonder if that's what happened here," Warren muses. Wow. He puts the "hopeless" in "Warren Cheswick."
You'd think the credits would pop up here, but you'd be wrong.
Ed and Mike are eating breakfast and reading the morning paper. Ed loves world news. Ed loves nothing more than a heated debate about the state of affairs in Bosnia, the political leaders of Yugoslavia, and the kind of questions that shake us to the very core of our values. To wit: "Who would win in a fight -- a strong, tall man, or an invisible fat man?" Ed asks. I'm sure Plato already covered that. Or maybe it was Gene Roddenberry. Mike immediately picks the strong and tall man. Then Ed kinks the shit out of that tidy scenario. "What if the invisible man has a whip?" he says mischievously. Mike: "Is it an invisible whip?" Nancy was walked in and is eavesdropping. "This is the worst McLaughlin Group ever," she laughs. I have to disagree. I live for the day McLaughlin's three chins wiggle with glee when he yells, "WRONG! Invisible and fat beats strong and tall like rock beats scissors." Ed notices in the paper that a Mr. Schaeffer is being sued for feeding dimes into parking meters. Well, he's clearly reading the Wall Street Journal, then. Mike and Ed exposit that Mr. Schaeffer is the nice old codger from the Stuckeyville soda shop, a man who always used to give Mike an extra pickle. Nancy gazes fondly at her husband, unperturbed that he used to take the pickle and like it. Nancy suggests that Ed offer legal help to Mr. Schaeffer, and Mike giggles that Ed's an ambulance chaser.
Doorbell rings. Nancy ushers Carol inside. Carol greets Mike and Ed then begs Mike for some help with her busted pipe. No one thinks to suggest that Mr. Schaeffer could plug the leak with one of his infamous pickles. Ed is offended. "You've got plumbing problems, ma'am? Why go for the rest when you can have the best?" he asks, grinning. In my notes, I somehow typed "plumbing" as "pimping," a word that gives this exchange a much fresher meaning. But if that were the case, America wouldn't be falling in love with Ed -- America would just ask Ed to talk dirty, wear a mangled tutu, and never kiss on the mouth. Carol is shocked that Ed can fix pipes, and he argues his masculinity. "I like beer and I drink it. I like sports and I play them. I own a bowling alley," he says, as though he's just answered the question, "What is man?" Carol looks at him like he just answered the question, "What is celibacy?" Carol grins, though, and says playfully, "Ed, would you like to come over to my house and take a look at my pipes?" Ed does my work for me: "You know, I've had dreams about you saying that to me." Carol notes that it's a cheap joke, which Ed thinks can often be the very best kind. He would reverse his position if he read my cheap jokes in the last few paragraphs.
Finally, Dave Grohl is crooning at me. He'll be coming home year, folks.
Stuckey Bowl. Ed is leaving, asking Phil to watch the place because he has to manhandle Carol's piping. "Bosco, you can sack my potatoes," Phil proclaims emphatically. What follows is the typical Ed / Phil exchange -- Ed looks startled and skeptical, then bemused, and Phil is confidently insane. In this particular subplot, Phil wants a catchphrase like Fonzie had, or Flo of "Kiss my grits!" fame. He sees merchandise sales skyrocketing as all of Stuckeyville embraces his trendy sayings, like, "What be happenin', my brotha?" or, "Shave my poodle!" Folks, we're on a collision course with wackiness. Phil seems to have settled on "Shave my poodle," and with a self-satisfied smile, he watches Ed's fleeing figure. Phil looks like Christian Slater circa Heathers or Untamed Heart, that horrible Marisa Tomei movie. Hey, there's a phrase no one ever uses -- "that Marisa Tomei movie."
Basement of Wet Love. Ed and Carol, clad in rubber boots, wade across the flooded floor. Man, look at the obscure double-entendre. It's postcard-pretty. Ed points to the leak and says, "There's your leak, ma'am." He explains the "ma'am" is part of his plumber / housewife fantasy. Ed looks perplexed, staring at the spraying water until Carol challenges his know-how. "Wimp," she whispers, then says, "Hey, did you hear something?" I did. It was the sound of one hand clapping -- the writer's hand, clapped to his forehead in shame. Ed is a bit of a gambling man, though, and he bets Carol that if he can't fix this leak, he'll run through Stuckeyville's streets (so, about five blocks, right?) in his underwear yelling, "Ed Stevens is a loser." But if he does plug Carol's leak, she has to stand on a soapbox in the center of town and proclaim Edward J. Stevens to be the world's finest plumber. Carol gives him twenty-four hours with no help, and they shake hands. "Mighty chilly out there this time of year," she intones. Ed plugs the leak with his finger and grins innocently.
