See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Smell No Evil

When I finally reach total baldness, I'm so getting that guy from the opening credits to tattoo "TWoP" (or maybe "TWoZ") on the back of my head. Then I'll be cool, right?

Oh, and props to Dina. Just because.

We open, as always, with the fool on the Hill. Theme of the week? Your senses. Are there five? Six? Can you see dead people? And what about your sense of fairness? Your sense of entitlement? Your sense and sensibility? Oy. Can you sense that I'm tense? Or that Hill makes no pretense of not being a nuisance? Methinks the writers have been smoking sensimilla again. Or at least that's my two cents, anyway.

The episode proper begins with a newscast by a reporter who bears a disturbing resemblance to that guy on SportsCenter who isn't Kenny Mayne, Rich Eisen, or Stu Scott. It seems the fine citizens of our great unnamed state (personally, I like to pretend Oz is in Shelbyville) are rioting in the streets over Governor James "Tiny Dancer" Devlin's pledge to pardon a local mayor who has been indicted for helping to cover up the '60s-era murder of two young black girls by the KKK. Not Stu Scott also informs us that all government offices have been closed in response, and that all state correctional facilities are in lockdown. That last bit is accompanied by a shot of Schillinger and a lipstick-free Cindy Brady, confined to their cell. Boo-yah!

A multi-hued Film-Grain-O-Vision flashback reminds us that Cindy earned his admission to the Aryan Brotherhood by killing Beecher's father, and we're then transported to the warden's office, where Beecher himself is hearing the news for the first time. His response? Well, I think he might have blinked, but I can't be sure. It's a highly muted reaction either way. I mean, I guess he's used to this sort of thing by now, so I shouldn't expect much in the way of teeth gnashing and garment rending, but still. You'd think he could at least summon a sniffle. The Hyper-Kinetic Editor Who Thanks God On A Daily Basis That Mind of the Married Man Has FINALLY Been Cancelled throws in a few quick shots of the guards searching various cells for the murder weapon, most notably that of Clarence Seroy, the big black guy who menaced Cindy way back on his first day in Oz. In Leo's office, however, Beecher is being told that he won't be able to attend the funeral, because the prison is in lockdown. Um, okay. I guess I'll just have to file that to "How did Cindy hide the murder weapon during a lockdown?" and "Why was an unescorted civilian allowed to walk alone down a darkened prison hallway?" in my rapidly expanding "suspension of disbelief" folder. Toby also gets told that the lockdown means his parole hearing is postponed, but it ends up only being moved back about three and a half minutes, so I wouldn't get too worried.

After returning to Unit J, Beecher is still trying to figure out why Clarence Seroy would want to kill his father. I should take a moment here, by the way, to thank everyone who emailed to tell me that Beecher's block-mate is named Alvin Yood. You guys rock! On the other hand, I think it's pretty funny that in spite of all the Oz esoterica you people have at your fingertips, there was still no one who could explain that string around Rebadoze's neck. I guess some mysteries just weren't meant to be solved. The murder of Papa Beecher isn't one of them, however, because Toby quickly figures out that the Aryans must have been involved.

And speaking of the Aryans, Cindy is pacing back and forth in his cell, still feeling the rush of having just committed a murder. In fact, he even goes so far as to describe the high as being "better than a case of Red Bull." Um, are there really that many things on this Earth that aren't better than a case of Red Bull? I mean, there's cancer, I guess, and those annoying computer crashes that wipe out your entire recap and force you to start over from scratch even though the thing is due in less than twenty minutes, but that's about it. Cindy has also traded in his pigtails for what appears to my untrained eye to be a large flock of seagulls, and now I'm sorely tempted to begin calling him "Ducky" instead of Cindy. Schillinger, meanwhile, is obsessed with the TV, where the verdict in the racist mayor trial is about to be announced. Seeing as how there's no way this show would waste this much time on a plotline if the guy wasn't coming to Oz, it's not much of a surprise when we learn that he was found guilty. The cellblock erupts with various cheers and boos, which I initially thought was a pretty clever riff on all those shots you used to see of blacks and whites reacting so differently to the OJ verdict. But we later discover that Vern has personal reasons for being as upset as he is here, so maybe it was just my old pal Foreshadowing.

At any rate, Governor Munchkin Man has declared that he won't be pardoning Mayor Loewen just yet. Instead, he demands that Leo house him in the safest area of the prison, and follows that up by adding, "If anything happens to him, I will burn this place to the ground. And then I'll send my evil-accented older brother Dennis Hopper to kidnap your daughter, rape your wife, give her temporary amnesia, and then kill her anyway."

Cut to Leo, welcoming the new arrival. Mayor Loewen is played by the relatively familiar-looking Tom Atkins (a.k.a. The White Edward James Olmos), whose varied and eclectic IMDb page reveals the little-known fact that he's starred in almost every movie ever filmed in Pittsburgh (including Striking Distance, Creepshow, and Bob Roberts). I guess he really did Escape From New York. Mayor McCraggy tries to chat up Leo with some small talk about a fundraiser they both attended, but Leo isn't having it. "Whatever relationship we might have had in the past is over," he says. "You're my prisoner now. Which means that you'll have a life expectancy of just under three weeks, and there's also a pretty good chance you'll be anally violated with a kitchen utensil at least once before you die. Welcome to Oz." Loewen takes all this in stride, but the conversation devolves further into some not-very-subtle race baiting, presumably to justify the presence of Said, who's been lurking about in the background of the scene this entire time.

With the mayor safely incarcerated, calm has once again returned to the streets of Shelbyville, and the lockdown is over. Officer Pepa strolls along the hallways of Unit B, and her pathetic attempt at pretending to unlock Schillinger's cell door is made even more laughable when the camera pulls back to reveal that there wasn't even a keyhole anywhere near the area where she was pantomiming. Come on, Pepa! You can do better than that. You've got to push it! Push it real good! Vern is concerned that with Mayor McCraggy stuck in Unit J, Beecher might try to hurt him in order to extract revenge on the Aryans. He orders Cindy Brady to put out word that Beecher will suffer if anything happens to Loewen.

Except Beecher is pretty clearly suffering already, because he's forced to endure the guy's incessant mealtime ramblings, which are just chock-full of self-aggrandizing name droppings. "We were in the Oval Office," says Mayor McCheesy, "and the President says to me, 'Wilson, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be sitting in this chair right now. So thanks again for introducing me to Monica. She's under the desk even as we speak!'" Toby mocks him for being so power hungry, and even suggests that he "run for God," but Loewen and Yood just laugh harder, and actually think that's not a half bad idea. Then, despite the fact that he was shown several times to be eating nothing more strenuous than mashed potatoes, the Mayor suddenly begins to wheeze and gasp in alarm. Beecher immediately jumps up and performs the Heimlich maneuver, sending the saliva-soaked spuds soaring across the cell. Hmm. I guess Mayor McChokey likes 'em lumpy. In the background, Cindy Brady arrives with his mail cart just in time to see all this go down. Or come back up. Whatever.

He then immediately reports back to Vern, who is now sporting a pair of stylized eyeballs that have been tattooed onto the back of his head. They're cool, and they kind of make his skull look like a demented Tubey, but I still like my "TWoZ" idea better. Schillinger is shocked to hear that Beecher saved the mayor's life, and this revelation is quickly followed by Sister Pete telling Tobias that Schillinger would like a chance to express his gratitude. Beecher is suitably suspicious, and when Vern arrives in Sister Pete's office for their little chat, he can barely bring himself to listen to the guy. Schillinger explains that Mayor Loewen has always supported his family, and even gave him plane tickets once when he couldn't afford a honeymoon. So, in return for Beecher's actions, Vern promises not to do anything to mess up his parole. "If you can get out of the fuck hole," he says, "go." "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," replies Beecher. "I can give you a list as long as my tattooed ass of all the things you told me that were 'true.'" Hee! I've so got to find a way to work that line into my daily conversations. Schillinger can't understand why Toby saved the mayor if he didn't want anything in return, and this affords Beecher the opportunity to proclaim that even after all his time in Oz, his first instinct on seeing a dying individual is still to try and save his life. In other words, he's ready to be paroled.

So it's a good thing the parole board is having a meeting then, isn't it? You know, the meeting that was postponed because of the lockdown? And then never mentioned again, even though it clearly couldn't have been postponed for very long? Yeah, that one. In a scene that's remarkably anticlimactic when you consider that we've been building towards it for almost six years, Beecher is quickly granted his unconditional release. Except, of course, for those last few plot-point-mandated days he'll have to hang around while all the paperwork is completed. Gee, you don't think anything bad will happen to him during that time, do you? I sure hope not. A stunned Beecher shuffles out of the room, where he finds Sister Pete and asks her if he's still dreaming. Once assured that he isn't, he scoops her up into his arms and dances her down the hallway. Incidentally, can any of you Catholics out there let me know how many Our Fathers you have to say as penance for shouting, "Holy fucking Christ!" while bear-hugging a nun in prison?

we cut to death row, which I guess at least proves that Oz isn't located in Indiana. Poor Keller is always the last to know anything, so he's doubly shocked when Lopresti tells him about both Papa Beecher's murder and Junior Beecher's parole. And with that, having successfully reached the precise one-quarter mark of the episode, The WaWa Pedal Of True Love Encaged warbles us into the narrative interlude.

Which features, much to my delight, the return of Shirley Bellinger, who scores major points for being both Oz's creepiest inmate ever, and also a frequently-naked sop to the show's heterosexual male viewers. Bellinger blathers a bit more about our senses, pointing out that when one fails, another usually steps up to take its place. The camera goes cleverly out of focus when she talks about blindness, and when it comes back, we're in a close-up which shows the rope burns from her hanging around her neck. Ooh, spooky!

Another day in solitary, another reason to hate Officer Claire. I wonder if people flee in fear whenever they see Kristen Rohde on the street? I'm sure she's a very sweet person in real life, but frankly, the woman terrifies me. And what's even more scary is that if Diane Whittlesey represents Carmela Soprano in an alternate universe, it's also possible that Claire Howell represents a potential future for Claire Fisher. That's too depressing to even consider. In fact, the only thing that can cheer me up at this point is pretending that Robson was a stand-in for Mike Binder this week. Now THAT would be a happy ending! Anyway, Claire and her colleague discover that everyone in solitary has taken ill with the same sickness that struck Omar last week. We're even treated to a wholly gratuitous shot of Penders lying in a pool of his own vomit. Man, where's Mama Cass when you need her?

In the medical ward, Leo stops by to be briefed by Dr. Nathan. She explains that the solitary inmates are all suffering from methylene chloride poisoning, as a result of all the toxic chemicals used to rebuild Oz after the explosion. It's so bad that Martinez's liver is completely shot, although I'm betting it's more likely that that damage occurred while he was partying on Madonna's tour bus. Nathan wants to send Martinez to Benchley Memorial, but Leo refuses. He also orders her to keep the poisoning quiet, and to do her best to treat them there at the prison. Oh, Leo, Leo, Leo. You should know better than to try to stage a cover-up in the show's final season. I can see the dramatic irony of his becoming a prisoner after one of them dies coming from a mile away.

And straight into one even more unrealistic than the last. Timmy's ex-wife (I need a name here, people ["Eleanor O'Connor" -- Sars]) actually manages to convince Leo that holding a photo-shoot for Maxim magazine on death row would somehow be a good idea. Leo's only objection is that it all somehow seems unethical. Mine is that whoever's been running the print side of The AOL Time Warner Cross-Promotional Synergy Team has clearly been running amok on the set of Oz for weeks now. Cut to Lopresti informing the inmates, with Keller practically bursting into schoolgirl giggles behind him. Chris is even happier to learn that the pictorial comes out in January (On newsstands now! Buy copies for all your loved ones!), because his execution isn't scheduled until April. From there we go right into the shoot itself, the highlight of which is a picture of Cyril and Jericho decked out in a turtleneck and black suit. Man, that sock is stylin'! When all four inmates are gathered together for a group shot, however, Hoyt makes the most of a rare opportunity. A quick punch to the gut doubles Timmy over, and after taking a brief moment to deck Lopresti and strike an insouciant pose for the camera, Hoyt grabs a klieg light and smashes it into Timmy's face. And while I did admittedly bitch about last week's death by dart, I do have to agree that killing Timothy "Cocksucker" Kirk by shoving a giant, electrified light bulb down his throat is pure comedy genius. Farewell, Timmy. Only in Oz could blowjobs and the brutality of your death combine to provide such quality dramatic irony.

With Kirk out of the way, we quickly learn that Father Mukada has been reinstated, and all charges against him have been dropped. Now -- see? That's what I love about Oz. That entire plotline took less than five minutes of screentime. The Sopranos sometimes goes five weeks without a new plot. Are you listening, David Chase? We certainly know Chris Albrecht is.

And speaking of Chris Albrecht, it's time for more product placement. And to think it was just last week that last week I praised Oz as the last great ad-free preserve. Now here they are, devoting entire scenes to grievously pimping their own merchandising tie-ins. You'll never catch Carmela baking something out The Sopranos Family Cookbook, for Christ's sake. But we're still expected to endure hearing Said and McManus describing Augustus's memoirs (Coming soon! Pre-order copies for all your loved ones!) as "the best book about prison [they've] read in years." Oy. I'm frankly surprised the suits didn't make Eamonn Walker stencil "www.hbo.com/store/oz" onto that skull cap he always wears. Said solemnly intones that his publisher (a wholly owned subsidiary of AOL Time Warner Conglomerated, no doubt) is greatly interested in putting out the book, but Redding hasn't shown any interest in even reading it. Smart man, that Crackhead Cosby.

But not smart enough to find his way out of Timmy's crop circle maze, apparently, because he's been trapped in there since we last saw him in the season premiere. Poet and crew find him shuffling around in there when they drop by the gym to play basketball, and there's some moaning and groaning from the troops about possibly replacing the old coot as their leader. Poet flatly refuses to take the title, however, citing the disastrous results last time he tried. Which isn't very surprising, when you think about it. I mean, if you name your kid muMs da Schemer, it's not like you can expect him to grow up to be a CEO or something. Well maybe at FTD or Enron, but that's about it.

Meanwhile, Governor It's A Small World After All has announced that private businesses will begin setting up operations in the state prisons, so as to better provide the inmates with new opportunities for wacky hi-jinx and disgusting sex crimes involving the use of office supplies. This news manages to motivate Redding enough to put down the crack pipe, escape from the meditative maze (Starring Tom Atkins! Buy DVDs for all your loved ones!), and seek out Said in the hopes of finding salvation in the pride of honest labor and the healing glow of a really mean glare. Finding him in the laundry room, Redding confesses to being tired of the burdens of leadership. "I got Augustus killed," he slurs. "I've got young boys out there slinging pudding pops. I can't do it anymore." Said applauds this dramatic change of heart (actually, he just sort of glares at it. But he was applauding mentally. I could sense it), but becomes skeptical when Crackhead Cosby finally reveals his plans. "In order to get my boys to stop selling those pudding pops," he explains, cocking a crackhead eyebrow, "I've got to give them an alternative. We're gonna get real jobs." Oh, yeah. That'll work.

