"Imagine that you're in a hammock. It's a summer day. Imagine that your show wasn't just canceled, and you weren't stuck in this limbo of the unbaptized: the post-mortem recap." Jason sits in his car listening to a relaxation therapy CD when Schultz startles him by rapping on the window. Schultz advises Payne that those relaxation CDs are "crap" and that, personally, he lets his mental health rise or fall depending on the quacky-sounding "scientific fact that you can't be angry and panicked at the same time, so just find something to get pissed off about and then, gone." The "gone" part seems about right.
A work crew is attempting to hoist the oversized couch in through a second-story window. I really wish they wouldn't go through so much trouble. Jason wonks around about "reeling some things in, especially since I'm paying for it. Did you get my memo?" and Schultz replies, "Yeah. What's with the memos? My office is like ten feet down the hall." Heh. But then he continues with the sad exposition of the no-longer relevant narrative: "I think those memos played an important role of your nervous breakdown. Your subsequent firing from Hawkins and Bates, your overall humiliation and fall from grace." Jason continues retracing the steps of last week's episode, reminding Schultz that his firm offered his old job back, "which for some bizarre reason I passed on to start a practice with you. Which at the rate we're going through money should last another two weeks." Oh, the hubris!
They walk into their Beach Law Bungalow (which came with their purchase of the limited edition Attorney Ken) to find an attractive young blonde. Jason recognizes her as "Madeleine," and she calls him "Mr. Payne" and gives him a hug. She tells him her husband is in trouble, and Jason can't believe the wittle giwl is married: "Husband? Last time I saw you, you were on your way to Stanford. How long have you been married?" She answers, "It's four months now. Ken and I both dropped out after our sophomore year and eloped." Wow, I can't believe this show is really going to take on the rampant cultural problem of Stanford students dropping out of school to…get married. Kudos for being so bravely topical, Head Cases. We learn that Madeleine's dad is, according to Jason, "protective" and according to the Li'l Mrs., "a total bastard." Schultz interrupts by yawning "I'm here" (no, really! He really does yawn!), and Payne finally introduces him to her, which give him a chance to clarify his until-now slightly inappropriate relation to this girl: "I've known Madeleine since she was a kid. She used to babysit Ryan." Okay, so she's not just some random cute girl, but his kid's former hot babysitter. Glad to see we got back on the wholesome track. Schultz's mind is equally as dirty, and he mumbles out an insinuating "That's what I'm talkin' about."
They sit down, and when Madeleine says she'd like some water, Schultz tells her that "all we have are pork rinds and pepperoni sticks." Tell me about it. Jason and Madeleine start talking about her husband's criminal problems while Goldberg hams it up in the background for no discernible reason. ["I believe the reason is that Goldberg is awesome." -- Sars] Apparently "Ken" has been charged "with arson and environmental terrorism. They say he blew up a car dealership." And not just any car dealership, her total bastard dad's dealership. I wonder if her dad actually did it for the insurance money? Oops, sorry, my brain sort of just made this whole episode unnecessary. It turns out that Goldberg's hamming was so that he could get worked up into one of his anger fits, and he does and no one is surprised. When he's finished, he comes over to the table and asks, "Wait a minute? Your husband's an elf?" Madeleine answers, "Uh-huh, and me too." Turns out Schultz used to be an elf. Jason is, like, SO confused: "I'm sorry? Elves?" which allows Schultz to breeze, "Yeah, ELF. You know, Environmental Liberation Front." The brave topicality of this episode just got even braver. NOTHING is more pressing than the problem of students dropping out of Stanford to not only get married, but also become environmental activists. What? Jason wants Madeleine to reconcile with her parents, but she refuses, saying they've shut her out and that "they don't even know that I'm pregnant yet." Stop the presses! A very boring item needs to be added to the society pages! The Li'l Mrs. begs Jason to help, saying that the public defender is pressuring Ken to plead guilty, and that she has money to pay Payne. Jason says he wouldn't be comfortable litigating against her father and ignores Schultz repeatedly saying he's comfortable with the case. The Li'l Mrs. gets up to leave, and Schultz follows.