The Milky Way. Actually, it's just a close-up of Nancy's right breast. I think we're supposed to see the laptop and the bottle-feeding baby, but her breast is front and center in the shot. Mike comes in and giggles that she's able to multitask like that. Nancy looks stressed and says she's going for a promotion at work, but is having second thoughts. Mike encourages her to do it, promising that they can make anything work out. She fumbles the bottle and formula sprays all over her laptop. Mike makes a lame breastfeeding joke.
On Grove Street, a giant condom with reservoir tip is pumping dimes into parking meters. Oh, it's just Mr. Schaeffer, clad in an unfortunate hat. When Ed approaches, Mr. Schaeffer eloquently summarizes his problem with the law: "I need another summons like I need a rusty bear-trap on my ass," he growls. Ed nods sympathetically. Rust is a problem indeed. Ed says he likes Mr. Schaeffer's coleslaw, and wants to be his lawyer free of charge. Behold, the power of cabbage and mayonnaise. Mr. Schaeffer exposits that he once got a $30 parking ticket that ruined his day. "It's a dime to me, but it's $30 to the ticketed person," he says of his meter-feeding habit. A male meter maid walks up and barks at Schaeffer's lovely little do-gooder worldview. Schaeffer tells the maid to talk to his lawyer and pats a self-satisfied Ed on the shoulder. "You know, there's nothing wrong with being a meter maid," Ed grins at the disgruntled man. "How very P.C. of you," deadpans the maid, walking away. Ed stares off into the distance, smiling to himself, proud that he's Stuckeyville's biggest sucker for a moderately worthy cause.
At Life Stream Greeting Cards, where Nancy toils, the nanny telephones with a snafu. Life Stream. That sounds like a maxi pad. Life Stream Greeting Cards with Wings. Each pad comes with a bad PMS joke and a bunny printed on it. An older executive called Margaret trots in and interrupts, announcing that the big presentation has been pushed to that Friday. Nancy frets that there's no copy to go with the designs, but distractedly promises to give her writers the new deadline and waves Margaret away. Back to the nanny. Nancy listens, looking puzzled. "Your husband sprained his…Can a nose technically be sprained?" Sure! Shoving rolled-up dollar bills up your nostril ten times a day can't be easy on a nose. Frazzled, Nancy promises to come right home and relieve the nanny.
The court convenes at the Halls of Justice to grapple with The People vs. Hal Schaeffer. Ed jumps out to a head start, announcing that the case is "textbook frivolous." He can't believe that, in a world where killers run around free, courts are wasting time on people who put dimes in parking meters. The opposing counsel stands up and smoothly points out that the last Stuckeyville murderer was in 1862, and therefore probably isn't still terrorizing anyone. The actress playing the prosecutor is Rena Sofer of General Hospital and Melrose Place fame, if indeed it's possible to use the words "Melrose Place" and "fame" in the same sentence. Ed looks at the pretty lawyer like he's never seen her before, which makes sense considering that Stuckeyville is a sprawling metroplex with at least two traffic lights and a very helpful news leaflet that comes out once every few moons. Ed sputters again that it's a frivolous case. "As the D.A. for the people of Stuckeyville, I don't find any criminal act to be frivolous," she smarms. Basically, Uptight thinks Mr. Schaeffer is helping people park illegally, and when Ed again protests, she reels off a list of similar cases tried in cities like Pittsburgh and San Francisco. The judge thanks Miss Hayne -- ah, a name -- and sets a Wednesday trial date. As she clears her stuff up, Ed stares at her open-mouthed. "Am I wrong, or did I witness a good old-fashioned butt whoopin'?" asks Schaeffer. Ed confirms it was indeed forty lashings with a whip.
Know what would be a great idea? Get Elizabeth Taylor completely stoned, then send her out onstage at the Golden Globes to present an award. Wait, what? That happened already? Huh.
Phil, dishing out bowling shoes at Stuckey Bowl, is telling everyone to shave his poodle. They're all disgusted, and a little scared. Ed is on his cell phone, yelling at someone to tell the D.A. she is acting totally unacceptably. Carol sneaks into the office and listens, impressed and slightly covetous of a good old-fashioned Ed Stevens spanking. "[You were] hot under the collar," she tells him. "It's good." Then she notices an array of plumbing supplies on Ed's desk. "All the accoutrements to fix your pipe...Do not underestimate my ingenuity." Carol is dubious, so Ed reminds her that he once used duct tape, a sled, and roller skates to make the renowned Stuckeyville Street Luge. That thud you heard was MacGyver fainting. Carol deadpans that she'll happily let Ed out of the bet, and he looks relieved -- and, whoa! That sly Carol was just kidding. She flaunts her certain victory a bit. A poodle walks by with the word "jinx" shaved into its fur. Coyly, Carol also offers to make dinner. With a semi-flirty farewell, she leaves. Ed watches, holding a pipe. He abruptly jerks it upright and stares at it. I'd make a Viagra joke, but I'm too busy looking to see if Roget lists "Ed" as a synonym for "predictable" in his esteemed thesaurus.
Halls of Justice. Ed wanders over to D.A. Hayne to once again posit that the Schaeffer case is frivolous -- but this time, our crafty devil uses the word "nuts" so that it looks like a different argument. Ms. Hayne argues that Schaeffer's actions contravene the people's common good, and it's her duty to represent the people however and wherever the law is violated. Apparently, the "people" entrusted her with this. Ed opens his mouth to fight her, but she snaps that she's not expecting much from him after his performance earlier that day. As she jauntily exits the building, Ed stares agape at her. I think Uptight McPrissy is supposed to be charmingly adroit at slinging clever barbs with our Ed, but instead she's irritating and hostile. Between her and Carol, I'd choose Carol. Hell, between her and a one-eyed monkey with hygiene problems, the monkey would win every time.
Ed just wants to defeat Ms. Hayne, he tells Mike. For his part, Mike wants to know if she's hot. Grudgingly, Ed admits that she's hot, and says the saucy minx needs only to be bowled over by some Stuckey, Edward J Stevens style. Mike only hears the "hot" part, and says, "Yeeeah," while cuddling his baby daughter. Ed, suddenly inspired, starts up with this week's $10 bet.
Cut to Mr. Clean, who is bowling. Mike walks up to the burly man and calmly starts singing "Tonight, I Celebrate My Love For you." He's wretchedly off-key, but with a pleasant expression he serenades an increasingly alarmed Mr. Clean as Ed giggles in the background. Sarah, the baby, stares at her crooning father as though she already understands genetics and its cruel realities. Mike pauses briefly at "When I make love you," but chokes it out anyway. Phil sidles up to Ed and notes that Carol is calling, which prompts Ed to hand off the baby and sprint for Ms. Vessey's squirting pipes. Shrugging, Mike keeps singing for kicks.
Classical music plays softly as Ed inhales Carol's pot roast. Lame marriage joke. Carol thinks Ed is putting off dealing with her plumbing problems, so he grins and they tromp downstairs. The floor is still flooded. "I've increased my homeowner's insurance so I can fully enjoy your work," she says. Ed looks uncomfortable, and offers to let Carol out of the bet. A gloating Carol refuses. A duck swims past waving a sign that says, "Predictable 3:13!" Rock music kicks off a montage of Ed expertly repairing the leak, manipulating the wrench like it's the law, or something. The lyrics to the background song say stupid things like, "See me now like I am, not in the rose-colored sham" and whatnot. Finished, Ed holds the wrench-qua-sword and smiles proudly. Carol's blown away by Ed's masculinity, and I confess, so am I. Ed could plumb my pipes anytime. It turns out he was a plumber's apprentice during law school, which explains that all-important errant comma. "You're a plumbing hustler?" Carol asks, stunned. Ed grins and hands Carol a prepared statement. They leave.
Outside at night, Carol sets the wooden soapbox down on the pavement and stands atop it. Ed tsks that they aren't in the precise center of town. "This is Main Street!" Carol exclaims. "You can't get more central than that." Oh, Carol, never question the show's titular character, especially not one as wily as our Ed. He's like a fox, only completely different. Ed reminds her of an orienteering project they completed in sixth grade, during which they found a different spot that serves as Stuckeyville's midpoint. Carol is stunned not only that Ed is correct, but also that Ed admits to remembering that one thing out of his entire academic career. She is beginning to remember why she never dated him. The two of them swap "charming" banter reflecting her hesitation to embarrass herself. Delicately crafted by the best wordsmiths two pennies, a Twix, and some Vienna sausage can buy, the script reads, "I can't." "Can." "Can't." "Can." Genius.
The sweet strains of a Chopin waltz play in a swanky restaurant. Carol, clad in jeans, sneakers, and a puffy winter coat, hops atop the soapbox and timidly begins speaking. Ed nudges her. "Uh, sorry to disturb your dinner, but I have an announcement," Carol says, loudly. The diners look up at her merrily, as though it's charming to be barked at mid-bite of filet mignon. Carol unfolds the yellow paper and begins. "Edward J. Stevens is the best plumber on the face of the Earth," she says, biting her lip to keep from laughing. The restaurant patrons are charmed. Inanity goes down so well with fettuccine in a roasted red pepper cream sauce. "I was completely wrong, and he was completely right," Carol continues. Ed nods, glowing. "And besides being the world's greatest plumber, he's also the…" Carol balks and smacks Ed's shoulder, refusing to continue. Ed looks at her. "You lost a bet, sister," he smirks. Flushed, Carol clears her throat and continues, "...He's also the world's greatest lover." The crowd ooooohs, because the people of Stuckeyville wanted a village idiot and now they have one. Meanwhile, the waiters neglect their duty to call the police. "And I pray that one day, he will make me his wife. Thank you, and God bless America," Carol finishes, cracking up and jumping off the box. Everyone applauds Ed's prowess in the sack and the basement, and Ed tries to convince her that their audience is expecting a kiss. She jokes that he has to put in an in-ground pool for her first. Ed bows to the diners, and they leave the restaurant, headed into a cold, cruel world where people get arrested for putting dimes in parking meters, but any old bowling-alley lawyer can disturb the peace with his ex-cheerleader pal.
Commercials. Yay, capitalism.
Stuckey Bowl. Mr. Schaeffer calls Ed from prison, and Ed runs out angrily to save his client. Phil stops him. "Check this out! It's the Web site: shavemypoodle.com," Phil grins. Really, it's a poodle crudely depicted on an Etch-A-Sketch. "It's Version 1.0!" Phil insists. This is the part where I really wish, for once, they'd get at the "why" of Phil. Crazy subplot characters are more interesting when they occasionally have feelings. Why couldn't Phil have been arrested for feeding meters, or shaving poodles, or feeding poodles with meter-shavings? Give the man a plot.
Ed encounters the police chief, who spouts a throwaway line about being called "Chief" as in, "Hey, supersize it, Chief." Whatever. Banter. Ed owes $100 for Mr. Schaeffer's bail. As he forks over a Discover card, he hears the D.A.'s voice. "What happened? Trouble at the bowling alley?" she asks. "Someone steal one of those scorekeeping pencils?" Hello, Ms. Hayne? Hi! We're the viewers of Ed, and we're pretty sure we know that he's a bowling-alley lawyer. We also know he wins a case or three from time to time. So take your stupid, tired old jokes and insert them back up your behind to coexist with all the other festering boils up there, okay? Thanks! You're the best. Bitchy D.A. explains that Mr. Schaeffer violated court orders by feeding more meters, so she thinks he needs to be taught a lesson in incarceration. Schaeffer walks out to greet them. "They got a PlayStation in the holding cell," he says. Ed drags him away from Ms. Hayne, who smiles and stares. Well, well. Looks like Edward J. Stevens might be getting some Edward J. Booty in the near future.
Carol and Molly, strolling outside for no apparent reason, are discussing the soapbox event. Carol's waxing rhapsodic about the wild fun she and Ed had together, and Molly is faking enthusiasm. "Sounds like quite a night," she says, flatly. Carol is glowing. Suddenly, Molly is smacked with the Obvious Stick. "Carol Vessey wants Ed Stevens," she says, surprised. Carol denies it vehemently, and Molly drags her to the library to look at a map of Carol's new home -- Egypt.
