It's melting! It's melting!
Yeah. Sorry. I really didn't want to make that joke while doing Oz this season, but if you live on the East Coast (and your car has rear-wheel drive like mine), then you know exactly what I'm talking about. God bless salt and all its many splendiferous uses. Mmm, salt.
We open with the expected Augustus Interlude, which means that, as usual, the Hill is alive with the sound of sucking. Our Theme Of The Week? Junk. Yeah. I'll say. Augustus does a pretty poor riff on George Carlin's famous "A Place For My Stuff" bit, and then before I can even get settled in my comfy new Aeron chair, Poet starts smacking me in the face with a product placement. Ow. "Yo, Hill's book, man," he tells Reggie as they lounge about in their pod. "He writes good [sic]. Make [sic] me a little jealous." Reggie -- like everyone else on the planet -- is clearly no fan of Patti, because he couldn't care less about Hill's book or any other. He just wants his pudding pops. Sadly, the boys have no money, because "the bookbinding business went bust," and the Italians have been blocking their drug sales. Poet chooses to respond to this turn of events by impersonating Bill Clinton, which leaves him vulnerable to so many perverse and disgusting cigar and semen stain jokes that I actually just got brainlocked trying to choose one.
And speaking of "brainlock," here comes another Crap-Ass Crime Flashback. It's finally time for the long-awaited Ashley Hamilton to make an appearance, and he does so by chowing down on a brownie while simultaneously smoking two sensimilla sticks. The cops soon arrive, and the ludicrous slow-motion shot of Grasshley running through a frat house bedroom to rescue his precious marijuana plants is pretty much the quintessential definition of "public access production values." Heh. Even the costumes are fucked up. One of the cops has a hat that's bigger than his entire head. Grasshley tries to swallow the evidence (because nothing says "innocent bystander" like having a serrated marijuana leaf stuck in your teeth), but it's to no avail. Prisoner number 03B-563: Stanley Bukowski. Convicted January 16th, 2003 of Possession and Distribution of Illegal Substances. Sentence: Fifteen years. Up for parole in ten. Oh, and "Bukowski"? Whatever. At least it's better than "Ferlinghetti."
When we see Grasshley, he's hanging around the phones in Em City, displaying his Don Johnson-wannabe stubble, a massive hoop earring, and a truly mind-bending mohawk/mullet that's been dyed red and greased to high heaven. You know the new guy must be low on the totem pole, because he doesn't get to use his own private phone like Keller does. You also know that he's low on the intelligence scale, because he strikes up a conversation with Poet and Reggie about starting a drug-smuggling business while the Italians are standing not three feet away. Oh, yeah. This guy is gonna last. Using the same powerful molecular chemistry skills that have allowed his hair to defy both gravity and also the entire known spectrum of visible light waves, Grasshley has developed a method of cooking pot brownies that seals in all the home-cooked flavor while also preventing any pesky odors from alerting the drug-sniffing dogs. "They're double-fudge, too," he adds. "With extra icing for effect." Wow. How does Martha Stewart not know about this? Grasshley and Poet seal their new distribution deal with a very loud and very public high-five, while in the background Chuck Zito tries furiously to draw his facial features into a steroid-enhanced rictus that roughly approximates "suspicion."
Yay, Schillinger! God, I can't believe I just typed that. This show has clearly warped my already highly fragile sense of morality. Go Aryans! He's delivering the mail, and after Grasshley picks up his freshly-arrived box of brownies, we're treated to a special effect that -- like everything else on this show -- is basically just a distaff hillbilly cousin of something that Six Feet Under or The Sopranos has already done better. In this case, it's the Bong-Cam, which on Oz consists of an underpaid grip shaking the camera while an underpowered TRS-80 adds in a post-production blurring effect. Also, are we really supposed to believe that in a mailroom where not even a third-rate spank rag like Swank can go unmolested, no one would have nibbled on even a single brownie? And if they had tried them, and they experienced the same "kick-ass body buzz" that Grasshley is now enjoying, are we really supposed to believe that they wouldn't have just eaten the entire box themselves? Or at the very least used the icing as a lubricant for their gang rape? I mean, come on. Let's try to be at least a little realistic here, okay, Tom?
