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Karen's dad decides to headbutt Frank because of the blowjob she gave his gay son Ian, so then Frank drunkenly comes home and headbutts Ian in turn. It's gross and scary and not really that important, in the scheme of things. So then Frank disappears and nobody really cares (because that is awesome), except for how it's like his Christmas of the week and time for his disability check. Since he doesn't show up for that, everybody knows something is totally awry. Including Veronica/Veronica's tits, who are out for no reason at all but after Kev's piece last week I guess deserved some airtime.
Turns out he's in Canada, which is too awesome for Frank to even sully, so that cop that has a crush on Fiona explains basic shit and then Steven steals a van -- including dwarven staff -- to get Frank out of Canada and back here. This considerable logistical molehill gets the least screentime of anything, because there's so much drama.
See, Steve -- correctly -- noted that life is better when shitty Frank is not around, so he kidnapped him and dropped him over the border. Bad Steve. But on the plus side, he also used dwarves to get him back, so he thinks it's a wash. Fiona thinks otherwise, despite the fact that Frank has saddled her with fifty kids that he headbutts from time to time, and honestly should just go die in a fire.
Except then what would we do for the second act of this episode, where William H. Macy randomly decides that he's in Gus van Sant's interpretation of King Lear and rails on his countrymen at various degrees of focus and acts the shit out of some Lipton and is totally inappropriate and stupid and manages to make this whole show look stupid and lame? I guess being on a poorly conceived American import, on a channel with a half-ass drama record, was just too offensive, so he decided to shoot the moon.
So he does that shit forever, while everybody acts circles around him because this isn't a fucking Coen brothers farce and all the other actors -- including Debbie, who is like five -- are doing their best to make up for his showboating, and finally William H. Macy calms down enough to go back to his fucking trailer, and we get to have a show again for five seconds.
In which not much actually happens.
But then awesomely, after a montage of people not willing to harbor Frank's gross ass throughout Chicago, he shows up at Karen's mom Sheila's (Joan Cusack)'s house, and she fucks him up the ass multiple times with a stunningly detailed, veiny ivory dildo. And then make him her live-in butt slave.
At which point maybe you start to think maybe there's a method to this madness after all. Because as we learned last week, there's nothing more demeaning for a man than taking it up the ass... And what better jerkoff to pay that emasculating price than Frank Gallagher?
week: Frank is denied almost a thousand civil rights straight people take for granted; Fiona and Steve get back together; some body part of Veronica and Kev we haven't seen before; hopefully we ignore Frank and get back to the actual characters of this dumb show.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!The best part about a second episode is getting to see the credits... Usually. But since this one, true to form, involves various castmembers in the bathroom, doing a variety of private activities, we will go fast-forwarding into the breach immediately. No thank you. No thank you at all.
Frank's day starts with a broken shoelace, while Fiona stares at him stealing a replacement from one of the kids' and shaking her head. Outside, he can't manage to use the broken lace to tie back his hair, which equals the worst thing that ever happened, because he is a ridiculous person. Ian and Steve drive up with lunch for the rest of the family, and Frank gutterscums his way down the street.
At the Alibi Room, Kev's bar, they take up a collection to pay the upstairs tenant, