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The Big News: Shaun is totally missing. We should have listened to that nonsense-spewing weirdo when we had the chance.
So yeah, Cissy goes into Shaun's bedroom one morning, and while his wetsuit and skateboard and juggling balls are there, he is most definitely not. As you can expect, Cissy freaks right the hell out. As you might not expect, everyone leaps into action -- Butchie confronts Cass about John's whereabouts and slugs Linc and winds up believing that wherever Shaun and John have gone off to, they're going to return no worse for wear. Linc makes noises about hiring a private investigator and comforts Tina, who has concluded that, somehow, this is all her fault. Dickstein composes a response to Shaun's abductors. Ramon cooks many, many hot dogs. Dr. Smith comforts a very unhinged Cunningham. Freddy prays to God, though honestly, it sounds more like a threat. Vietnam Joe enlists the help of his VFW buddies to comb the neighborhood looking for Shaun. Bill looks up his old friend Anderson from the police force, who proves surprising receptive to helping Bill out. Everyone deciphers the stick figure messages that start appearing in Avon catalogs and on the wall of the Snug Harbor bar.
The Unfortunate News: Zippy also disappears. Oh Zippy -- would that it were any one of a number of characters other than you. Daphne. Dwayne. Mitch. Yes -- Mitch. I would definitely be OK with Mitch's disappearance.
The Really Unfortunate News: Mitch comes back from Mexico and he brings the guy who used to play Dr. Johnny Fever with him. Cissy is as delighted to see him as you would expect -- i.e., not very -- though Mitch does overcome his astounding self-absorption to aid in the Shaun recovery efforts.
The Unexpected News: I...uh...kinda liked this episode. I know, I know -- I'm as unsettled by this as the rest of you. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously, on John From Blue Ash: John goes to great lengths -- even to taping a video -- to let us know that "Shaun will soon be gone." Now what do you suppose he meant by that? Eh. Probably nothing. I'm sure it's the last we'll ever hear of it.
Credits. Let's go disappearing now. Everybody's learning how. C'mon and go vanish with me.
We begin as a particularly shaky handheld camera makes its way up what is a decidedly non-Imperial-Beach-based shoreline -- the lack of hypodermics strewn in the sand is your giveaway -- until we arrive where some old dude is sitting, meditating. Wait a minute...can it be...that's Howard Hesseman. Howard Hesseman who played Dr. Johnny Fever. Howard Hesseman who played Dr. Johnny Fever on WKRP Cincinnati, making him the first actor ever to pull off the coveted Cincinnati-in-the-show-title double-player. I feel like we need to stop the show right now to hold a brief ceremony. The only thing cooler than this would be if Bailey Quarters and Dr. Venus Flytrap were there, too.
Meanwhile, morning has broken in the Yost household. Good morning, living room. Good morning, Shaun's wetsuit hanging up in the tub. Good morning, Cissy going to check on Shaun. Good morning, bed indentation where Shaun used to be lying but isn't now. Good morning, Shaun's juggling balls and skateboard. Good morning, skateboard helm...wait, go back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Shaun was nowhere to be found in that room -- as if he were once here, but now gone. Wow, if only someone had tried to warn us about that somehow. Like in a video. Ah well -- spilt milk now.
So, did your household have a "How will Cissy react to this?" betting pool? If you had "scream 'Shaun! Shaun!' in an increasing frantic and high-pitched manner until the lines 'He's gone! My God!' are delivered in a frequency only dogs can hear," then please collect your bets. By now, Cissy has run outside, where her shrieks have woken Palaka, who was reclining outside in a lawn chair. He leaps to his feet and strikes the sort of karate poses that Elvis used to smite smart-mouthed college boys in movies like Roustabout and Spinout. Bill and Freddy also stagger groggily out of their cars. "Kai," Cissy screams into her cell phone, "Shaunie's gone." He's not the only one -- Bill goes to pull Zippy's cage out of the back seat of Freddy's rental, and that's empty, too. OK, Monad -- fun's fun with the kid and all, but when Zippy goes missing, you've made a powerful enemy, friend, and one with a long memory to boot. Ask the people at Top Design what happens when you cross me. "What's Top Design?" you ask? Exactly.
As if this episode couldn't take an even more dismal turn, we're treated to the sight of Mitch walking back into our lives. He was the one walking toward poor Johnny Fever on the beach there. "Erlemeyer," Mitch says. Like the flask? No, I guess that would Erlenmeyer, wouldn't it? Maybe Erlemeyer is the off-brand kind of flask, the kind you'd buy a flat of at Costco. At any rate, I'll still go with Johnny Fever. Anyhow, Mitch introduces himself to the good doctor; it seems they knew each other back in the day, when Dr. Johnny went by the name of The Chemist. "Baby, if you ever wondered," The Chemist says, "wondered whatever became of me? I'm living on the air in Cincinnati. Cincinnati, WKRP." Actually, he says no such thing; instead he smiles dryly and says, "Well, I don't do that any more, Mitch...if that's why you're here." That's not why Mitch is here -- he's wondering if Dr. Johnny still gets visions and whatnot. "I try to stay eligible," Dr. Johnny replies. "I pray. I fast. I meditate. I try not to resent people I haven't seen in twenty years coming down and taking my temperature." Mitch -- I don't think he's referring to Herb Tarlek there. Maybe you should get to the point. The point, Mitch says, is that he's experienced a whole bunch of freaky shit lately -- see "levitation" and "Shaun, resurrection from the dead by" -- and no herbal supplements whatsoever were involved. Oh, and there's a weirdo hanging around Mitch's family, particularly his son -- "The analgesic pioneer," Dr. Johnny Fever mutters -- who may or may not be an alien. "Do I cross a line here, Mitch," Johnny Fever begins, "if I ask, with all this shaking up there, why you're down here?" Because he's a self-involved choad? "I lost my nerve," Mitch offers. Well, that, too. Dr. Johnny wonders if Mitch lost his nerve charging the Big Pipe. "The Big Pipe is easy," Mitch says. "Dry land is hard." Until the words "Man, am I a tool" pass his lips, that's probably the closest Mitch will come to insight, so revel in it, children. Anyhow, Dr. Johnny Fever suggests that maybe he and Mitch should head back across the border to see what all the hubbub is about.
Tina is woken up in bed at the hotel by a ringing phone, and if that's annoying -- and believe me, it is, since my cell-phone number is apparently one digit off from a local 7-Eleven and many of my slumbers have been interrupted by someone inquiring if I've received the day's bread delivery -- then it is infinitely more annoying when the voice on the other end of the line is Cissy's. "Say something, you prick," Cissy snarls. Not that I'm much of an etiquette expert, but that's an awfully casual greeting. Anyhow, Cissy thought she was getting a hold of Linc. She's not, Tina explains, because Linc is out jogging. And no, Shaun's not jogging with him or on some promotional jaunt. And he's not with Tina on "another fucking jaunt to SeaWorld," as Cissy puts it, either. Tina posits that perhaps Shaun is surfing, but Cissy counters that his wetsuit is hanging in the bathtub. "Don't you think I know where his fucking wetsuit is?" Cissy asks, not entirely politely. At the same time, Tina is trying to wedge her way into a pair of jeans and curses silently under her breath. Cissy thinks the cursing is directed at her, and the predictable hilarity ensues. Tina offers to go find Linc and bring him his cell phone. "Yeah, don't forget to go drown yourself," Cissy adds. Charming -- hard to believe Mitch would rather hang out in Mexico with supporting characters from early '80s sitcoms than drink that in every day.
Speaking of Mexico, we're back down there, with Mitch offering Dr. Johnny Fever a ride back to the border in his woodie. Hey, no thanks there, Mitchie -- Dr. Johnny's got his own ride: a 1970s sedan with a camper soldered onto the top. "I drew a full house against a flush," Dr. Johnny says proudly. Yes, the $23.80 pot you collected must have been quite the haul for you. There's some funny business with Dr. Johnny trying to get his car started and about him and Mitch giving each other contradictory hand signals about who should drive first in what direction, but I'm most struck by the fact that Mitch is apparently such an unpleasant traveling companion that someone would rather take a chance on a vehicle that falls somewhat short of the dependable ground transportation so many of us take for granted.
At the Snug Harbor, Butchie is awoken by the only thing worse than an early-morning screeching phone call from Cissy -- the sound of her squealing tires as her Miata pulls up in the parking lot. Summary of conversation: Shaun's gone; no, he's not surfing; yes, I called Kai; hey, what about that weirdo friend of yours -- where's he? "That skinny bitch with the camera's place," Butchie mutters, meaning Cass's hotel room. He vows to pay her a visit forthwith. Cissy stares off into space, trying to contemplate whom to yell at .
Heartbreaking scene here: Bill is in his house, clutching Zippy's empty cage to his chest. I am totally serious -- I haven't been this choked up since the end of Gallipoli. "I put him in against a whole different weight class," Bill moans to no one in particular. "They wiped him from the face of the earth." And on top of Zippy's disappearance, Shaun is gone, too -- Bill is handling neither fact well, considering that both disappearances happened on his watch. "Stand watch and fail, stand watch and fail, and lose 'em all one after the other," Bill says with mounting distress.
Also not taking Shaun's disappearance well: Freddy. Palaka is giving him the rundown of the extraordinary measures taken to ensure Shaun's safety -- summary: Not Palaka's fault! -- but Freddy isn't having any of it. "I oughta break your other fucking wrist," he snarls as they return to the Snug Harbor. "That kid had to have turned into mercury and...and oozed below my watch post at that fence and turned into a tiny silver ball," Palaka hypothesizes, not entirely with any basis in fact. Naturally, Freddy takes this as an indictment of his sentry skills, but Palaka protests that's not what he's saying at all. Meanwhile, Butchie emerges fully dressed from his room and walks over to his van to confront Cass about John. First, however, he must contend with the prospect of burning hot pavement. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Fuck!" he screams, as he high-steps it across the parking lot. Ramon is drinking all this in from the office as he sips his anti-dioxin tea.
Back to Freddy and Palaka in their suite: Palaka is ranting on and on about how it's bad luck to buy a gift and not give it to the intended recipient. And soon we see why -- he bought Freddy a sunglass-wearing, leather-clad teddy bear ("Bought it for good luck, specifically for you and your visit to the mainland," Palaka says), but never got around to giving it to him on account of that sudden, unexpected wrist fracture. "Disaster upon disaster ever since," Palaka continues. "Never a streak as worse as this." Freddy responds to this belated gesture by seizing the teddy bear from Palaka's outstretched arms and hurling it out the door into the parking lot. I can envision the letter to Miss Manners now: Dear Miss Manners:
As a goodwill gesture to my boss, I bought him a teddy bear to commemorate a recent business trip. But he did not take my gift in the manner in which I intended. How ever can I save face with him the time he comes to visit?
Signed,
Dismayed in Imperial Beach.
Dear Dismayed:
Might I suggest matching tattoos from a disreputable parlor?
Anyhow, Palaka scurries to recover the bear and returns it to Freddy -- "For the boy," he whimpers -- who strides out into the parking lot, espies Cunningham and his hybrid car, and approaches. He flings the teddy bear at Cunningham's feet -- "For the boy! That boy Shaun's gone," he snarls -- and marches back to his room. Hey, Teddy's got a play date! Cunningham heads over to the abandoned bar that caused him such agita in the last episode.
Hey, everyone -- it's Dr. Smith! He's letting himself into a vacated and not altogether sanitary-looking office space. His expression goes from hopeful confidence to overwhelmed dismay in about the time it takes him to walk down a dilapidated hallway. That's interspersed with shots of Cunningham walking into a bar with a forced grin on his face -- you can understand his discomfort once you see the shot of a visibly decaying, still-gray Mr. Rollins sitting at one of the tables and Shaun sitting at the bar. Back to Dr. Smith, who all but sprints out of the crappy office. I guess we're supposed to draw parallels between their general discomfort.
So Tina's at the beach now, where she's found Linc mid-jog. We get a repeat of the Shaun-isn't-with-you?-why-is-he-missing? song-and-dance number, only this time with Tina blaming herself. "I shouldn't have come down here," she snipes. Linc pooh-poohs that notion, while simultaneously leaping into find-the-boy mode. It's a rare man that can offer comfort while simultaneously marshalling a vast army of flunkies to do his bidding -- hold on to him tight, Tina.
Oh good -- it's Dwayne. We all know what plot-stopping fun he brings to the party. Though in fairness, this time he's gotten what appears to be another message from John, and, unlike last week, we don't have to wait half the episode to get clued in on the big secret. It's another one of those stick figure drawings, only this time, the larger stick figure is accompanied by a slightly smaller one. (John and Shaun?) Also, the larger stick figure appears to have a small semi-circle in the chest area, giving the appearance of a slight bulge. (Zippy stuffed in a pocket? Some sort of man-boob?) "It's conceivable this is meant to be reassuring," Dwayne offers. "The last tape showed on figure on the sheet behind Butchie's friend, and Butchie's friend said, 'Shaun will soon be gone.'" Excellent recap so far, Dwayne -- would you like to handle the rest of this week's gig? "This tape shows two figures on the sheet," Dwayne continues, "and no speaker. Assume one of the figures is Butchie's friend, the other is Shaun...and both are now gone...that's a confirmation of the message." Jerri, who's been pacing behind Dwayne during this summation, doesn't find that particularly reassuring, unless you were trying to reassure her that John's some sort of sadistic creep, because she would be totally on board with that hypothesis. While Dwayne and Jerri engage in a spirited debate over John's intentions -- and where is the debate over the Zippy-shaped man-boob-like bulge, I ask you? -- Dickstein knocks on the glass door to the café. "It's me, Meyer Dickstein," he helpfully shouts through the door, even though he is plainly visible. Jerri agrees that Dickstein's being something of a dip: "Don't I fucking know who you are?" she asks. "And doesn't that sign at your balls say 'Closed'?" Right on both counts -- but Dickstein is adamant. He had a dream he was supposed to come to the café, you see. I had a dream I was supposed to take my eighth-grade chemistry test that I didn't study for; I guess both of us are going to be disappointed. At this point, Cissy storms in, ignoring the "Closed" sign at Dickstein's balls and shoving him out of the way for good measure, to tell Jerri that Shaun's gone. "We know," Dwayne says, his eyes riveted to the computer screen.
The double-stick-figure video clip is also on the screen of the computer in Cass's room, where Butchie is knocking on the door to inquire as to John's whereabouts. "He's not here," Cass says through the door, before adding softly, "that I'm aware of." Butchie asks if he might come in for just a second. And by "come in," he means burst through the door, pin Cass up against the wall with a finger against her chest, and snarl, "Your roommate took my kid." It's hard to tell if Cass is more disturbed by Shaun's disappearance or the determined look in Butchie's eye, but she agrees to tell him what she knows about John's comings and goings.
Back at the café, Dwayne is finishing another dissertation on how the message could well mean that Shaun is safe, but Jerri and Cissy aren't buying it. Jerri suggests that maybe it's a ransom note as opposed to a threat, while Cissy frets that it could be both. "Wouldn't this be a good time to involve the police?" Dwayne asks tentatively, proposing a question you probably arrived at ten minutes ago. "Sure," Cissy scoffs. "They hate us, and who the hell do we say John is?" Yeah, not really following the logic there, Cissy -- I'm pretty sure the police have to at least go through the motions of investigating a crime, even if they don't much like you or if the perpetrator is a bit of an odd duck. Anyhow, Cissy's already stormed out to go looking for Shaun, leaving Dickstein, Jerri, and Dwayne to draft a response to Shaun's abductors. It's sure to be florid and filled with many complex sentences, I'd guess.
Back at the hotel room, Cass is screening the footage she's shot of John for Butchie. To Butchie's credit, he did not pass out from boredom several minutes ago. "Where's the fucking canoe trip to Yosemite?" he finally asks. Oh, how Mr. Sobell laughed and laughed and laughed some more when he heard this line. At last -- someone else recognizes that Cass's stupid movie is about as interesting as watching vacation slides. He got you, Cass -- he got you good. In the meantime, Cass walks us through John's creative process: "He'd say 'drive,' and then he'd say, 'stop,' and then he'd say 'work here.'" Too bad he didn't also say, "Film something more interesting." Anyhow, Butchie's seen enough of Scenes From My Day With a Weirdo. Cass suggests that maybe John is operating on some form of automatic pilot. "Yeah, maybe he's a commercial plane," Butchie mutters. No, no, let's hear Cass out: "Like he hears something, and his program tells him what to say back." If that's the case, Butchie wonders, who came up with that programming? Perhaps the great Programmer In The Sky. Or His interns. Yeah, most likely His lowly paid, somewhat resentful interns. That would explain so much about John. Anyhow, Butchie scribbles down some phone numbers for Cass -- his, Cissy's, Tina's -- and orders her to call should John show up. Then he apparently feels bad about that whole barging-in-and-poking-Cass-in-the-chest business: "Did I hurt your tit or anything?" he asks regretfully. He did not. Fellas, be sure to work that phrase into your regular lexicon, and watch your reputation for gallantry skyrocket.
At the beach, Kai emerges from a morning of surfing and checks her voicemail. She listens to the message that Cissy left earlier, which means we listen too, since Cissy delivered it loudly enough to drown out nearby jet engines. Shaun's gone. Really? Wow.
And now, we get to watch a montage of Cissy walking the streets of Imperial Beach and showing Shaun's photo off to random passersby -- mostly fishermen at the pier in this clip -- so that they can shake their heads to indicate that no, they haven't seen that boy anywhere. To her credit, Cissy moves on the passerby without showering the last one with abuse or trying to kick anyone in the shins. Seriously, you wouldn't be surprised if she did, would you?
Bill is still in his house mourning the loss of Zippy when he hears some very pointed chirping. "Zip?" he asks hopefully, getting up out of his chair and walking over to where a white cockatoo is perched in a cage. "Zip, is that you?" Bill repeats, before his eyes widen and his voice becomes mockingly apologetic. "Please forgive me," Bill says. "How could I have been so mistaken?" There's a pause before Bill adds in a regal voice, "Your wish is my command, your ladyship. It's Bill Jacks, commencing recon for both the missing." He grabs Zippy's empty cage and turns back to the cockatoo: "And please forgive me," he adds, "for being so slow on the uptake." His eyes are still wide as he heads out of the house: "Never once communicated in the fifteen years," he says of the cockatoo. Maybe it's because she had nothing worth sharing before.
Cunningham emerges from the Snug Harbor's bar. "(Breathing shakily)" is how the closed-captioning describes it, and that's putting it mildly -- Cunningham looks wrecked. And he looks even worse when Dr. Smith strolls by and greets him. "Go away," Cunningham hisses, extending his hands like they were claws -- think a very clean-cut troll or a lizard with fabulous skin. Dr. Smith is understandably concerned that Cunningham doesn't seem like his normally chipper self, but approaching Cunningham only makes him more agitated. "This is my property," Cunningham screeches as he backs up the stairs and curls into a crouching, defensive position. "I'll have you arrested...don't touch me! Don't put your hands on me!" Dr. Smith decides to try a different tack: "I've had terrible dreams, too," he begins. Cunningham counters that the doctor's dreams can't possibly be as terrible as his, and looking at Cunningham, I'm willing to take him at his word. "I dreamed about Butchie's son," Cunningham says, in between agitated gasps for air. "There in the bar. Now he's gone." Dr. Smith points out that things don't happen in real life just because they happen in dreams -- which is good, because if they did, I'd be the center fielder for the Oakland A's, which would mean I'm missing a game in Detroit right now -- but Cunningham is inconsolable. "No one should go in there!" Cunningham shouts. "I should have leveled the place." And give up your dreams of the stage? Dr. Smith suggests that maybe he and Cunningham head into the bar. "Are you crazy?" Cunningham demands. Dr. Smith considers the question: "Definitely," he answers, taking Cunningham by the hand. Palaka observes all of this from across the parking lot: "The doctor is in," he says. Oh, Palaka -- Freddy should punch you in the solar plexus on principle for that one.
Back at the pier, a no-longer-montaged Cissy stumbles upon Vietnam Joe. Hey, Joe -- did you know that Shaun is missing? Then you're just about the last recurring character to find out. Joe hasn't seen Shaun today, but he did spy him yesterday when he was "out here with that frat boy." Cissy looks distraught -- frat boy? You mean this is some sort of hazing stunt involving the TKEs? No, no -- Joe means "that tall drink of water with the poodle haircut," or John, for those of you unmoved by Vietnam Joe's descriptive prowess. Joe offers to check into Shaun's disappearance and bring his VFW buddies in on the search, too. "I'd be the last one to say he's not strange," Joe offers by way of comfort. "But I'd-a said 'til now he's harmless." It's always the tall drinks of water with the poodle haircuts that you've got to keep an eye on.
Butchie has reunited with Kai at the surf shop, and we join them mid-reassuring-embrace, as Butchie tries to develop his John's-operating-on-automatic-pilot hypothesis. And laugh if you want, but it's not exactly the worst theory ever advanced on this show, not after Cunningham's "I'm going to turn this horrible bar into a high-class theatre!" and Palaka's "I know -- matching tattoos!" brainstorms were put into practice. "John would hurt himself before he'd hurt Shaunie," asserts Butchie, recalling that John "can't even take a dump...how's he going to be a master criminal?" Kai agrees, recalling the time John asked her if she "dumped out." Yeah -- good times, good times. Seriously -- they apparently were good times. "That he said, trying to make me feel better," Kai says. "Sweet and stupid. Like you." Ah, but if John wants Kai and Butchie to feel better, Kai wonders, why did he take Shaun? Well, that's one of those eternal questions, isn't it -- why do bad things happen to good people? Why do the good die young? What's with all this 'dumping out' talk? These are the questions philosophers have struggled with for ages. Butchie posits that John did all this "because his pilot's got him on override." "If John's on override," Kai counters, "how do we know he wouldn't hurt Shaun?" Hey, Kai -- stop asking difficult questions. Anyhow, Butchie says that won't happen "because John's automatic pilot wouldn't be an asshole." Seems logical to me.