Cut to the kitchen, where Grasshley emphatically demonstrates the powerful negative impact THC can have on your intellect by selling brownies to the other inmates while Pancamo stands mere inches away, using his handy George Foreman grill to drain the excess Bovine Growth Hormone out of the Tuesday meatloaf.
Back in Em City, everyone is crowded around the TV, watching Sallycize. Here's some sample dialogue: "Get your balls out and make sure they're firm and round, because we're going gonna bounce them high! Yeah! Hard! Pump it stiff and hard!" Oy. Since when does the Spice Channel have a workout show? Meanwhile, Pancamo and Urbano are up in their pod, discussing the need to kill Grasshley before he starts infringing on their business. At the same time, Poet, Reggie, and the unnecessarily-difficult-to-spell Keneniah are in their own pod, trying to determine the brownies' secret ingredient. After rejecting butter, brown sugar, and bongwater as likely possibilities, they decide that the only solution will be to get the recipe straight from the man himself.
Which may be hard to do, because here come the Italians, who have cornered Grasshley alone in the kitchen. I guess you can forget what I said about him being the low man on the totem pole, because even though he doesn't get to use his own personal pay phone, he does apparently have the right to visit the kitchen any time he wants, with absolutely no supervision of any kind. I guess some judge must have recently ruled that all prisoners have a constitutional right to get the munchies or something. Whatever. At least his last words are kind of funny: "Oh. I feel like Custer." Heh. Pancamo drags him into a back room, and while an ostensibly Italian Will Ferrell look-alike holds him in place, they rapidly proceed to burn his face off with the violent out-gassing from a steam pipe. You know, because all kitchens have pipes with levers that release white-hot gas on command. Why wouldn't they? Anyway, farewell, Stanley Bukowski. Like the song says, I was going to care about your death, but then I got high.
The day, Poet and crew wander through Em City, lamenting the late but unloved former Mr. Shannen Doherty. They're especially distraught because the recipe he gave them just before his untimely death has turned out to be worthless, which means they're right back to square one when it comes to earning money. Never one to let a little thing like a complete and utter lack of intelligence, common sense, or proper capitalization skillz get him down, muMs decides to embark on a new moneymaking scheme, this time utilizing Redding. They immediately head off to find him in the shower room, and start things off by begging to return to their old telemarketing jobs. Well, that doesn't sound like a very good plan. Why not just try selling magazines and candy bars pod-to-pod or something? The Cos -- perhaps fondly remembering his former life with Theo, Sondra, and Rudy before the crack came and addled his brain -- quickly announces that he'll take them back. But not before he makes them get down on their knees and beg a little. Reggie and Keneniah don't look real happy about all this, but that's probably just because they're too stupid to realize what would have happened if it were Keller instead of Crackhead Cosby making them kneel like that.
After an all-too-brief shot of Business Barbie looking fetching with her hair up in a bun, we see Poet explaining his grand scheme to Reggie. Basically, they're just going to steal credit card numbers from every customer who places an order. Except they're calling with a political survey, which means they're not actually taking orders. And the whole reason Poet quit the last time around was that the lady wouldn't give up her credit card. In other words, it's the dumbest plan ever. Man, where's Murdock and Hannibal when you really need them? Oh, that's right. They're dead. ["Murdock's DEAD?" -- Sars]
Augustus Interlude. Apparently, there's just as much junk underwater as there is on land. This particular monologue is so dumb that using the pun "water you talking about?" (a perennial favorite of my father's, by the way) would actually have improved it.
Ahh, Rebadoze. At least HE gets his own phone. Or at least free use of the one in the library. I wonder what Leo is going to say when he gets a $600 phone bill from 1-900-GRANNY-69. Timbo wanders through the library, claiming to be looking for Patti, but really just serving as a foil for Rebadow to provide the necessary exposition about today being the day of her lumpectomy. From there it's a quick jaunt over to Unit Zzzzzzz, where Pablo pumps Rebadoze for information about their mutual girlfriend. They're interrupted by a passing behemoth, who loudly taunts Pablo for being a "bookworm fag." See? This is what I mean about not believing that Pablo wouldn't be a prag by now. Because he's young and stupid instead of old and boring, Pablo responds by pulling out a shank and shoving it right into the back of the guy's neck. I'm surprised he didn't need a stepladder to reach that high. The guards descend on him in an instant, and we're "treated" to a "nice" little shot of Pablo's "ass" as he's thrown into the hole. I've got two words for you: Cottage and cheese. Although at least now we know why he's not a prag. You try and tattoo a swastika onto that ass and you're gonna have stretch marks all over it in less than an hour. Enjoy your bread and water, Pablo. You'll thank them when it's swimsuit season.