Payne sighs his way over to his office for some well-needed levity after that difficult moment with his ex-hot-babysitter. And Richard Kind delivers! Payne has to avert his eyes from a naked Kind, playing a character named "Lou." He's sprawled on a couch, his private parts masked by stacks of unpacked boxes. What? I'm just describing the scene, which takes place in an office strewn with stacks of unpacked boxes. Jason prudishly looks heavenward while Lou explains that he was tidying up a bit when he decided to take a nap. Jason lifts his skirts to mince his way forward, asking Lou to "get dressed somewhere else," and Lou recognizes him by his crinolines: "You're Jason, aren't you?"
Courtroom. Schultz strides purposefully in yet another inappropriate-for-court snazzy Merc/Ben Sherman/Penguin/H&M suit, followed by the Li'l Mrs. He kicks the public defender to the curb, and sits down to his new client. I'm sure this happens all the time, lawyers waltzing in and out of courtrooms stealing clients. And oh lord, what a client. This kid looks like Alan Cumming but with even weirder eyebrows, even floppier hair, and a sphincter squeeze of a face. He farts out an ungrateful "If you're here to shove some deal down my throat like this tool for the system" when Schultz tells him to "Relax, all right? I was doing that thing for the environment when you were still waxing your weasel to Christina Aguilera." Hee. The judge interjects, "Did you say 'waxing your weasel'?" and I pity the show that has to employ the rusty mechanism of a hard-of-hearing old guy to repeat one of the few good adolescent jokes it manages to make. Blah blah blah about bail not bail. It's set at 25K, and while Schultz complains, the Li'l Mrs. hops up to say "I can pay his bail," to the surprise of her assface husband and her parents, but not me. Because I pay attention to contemporary culture, and I know that most pregnant nineteen-year-old Stanford dropouts, who drop out to get married and agitate on behalf of the environment -- statistically, most of them have cash for bail.
Credits. And since I won't ever get to comment on this again, I love how "downtown" Schultz is, walking in front of the Capitol Records building in his flat-front suit. Did my mom put these credits together?
Schultz walks into Jason's office: "Heard you met Lou." Jason responds brightly, "Yeah, I saw his penis. Do you think that's how I like to start my day? Looking at Lou's penis?" Man, it's like a bunch of really gay fish in a barrel around here. Schultz quips, "No, but I like how you keep saying 'penis.'" And how. According to Schultz, Lou is "their" paralegal, but Jason insists that he's only Schultz's paralegal. Jason doesn't want Schultz and Lou messing up his hair or rumpling his skirts, and he tells Schultz that both he and Lou need to stay out of his office. Schultz asks, "You've never heard of Lou Albertini? He's one of the most prominent civil rights attorneys in all of Baltimore." Oooh, that Lou Albertini. Jason isn't impressed: "And?" Schultz fails to impress: "And, he's not anymore." Schultz confesses that he took the Li'l Mrs.'s case, and Jason launches himself back into last week's episode, complaining once again about Dr. Robinson's "buddy system" therapy. Dude, if you don't like it so much, why are you already setting up your hot rollers in the Beachside Barrister Bungalow? And don't tell me you don't use hot rollers to get that body and volume, Chris O'Donnell. Schultz asks Jason for some help on the case; since his client is a hothead, and he is a hothead, he feels he needs someone to "balance things out a little bit." Jason agrees to go meet with the Bunghole, but says he needs a few minutes to put his lipstick on.
Around some random meeting table suspended in undifferentiated time and space. Sphincter Lips's case doesn't look so good. He has no character witnesses, and the D.A. doesn't believe the two elves who corroborated his alibi. Jason tells him, "They've got motive, they've got explosives in your garage." Heinie Face breaks wind: "It was a set-up!" when Jason advises him to take a deal. Floppy-Haired Ass Countenance gets all verklempt: "Oh, I should go to prison? Do you know car emissions kill 30,000 people a year?" Shut up, shut up, shut up! My god, I never thought a television show would turn me Republican, but this one nearly has. Shit-For-Face continues, "You don't like me, fine. Schultz told me what kind of lawyer you are." Jason is ready for an insult: "Oh, let me guess, a stooge for the system, a pawn for the man?" Then the Sphincter really lets one loose: "Reasonable. Calm. Someone who knows how to win." Acoustic guitar strumming of man love begins as Schultz and Jason exchange shy glances.