Just then, Tina walks into the shop to find Butchie and Kai in each other's arms. Wow -- the father of the formerly estranged child you just got in touch with a few days ago, hugging another woman. How...not terribly awkward for any of you at all. Seriously, I don't think "My Kid's Father Who I'm Not Romantically Involved With Seems To Be Interested in Someone Else" sounds like much of a kick-ass theme for Maury Povich's show. Still, Tina looks mildly put out. Butchie says they're talking about Shaun and how they know he's going to be all right. "How?" Tina demands. Whatever explanation Butchie offers, it's going to be off-camera, because we cut to outside the shop, where Linc is standing with Zack Morris. And this is uncomfortable for me as your recapper, since I figured we would never seem him again after Linc thoroughly outwitted him, so I never bothered to learn his name. It's Jake, by the way. I think I'm going to stick with Zack Morris, unless you people demand otherwise.
Anyhow, Linc and Zack Morris are brainstorming ideas for finding Shaun. Zack Morris suggests hiring the private investigator from nearby Del Mar who "made Wonder Boy's date-rape thing go away." Wow, he said that a little bit more casually than you'd care to hear, as if allegations of sexual assault are bothersome hassles like engine trouble or telemarketing calls during dinner. I'm not sure you're an ethical dude, Zack Morris. Anyhow, Linc thinks it's a swell idea to use that P.I., but mostly, he seems preoccupied by the sight of Butchie's van outside the surf shop, which suggests that Butchie is inside. Things ended poorly between Butchie and Linc, if you recall. And if you don't, Butchie walks out of the shop right then and catches sight of Linc; he begins striding purposefully toward Linc, who is now turning several different shades of white. If I didn't know better, I'd say the look that flashed across Linc's face strongly suggests that his sphincter just puckered. "Every fucking promise I ever made, I broke," Butchie tells Linc. "Do what you gotta do," Linc tells him. So Butchie pops him one in the face -- he seems fairly ambivalent about it, for what's worth. "There's one in a row you kept," Linc says, checking to make sure his jaw is still attached. Jerri runs over from the café across the street to scold the boys for not doing anything to bring Shaun back -- no, but they are entertaining me, which is something -- and to let them know that "the Harelip thinks he's onto something." Hopefully, whatever it is, it will lead to even more punching.
More search montaging: this time Cissy's under the pier, rousting homeless dudes. We can't really hear what she's saying, but the closed-captioning tells me it's something along the lines of "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" And you would think that one of these guys would respond with something like, "You know, lady, that approach may work with your immediately family and friends. But I've spent the last five years drinking turpentine-and-rum-based cocktails, so my synapses are pretty fried and my grip on what is and is not acceptable behavior is fairly tenuous. So I suggest a more pleasant tone of voice." Strangely, none of the homeless dudes says this, at least not according to the closed-captioning. The montage continues with Cissy flagging down Shaun's surfer friends and soliciting their help, while Vietnam Joe stops by the VFW and fills in one of the guys having a smoke outside as to what's going down. The young surfers get more people to help, and the VFW guy is stopping people and telling them too. And they tell two friends and they tell two friends, and so on and so on and so on. No, really -- a community is really beginning to form here, which seems to be one of the larger themes John From Cincinnati is getting at, and it's nice to sort of understand what's going on for once.
The montage having reached its conclusion, we join Dr. Smith and Cunningham confronting their demons inside the Snug Harbor's bar already in progress. Dr. Smith is standing at a billiards table, casually rolling the cue ball back and forth; Cunningham is standing nearby, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes fixed downward. Dr Smith explains that when he and Barry crossed paths just now, he was on his way back from the clinic he leased across the street. "I had gotten scared there. In an examining room," Dr. Smith continues. "I'd been imagining days to come, the people I'd be caring for, their gratitude for a physician of my credentials choosing to work with the poor and underserved." Cunningham's face is streaked with tears; this may or may not be related to the fact that the decaying corpse of Mr. Rollins is still sitting in the bar staring at him. But Dr. Smith doesn't seem to notice this: "The day before, standing in that room," he continues, "I'd felt that I had heard those patients' voices thanking me. And not hearing them today, I saw that the room was ramshackle and dirty." He takes Cunningham's hand, which causes Cunningham to stop staring in the ghost's direction. "Not hearing the hallelujah soundtrack frightened me," Dr. Smith says to Barry. "Made me run." He smiles: "I'd better get that place opened up." Cunningham's face begins to brighten. Over at the bar, Shaun -- yes, he's still in the bar, too -- turns to Cunningham and gives him the hang loose sign. "Shall we go?" Dr. Smith asks Cunningham, who nods. Garret Dilahunt, ladies and gentlemen -- the heart and soul of John From Cincinnati.
Ramon, dressed nicer than we've seen him to date, is walking back to the Snug Harbor when he passes the house of that rose-bush-trimming lady who gave Dr. Smith the Avon catalog way back when. Ramon and the lady begin talking -- "(both speaking Spanish)" my closed-captioning helpfully offers. "No shit," I say aloud. I suppose I could make up what they're saying ("So… do you think we're going to get renewed for a second season?" "Hey, if Mind of the Married Man can run for two goddamn seasons, why not us?"), but instead, I'll just copy and paste this transcript provided by forum member Lucille, while my high-school Spanish teacher silently weeps over how little knowledge I retained:
Ramon: Will (the roses) lift my spirit?
Rosa: That's why they are there.
Ramon: Good.
Rosa: Want an Avon catalog?
Ramon: For me? No.
Rosa: It doesn't cost anything to look, like the flowers.
Ramon: Thanks.
So there you go.