Back in the library, Rebadoze waits tensely by the phone. Oh, Christ. They've even got copies of Hill's book all laid out on the desk, perfectly placed to give you a subliminal urge to head straight to Barnes & Noble the instant the show is over. A guard comes by and demands that Rebadow return to his cell for count, and even threatens him with "the hole" if he refuses. I'm not sure which is worse, the thought of seeing Rebadoze's cottage-cheese ass, or the thought of what he and Pablo might discuss down there while they're both naked and thinking of Patti. Ew.
After lights out, Rebadoze and Busmalis are chatting in the Grumpy Old Pod. It's all very grumpy and old, but spirits are lifted when McManus taps on the window and delivers a jaunty thumbs-up. Sigh. I guess Patti is still alive, after all. Man, where's Gene Siskel and his downward-pointing thumb when you really need him? Oh, that's right. He's dead.
More Sallycize. Or, as Urbano puts it, "It's time to exercise the old fantasy muscle." Ew. Again. This whole scene is pretty much just an excuse for the boys to taunt Busmalis about his impending wedding, especially because the last time around, Norma left him at the altar to get pregnant by another man. It's all very cute and well-intentioned, but the whole thing goes off the rails when Busmalis gets up and announces, "Well, to all you lonely and horny naysayers with no one but Rosie Palm and her five sisters to love you, I say this: 'Right here, baby.'" This last is accompanied by the truly unholy sight of Busmalis grabbing his crotch, jumping up and down, and shouting, "Right in my big blue balls!" Wow. Just…wow. After much careful deliberation, I've decided to rank that at number four on my all-time list of The Most Horrifying Things I've Ever Had To Recap, just behind The Spoon, Janice and Joey, and naked Stilgar. At least Reggie manages to get off a good line. "The brat was conceived on what should have been your honeymoon," he says. "That's even freakier than cloning." Hee!
The wedding. I would recap this scene with the care and attention to detail it deserves, but Busmalis is wearing a gold polka-dot bow tie with a green V-neck sweater and a red, white, and black checked blazer, so I'm not even sure I can look directly at the screen without suffering an epileptic seizure. Norma is obviously late -- because otherwise we wouldn't have any phony dramatic tension about whether or not he'll get stood up again -- but she does arrive eventually, and Mukada pronounces them boring and big-breasted. Er, I mean, "man and wife."
Hill. There's junk in outer space, too. Now if only we could find a way to send him up there to clean it. In space, no one can hear you suck.
The Most Annoying Pod In The Whole Wide World. Idzik hovers over Omar's bed just before the morning count, begging to know if he's devised a plan to kill him yet. Oh, yeah. That's a good idea. Let OMAR make the plan. Omar claims that he's been unable to think with Idzik bothering him all the time, although that still doesn't explain why he wasn't capable of rational thought for the other thirty some-odd years of his life. And just to provide further proof of how stupid he is, Omar turns to McManus for advice. Oh, yeah. That's a good idea. Let TIMMY solve your problems. "Of all the ridiculous things you've said and done," says Timbo, "and there have been plenty, this is the most ridiculous." Sigh. You know what? If Timmy is on the screen, just assume I'm shouting the exact same thing. Over and over and over again.