The cold, stony edifice of downtown Big Law. Jason walks between cubicles with a bouquet of flowers. He finds Nicole eating some chocolate and wonks, "Still have a sweet tooth?" Of course she does; your exodus from her workplace did not cause the sun to suddenly begin orbiting the earth, big guy. Jason makes her an offer she can refuse and asks, "How would you like making half as much money and working out of a crappy storefront in Venice?" Nicole plays dumb, and Jason tells her that his Big Time Law accomplishments were at least half due to her as to him. Nicole is sharp: "I thought that was going to be a compliment and then you turned it into how great you are. That was…impressive." Right on, girlfriend. She tells Jason that she is "awed by your talent. And, you know, the perfect hair." Heh, AGAIN! She tells Jason she can't leave but he keeps at the hard sell: "Do you really want to keep working for a bunch of stiffs like --" aaand, surprisingly, the very stiff he mentions walks up behind them! Heh, NOT. The stiff has brought a security guard with him, and Jason takes the opportunity just preceding his ejection to say, "The hair plugs are working out nicely." Okay, I'll admit it: HEH. Jason turns to Nicole before leaving and she just says, "Goodbye, Jason." Jerry Maguire this is not. Which is too bad, because I'm betting that movie is playing somewhere on cable right now.
A gazebo set amidst verdant gardens of crazy. Jason is complaining about Schultz to Dr. Robinson. WHAT A FREAKING SURPRISE. I'm wondering if the American Psychiatric Association was behind the cancellation. Jason Payne is so boring and his problems so repetitive, this show could possibly turn people away in droves from the mental health professions. Dr. Robinson tells Jason that Schultz isn't the problem, and Jason commands the doctor to tell him what the problem is because he "is paying him to." Dr. Robinson's incredulous look reveals that Jason isn't even paying him at the moment. I am now convinced the APA is behind the cancellation. Bored to tears and underpaid? Hell to the no. Jason starts jawing on about failing to lure Nicole into his vortex of a messed-up life, and how they were such a great team, and how she was the only one that "was more than willing to get in my face when I got too full of myself." How could someone be so full of himself while talking about being prevented from getting too full of himself? Dr. Robinson points out that he has never heard of Nicole before. Jason gets the point only after being stabbed in the eye with it: "You think I took her for granted?"
Golf course. Jason hits balls while Schultz watches. Schultz tells him that the Li'l Mrs. "dropped off a check for fifteen grand" when Jason wanks, "We're building a practice. We don't need to be representing radical fringe groups." Conveniently, the Li'l Mrs.'s parents walk up. They speak to one another in the dulcet tones of the rich: "Khaki pants, khaki pants." "Oh, ho, ho! Pastel collared shirt!" Total Bastard Dad makes an annoying joke about "You know what they say, drive for show, putt for dough!" when Schultz interjects, "Now, who says that exactly? Cuz I'd like to see about having them killed." Total Bastard Dad recognizes Schultz as "representing that punk that blew up my dealership" then blowhards on like richfolk tend to do. Schultz tries walking away, but when TBD calls him a "dirt bag" Jason has to hold him back. Total Bastard Dad wants to push the envelope, and what better and more realistic way to do that than start indicting Jason for having a breakdown. Because that is how it is in real life. Especially in Los Angeles, where rehabilitation treatment is still largely exotic and misunderstood. Jason doesn't take any guff, so he tells the bastard that he'll be representing Ken along with Schultz.
Commercials. Copy shop. Jason can't work one copier, while Schultz copies his face with another. As we know, I'm no fan of the Baby Man, but hanging out with someone who actually thinks it's funny to copy parts of their body like it's 1988 or something would get trying. Jason whines that they need to put the fifteen grand back into the law practice and that they need "some shred of order and routine around the office." I'm betting things are pretty calm and quiet at the now cancelled Beach Bungalow. Schultz tells Jason that he "blew through twelve hundred of my cut last night, but after that, sure." Jason can't understood what he spend the money on in one night and is further disbelieving when Schultz answers, "Karaoke." Jason says, "You can't spend twelve hundred dollars on karaoke." Schultz responds, "Depends on who you karaoke with. And what you mean by karaoke." I've actually been brought in as an outside expert to resolve this conflict, and I have to say: Schultz is right. You find yourself and twenty of your closest friends in a private room inside a Korean-run karaoke establishment, pressing a button to have beer brought in to you, and a Dance Dance Revolution machine in the corner, you're spending at least that much on karaoke. And, as further evidence of my expert knowledge, let me say truthfully that I never once had to look up how to spell "karaoke." The Wonder Twins talk law, law, law for a while until Lou ambles in telling them he's got a copier installed, so what are they doing there? Jason asks, "Where?" Where else could Lou be referring to but an R.V.? Oh, this show had such potential.
Courthouse. As they walk up to the door of the courtroom, Jason pauses and starts breathing deeply. Apparently this is the same courtroom he argued in the day he got kicked out of his house. He asks for a minute, the Desperate Heartbeats of Panic start taking over the soundtrack, and the editing goes all crazy and choppy. I hate this part. Schultz asks him if he's "spazzing out on me again?" and then starts talking in fast forward: "There's gotta be a limit to how many times a guy can spazz out. Princess, do I need to hold your hand?" until Jason yells out, "Just shut up, and let me handle this!" and snaps out of it. Schultz is triumphant: "See? No more self-help CDs. You got me, buddy."
Law-time courtroom stuff. The prosecution has solid witnesses of the nosy old lady sort. Cut to Schultz cross-examining "the sole eyewitness," a Richard Grieco look-alike, who was apparently injured in the explosion at the dealership. Schultz brings up that Grieco worked late that night with a fellow female employee. When Grieco starts saying it must have been shrapnel that injured him, Schultz goes all "Did you order the code red? Did you order the code red?" and slams his fist on the table: "I submit it was no shrapnel, sir! May I remind you you're under oath?" The judge interrupts to say, "We can do without the theatrics," and Schultz nods his head calmly: "Yeah, that was a little much, wasn't it?" Somehow, between Before That Joke and After That Joke, the Grieco character has decided to come clean, and starts relating how he and his co-worker were in one of the cars "when things began to get kind of heated. She started to, um…" and then trails off. Schultz raises an eyebrow, and finished his testimony for him: "So she, uh, took a trip downtown. And you, uh, presumably, closed your eyes. As any one of us would during such an act." Grieco is apparently so moved by Schultz's accurate depiction that he decides to really spill the beans: "When the explosion went off, she clamped down." Reaction shots of all the men in the courtroom moaning in discomfort. I sort of can't believe what a sausage fest this whole show has become. Schultz is really killing here, as he brings his randy litigating to a close: "You couldn't possibly have seen my client at all, isn't that right?" Reaction shots of Jason and Ass Face totally loving on Schultz, with one shot of the Li'l Mrs. in an attempt to de-gayify the whole scene. Doesn't work. And I am not complaining.
Commercials. Nicole walks up to her cubicle to find it full of boxes of chocolates and a note typed on her computer screen: "Help!! I need you. Fading fast, J." He really meant, "My heterosexuality seems to be fading, and I need a beard," but just didn't have time to type all that before security threw him out again.
The R.V. of Manly Love. Really grossly miked toilet flushing sound, and Lou comes out all surgeon's hands saying, "Finally gave in to the lure of the Rampager?" I guess that's what they're calling it these days. Schultz comes in and remarks that its "kinda gamey in here." This is why I love this show: enough gayness to keep my inner fag hag happy, enough hetero man-bonding over poo to keep my inner eight-year-old boy happy. I don't know why it didn't find an audience. Fag hags and eight-year-old boys? That's quite a demographic arc, if you ask me. Law, law, law. This proves that there is no setting wacky enough to distract from the boringness of legal dialogue. Schultz has discovered that Ken's alibi is 99% "li" and only .5% each of "a" and "bi." Holy shit, that was tortured. His alibi is a fake. There, that's better.