Halls of Justice. Ed puts Mr. Schaeffer on the stand and asks about the parking meters. Schaeffer says he reckons he's poured hundreds of dollars into the meters since the holidays because he abhors the idea of getting a $30 parking ticket for being one minute late. "Life is just one pain in the ass after another," he says. "I'm trying to make a tiny little dent in the world's accumulated ass-pain." Dent my ass-pain. Now that's a catchphrase. Ms. Hayne questions Shaeffer's motives, suggesting he's doing it to boost business -- people who think they can park for free might be more likely to stop and buy a sandwich. "I bet you're making money off this scam," she says, casually. She and Ed bicker about synonyms for "scam," although the subtext is more like, "Your place?" "Mine." "Under the table?" "On the stove."
Life Stream Ultra Thin Greeting Cards With All-Natural Absorbent Core. Margaret calls an unprepared Nancy to the boardroom. Nervously, she asks the writers for the copy they've prepared, and they stare blankly at her. She forgot to give them the new deadline. "I'm screwed," Nancy sighs. Hey, it's all right. I'm sure Life Stream makes a little something in latex.
The police chief is on the stand at the trial. He testifies that the meters once brought in more than one thousand dollars, but lately, the amount has fallen to a couple hundred. He also says Mr. Schaeffer only puts money in when he sees a meter maid approaching. The D.A. primly repeats that Schaeffer is helping people commit a crime, and he must be destroyed. As she returns to her desk, she leans in toward Ed and whispers, "You're allowed to ask questions now. It's called cross-examination." Ed glares at her, speechless, and contemplates plugging her ass with a few hundred dimes. Instead, he sidles up to the witness stand and, in true Edward "The 'J' stands for 'Edgy'" Stevens form, he works magic on the chief. Feigning confusion, Ed asks for clarification on how a handful of meters can bring in $1100 per month. The cop admits that figure includes what the city makes from parking tickets. When the cop fudges that he can't recall quite how much the tickets are usually worth, Ed whips out a fact sheet and proves that $980 came from tickets. Ms. Hayne's shoulders slump a bit. A reindeer drops out of her ass. "This was never about the meters," Ed concludes. "This was about you meeting some kind of ticket quota." The chief shrugs, slightly ashamed, and Ed tsks, "I used to think police wanted less crime, not more." The D.A.'s reindeer rockets back up her bum as she bleats, "Objection!"
I think the greater crime is that Stuckeyville residents only pay a dime an hour for parking, and they're still getting tickets. Those should be thousand-dollar tickets, because those are some cheap-ass people.
Back to Life Stream Light Days Greeting Card Liners. Nancy stands in a darkened boardroom, facing a table of clients and superiors. Nervously, she says that the artwork for the cards will be shown on slides as she reads the intended text from her notebook -- which she flips open to a blank page. Sighing, she looks up and grins widely. First image: An old woman with a birthday cake. "It will read, "'Happy Birthday Grandma,'" Nancy breathes. "And inside: 'You're my Grandma. And it's your birthday. And I love you. And I wish you all the best...on this...special day.'" She's totally cracking me up here. Nancy adds, "'Way to stay alive, Grandma.'" Cut to the listeners, who seem a bit shell-shocked. Switching to the card, which depicts a boy and a man fishing, Nancy continues: "This one says, 'Congrats, Son, on catching your first fish.'" Margaret interrupts that she thought it was intended to be a Father's Day card, and Nancy just looks flatly at her for a second, then catches on and pretends her notes were out of order. "This should say, 'Happy Father's Day...to my father. With whom I fish...on a regular basis," Nancy says. The actress is quite hilarious -- her low, librarian tone and good enunciation, plus her beaming smile, make it look like she's comforting a class of first-graders. Everyone stares at Nancy, and the projector noise is deafening. "'Happy Father's Day,'" she finishes, lamely. God, the actress is pulling off this silly scene so well that I actually feel uncomfortable and start staring down at my feet. Click. Nancy switches to the card, and swivels around to look at it. The drawing is of a hobo, complete with a cloth sack tied to the end of a string. Bewildered, Nancy gazes at it then swings back around with a comforting smile. "And of course this card will read, 'I'm sorry to hear that you've become homeless. Tough break...Tough, tough break.'" She shakes her head sadly as though she's feeling the sentiment. Ha.
