I can't believe there's only three episodes left. And they say time passes slowly in prison. Ha!
As always, we open with an Augustus Interlude. Forgiveness, it seems, is more exciting than bachelor parties and bungee jumping. But not nearly as exciting as black-and-white flashbacks of Schillinger peeing on Robson, apparently, because that one ranks right up there with Keyser Soze and Kevin Costner's water-purifier as one of my all-time favorite cinematic urination scenes. What?! Doesn't everyone have a favorite urination scene?
The episode proper begins in the weight room, with Schillinger quizzing Robson on the details of Cutler's death. James gleefully exposits that everyone from Sister Pete on down thinks Wolfie offed himself, and before I even get a chance to express my joy that Vern actually has lines this week, Robson is already back in The Brotherhood. Hell, he even earns the honor of spotting Schillinger, who's hitting the bench press pretty hard here. Although if Vern has eyes in the back of his head, does he really need a spotter? And while we're at it, this now makes two former prags Schillinger has gone soft on this season. I wonder what that portends for Tobias? Nothing good, I would assume.
Over in McManus's office, Alvarez is shocked to discover that he was listed as the sole beneficiary in Cutler's will. Since this is all just set-up for a probable future plotline where Alvarez gets over Maritza and finds true love with the bitter yet repentant widow of a white supremacist, we don't really need to go into a lot of detail yet. Just know that among other things, Alvarez has inherited Cutler's "house, car, [and] his 1942 Indian motorcycle."
He also seems to have inherited a few of Cutler's more recent acquisitions as well, because Miguel's visit to a mercifully LuPone-less library suddenly brings him face-to-face with Robson. And also Schillinger, who demands that Alvarez immediately sign all of Cutler's possessions over to his widow. "I already thought of that," replies Alvarez, confirming my suspicions as to where this plot is going while simultaneously affording Robson the opportunity to answer, "Don't think, [racial epithet deleted], just do." "Maybe I should give all his assets to you, Roby," replies Alvarez, in an early Line-Of-The-Week. "Being that you already gave him your ass." Hee! It's the quasi-lisp and gratuitous butt-scratching Kirk Acevedo throws in on that last part that really sell the line.
And then the editor does him even one better, by cutting from Robson calling Miguel a "cunt" to a Basic Instinct beaver-shot of Robson's girlfriend waiting in the visitor's lounge. Heh. Robson comes in to join her, and after confessing that things have gotten a wee bit "hectic" for him recently, he quickly tries to reassert his manhood by shoving his tongue down her throat and his fingers into her, uh, Sharon Stone. So to speak. The girlfriend, however, is either strongly opposed to public displays of affection, or simply unable to become aroused when her partner isn't wearing a control-top stocking on his head, because she struggles to pull away and loudly describes Robson as a "cocksucker" for all the world to hear. Oops. That probably wasn't a good idea. Our intrepid ex-prag flips out and shoves her against the wall, shouting, "I! Am not! A cocksucker!" as he does. Then the guards haul him away, and we're treated to one of those patented Oz "throwing a guy into the hole" shots where you never know if you'll get to see his dick or not. For the record, this time we don't. And I'm not sure what it says about me as a Jewish heterosexual that I just watched this scene three times in slow motion so as to accurately confirm or deny the visibility of the mangled hemi-penis of a known anti-Semite for you. I do know what it says about R.E. Rogers, though, which is that he's got excellent fine motor control. And also shapely calves. He stands up, grabs a handy nearby bucket, and proceeds to smash the room's only working light fixture, thereby plunging us into the murky blackness that is Oz's natural state. Maybe that's what happened to all the light bulbs.
And now for the narrators du jour, represented this week by the long-departed sons of Vern Schillinger. There's Andrew, played by Frederick Koehler of Kate & Allie fame, and also Hank, played by a guy with but a single non-Oz credit on his IMDb page. And that one hasn't even been released yet. Anyway, according to Chip, you can either forgive people, or "die a slow death." Um, not to rain on your anvilliciously metaphorical parade or anything there, Andy, but I'm pretty sure we're all gonna die whether we forgive people or not. I'm just saying. After a brief digression involving Chinese food and the increased risk of heart disease, Hank helpfully concludes with, "Who knew? Forgiveness is good for your health."
And product placement is good for your bottom line. Unless, that is, you're AOL Time Warner, and your bottom line is already redder than a baboon's ass. McManus leads the Muslims into Em City, where he declares to all and sundry that Hill's freshly published magnum opus is the greatest work of literature ever conceived by man, and that purchasing a copy for yourself will remove five pounds from your waistline, add two hundred points to your SAT scores, clear up your complexion, cure any nagging illnesses you may be suffering from, and instantly cause men, women, and sheep to become overwhelmingly attracted to you. Good God, people! All right, look. I understand that HBO is a business, and seeing as how they do provide us with a large volume of admittedly excellent entertainment, I'm certainly not inherently opposed to them making a few bucks while they're at it. But this whole fucking plotline has been nothing a giant commercial, and it's really starting to get on my nerves that they're not even trying to be subtle about it anymore. I mean, what's ? Miss Sally teaming up with the ghosts of Cloutier and Cutler to sell silver polish? Schillinger shilling for sea shells down by the C-Block? Just fucking show Timmy drinking a Heineken with the label out and be done with it already. Jesus Christ! It gets especially bad when the Muslims distribute free copies to all the inmates, and even Redding overcomes his Augustus-related guilt to solemnly accept a copy. Ahh, Crackhead Cosby. Ever the consummate pitchman, that one. He wanders off, singing quietly to himself. "Picture pages, picture pages, now it's time for picture pages. Time to get your pens and your crack pipes!"
Print shop. The same guy (I think his name is Reggie) who was so good at telemarketing last week is now having an endless series of problems with what appears to be some kind of bookbinding machine. Random Muslim A tries to get Arif to come help him out, but Arif is too busy being concerned with all the money they're losing because the Amazon pre-sales are eighty percent below expectations. It's also probably safe to replace "being concerned" with "acting bitchy" in that last sentence, should you find yourself so inclined. "With all due respect to Kareem Said," Arif says, "taking on Hill's book pro bono wasn't exactly a sound business plan." Heh. Try running a website, why don't you? Or even a major media conglomerate, for that matter. It ain't as easy as it looks, kids. Random Muslim B suggests lowering the wages they pay to slightly beneath minimum wage, but Arif refuses, saying that doing so would defeat the entire purpose of the operation, and reward the godless capitalist oppressors who just want to keep a brother down. Random Muslim A responds to this by throwing his arms in the air and shouting, "No blood for books!" at the top of his lungs. Okay, not really. But he might as well have, because his assertion that Arif is refusing solely because he wants to humiliate Burr Redding is no less nonsensical.
Crap-Ass Crime Flashback. Reggie and a pal take a hit off one of Cosby's crack pipes before being interrupted by the doorbell. When they open it to find a Chinese food delivery guy, they promptly cover him with a sheet, beat him with a cinderblock, and then sit down to bump fists and eat moo goo gai pan over a rapidly expanding puddle of blood. I mean, really. What the fuck? Who writes this shit? And more importantly, who supplied the seventies-vintage Betamax camcorder they filmed it with? Anyway, he's Prisoner #01R-934, Reginald Rawls. Convicted January 10th, 2001; aggravated assault. Sentence: Twelve years. Up for parole in four. Reggie ends the scene by using Mortimer The Marker to doodle a mustache and big eyebrows on the unconscious Chinese guy. Heh.
Back in the present, Reggie is complaining that telemarketing and bookbinding "ain't exactly the kind of prison life you hear about on the street." No, that would be spooning and ass-swastikas, wouldn't it? He and Keneniah are joined in their pod by Crackhead Cosby, who appears to be under some sort of drug-induced delusion that these two still care what he has to say. Oh, sweet, naïve Redding. If there's one thing I've learned from my day job, it's that the surest way to lose a friend is to force them to make outbound phone calls. Well, that and also how to minimize Internet Explorer when the boss gets too close, but that particular lesson isn't really relevant to the plot at hand. When Redding insists that the boys return to the call center out of gratitude for the protection he's given them over the years, Reggie sneers and responds that they were nothing but foot soldiers "running pudding pops and shit." A dejected and lackey-less Redding heads from there to the laundry room, where he meets with Pancamo and Urbano and offers to let them variously "squash," "weaken," or "demobilize" his old crew so as to force them to return to his loving bosom. Ooh, sneaky. Watch him jiggle! See him wiggle!
And speaking of inane rhyme scheme, here's Poet, working out on the heavy bag and proving that he's even dumber than Redding (assuming such a thing is even possible, of course). Reggie is desperate to get back to the glory days when the pudding pops flowed like wine, and the only work he had to do was hoisting the occasional cinderblock whenever he felt like a midnight snack. Poet, however, preaches patience, even in the face of Pancamo's provocations. And then he disses Omar. Hee! I knew I liked that fool for a reason.
Oy. Yet another flashback. Prisoner #03I-462, Lemuel Idzik. Convicted February 2nd, 2003; murder in the second degree. Sentence: Life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. Believe it or not, they even manage to take the footage of Said's death that we've already seen and still make it look like a blind third-grader with Parkinson's disease was holding the camera. Now why would you do that?
As we again return to the present, Leo is escorting Lemuel into Unit J. Once there, Idzik promptly starts ignoring Alvin Yood. Good call, Lemmy. Moving on.
Em City. An angry Omar shuffles his way into Arif's pod and demands the chance to seek vengeance for the death of Kareem Said. You know, I spend a lot of time moderating the forums for this show, and the one thing that never ceases to amaze me isn't the fact that Oz gets more posts than The Sopranos or Six Feet Under, or even the fact that so many rational, intelligent adults are so happily willing to endlessly dissect a two-second penis sighting or proudly declare their unconditional love for various psychopathic murderers to the world at large. No, what amazes me is that the "Omar White: Charming or Irritating?" thread is running almost three to one in favor of charming. You people are seriously messed up. Seek professional help. I mean that. Arif reminds Omar that Said's dying wish was that no harm come to Idzik, but apparently one of the side effects of Omar's toxic exposure must have been a dense, bony growth around his spinal column, because he snarls that Arif doesn't own him, and then stomps off to go try to kill Idzik all by himself.
Unit J. Schillinger arrives to deliver the mail, and it looks like Yood finally got his copy of Swank. It's no Rosie or anything, but he seems pretty happy with it. Schillinger seems pretty happy as well, as he takes a moment out of his busy cart-pushing schedule to personally thank Idzik on behalf of the Brotherhood for killing Said. "But I'm a [cute little] Jew," replies Idzik. Heh. "Well," mutters Vern, "I've always said there's some good use for you people." Like what, exactly? Banking? Running Hollywood? Recapping? Vern asks Idzik why he killed Said, and Lemmy responds with a long, drawn-out physics lecture that my pop-culture-addled brain hears as: "The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding in all of the directions it can whiz. As fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know. Twelve million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there is." Yeah. It doesn't make any more sense to Schillinger than it did to you or me.
And speaking of not making sense, here's Omar, watching his laundry dry. And I'm not kidding about that, either. That's really what he's doing. He's even moving his head in little circles as he stares into the dryer. My God, this guy is dumb. McManus enters, and Omar officially asks permission to visit with Lemuel Idzik. "Uh, that would be a no," replies McManus. Omar, having exhausted all the murderous creativity his four remaining brain cells can muster, smacks his forehead repeatedly in frustration.
The Schillinger Boys would like to remind you that forgiveness is like tofu. No, really. It is.
At a staff meeting, Leo informs the others that Oz will be hosting the third annual Correctional Officer's Awards Banquet in a few weeks. Most people seem pleased, but Claire is disappointed that it's always Oz that gets stuck hosting the event. I wonder why. Are there other, more scenic prisons where they could be holding their party? Someplace with working lights and no dead bodies in the closets, perhaps? And furthermore, exactly what sort of awards do you think they give out at these things, anyway? Is there a trophy for having the highest per capita murder rate? The most depraved sex crime? Are there categories? Best Prisoner? Best Guard? Best Supporting Utensil? The mind fairly boggles. Leo reminds them all that it's a black-tie event, and I so can't be the only person who thinks Claire's gonna go Carrie on this thing, can I? Anyway, after everyone else has filed out of the room, Murphy sidles over to Leo and awkwardly confesses his role in the maiming of Morales. He also implicates Claire and Dave Brass, and then delivers a lengthy monologue on the lonely life of a tattletale. Leo, on the other hand, barely even bats an eyelash at the news that his guards are running amok and slicing up prisoners at will. I guess he's still hoping to win that coveted Joe Arpaio Lifetime Achievement In Inmate Mismanagement trophy. Good luck, Leo!