Attorney Ken's Beach Bungalow. The Sphincter is contracting over why he provided a fake alibi. And we can take a moment to notice that the girl cast as Madeleine has pretty much just sat, looking worried, to the Human Asshole for a Head this entire episode. There is no alibi, and Jason impugns Brown Betty's veracity, almost inciting a fight from which he would surely emerge covered in poo. Jason also funnily exclaims, "Oh, does Mr. Peace want to get into it now?" I love that line because it sounds exactly like something my dad would say about any given hippie. Oh, it turns out that Jason was "applying that anger technique" to show the Poo Mouth that he can't be so hotheaded during the trial. More law, more law. Begging by the woman, and the scene slowly fades out to…
Noooooooo! Crazy careening camera transition! How could we make it through two entire commercial breaks without one crazy careening transition, only to be subjected to it now? It is nighttime now, which I NEVER would have gotten just from the fact that it is dark on the screen, and Schultz and Lou are eating dinner, and so I am so very thankful about the careening transition. Apparently Lou was a bank robber, in addition to being a civil rights lawyer, but I guess we'll never know much more about that wacky character trait. Schultz sighs over not having a particular defense or alibi and then concludes, "You know what we gotta do." Lou helpfully fills in the blank: "Blame it on the other guy." And then they commence casting about for a possible stooge. Schultz decides that he wants to go visit the other elves on the hunch that given a group of environmental activists, somebody has to have an arrest record.
Establishing shot of a suburban home. In the basement, a number of uber-nerds play video games and read comics. At least a few of them appear to be drinking forties, and when one decides to pour some out for unspecified "fallen homies," King Uber-Nerd says, "Dude, could you please not spill on my mom's carpet?" Schultz tries to get them to dish about illegal activities, sharing that one time back in the day he and a bunch of elves intercepted a shipment of furs and dumped it in Long Beach Harbor. The tree huggers seem scared by this anecdote. So Lou steps in with a story about being in college, getting wasted, and chopping down a thousand-year-old tree before Schultz remarks, "Good story, Lou. Wrong crowd," as the geeks look on in tie-dyed horror. Schultz tries again to get them to talk about their "stunts" when the King Geek comes down carrying a tray with oven mitts: "Check it out! Soy muffins!" Even though The Simpsons paved this satiric road like fifteen years ago, I'll never tire of making fun of hippies, so I've enjoyed this scene. As Schultz gets up to leave, the head of the gang urges that he take "a soy muffin. For the road," to which Schultz responds, "Is that the name of your autobiography?" Ha! Double ha, since one of my pastimes is coming up with autobiography titles for my friends. My favorite so far has been for my friend Dan, whose autobiography will be titled My Mother the Remora. But perhaps I've gotten off point here. Schultz concludes that these guys are pansies who "couldn't blow up a sex doll," tells Lou they should find out if "pretty boy has any ideas," and then bids the pansies a "peace out."
Another crazy careening transition! Jason meets the Li'l Mrs. at an outdoor coffee shop. She hands him an envelope that turns out to contain records of gambling debts that she found in her parents' office. I pretend like I didn't call this from minute two. Jason warns her that these sheets might send her father to prison, and she tearfully says, "Ken is my husband." This episode has definitely taught me many things today, and hopefully it has you too. Most of all, it is my wish that this episode has taught college-age women not to marry the environmentally-conscious goobers they all date during their sophomore year.
Attorney Ken's Beach Bungalow. Thundercats, ho! The three have collected back at their meeting place to discuss how to find Bastard Dad's bookie. Lou thinks he knows who the bookie is, but is skeptical of Jason's insistence that the bookie testify in court: "They tend to be shy, but I'll try." Schultz cajoles, "Lou? Remember what Yoda said," and Lou answers, "Do or do not. There is no try." Aaand in the space of just a few sentences I have written about Barbie and Ken, Thundercats, and Yoda. This show has officially made me regress. Lou leaves, and Schultz asks Jason if he really thinks Bastard Dad did this. Jason answers, "Does it matter?" and we are supposed to be shocked that he is displaying such ambivalence about right and wrong. All right, I'm "shocked."