Stuckey Bowl: Ten Pins and Justice, Served Hot Daily. Ed is listening to the radio while working on his closing arguments for the Schaeffer case, and the idiot disc jockey is asking the day's call-in trivia question. "'I Can't Fight this Feeling' was recorded by REO Speed...blank," the DJ reads. Ed rolls his eyes. The DJ takes a call from someone called Godfried, who proclaims his undying devotion to the show and then suggests that the band is called REO SpeedShavemypoodle. Our Ed is no dunce. He knows there's mischief afoot here, and he looks up to see Phil on the phone in the bowling alley. Phil shouts "Bah-bah-booey, bah-bah-booey!" and hangs up triumphantly. I just don't understand the tangle of idiosyncrasies that is Phil. That, or I don't speak Urdu. ["I wonder if Howard Stern knows about this." -- niki]
D.A. Hayne, she of no first name, knocks on the door and looks around disdainfully as though she's afraid to touch anything lest she catch a disease, like perhaps a good-humor virus or a Tumor of Selflessness. "I had to see this for myself," she snipes. "Bowling alley...law practice." I know! If I hadn't seen the other eight episodes and the thousands of promos, I'd never have believed my eyes. Ed agrees with me that he's heard just about every insult, but he's open to any fresh ideas. Ms. Hayne refuses to drop the case despite Ed's calmest pleas. "I came here to win cases," she asserts. Ed asks if she's from the area. "God, no, I'm from Detroit," she says. "In a big city, I'm just another lawyer. Here, I'm the D.A. and racking up as many convictions as I can before I go." Still…being a lawyer in a big crime-infested city sounds a mite more impressive than being the D.A. in Stuckeyville, home of the Meter-Feeder and the Great Appliance-Store Hissyfit of 2000. Sounds like Ms. Hayne is one pin short of a strike. Shit, sorry Ed. There I went with a bowling joke. Ed insists life isn't just about winning. "That's a good philosophy for a guy who's about to lose," the bitch says. Ed puts on his nicest "Love me, I'm wacky" face and starts to ask the D.A. to negotiate a settlement. Mid-sentence, she cuts him off and refuses before even hearing the deal. Ed wonders why she won't listen. "I'm afraid I'll be bored," she says. And therein lies the fundamental flaw in her grand Living and Lawyering in Stuckeyville scheme. Ed flubs a comeback and Ms. Hayne decides yes, she is in fact bored, and she flounces out with a "See you in court." Ed artfully yells, "I'll see YOU in court!" and the nasty D.A. pauses long enough to dis him and shoot him a withering look. She then flounces right past Carol, who is stunned that Ed just got his Jockeys ripped off, wrapped around a jalopeño, and shoved up his nostril.
Undeterred, Carol forges ahead and presents Ed with leftover pot roast. She gushes that she really enjoyed herself during the soapbox affair, but Ed is distracted, staring after the hot bitchy lawyer. Carol hints that they should do it again sometime, and Ed is giving her pat answers proving he isn't really listening. Carol totally picks up on his apparent fascination with the snotty D.A., and leaves with a jealous glint in her eye.
Commercial. Ed's sponsors would like to remind us that this is not Titans, and the world is a better place for it.
At "Life Stream: Television for Women," Nancy walks into Margaret's office and apologizes for screwing the pooch...and for messing up the presentation. As she starts into a string of lame excuses, Margaret smiles and offers Nancy the promotion, thus giving her an entire line of greeting cards to create and call her own. "I blew my entire presentation!" Nancy gasps, but she accepts it and backs out of Margaret's office, half-happy and half-alarmed. I think it was the homeless-themed greeting card that really put the promotion in the bag.
During coffee with Molly, Carol asks if Ed has mentioned Bonnie Hayne. Ah, a first name! But how does Carol get to know it before the rest of us? Who the hell did she sleep with, anyway? Sigh. Carol calls Bonnie a "hot little number." Yeah, well, I've got a number for Bonnie -- the number "annoying." Molly is suspicious of Carol's casual trip to the bowling alley, and proceeds to put her friend firmly into her place. "I didn't want to say anything while you were giggly [about the soapbox], but...be careful," Molly warns. "After everything you've put him through…" Carol can't figure out to what Molly might be referring, because she put on her stupid pants this morning -- and put 'em on backwards, to boot. "The guy practically set himself on fire to get your attention and you said, 'No, thanks, not interested,'" Molly reminds her revisionist friend. "Now, here you are, lonely and bringing the guy a pot roast." Carol stares confusedly into her coffee, wondering how she capitulated to the power of Ed. She's supposed to be the one American who doesn't fall in love with him. Meanwhile, big props to Molly for being a good friend. She and Phil should hook it on up and make little round poodle-shaving children.