Staff meeting. Leo introduces a fetching young blonde woman who looks suspiciously like a former boss of mine. The resemblance grows even more uncanny when it's revealed that she's planning on setting up a telemarketing shop right there in Oz. As someone who has spent the better part of the last ten years working in a call center, I can assure you that telemarketing from prison is not as farfetched as it might sound. In fact, we're located in one of the nicest office buildings in town, and yet we've still had employees arrested at their desks, employees whose multiple body piercings set off the building's metal detectors every morning, and even a girl who had to work the early shift every Friday because she had a second job as a stripper. It's not really an industry that attracts a very high class of personnel. Which probably explains what I'm doing there, but that's a different story. Officer Claire, however, is not thrilled even a bit by this idea, and she gets all snippy about it with Business Barbie. At first I thought this was just Claire being Claire, but it turns out that her brother works for a competing telemarketing firm (which isn't much of familial surprise. See above), and she's worried that the miniscule labor costs in Oz will put him out of business. Oh, whatever. Shut up, Claire. And while we're at it, shut up, Business Barbie. You're reminding me of that PowerPoint presentation I have due week.

Over in Em City, Said and Redding are trying to convince McManus that they should be given control over the telemarketing operations. Redding even manages to work the word "proactive" into his pitch, which prompts McManus to wonder if Said has been coaching him. Whether he did or not, it seems to have worked, because we see Said and Crackhead Cosby meeting with Business Barbie in an office somewhere. Because you can't stop The Glare (you can only hope to contain it), Said starts things off by bitching about the fact that prisoners are paid less than minimum wage. He equates this to slavery, but Business Barbie makes a pretty good point by saying that only honest people deserve an honest wage. Plus she can't afford to hire two foremen when there's only enough money in the budget for one. "Sadly, the thing about business at its core is that it is always just business," glowers Said. Then he adds, "So hell no, we won't go! Down with capitalism, up with love! Pudding pops are the opiate of the masses!" He storms out of the room after declaring that the Muslims won't participate, and this gives Redding the perfect opportunity to win brownie points by offering to work for free until Business Barbie meets her profit goals. You know, nobody likes a kiss-ass, Burr.

When Said gets back to Em City, he finds Poet reciting his latest composition, which is an ode to Augustus Hill containing not a single line worthy of transcription. muMs gives it a good reading, though, and I guess that's good enough for me. Arif approaches Said and immediately discerns that the business meeting didn't go very well. "How can you tell?" wonders Said. "Your eyes are filled with rage," replies Arif. Again I ask, how can you tell? His eyes are always filled with rage. That man seriously needs some Visine. Said excuses himself and goes off to think, which inevitably means that he too ends up ensnared in the seductive web of McManus's meditative maze. Did the guy use some sort of adhesive paint? At least Said seems to be getting into it, what with the all the running and jumping about. In fact, I actually think he almost smiled there for a second. All Redding ever did was stagger around and occasionally stop to beat his (crack) head against the floor.

Cafeteria. Morales is worried about what Redding might be up to now that he's giving up the kitchen for the telemarketing gig. Spying Alvarez across the room, he invites him over for a nice little lunchtime business meeting. Morales wants him to try to get information from Poet, and even offers to allow him back into "El Norte" if he agrees to help. Alvarez, however, wants to be like "Mahatma fucking Gandhi" until his parole hearing, and thus refuses to do any spying.

But just like certain other TV spies I could mention, he does still have a certain weakness when it comes to his mother. She's waiting for Alvarez in the visiting room, but before I recap their conversation, I'd just like to say that the one bad thing about being the official HBO drama recapper of record is that I never, ever get to watch Alias, which also airs Sundays at nine. It's one of the few great tragedies of my young life. Anyway, Mama Alvarez seems to be a lot like her son. She's spicy, hot-tempered, and bitter about pretty much everything. I can't speak intelligently about her tendencies towards playing with her own excrement, but I certainly wouldn't rule out the possibility. Her best line? "If you're so tough, think what that says about the bitch that bore you." Ooh, burn. Of course, Miguel gets a pretty good comeback: "Yeah, you do bore me." Heh. Go Miguel! ¡Y tu mamá también! Eventually they do stop fighting and sit down to talk. Miguel wants his mommy to ask Maritza, his old girlfriend, to finally come down for a visit. Mama thinks a request like that would have weight coming from Miguel, but he refuses. "I ain't gonna beg," he says defiantly. "She should just show up."