McManus throws him out of the office, which prompts Omar to continue his futile quest for a clue in the cafeteria, where he begs Idzik for an explanation of why he wants to die so badly. Idzik leads him to everyone's favorite unguarded storage closet (where you'd think there'd be a line outside of prisoners waiting to get in, but I guess not), and even just the mere prospect of these two engaging in some kind of an illicit sexual encounter was enough to leave me quivering in the fetal position for the better part of an hour. When I return to full consciousness, Idzik is in the middle of yet another of his epic-length physics lectures. This one deals with how a lack of light will one day doom our entire universe, and all the life within. Hmm. Sounds like someone has been reading the recaps. I haven't been watching this show long enough to know whether or not Tom Fontana is capable of subtle self-parody (or "subtle" anything, for that matter), but I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was just having some fun with us here. So good job, Tommy. No spoon for you. Omar's response to the news of this impending astronomical debacle is to ask, "Well, yeah, but we could, um, maybe build a rocket ship, right?" Sigh. If you still don't understand why I hate Omar, here's a perfect example. That's a good joke, but even the closed captioning had better timing on the delivery than Michael Wright. For the nine billionth time, Idzik demands to know whether Omar is willing to kill him, and Omar promises to have an answer by noon.
So let's see. Omar said noon, right? And this sequence started with the morning count, which we'll just assume was at eight, okay? Now he's already met with McManus, eaten breakfast, and endured sixty minutes of Physics 402: String Theory and the Implications of Sub-Atomic Stupidity, so it's got to be at least ten o'clock by now, right? So in the two hours he has remaining, we're supposed to believe that Omar visited the library, read a half-dozen books, surfed the internet ("What do you mean, the closed captioning had better timing? Fuck you, Recap Boy!"), and got his Ph.D in advanced astrophysics, all without leaving the prison. Or, you know, turning into someone who ISN'T OMAR! Come to think of it, why the hell am I nitpicking the timeline when what we're really faced with here is the stupidest man in Oz suddenly morphing into Johannes Kepler and going all A Brief History of Crime on our asses. Oy. Words just simply cannot convey how stupid all this is. Anyway, Omar's central thesis, which he's helpfully written out on a chalkboard that's filled with astronomical charts and -- God help us -- relativistic equations for determining light transfer properties, is that while "light, heat, and gas" may someday come to an end, there won't just be a void, but rather a massive singularity that will condense all existence to into a tiny, massively dense ball of matter. Yep. Right there. That's what did it. This scene is now officially the dumbest thing I've ever seen on HBO, and I once watched Mike Binder get a blow-job while viewing an old Three Stooges movie. Because the universe isn't actually going to end, Omar has decided not to kill Idzik. "I am very disappointed in you," says the diminutive doofus. "Well, yeah. This is Oz," replies Omar, in what Tom Fontana probably wishes weren't another example of subtle self-mockery. "Maybe you can convince somebody else," he continues. But alas, Idzik merely gives him an evil stare, and frostily announces that he's already made an alternative arrangement.
Which turns out to involve killing Omar! Woo hoo! Ding-dong, the dork is dead! I've never been so happy in my life! Hell, even the sight of the ridiculous Resusci-Annie CPR doll they're using to play Omar's lifeless corpse isn't enough to ruin my mood. Idzik gets carted off to solitary, and in a touch of continuity that's probably completely accidental, he even gets Omar's old cell. Aw. That's almost touching, in a Thank God We Never Have To See Either Of Them Again sort of way. I will say, however, that if Idzik fucks Claire before this is over, I'm not recapping the finale. Not even Sars would fire me for refusing to write about that. ["For putting the idea in Fontana's head, on the other hand…" -- Sars]
Hill. One man's trash is another man's treasure. Does that mean that somebody out there actually likes these monologues?
We now move into the "Not Important This Week, But Don't Forget About These Guys Before The Finale" segment of the show, which opens with Robson striding into the hospital ward to be told that he's just tested HIV positive. He's obviously upset at the news, and while there's been a lot of speculation in the forums about where he might have caught it, I think it's a pretty safe bet that our buddy Wolfgang will ultimately prove to be the culprit. It's more dramatic that way, don't you think? Of course, that leads me to wonder why Robson couldn't have been the one to write a book. I can totally see it now: From Hemi-Penis to HIV: When Bad Things Happen to Bad People. Now, that I would buy. Robson demands that Gloria not tell anyone about his condition, and she agrees, despite the fact that she's required by both law and continuity to immediately transfer his ass to the AIDS ward. He also insists that she destroy his file, and this time she refuses. So he grabs it off her desk and tears it into tiny little pieces right in front of her. Oh, yeah. That'll work. Assuming no one in Oz has ever heard of a photocopier, that is. Then again…
up we get the O'Reilys, who are gathered in Cyril's cell to celebrate the fact that he's still stuck in what may very well be the worst place on Earth. Although I guess they probably don't see it that way. After Betty Buckley helpfully exposits that Cyril's execution was merely stayed, and not overturned, Ryan heads off to the hospital ward to get some of that good old-fashioned Gloria Nathan lovin'. Gloria, however, isn't really in the mood, because she's still conflicted over all the emotions Cyril's almost execution brought to the forefront. After all, Cyril did kill her husband (although the actor in the flashback we see is most definitely NOT Scott Winters), and it made her kind of happy to see him strapped into the chair. On the other hand, she's a doctor who believes in saving life rather than taking it, and the fact that she lurves Ryan like a delirious schoolgirl with a Tiger Beat crush on Justin Timberlake probably factors into the equation as well. Ryan, because he's just that good, uses this confession as an opportunity to make one of his own. Ever since Father Salty Shitpants died, he says, he's been feeling the urge to apply his own prodigious Lord Of The Dance talents to helping other people. As a result, he'd like a transfer to the hospital, where he can save lives, be near Gloria, and maybe even strangle the occasional nasty man, all in the name of doing good. Gloria, because she's just that smitten, readily agrees, and Ryan smiles and suavely leans in to administer the always potent forehead kiss before he departs. Ahh, the joys of the office romance. One day your mentally retarded sibling is murdering her husband, and the you're forehead-kissing in a maximum security prison. Boy, I can't even tell you how many times that's happened at my job.
Crap-Ass Crime Flashback. Papa O'Reily dropped a car on a guy. Yeah. I don't think I need to say any more than that. Prisoner #03P-138, Seamus O'Reily. Convicted February 3rd, 2003 of Murder in the First Degree. Sentence: Thirty-four years. Up for parole in fifteen. Um, is the "P" supposed to be for "Papa"?
Ryan swings by Cyril's cell, and answers his brother's question about Dad coming to visit by saying, "Well…not 'visit,' exactly." Heh. It's all in how Dean Winters says it, but it was still the second biggest laugh of the episode. Ryan goes to see McManus, and demands that Timbo not "do the right thing" and try to reunite him with his father. Timmy initially had no desire to have Seamus in Em City, but now that he knows Ryan is against it, it's only a matter of time. Ten bucks says they're podmates before the finale is even halfway over.
Augustus Interlude. "Toxic waste. You can't put two worse words together." Sigh. We did this last week, Augustus. Neck. String. Moving on.
Macbeth auditions. Schillinger is reading for the lead, and he's delighted when Betty Buckley says he gets the role, because "taking this part now proves that [he's] got bigger balls than anybody in Oz." And while this particular episode's bizarre scrotal obsession is really beginning to creep me out, I can at least give this scene some minor props for testicular continuity after what Mayor McNoNuts said to Schillinger back in the second episode. While Betty stands there and silently ponders the relative size of Vern's gonads (and also the fact that I've used five separate synonyms for the male reproductive glands in the space of less than fifty words), Beecher shows up for an audition of his own, only to be told by Alvarez The Perpetually Grumpy Stage Manager that he's too late. Fortunately for Toby, and also for those viewers who prefer their dramatic irony to be both super-sized and Shakespearean, the part of MacDuff is still open. This, of course, allows Tobias the opportunity to audition with a few lines about MacDuff realizing that his wife and children have been murdered because of his own actions. If you look closely, you can actually see J.K. Simmons flinch when an anvil breaks loose from the lighting rig and crashes to the stage between them. You don't have to read the spoiler thread to know how this one is going to end.
In a mercifully Patti- and Rebadow-free library, Schillinger and Keller sit down for a friendly little chat. Vern tries to get Chris to take a part in the play, but Keller doesn't like "wearing makeup," and has decided to help out with the props instead. That sound you just heard was millions of fan-fic writers scrambling to edit their "Keller makes himself pretty for the Oz Sadie Hawkins dance" scenes. As bad ex-boyfriends often do, Beecher turns up at this point to taunt the two men who introduced him to the full spectrum of manly prison love. He also intentionally reveals that Keller killed Cindy Brady, presumably in the hopes of turning Schillinger against him. "Any of this ring a fucking bell?" he asks, as he starts to sniffle a bit. "You know what?" he continues. "I can still cry. I'm proud of that." Oh, shut up, Beecher. What a wuss! I haven't seen crying that pathetic since Kordell Stewart starting bawling on the sidelines of a nationally televised NFL game. And speaking of Kordell, how come we haven't had Rick Fox back this season? He's only averaging nine points a game, so you'd think he'd be happy to get away from the court for a while. Once Beecher leaves, Schillinger suggests that he knows too much, and must be killed. Keller volunteers to do the job himself, because he "just wants to fuck him in the ass one more time" before he does the deed. Aw. How romantic. Sniff.