Hospital. Nurse Nasty smacks a patient on the nose, which is always good for a giggle, and then Leo shows up to inform Morales that he's being returned to Em City. Enrique is suitably grateful, although he does ask the warden if he knows anything about Nurse Nasty. Then he bashfully admits that he's afraid of her, which is also good for a giggle. Leo tells him that his medication must be messing with his head, and leaves without ever knowing just how right he's about to be.
we get Dave Brass, who finds Neck String Bobby in the Em City computer cluster and tries to convince him that Morales is the one to blame for the whole stolen lottery money thing. In other words, Brass O'Reilys Rebadow. And he's not very good at it, so I'm not going to bother recapping it.
Elsewhere, Murphy is being berated by Claire in the guards' lunch room. She's obviously pissed about getting disciplined by Leo, but even though her little spiel includes the hilarious phrase "Justice? Justice my pink ass!" I'm still having a hard time understanding how their punishment for performing unauthorized surgery on an inmate is only the loss of a single week's vacation. For God's sake, if you take out a tendon on a football field, even the NFL will suspend you for longer than that. Especially if you pull out a Sharpie and sign it when you're done. Claire stomps off to go buy some pig's blood in anticipation of the big awards banquet, and then McManus comes in to subject us all to a long touchy-feely where he tries to come to grips with the fact that his best friend has opted to eschew the healing powers of meditative mazes and instead apply a more direct form of rehabilitative therapy. Sensing that perhaps Officer Murphy hasn't been penalized enough for his crimes, Timmy demands that Murphy buy him dinner that night as further punishment. Oh, yeah. That'll learn him.
Back in the hospital, Nurse Nasty finds Morales looking groggy in his bed. She cheerfully explains that she's sedated him so that he can't struggle, and after telling him that he's a "nasty man" who deserves to die, she pulls out his pillow and suffocates him with it. Or does she? It never gets mentioned again in the episode, which you'd think it would, but that's true of so many other murders here in Oz that I'd actually be more surprised if someone DID notice.
Sigh. Norma and Busmalis. Yawn. She's brought the baby. He likes the baby. She wants to get married. He says yes. She calls him "Agamemnon" three times in five seconds. He smells the baby a lot. Whatever.
And the hits just keep on coming! Rebadoze goes to see McManus, and begs to be switched out of the library. After ascertaining that he hasn't "forgotten the fucking alphabet," McManus promptly denies his request. From there we cut to Patti, reporting that neither Rebadow nor the neck string have been into work the past few days. I have to wonder who it was that sat around in the writer's room and decided that what this plotline needed was a big dose of Timbo to liven things up. It's like I'm in subplot hell over here. Somewhere out there, Jean-Paul Sartre is laughing at me. And as if Timmy's mere presence alone wasn't enough to send me screaming into the night, we're now also forced to listen as he delivers a big steaming pile of exposition about Rebadow's dead grandson. This is stuff even I already knew, mind you, and I don't even watch this show unless I'm getting paid for it. So why are we wasting time on it? Who knows?