Commercials. Out front of the Beach Bungalow. Nicole rushes up to Jason, babbling, "If I am going to work for you, I need you to understand. I am glad you are going through whatever it is you are going through. I mean you do seem much better… Unfortunately I live in the real world," and then proceeds to try to get the meaning of this through his well-insulated head. She has student loans, a mortgage, night classes, blah blah blah. When Jason tries to sell her on what! fun! this! will! be! she interrupts to say she isn't looking for an adventure. She just needs a steady paycheck, of the same amount she currently makes. She continues on, making strident demands like "no work on Sunday or Tuesday nights" but then qualifying those demands, "Unless, of course, it's an emergency." Oh, women! They're such pushovers! Jason asks her to start right then, and she and her incredibly thin ankles follow him into the Bungalow.
Inside the bungalow. Schultz storms into Jason's office and seethes through clenched teeth that "that Hawkins and Bates chick is in there organizing my office." They play a little game of "My Secretary Is Better Than Yours" and it turns out that Jason does know that Lou spent five years in Attica for bank robbery. Why is it always Attica? Schultz pleads with Jason to just keep her out of his office, "cuz she's color-coding stuff."
Schultz's office. Nicole is wearing cleaning gloves and disposing of moldy Chinese food containers. Oh, women! They go to college so that they can become secretaries and clean up after men! They are so sweet! Nicole interrupts Schultz's insistence that he doesn't need her to tell him that she "found this under a pair of pants." Apparently it's something that needs to be filed downtown that day. Lou walks in on them and gets a bit jealous: "Well, well. The future Mrs. Schultz?" Oh, women! Whenever they elbow their way into a boys' club it's to probably marry, or at least sleep with, one of the guys! They're such grasping sluts! Schultz hands Lou the unfiled document and tells him to "get your head in the game." Nicole hopes Lou isn't in trouble. Oh, women! College-educated and still worrying about "getting in trouble" with their bosses. They are so amenable to authority! Lou also tells Nicole to stay out of Schultz's office, saying that "we don't need your big-firm tricks around here, missy." One half of a "heh."
Crazy! Careening! The courthouse. The Sphincter tries to convince Schultz to put him on the stand. Great idea. When the Li'l Mrs. says maybe they should run this by Jason, who is not there for some reason, Schultz gets touchy: "Excuse me. I don't need to run every decision by Jason." Ass Face poops out some lines about wanting to tell the truth on the stand for the sake of his baby. The Li'l Mrs. moves closer to him and they murmur about the Man Heinie going to prison, until Schultz interrupts: "Could the three of us make love?" His reaction shot is great, as he shakes his head in confusion over what he just blurted out.
The Sphincter takes the stand, grandstanding about the great American tradition of disagreement and not believing in change through violence. Oh, put a sock in it, Kerry/Edwards '05. On cross-examination, the D.A. pulls out a surprise video with footage of Butt Lips agitating in front of the dealership. This doesn't seem particularly incriminating to me, but everyone in the courtroom looks pretty down about it.
Hallway outside courtroom. Schultz, Li'l Mrs., and Butt Face sit with hangdog expressions. Jason walks up and asks what happened. Li'l Mrs. blames Schultz for putting her goober husband on the stand and then says, "The D.A. made him look like a lunatic." There's a very thin line between appearance and reality, kid. Jason is irritated, Schultz is defensive, no one has heard from Lou. Maybe he got downwind of this show and decided to bail early? Jason asks if Schultz is ready to close and he responds by saying he's going to hide in the toilet, and tells Jason to stall.
A backroom poker game. Lou is on his cell phone at the table, which I'm pretty sure is a no-no, though I'm not positive, as my gambling expertise is in slots, and any other game of no skill. Schultz is talking in an excited tone, telling Lou to get to court right now with the bookie, while Lou is cool as a cucumber, telling him not to worry, that he takes "care of my job, you take care of yours." The camera cuts to a man who as much as any human being I've ever seen looks like a fat little Tyrannosaurus Rex, with the rectangular head set at a right angle with his body, and little wavy arms out front. Plus, he's wearing sunglasses, so he looks like some demented museum curator's attempt to make dinosaurs "cool" to kids by putting one in a Hawaiian shirt and Ray-Bans. Lou makes small talk with the T-Rex Bookie, until he growls out a "come on, come on" and Lou decides to go all in. The bookie folds and then demands to see Lou's hand. Lou tells him he'll show him only if T-Rex gives him something in return. Lou gets the promise and then reveals that he had a seven of spades and a four of diamonds, or, as T-Rex barks, "Nothing!"