Cafeteria. Beecher arrives for a meeting with Betty Buckley, and instead finds himself alone with Keller in a weird little backstage area that no one has ever seen before. Hmm. I guess all the storage closets were booked. Keller teases him a bit, obviously enjoying the fact that his presence makes Toby massively uncomfortable. Then he picks up a shank and takes a few vaguely threatening steps across the room, which makes Beecher leap of his chair and run to hide in the corner. Heh. Keller stabs himself in the head to prove that it's merely a fake prop shank, and I'm left to wonder exactly what version of Macbeth they're going to be putting on here. I can just hear it now: "Is this a sharpened toothbrush I see before me, the bristles toward my hand?" They quote Shakespeare at each other for a few minutes, and then Keller pulls out a real shank, and once again Beecher is leaping out of his chair. This time he goes on the attack, but Keller manages to deck him with a single punch. Hee! Man, Beecher really is a wuss. Chris pulls out a set of handcuffs, and The One-Note French Horn of Impending Doom wails its creepy tune.
Meanwhile, McManus and Betty Buckley run into each other in the lounge for the sole purpose of establishing that Betty never set a meeting with Beecher. They quickly realize it's a set-up of some kind, but will they get there in time to save him? What do you think?
When we come back, Keller has Beecher handcuffed to a chair with a strip of duct tape across his mouth. Well, at least Toby will be safe from an anthrax attack. Chris plants himself in Beecher's lap and rubs both shanks across his face a few times, looking for all the world like a very recent graduate of The Jame Gumb School For Advanced Public Creepiness. "It puts the lotion in the basket," he says, while pretending not to know which shank is fake and which is real. Oh, no, he doesn't. He does, however, stab Tobias in the stomach with fake shank, just to get his attention. Keller goes on to reveal that Vern wants Beecher dead, and that he's been pretending to be Schillinger's "butt buddy" so that he'll know about the plans in advance. Meloni spends most of the scene dancing around Beecher's bound form, trying to look all scary and tough, and I've gotta be honest: I just don't get why people are so in love with this guy. Ryan, I get. The Big Black Sex Cop, I totally get. Meloni? Not so much. It always seems like he's sort of phoning it in. Plus he's got a pretty nasty beer gut. I guess you had to see the whole series to truly appreciate these two. Anyway, Keller pretends to stab Toby again, and then announces that if he really wanted Toby dead, he could have killed him by now. His point made, Chris uncuffs him and adds, "Instead, all I really want is for you to love me again." Then he plants a big wet kiss on Toby, who doesn't really seem to be resisting all that much. Their lip-lock is interrupted by Betty, who as a paid employee of Oz is contractually required to arrive just seconds too late to prevent anything bad from happening.
Later that day, Keller and Schillinger meet up on the steps near Unit B. Chris gleefully reports that Beecher no longer has any idea who's betraying whom, and that soon enough, they'll "give him something to really cry about." Then he plants a yet another big wet kiss on Schillinger, who looks hilariously disgusted as he keeps his eyes open the entire time. Hee! I can't believe he just tongue-kissed Vern in public! That's awesome. On the other hand, it looks like Busmalis's crotch grab may just have been demoted to number five. J.K. Simmons earns the biggest laugh of the night with a perfect "What the hell was that? And did I like it or not?" shrug as Keller walks away.
Hill. Jesus Christ, shut up already!