The day, Patti sits smugly in the library and listens as Pablo gushes over his latest reading assignment. Now it is possible that my mainstream education may be somewhat incomplete, but I have to admit that I'm not immediately familiar with any literary classics that feature a scene in which baseball players drill holes in a wall so they can watch stewardesses fuck. Although it does sound like something Sars might know. Any thoughts? (Oh, please. She's a baseball fan, people, not a peeping tom. Get your minds out of the gutter.) ["Bouton's Ball Four is one of those books every adolescent boy reads because there's cursing and sex and whatnot. Actually not a bad call on Patti's part to recommend it to Pablo." -- Sars] And speaking of minds in the gutter, Patti's recommendation is Fear of Flying by Erica Jong. Yeah, right. Like a prison library would even have that book, and if they did, I'm sure some intelligently onanistic inmate would be hoarding it under his pillow by now. Shut up, Slutty. Rebadoze wanders in at this point, and Patti jumps up to go annoy him for a while. She pleads with him to understand that her breast cancer isn't fatal, and that he's missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to "experience the joy" and go "piping down the valleys wild" with her. Then she offers him a "zipless fuck," and they run off to the nearest storage closet. When they return, reeking of Viagra and Ben-Gay, Rebadow displays some of that wisdom old people are always supposed to possess and chooses to ignore her completely. This doesn't sit well with Pablo, who obviously doesn't like to see anyone mess with the patronizing white lady who provides him with soft-core porn on a regular basis. He jumps up and throws Rebadow against the wall, threatening him with unspecified violence unless he treats Patti with respect. Oh, Pablo would just looooove me, wouldn't he? Patti sends Pablo on his way, and Rebadow stands there silently for a minute, looking dazed. You can tell he's depressed because he doesn't have the neck string cocked at a jaunty angle anymore. Ahh, the perils of the office romance. One day you're reading Blake in your birthday suit, and the you're getting yelled at for being insensitive to cancer patients and assaulted by wayward bibliophiles. But still, something tells me these two crazy kids will work things out in the end. It's just too bad the prison is doing Macbeth instead of Romeo & Juliet.
Schillinger boys: Forgiveness makes you better at math.
When we come back from the narration, it's like we're on Law & Order: Racist Victims Unit all of a sudden. Warden Leo and Lenora Briscoe are questioning the guy who created a diversion by screaming like a banshee with a spoon up its ass on the night Mayor McDaveDuke died. The inmate blames his screaming on a really bad itch, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense until Leo threatens him with capital punishment and the scene hits its punchline: "Death row? For hives?" Okay, heh. After a gratuitous flashback reminds us of how Gorge Bollocks met his untimely fate, it's Billy Clyde Tuggle's turn in the interrogation chair. He lasts about ten seconds before squealing (like a pig, of course) on the guy who hired him.
Who turns out to be a guard named Johnson. Has this guy been on the show before? Because I've never seen him. Anyway, Leo finds him in the mailroom and smarmily asks him about the brand new Jaguar Johnson just bought. Only he seems to be pronouncing it "Jag-U-R," which I'm just going to assume is an homage to this episode's equally odd alpha-numeric title. Personally, I'm just happy they didn't also include a Se7en shout-out and have somebody get raped with a razor-blade dildo. You know they totally wanted to, though. Johnson, who's clearly not too bright, lies like Ben Affleck's toupee and denies any involvement in the crime. The instant Leo leaves the room, however, he immediately dives for the nearest phone and direct dials his (as yet unnamed) evil overlord for further instructions. Yeah. Because none of the phones in a prison are monitored or anything. Moron! Then again, there's a another telephone scene later on that would seem to suggest that I'm the moron here for even expecting this show to make sense in the first place.
Jaz Hoyt. Oy. Enough already! Didn't this guy get transferred to a psych hospital, like, five episodes ago? And yet here he is, still screaming about the devil and telling Timmy Kirk's mom that her "baby boy got butt-fucked by Satan." Wow. Who knew Timmy was Saddam Hussein's little brother? Mama Kirk claims she just wanted to meet the man who killed her son so she could understand his life a little better, and I'd go on at length about how ludicrous that was if it weren't for the fact that this whole scene exists solely to set up a subplot where Mama Kirk stalks Father Mukada. And anyone who's ever read my Six Feet Under recaps knows that I have a soft spot for stalkers. Especially ones who say things like, "I prayed so hard my knees hurt," which totally makes me think there's a great priest/altar boy joke in there that I just can't seem to find. Anyway, Mama Kirk convinces Mukada to find her a job as a nurse in the hospital ward, and now I'm really starting to ponder the potential for a spin-off where Mama Kirk opens a detective agency to stalk evil criminals and get enough information so that Nurse Nasty can finish them off. Hmm. Nasty Boys, premiering this fall on Fox (with soundtrack by Janet Jackson)!
Still more Hoyt. Sigh. He wakes up covered in blood, and then gets rushed down to the hospital, where Dr. Nathan Scullys it up with some sort of explanation involving capillaries and sweat and blah blah stigmata-cakes. Somebody wake me up when Luke Perry comes back.