Well, that machismo lasted all of fourteen seconds. The scene is Miguel calling Maritza from the cell-block phone. He gets her answering machine, and leaves a very long, very touching message where he rambles on at length about how much he misses her. It's really sweet and romantic right up until the end, when he loses it a little bit and starts turning into Mike from Swingers. You had her at "hola," Miguel. You should have stopped there.

You know, I've wanted all week to find a way to work "I am serious, and stop calling me Shirley" into the recap, but I never got the chance. So, there it is. Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue. Anyway, this time it's "common" sense she's talking about, and how common criminals don't ever seem to have any. All this by way of lead-in to the Ryan O'Reily segment of our broadcast, so I'm sure all you loyal recap readers out there won't mind if I just skip ahead to the part where a sweaty Ryan and a neatly coiffed Peter Schibetta confront each other in the weight room. Petey is still pissed about Ryan killing his dad, and even scores a mildly clever pun by asking Ryan if Father Salty McWashMyBody's death is "tearing [him] up inside." Get it? Because Ryan fed Daddy glass? It's almost enough to make you think Petey is smarter than he looks, although if that were the case, he'd know better than to take on Ryan. And he'd certainly know better than to threaten Ryan's mother, which is precisely what he does . Petey explains that his wife's grandmother put the evil eye on Salty Shitpants, and that Betty Buckley is in line to die covered in her own feces. All it takes is a personal item that belongs to the victim. Schibetta practically cackles with glee as he threatens to hex everyone Ryan has ever loved, and it takes two guards to prevent Ryan from killing the guy right then and there.

Which is fine, I guess, because that's not really the way O'Reily works anyway. Instead of direct action, he decides to pay a little visit to Chucky Pancamo, who opens the conversation by loudly declaring that he doesn't trust Ryan at all, and yet still ends up doing the guy's bidding after less than thirty seconds of persuasion. Man, we totally could have used this guy when I was on the debate team in college. All it takes to get Pancamo on board is for Ryan to let slip that Petey plans on cursing him as well. Chucky freaks, and sure enough, he starts thinking about killing Schibetta himself.

But first we get to see Petey at rehearsals for Macbeth, performing opposite one of the ditzier members Oz's pseudo-female cast. When Alvarez declares them all to be finished for the day, Schibetta takes a moment to chat up Betty Buckley before leaving. Distracted by the mesmerizing sheen of his flowing locks, Betty fails to notice him pilfering something from her purse. Ryan doesn't see it either, but he does emerge from a back room just in time to find his mom searching for her car keys. He immediately puts two and two together and gets Petey, and tries to chase after him down the hallway. Unfortunately, his path is blocked by the guards, who refuse to let him leave.

Or perhaps that wasn't unfortunate at all, because as Schibetta makes his way down yet another darkened corridor, the Italians emerge to greet him with beady eyes and velour tracksuits. "We need to have a little chat about life and death," says Pancamo, before kissing Petey on each cheek. "My life, and your death." They throw him against the wall, and soon enough Petey joins his pop at the great big social club in the sky. Farewell, Peter Schibetta. At least they didn't rape you this time. Or cut off your head and hands and bury you with a backhoe, for that matter.

Cut to a guard bringing Leo down to see the body. Yeah, right. If Leo had to personally inspect every corpse in Oz, he'd never get any actual work done. Oh, wait. That actually makes a weird kind of sense. Anyway, even after the guard pulls a plate containing Petey's eyeball out of puddle of blood on the floor, I'm still actually relieved that this has so far been one of the least disgusting episodes of Oz I've ever seen.

I said "so far."