Ramon runs into Cunningham and Dr. Smith in the parking lot. "Church," says Ramon, gesturing to his jacket. "Praying for the boy." Barry holds aloft Dr. Smith's hand: "Just married," he says, while the doctor has a look like, "Yeah, we...wait...what?" Anyhow, Ramon suggests they take a look at the Avon catalog he just got. "The care that must go into creating lipstick shades for women of color," Cunningham enthuses. Yeah...that's not exactly what Ramon had in mind. Look at the middle of the catalog, fellahs -- specifically the part that's covered with those all-too-familiar stick figures. Dr. Smith excuses himself for a moment. "I am seeing Avon in an entirely new light," Cunningham says. "This is big," Ramon says excitedly. "This is huge." Cunningham agrees that "it very well could be." "I want to cook something," Ramon says. "I could eat," Cunningham says. Dr. Smith emerges, waving his Avon catalog -- yes, it's also covered in stick figures. "This is huge," Dr. Smith agrees. I'm back to being confused again.
Well, it seems Mitch and Dr. Johnny Fever made it across the border okay, because they're now entering the Yost homestead -- Mitch rather cautiously, just in case Cissy is waiting to chuck a vase at his forehead. As Dr. Fever admires the house, Mitch notes that they built a room in back for Shaun. "Is he different after what happened?" Dr. Fever asks. "It's hard to say," Mitch says. "Especially since I ran off to Mexico like a ball-less coward." That last sentence might have been me editorializing.
Bill's recon for the missing has taken him out of the safety of his house and onto the mean streets of Imperial Beach, where he comes across Officer Anderson writing traffic tickets. You remember Officer Anderson -- he was working at the police station back when Cissy got arrested and he was the guy who had to reassure Bill during the earthquake and he's probably kind of annoyed by Bill's very existence. And we find out why Anderson is so annoyed -- the reason he's out writing traffic tickets and not working the cushy desk job is that Bill stole the handle off the police station drinking fountain and Anderson covered for him. Well, let's put all that behind us, friend -- "Focus on the matter at hand," Bill says, gripping his head with such anguish that Anderson decides to take him seriously and agrees to keep an eye peeled for John. And maybe it's a sign that I'm losing my mind, but during this entire sequence, a version of "Gee, Officer Krupke" was running through my mind. Hey, Officer Bill Jacks/I'm flipping my lid/This parrot-talking character's abducted my kid! I promise: No more Sondheim.
Mitch and Dr. Johnny Fever are walking into Mitch's clubhouse, and I like to imagine that the dialogue before this scene began was Mitch saying something along the lines of, "Boy, I can't wait to show you this room. I really have these cool knickknacks hanging around, and I'll think you'll really get a kick out of it." Because when he opens the door and sees how trashed the place is -- Cissy's handiwork, remember? -- the look on his face is A-1 comedy gold. Oh, Mitch -- I chuckle at your displeasure. "This place is not nearly so cool as I had been led to believe," Dr. Johnny's expression seems to say. No it is not, my friend. By the way, the elephant cage where John's been hanging out lately? Visible from Mitch's little hangout. Thought you might like to know that.
Just then, Cissy pulls up. Well, this should be a fun reunion. I should mention that my idea of "fun" includes Rebecca DeMornay screaming. Mitch descends from his clubhouse and walks down the driveway to meet her; he can't even get a syllable out before she tries to belt him with an errant right roundhouse. And hello to you, too, honey. Dr. Johnny Fever stands around awkwardly while Mitch and Cissy wrestle. "That's that fucking chemist, isn't it?" Cissy shouts, mid-tussle. A simple "long time, no see" would probably be much more polite. Anyhow, Cissy stops cursing at Mitch long enough to inform him that Shaun has been taken. Mitch is all, what, huh, how? Eventually his obtuseness causes Cissy to resume screaming at him and storm off, so Mitch looks at Dr. Johnny Fever and excuses himself to go deal with this latest domestic disturbance. Dr. Johnny is left standing in the yard with a "For all this drama, I better start seeing some goddamn levitating and soon" expression.
In the sanctity of the Yost kitchen, Mitch and Cissy resume their spirited exchange of views. Cissy, who was quite perturbed by Mitch's questioning about how intensely she searched for Shaun, insists that she's looked, "we've looked, everybody's looking who hasn't been soul surfing in Baja with Captain Crunch." Me, I would rather go soul-surfing in Baja with Count Chocula and Franken Berry, but different folks, different breakfast cereal preferences. Mitch asks Cissy to walk him through it. Walk him through what? Everything, Mitch asks. "Why?" Cissy demands. "What the fuck are you going to do about it?" She punctuates this rhetorical question by shoving the table into Mitch's knee -- ow! That's my wrecked-by-surf-injuries knee! "Maybe I can help," Mitch fires back, angrily flipping over the table. There's a first time for everything, I suppose. While all that's going on, Captain Crunch...er...Dr. Johnny Fever...uh...The Chemist grabs a rake from the yard and heads up the stairs to Mitch's clubhouse for some much-needed tidying. Looks like someone else besides Ramon believes in the restfulness of raking.