Or when Cyril shows up, whichever comes first. Nurse Nasty wheels everyone's favorite hairball into the hospital ward while he's still suffering from the after-effects of his most recent ECT session. Gloria takes pity on the poor guy, mostly because he's covered in his own vomit, and orders that he be admitted for a few days to provide a nice change of scenery from death row. Cut to big brother Ryan pushing his "Prison? What Prison? I Go Where I Please" food tray into a back room in the medical area. He encounters Gloria there, and you can actually see a couple of PAs in the background cutting the sexual tension with a knife. Gloria bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair. Ryan looks deep into her eyes and taps out a few steps from Riverdance. Then they lean in for the big kiss, but to everyone's dismay, Gloria pulls away at the last second and mumbles, "I have to go." "I never stopped loving you," sighs Ryan. "Not even for a second." Aww. A single, perfect tear rolls gently down my cheek as I mourn for the fact that in spite of everything that's happened, these two are probably still the most normal couple in Oz. I feel for them, you know? That unrequited love's a real bitch, ain't it?
And so is an unrequited need to take a shit, for that matter. Cyril lies in his hospital bed, tied down with restraints and frantically trying to attract the attention of a nearby orderly. She ignores him, which prompts the arrival of a gentleman I'm just going to call SaneCyril for easy reference. SaneCyril, by the way, looks quite a bit like the result of a botched cloning experiment involving Vince Neil and the Professor from Gilligan's Island. He wanders around the suddenly freeze-framed ward, shouting at the orderlies to stop ignoring RegularCyril, and generally just being the bad-ass Scott Winters wishes his character could have been from day one. Heh. I just noticed that they're not really freeze-frames. The actors are all just trying to stand perfectly still, and one of them is really bad at it. Anyway, no one seems to care that Cyril has to go potty, and SaneCyril eventually indicates that it would be too late even if they did. Oh, God. Don't pan down! For the love of crap, DO NOT PAN DOWN! Shit. They panned down. And while Pittsburgh residents (or people who display an unhealthy obsession with forensic pathology) will be the only ones who truly appreciate my "Cyril Wecht his pants" joke, that's certainly not going to stop me from making it.
Back in Em City, Poet and his crew have invited new guy Jahfree Neema to a little sit-down in an empty classroom. Because they're all impressed with what he did "back in the day with the Black Panther thing, and since then with the, uh, community development," they've decided to ask him to be their new leader. Jahfree flat-out refuses, and in the course of doing so delivers an incredibly obnoxious lecture about how superior he is because none of his sixteen kids has ever eaten a pudding pop. Jahfree has sixteen kids? Wow. I don't know whether that calls for a Wilt Chamberlain joke or a World B. Free reference. Either way, I do know one thing: He hate me. Why else would he be so boring?
Ryan, meanwhile, has run across his mother in the cafeteria, and quickly starts taunting her about how she's been laughing and giggling all over the place with Jahfree while Cyril is about to be executed. This scene is chiefly notable for the fact that Ryan uses the word "wanker," and also because Betty seems to care more about her ex-boyfriend than her son's only brother.
Em City again. Crackhead Cosby approaches Jahfree in the common area, and gets the same snidely superior treatment that everyone else has received from this guy. God, what a tool. Who else thinks Jahfree will be dead by the time most of you are reading this recap? Once Neema has stomped off to go polish his limited edition signed Tommie Smith gold medal replica, Redding wanders over to Ryan and suggests that he try to tie Jahfree to the crime his mother was busted for. Ryan, who is clearly unaccustomed to learning dance steps from others, thinks about it for a moment as we fade to black.
Schillinger boys: Forgiving yourself makes you swear a lot.
Woo hoo! It's Keller time, kids. Everyone's favorite short-haired psychopath is meandering down a hallway with -- gasp! -- adequate lighting when he bumps right into the FBI agent who's been chasing him for three seasons now. After a brief conversation and a flippant J. Edgar Hoover crack, the FBI guy hauls off and slugs Keller right in the face. Then he delivers the worst line reading I've ever heard and turns to walk away. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss Lola Glaudini. Keller just laughs.