Back in Em City, the prison is being thrown into lockdown while Petey's murder is investigated. As they head for their pods, Pancamo tosses Betty Buckley's car keys back to Ryan. He even smiles, somehow not realizing how badly he's just been played. But that's okay, because I myself somehow didn't realize that lockdowns in Oz only last as long as the very scene they're announced in. Sure enough, five seconds later Pancamo is out of his cell and back on the warpath. This time his target is the follically and periodontically challenged James Robson, who almost killed him with a shiv last season. Despite the obvious dearth of guards, security cameras, and any semblance of ambient lighting in virtually all other areas of the prison, Chucky decides to seek revenge in the library in front of dozens of witnesses and under the blinding glare of Shelbyville's last remaining sixty-watt soft white light bulb. Stripped of his Aryan protectors, Robson is forced to cower behind the book cart while the guards drag Pancamo away kicking, screaming, and oozing Dianabol from every pore all the while. Hell, even Patti Lupone looks less scared than Robson, and she's still faced with the possibility of seeing Rebadow naked at some point this season.

Shaken by his near-death experience, Robson goes to plead with Schillinger for protection. Vern refuses to even acknowledge Robson's presence, however, and Robson suffers the further indignity of being threatened and manhandled by his own former prag. Okay, I've got to say that with the new hairdo, Winthrop looks even more like a girl than he did before. He's actually prettier without the make-up. With the Brotherhood refusing to lend assistance, Robson finds himself in front of Cutler's cell. He tentatively broaches the subject of protection, but Cutler makes it clear that the only way he'll save Robson's ass is if he gets to keep it for himself. Insisting that he's not a prag, Robson sets off in search of some other big strapping man who can protect him and meet all his emotional needs without always leaving his socks on the floor and constantly demanding kinky sex.

Instead, he finds Sister Pete. I'm not really sure how good she'll be at offering protection, but at least we can safely assume that kinky sex is off the menu. If naked Keller couldn't get her to renounce her vows, nothing can. Robson asks if she's ever felt like she was about to die, and Pete responds with a long story about a guy who attacked her before slitting his wrists with a tape dispenser. Oh, that's nice. Then Robson responds with a story of his own, about how he was beaten and molested by his father ever since he was six years old. And even though I can totally see right through the writers' blatantly transparent attempt to redeem an evil character just so they can inflict more suffering on him, it still brings a tiny little tear to my eye. What? I said "tiny." After all, I myself am balding, and I did once suffer the heartbreak of gingivitis, so there's already a built-in sympathy factor. Robson asks Sister Pete point-blank if he should die, or instead "do what it takes to survive." And even though there's no way in hell she wouldn't have immediately known what he was talking about (especially after dealing with Beecher, Winthrop, and Guenzel), Sister Pete blithely opines that he definitely shouldn't die. Taking that as her best advice, Robson thanks her and heads for the door.

Shirley and Augustus make one final appearance, to tell us that the worst thing that can happen is when all your senses are working overtime. Uh-oh. I sense something really disgusting is coming.

His nerves steeled by the presumed blessings of a nun with no sexual experience whatsoever, Robson returns to Cutler's cell wearing a tight-fitting wife-beater and a sexy, come-hither stare. Apropos of nothing, Cutler hands him a spoon and tells him to lick it until it shines even brighter than both of their bald heads. At this point, I actually thought to myself that there's no way they would go where I thought this might go. And yet they did. And it was really, really nasty. Cutler orders Robson to drop his pants and bend over, and then we fade to black over Robson's screams as the term "spooning" takes on a whole new connotation. The good news is that he only had to lick it beforehand. The bad news is that I busted out all my good spoon jokes in the recaplet and teaser headlines, so I'm forced to leave you with only this link, so that you can begin to imagine what Cutler and Robson's wedding might be like someday. Go ahead and click. It's even scarier than you're thinking.

Tom Fontana: So are you coming to Binder's farewell party? I hear it's going to be even worse than that Chevy Chase celebrity roast was.
Aaron: Surely you can't be serious? I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Tom Fontana: Of course I'm serious. And stop calling me Shirley.
Aaron: Sorry. Are you bringing the spoons, or should I?
Tom Fontana: You'd better do it. I'm bringing the spinach dip.