Back in the courtroom, Jason can't stall for Schultz any longer. Schultz comes in apologizing for his "irritable bowel syndrome" and then begins his closing. Which begins with him saying he'd "like to discuss the closing argument in general and its historical relevance to our jurisprudence." So Schultz embarks on an incredibly boring legal history, starting with Pliny and "the swelling bosoms of Mrs. Pliny" and continuing on to discuss the modern popularity of bruschetta, which on the whole is pretty damn funny. He's finally called to the bench, along with Jason and the D.A. The judge says he may not care for Schultz, but he does think he's a good attorney. Schultz is flattered. The judge continues, "So why are you giving the most asinine closing I've ever heard?" The judge tells him he's finished. Jason, on hearing Schultz whisper, "Keep stalling," takes another tack. He claims that he thinks Schultz is in the middle of a psychotic episode and that his client is entitled to a sane closing argument. I think their client would need to go to another show altogether to find that. Just before we have to sit through another episode of Run This Decent Joke Into The Ground, Lou finally arrives and hands them a piece of paper. Schultz calls the Total Bastard to the stand. The most inane cross-examination follows, as Jason asks the Bastard if he recognizes the bookie, then in response to the Bastard's predictable denial, asks if he should call the Bastard's wife, to which the Bastard asks, "What are you talking about?" and then the D.A. interrupts, "Objection! What are you talking about?" To which I add, "What is anyone talking about, and why do they continue doing so so long after the show's cancellation?"
Then, of course, we move nonsensically outside the courtroom, to a Hallway Suspended on the Tri-Partite Cusp Between Here and There and Nowhere. The Thundercats show the Total Bastard the piece of paper and he looks on it with confusion. Jason reveals, "These are your gambling debts, aren't they, Mrs. Girard?" OH NO THEY DI'INT! We thought it was the Total Bastard Dad, but really it was the Gamblin' Fool Mama who tried to both commit insurance fraud and dispose of a goober son-in-law. Schultz confronts her about doing this to her daughter's husband until she exclaims in frustration to him, "Don't you ever shut up?" giving Jason the opportunity to shake his head in brightly mock agreement, "No, he doesn't!" Gamblin' Fool Mama blurts out her hatred for the goober son-in-law and then confesses she figured she'd kill two birds with one stone. Jason wraps the scene up with some convenient moralizing, telling her that her daughter deserved a whole lot better.
Crazy careening camerawork! And, I must confess, I get a little teary, as this is the last crazy careening transition I'll ever see. Hopefully. Nicole knocks on Jason's office door to hand him his daily calendar. He points out that it's empty, and that he doesn't need it on days when he doesn't have anything scheduled. Nicole goes into Type A mode and babbles about not getting in the habit of skipping days because then on days when he does have something scheduled she might not remember to give it to him. All this talk of a future present that will never come to be has me a bit philosophically muddled. I think I might go curl up with some Nietzsche or something.
Outside the Attorney Ken Beach Bungalow, a sunny Rilo Kiley song plays as Lou cuts star fruit on a little laptop cutting board. Schultz enjoys the fruits of this labor (ouch) when Nicole comes out, reminding them the fruit basket was addressed to Jason. Oh, cram it, lady -- you've got approximately 18 seconds left on this show, so why don't you loosen up and live a little already? Jason comes out and tells Nicole to relax about the papaya, and I'm thinking, is this what fruit baskets in L.A. are like? Star fruit and papaya? Sign me up! I'm sick of sallow Midwestern pears and mealy apples. You know, the imaginary ones I get in my imaginary fruit baskets. Well, I'm saved from ascending to the Great Fruit Basket in the Sky by the end of this episode, wherein Schultz and Jason are left alone on the stoop considering the prospect of working together "all day, every day, forever," when Jason puts on an inexplicable New York accent to say the final words of what is now a tragic set-piece: "Pass the papaya." Pass the papaya, indeed.