Meanwhile, Mitch is still getting brought up to speed on all that's happened while he was away. Video -- check. Message about Shaun's imminent disappearance -- check. Black curtain -- uh, why's that important, Mitch asks. "He looked like a fucking raghead," Cissy shouts. "He was a wearing a burnoose?" Mitch asks, fairly stupidly. "What's a burmoose, asshole?" Cissy spits back at him. Move over, Burns and Allen -- there's a new husband and wife comedy team for the Aughties and it's Mitch and Cissy. ("Say goodnight, Cissy." "Fuck you, fuckface." Laugh track.) Anyhow, Mitch is trying to follow along: "Bill questions him," Cissy exclaims. "Freddy questions him. The bitch brings him back from the dolphin tank. Everything looks like it's all right. Linc signs Shaun to a contract..." Who signed who to a what now, Mitch shouts -- Cissy kicks him in the knee again. And now Shaun's gone. And now, finally, everyone knows where we are in the plot. "You know, if Freddy talked to John," Mitch says, "either John told him what's going on, or he's in pieces in a freezer someplace." Yes, that's probably a true assessment of Freddy's investigative powers. When Cissy points out that John walked out of the room covered in blood but not worse for wear in any other way, Mitch excitedly concludes that John must have supernatural powers. "Really? You think so, Mitch?" Cissy asks sarcastically before I can do it. "And it's obviously part of something that's bigger than he is, Cissy," Mitch says. "If you remember, I went up in the air." How could we forget, since someone keeps mentioning his spooky levitation experiences at every opportunity?
After Cissy lets him know about the second video, there's some more hilariously hateful interplay ("Any message?" "I just said there was another fucking message!" Laughter and applause), Mitch does something totally unexpected -- he offers to help handle the police and the press. Yeah, but don't you hate interacting with other people, Mitch? He does. But some things -- like his grandson's disappearance -- are more important than his precious comfort zone. "I'm just saying give me the weight," he pleads. "That's all I'm saying. I'm here. Let me take it." Cissy looks like she's about to cry. She takes another drag on her cigarette instead.
Speaking of great married comedy couples, let's check in on Freddy and Palaka, who are back in their room at the Snug Harbor. "Tell me what you see," Freddy demands. Palaka considers the question, and then he tentatively replies, "You." Not really what Freddy was looking for, pal -- he meant the goings-on outside. Well, nothing -- Ramon, Dr. Smith, and Cunningham have gone into the bar. Or as Palaka calls them, "The Mexican, the doctor, and the homo." Fans of the late-lamented sketch comedy show The State -- probably just me, I'm guessing -- will be forgiven if they started happily singing the theme song to the "The Jew, The Italian, and the Red-Haired Gay" sketch (sing it with me now: They all live together on Avenue A/We each see the world in our own way...). Freddy interrupts my State reminiscing by ordering Palaka to find out what's going on. Just as Palaka is trying to piece together how it might do that -- take your time, Palaka, we've got all afternoon -- Dickstein pulls up. Palaka sees an opening and shouts out that Ramon, Cunningham, et al are in the bar; later, he can go over and ask Dickstein if he got in all right. Or, you could have offered to show him where everyone was and saved yourself a lot of time and trouble. But your plan is...somewhat viable. Freddy has a better idea: "Ask him what happened to my bear." Yes, you seem like the guy who would care about such things -- no one will ever suspect.
Dr. Johnny Fever -- one hell of a raker. That is all.
Dickstein walks in on Ramon, Cunningham, and Dr. Smith as they assiduously study Avon catalogs for clues. "Dwayne and I sent a message to those responsible for Shaun Yost's disappearance," Dickstein reports, with a touch of pride. Ah, but did they get the message, Dickstein? That, the lawyer doesn't know. Just then, Palaka strolls into the bar, eliciting a barrage of stares from the people already there; his attempts to strike a casual pose do nothing to alleviate the discomfort. "He wonders what did you do with his bear?" Palaka finally asks. "He's keeping company with Teddy," Cunningham replies. See? Did I not call it? Play date. "He'd also like to be ascertained what's going on in here," Palaka adds. "Just boys being boys," Cunningham says, innocently enough. Palaka leaves to go report this intelligence to Freddy; if you ask me, I think he was visibly wounded that no one invited him to play in any reindeer games. Just then, Dwayne walks in with his laptop. "This is big," he says. So we keep hearing.
Outside, Freddy fiddles with a pay phone that probably hasn't been used since calls cost a dime. "What do you got?" asks Palaka, emerging from the bar. "Anything?" Freddy seems vaguely embarrassed that someone saw him doing that. Or maybe, like Palaka, he's visibly wounded, too. We've got more important matters to get to back inside the bar.
Like the message Dwayne got on his computer -- it's a whole lot of stick figures, about a dozen or so by my count, of varying sizes. "Contact," Dwayne says simply. And that's not all, if we follow to where Ramon is pointing -- the facade over the bar is lined with stick figures too -- about fifteen of 'em. "Avon calling," my closed-captioning says, though the sound decidedly does not say that. "I didn't know I had placed an order," a beaming Barry does say. Outside, Palaka and Freddy still fume about being kept in the dark.
The media horde has descended, once again, upon the Yost home, only this time, instead of ducking around the back, Mitch is out in front fielding questions. Yes, we hope it's just a case of Shaun failing to check in. No, we don't think his weirdo companion is necessarily a threat to him. Yes, there is just about anything in the world I'd rather be doing right now than talking to you horrible people. And yet, Mitch is there, talking to them -- that's admirable. Watching from the kitchen window, Butchie says as much. "Dad looks like he wants to take poison," Butchie says. "Wonder if he tells those reporters he can float...like a blimp," Cissy snorts. Well, he can float, Butchie counters: "I saw it." "Who cares what you saw?" Cissy fires back. "Or how many figures show up on that harelip's computer screen?" "Me," Butchie says simply. "It makes me believe he's coming back." "That and two dimes of dope, you should be sitting pretty," Cissy scoffs. Annnnnnd, wresting the title of Most Hateful Yost away from Mitch this episode is...Cissy! Let's give it up for Cissy, folks -- she truly is a contemptible witch. Don't believe me? When Butchie says that he's heading out to go spend some time in the water, Cissy tells him to "try to find time to fuck yourself on the way." Oh so many ways to respond to that -- "Well, you would be the expert in that department, wouldn't you?" would be my choice -- but Butchie chooses the path of the bigger man. "It's going to be all right," he assures her. Apparently stunned not to have someone to sink to her level, Cissy turns her fury elsewhere: "Where is fucking Kai?" she demands. Probably somewhere waiting for Shaun, Butchie suggests. And he exits, leaving Cissy to stew in her awfulness.