McManus stands in a hallway somewhere, waiting to meet with that guy from the parole board whom Alvarez punched in the face. For those who like to keep track of these things, Timbo is wearing a blue v-neck sweater, marking what is roughly the eight trillionth time one of those has appeared this season. Does the wardrobe department shop at Sam's Club or something? Because I don't care about this plotline even one little bit, I'll just report that the guy says he'll think about meeting with Alvarez, and that Timmy heads straight to Miguel's pod to deliver the news. Alvarez, who's wearing a blue v-neck of his own, takes it about as well as you might expect, and then returns to staring blankly at a crinkled snapshot of The Widow Cutler.
We dissolve from the picture to the real thing, as Alvarez gets to visit with The Widow in the big happy room this time, instead of the depressing phone and glass cubicles. Miguel has his finest sleeveless t-shirt on, and he cranks the flirting up to eleven as he smiles and stares deeply into her eyes. Widow Cutler starts off caring only about the legal documents she's brought for him to sign, but like many of the men and women in our forums, she's powerless to resist the massive Acevedo charm. And while I personally think lines like "I'd worship at your feet" might be just a wee bit over the top for a first date, I do have to admit that I get the Alvarez love as well. He's like a cute little facially-scarred puppy dog. They end up holding hands and looking around at all the other happy couples in the room. Then she reaches under the table and gives him a hand-job. Psych!
Cut to Alvarez in the cafeteria, grinning like he really did just get a hand-job. Schillinger cuts him off to ask if he's signed everything over like he was told, and Alvarez reports that The Widow Cutler has asked for more time. He claims he's just following orders, and then makes me giggle when he warns the Aryans that they "need to calm down." Schillinger tells his boys that he wants a mole in the visiting room the time she visits, because he doesn't trust Miguel or The Widow Cutler. This scene is also notable for the quiet look of desperation on Robson's face, as he looks like he's still dealing with the implications of his recent diagnosis.
Crap-Ass Crime Flashback, Part The Third. This one features an impressive Dennis Rodman look-alike throwing acid in a drag queen's face. It's mildly better than the norm, mostly because of the highly entertaining reaction shots from the other cross-dressers. Prisoner number 03T-323, Alonzo Torquemada. Convicted February 6th, 2003, Assault in the First Degree. Sentence: Ten years. Up for parole in six.
Ahh! At long last we discover who owns those kick-ass platform boots that are in the opening credits each week. It's Torquemada, and my joy at having one of the great mysteries of Oz solved right before my very eyes is tempered only by the knowledge that all the good Mel Brooks jokes have already been used in this guy's forum thread. Oh, well. I guess nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, right? In addition to the boots, Torquemada wears white gloves, a fancy suit, a pink feather boa, and a single milk white contact lens as he strides into Oz with the gays parading behind him. Man, talk about a Sex-Eye! And what's up with the weird prison-sex confluence in Bobby Cannavale's career this week? Did he piss off his agent, or is he just so happy to be away from Third Watch that he's decided to emulate Omar and find the gayest situations possible? For me at least, I'm just happy he's not Eddie Cibrian.
Once Torquie gets settled, he pays Alvarez a little visit in the empty computer lab. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Alonzo -- who's added one of Carrie Bradshaw's giant flower brooches to his ensemble -- offers Miguel a free sample of his latest designer drug, which consists of a tiny green tablet called "Destiny." Miguel declines, which prompts Torquemada to say, "I like you. You're smart. You can be my Numero Dos." "What? Of the drag queens?" snarks Alvarez. Heh. Torquemada explains that "Destiny" is the greatest drug ever, and that he plans on using it to one day rule all of Em City. Then he's going to put the prisoners on the rack and force them to confess to heresy. Just kidding. He's actually just going to have sex with all of them. What? It's the power of The Eye, people. Miguel refuses every overture, and Torquemada finally gives up and departs. But not before he stops to sniff Miguel a few times. Yeah, that's right. He sniffs him. And it was the sexiest damn sniff I've ever seen.
Hill. Junk bonds, junk food, junk mail. Blah blah blah.
A flashback of Billy Clyde Tuggle's blood-soaked body reminds even the newest of viewers that Leo is the worst warden ever. That impression doesn't get changed much by the interrogation he's running, as he questions Yood about who might have committed the murder. Yood isn't talking, saying that he's "smart enough to know that what happened here is a small thing that's tied to the tail of a dragon." Hmmm. Looks like someone's been playing the re-released "Dragon's Lair" in the writer's room a little too much. Ahh, "Dragon's Lair." I spent many a quarter on that game, and all you ever did was move the joystick about once every ten minutes. Good times, huh?