Phil walks into Ed's office clutching a giant boombox. "Shave my poodle!" he bellows, then presses "play" and triggers a laugh track. Ed smiles serenely. Phil lets the laughs go for a little while longer, then turns it off and stands at attention. He blathers about "All in the Family," then exits with the same "Shave my poodle!" routine. Tom Cavanaugh stands still, wondering when his paycheck will clear.
Bonnie Hayne gives her closing statements. The people of Stuckeyville decided to pay a dime an hour to park on Grove Street, and fair's fair -- Mr. Schaeffer shouldn't be allowed to act as a lookout. Quite frankly, I agree. It's a friggin' dime. One penny for six minutes. AT&T, eat your heart out, and Stuckeyville drivers -- check your damn couch cushions and suck it up. Ed has a kinder, gentler heart than mine. He notes, "Law enforcement has rules. Do you get a ticket if you speed? Yes. Do you get a ticket if you flash your lights to warn oncoming traffic of a speed trap? No." Ed says it's not illegal -- it's charitable. Violins play. "And in a world where most people are looking out for themselves, do we really want to punish a guy who's just trying to be generous?" He obviously didn't see Dharma get thrown in jail for the same crime -- and she paid quarters. Take that, Schaeffer, you skinflint. The judge wants to sleep on it. Bonnie allows herself a smile.
Nancy comes home and sees a huge sign hanging on the banister from Mike, something he made to congratulate her on the promotion. She smiles sadly. Mike bounds downstairs and hands her a present, wearing an ear-to-ear smile. They scamper into the living room and pop in the tape, and Nancy watches Ed and Mike coax the baby, Sarah, into rolling over for the first time. It's pretty cute, actually, but maybe that's just my maternal side. Nancy starts to cry.
At the Halls of Justice, the judge acknowledges that Schaeffer is charitable but says assisting illegal parking -- by only filling meters when the maids are approaching -- isn't proper. He fines Schaeffer $500 and threatens to double it on the offense. Ed and Schaeffer shrug and shake hands, and the latter man says he's craving some soup. Shaking his head, Ed watches his client leave, then turns toward Bonnie, who is clearing her table. Smugly, she whips up her head and says she's planning an appeal, because the City of Stuckeyville deserves all its lost funds back. She cocks her head expectantly, and when no reply comes, she sneers slightly and slithers away. "Shave my poodle," Ed says.
Nancy turns down the promotion because Sarah rolled over and she missed the whole thing. Just wait until Sarah rolls her first joint -- that's one for the photo album.
Carol, sitting at home alone, stares at the silent phone briefly before grabbing it and dialing Ed. Taking a deep breath, she lies that her pipes burst again and she desperately needs his hands all over her body -- er, her leaking pipe. Slamming down the phone, Carol bolts downstairs and tries to cause a leak, then resorts to throwing buckets of water onto the floor.
A giant orange rings Carol's doorbell. Wait, it's only Ed, dressed in a puffy orange coat that doubles as reflective gear. He's sure purty and juicy, though. Carol takes Ed downstairs and feigns ignorance when a perplexed Ed can't quite see any leaking pipe. While they "wait for it to happen again," Carol suggests they divide the room in half and see who can mop their section first. The loser has to return to the scene of the soapbox crime and kiss the headwaiter on the lips. Ed, hungry for some action -- any action at all -- agrees eagerly. Carol cackles gleefully and bounds upstairs to get the mops. Amused, Ed watches her with a chuckle until his cell phone rings and disrupts his reverie. As Carol returns with two conveniently purchased mops in hand, Ed distractedly says he has to leave because Bonnie had Mr. Schaeffer tossed in jail again. "Ever have someone who just…" Ed pauses and sighs. "…Just gets under your skin?" Carol nods sadly. "Uh-huh," she breathes. Ed leaves, and Carol is left alone to mop up her watery mess with whatever towels she can find -- possibly including the red-carpet substitute Warren used. Wow. That, my friends, is bringing a recap full-circle.
week, Ed cracks Bonnie's veneer and manages to get asked on a date; Carol gets jealous and Ed calls her on it.