Back at the Snug Harbor, Ramon is putting the finishing touches on some hot dogs while Dickstein blabs on and on about his day. "Got dressed," Dickstein says. "Headed over to the internet café like a man possessed." Without looking up, Ramon points out that Dickstein goes there every day. "I never felt before like I had to, Ramon," Dickstein protests. "And I went. And I saw that they needed me. And I improvised that communication. And it was answered." Ramon wonders whether Dickstein will "improvise another one" along the lines of "What the hell do you people mean with all these stick figures?" Dickstein is too busy exulting in his triumphs to pay Ramon's needling much mind. Hey, while you're being helpful, Ramon suggests, why not help me bring all this food over to the Yosts? And away they go.
Cissy walks out to the clubhouse to bring one of her world-famous tuna fish sandwiches to Dr. Johnny Fever; note that she doesn't ask him how he likes it, either. Nevertheless, Dr. Johnny thanks her for her hospitality. "Come down later, if you feel like it," Cissy says. Considering that offer was made with nary a "fuck" or "asshole," it's like the most formal we've ever seen Cissy.
Tina and Linc are watching the press circus in front of the Yost house from the safety of Tina's sports car; she's still fretful about her apparent role in all this hoo-ha. "There's no way he'll come back if I'm here," she says. Linc's not having any of this: "When they're done doing whatever it is they do to you, do they pile-drive your head into the floor?" If they do, it's a sub-genre of adult filmmaking that I am unfamiliar with. But Linc's point is this: "You're making sense and then you talk so fucking stupid...you came back to be his mother, right? Because that's who you said you wanted to be. Aren't you still his fucking mother? Couldn't you do him some good, being his mother? Right now? How about if you go up there and say, 'Please bring my son back. I know I've been bad. Give me a chance. I'll be better. But please bring my boy back.'" Tina would love to do it, but she can't: "I'll fall apart. I'll fuck it up." "Then stay in here, and tell God," Linc says. Linc Stark -- heaven's instrument. Now, I think I need a good lie-down to sort all this through.
Bill is also out in front of the Yost home, hovering behind the press corps and looking like he's ready to kick in some heads if anyone asks an impertinent question. An off-duty Anderson drives by -- the Yosts haven't filed a missing persons report, he asks? Not at this juncture, Bill replies. Would Bill like Anderson to spell him for a while? No thanks, Bill says, he's fine. "Thanks for stopping by," Bill says. It's not just a casual remark the way, he says it -- Bill seems genuinely moved by Anderson's participation in all this. But soon, Ramon and Dickstein wheel up their shopping cart full of food and Bill leaps back into action, stopping them to search the cart. No trans fats get through on his watch.
Cissy continues to watch Mitch talk to the press through the window. This must be the longest press conference in recorded history, because the Chemist has finished his tuna fish sandwich and is down in the living room with Cissy. "I don't know what he's saying," she says. "But I know he's fucking up." "That was the man back in the day," The Chemist recalls. "And that chick that hung with him...the hottest piece of ass on those beaches." Oh, Dr. Johnny Fever -- flattery will get you everywhere. "Those days are gone," Cissy says with a touch of sadness. "I still recognize the both of you," The Chemist says. The screaming and cursing helps them stand out in a crowd, to be fair.
If you found the scene where Linc is encouraging someone to seek spiritual solace unnerving, then I hope you're sitting down for this one. Because it involves Freddy, and he appears to be praying. "Whoever I fucking ran away from in that volcano twenty-five years ago, I'm talking to you," he begins. "I don't give a fuck. I don't need to understand. I would ask you, avoid harming that kid. I would say, I am here to ask you. I would say, I came here to be here. I came to California...to ask. Whatever's going to happen." Look, I didn't say it wasn't a threatening prayer. Palaka, listening to all this, scratches himself in a very personal place. Ah, the sacred and the profane -- on this show, it's all the same ball of wax.
At the café, Dwayne persuades Jerri to let him stay past closing time, lest any more messages come in on the computer. It doesn't take much persuading. To answer Cissy's question about Kai's whereabouts, she's sitting on the beach, staring off onto the horizon. Butchie's out in the water, bobbing around, looking westward too, at the setting sun. Cass is watching from the pier. They all seem to be waiting for something. They are the faithful ones. I almost hate pointing out that it's the faithful who usually wind up the most disappointed by reality. And as Sam and Dave launch into "Hold On, I'm Coming," we hit the credits.
And you know what, folks? That was a really good episode. Besides the fine acting and solid dialogue -- which are never really in dispute, even when this show is at its most maddening -- we dispensed with the usual mumbo-jumbo to actually tell a logically constructed, complex-though-not-perplexing tale. And ultimately, from Butchie to Linc to even Mitch not acting like a doofus for several scenes at a time, it was a fairly hopeful episode. If every episode were like this one, I'd be the grand marshal of the John From Cincinnati parade. As it stands, I'm at least interested to see what goes down at this time week.
And speaking of which...week, on J From the C, "All is Revealed!" Those are the words of the HBO promo monkeys, not me. Personally, I think they're writing a check they cannot possibly cash, but you try to live in hope.