Down in the cellblocks, Johnson The Blatantly Guilty CO orders his stooge Kelch to commit one last murder. Unlike last week, when he and The Little Lackey loudly announced their plans to all and sundry, Johnson at least displays enough discretion to whisper the victim's name this name. Meanwhile, Ex-Wife Ellie is in Leo's office, proudly declaring that he's just won the highly coveted "Correctional Officer's Association Lifetime Achievement Award" that I've been joking about for the last three weeks. And get this: according to Leo, "the only criterion for the lifetime achievement award is survival." Or the lack thereof, apparently. I swear, sometimes it seems like Tom Fontana writes this stuff just to set me up. Ellie snuggles into Leo's lap, which is of course Timmy's cue to barge into the office without even knocking. In six years on this show, Terry Kinney has made me laugh precisely once, and it comes right here when all he can manage is a highly-nonplussed "Wow!" before walking right back out again.
Later that night, poor little Timbo mopes around in his office, staring at the tux he rented to attend the big ball. Murphy comes in, all gussied up in a tux of his own, and tries to cheer up McManus enough to get him to join the party. This week's Line of the Night? "What's the problem? Does little Timmy need help with his clip-on?" Hee! But don't ever make me think about "Little Timmy" again, okay? As a public service, I'll also announce that Murphy will be appearing as the bad guy on this week's episode of Hack. Insert your own Tom Fontana joke here.
Cut to the ball, which I think is being held in the gym. The dance floor covers up the meditative maze, so it's sort of hard to tell. After all the angst in the scene, we almost immediately get a shot of McManus in his tux, so I guess whatever Murphy said must have worked. I also have to admit that most of these people don't clean up very well. Sister Pete got a perm that doesn't really suit her, and even Gloria doesn't look as good in a gown as I expected her to. And much to my everlasting dismay, Claire is nowhere to be seen. But neither is Leo, and Timmy somewhat drunkenly volunteers to go fetch him.
After no one answers his repeated knocks (I guess he learned THAT lesson), Timbo opens Leo's office door to find the lights out and the room empty. The reason it's empty, by the way, is that Leo is staggering down a darkened hallway with blood spilling down the front of his ruffled white tuxedo shirt. Ha! I bet he's wishing he'd sprung for those sixty-watters now, right? We cut back and forth between McManus discovering a blood trail and Leo frantically trying to make it down the hallway. He finally arrives at the party, where everyone is too busy dancing to Santana to notice that their boss is dying right in the middle of the room. Finally he collapses into a table, and the entire female component of the Oz staff (sadly sans Claire, of course) rushes to his side. Gloria tries to resuscitate him, but it's to no avail. And then Timmy walks in just in time to hear the news. Farewell, Warden Leo Glynn. You were arrogant, incompetent, and ineffectual, but we'll always have Ghostbusters, and I'm thankful for that.
Hmm. Looks like the ball wasn't being held in the gym, because here's Timmy, pacing the meditative maze. And Torquemada thinks Destiny is addictive! Trust me, it's got nothing on the maze. He's joined by Ellie, and McManus takes this opportunity to provide some critical survival tips should you ever find yourself trapped in a labyrinth. Just so you know, always keep your hand on the right-side wall, and try to avoid the minotaurs whenever possible. The conversation quickly turns to the shambles of their marriage, and Timmy finds himself comforting the ex-wife he just caught canoodling with his newly-deceased boss while she sobs about how much she loved the man. Oh, please. All she ever did was fondle his tie and yell at him for being stupid. And while it's true that those two things would totally constitute the basis for a successful relationship if I were one of the parties involved, I still have a hard time accepting true love between two characters who had less than three minutes of screen time together all season. Whatever.
We wrap things up with Johnson paying Kelch a little visit, presumably to ensure that this episode's death toll wins a Lifetime Achievement Award of its own. I count four. Anyone know an episode with more? And then Hill makes one last appearance to remind us that prisoners are people, too, and not just junk to be discarded. At least I think that's what he said. I threw out my notes when I realized his was the only scene left.