Beecher, meanwhile, is meeting with Henry Stanton in the hospital ward. It seems Stanton has injured his back in some sort of workplace incident, and now the guards are blah blah blah who cares? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather be reading Rosie. With Lola Glaudini. All you really need to know is that Beecher takes the case, and then goes all Johnnie Cochran on Leo in the scene and convinces him to not only take Stanton off heavy labor, but also to fire the two guards that did whatever it was they did. Which probably wasn't anywhere near as bad as slicing a tendon, which presumably is why Leo agreed to fire them instead of just taking away a week's vacation.
Sister Pete's office. A clever shot reveals the depths of Keller's depression now that Tobias is free as we pan down from Pete filing some papers to see Keller banging his head on her desk. "I'm bored," he moans. "Bored of the everyday, bored with shaving, brushing my teeth, taking a shit, and wiping my ass." Well, I'm sure his cellmate just loves to hear that. Sister Pete suggests that he's not actually bored, but rather missing his boyfriend. Then she suggests that he try helping people. After saucily playing with the pens on her desk for awhile, Keller gets a devious smile on his face and thanks the good sister for an excellent suggestion.
And now for the moment we've all been waiting for. It's the big Keller/Beecher reunion scene, and Toby has decided to celebrate by presenting his paramour with a romantic and sexy gift of…tube socks. No, not tube steaks, you perverts, tube socks. Hey, at least it wasn't a pen, right? And I guess it does demonstrate a certain level of intimacy, albeit in a really boring, married-for-thirty-years sort of way. Keller models his sexy new footwear for us as he asks Beecher a string of pointed questions about life on the outside. First up is Beecher's kids, whom Keller wants to meet, and Toby appears more than a little uncomfortable with the notion of introducing them to the serial killer he was fucking while incarcerated. I can't possibly imagine why, although Keller's feelings do seem to be a bit hurt by the rejection. he asks if Toby has been drinking, and Beecher isn't any more believable than Johnson was when he claims that he hasn't touched a drop. And finally, Keller asks about the teacher Toby mentioned last week, and Beecher is forced to admit that they've been dating. And also that he slept with her, despite the fact that she's a sweet and virginal kindergarten teacher and he's a freshly released convict with a swastika tattooed on his ass. "Good for you, you sexy motherfucker," says Keller upon hearing this news. Heh. Then he pulls his chair up close to offer "a slice of honesty" of his own. He admits to killing Franklin Winthrop, but instead of being happy to have his father's murder avenged, Beecher acts like Keller just admitted to ripping a massive fart in church or something. It's pretty clear that Toby is pulling away from prison life at this point, which is precisely why Keller turns the charm up to eleven when he leans in to ask a favor. He wants Toby to pick up a critical but highly illegal anti-cancer drug from some back-alley oncologist and deliver it to his sister. Beecher refuses at first, because it would violate his parole, but Keller flashes the Manson Lamps and repeatedly insists that he loves him. Wriggling helplessly in the crushing grasp of Keller's overwhelming manly sexuality, Beecher finally gives in and agrees to make the pick-up. "You'll see, this is all for the best," says Keller. "This is all for the best." Oh, that's not ominous. No, not at all.
Cut to Keller, calling in an anonymous tip from a pay phone in the middle of an empty (and, of course, pitch-black) hallway. Oh, come on! No guards? No inmates waiting in line? No Carrot Top pitching 1-800-COLLECT? No way.
Augustus Interlude: Forgive. I can't. You can. Forgive. I can't. You can. Forgive. I can't. You can. Forgive. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
And then at last the circle is complete. Tobias Beecher has returned to Oz. He's led in with a handful of other inmates, and McManus and Sister Pete watch balefully as he goes through the new inmate check-in process for the second time. "It's the same old story," sighs Toby. "I got fucked in the ass."
Now THAT should have been the title for Hill's book.
Tom Fontana: I just want you to know that I totally forgive you for all the nasty things you've said about the show.
Aaron: Who, me? "Nasty"? Never.
Tom Fontana: Then what was that bit about the "blind third-grader with Parkinson's disease" all about?
Aaron: Um, the triumph of a physically challenged child overcoming adversity to succeed in the cutthroat world of pay-cable cinematography?
Tom Fontana: You, sir, are a nasty man, and you deserve to die.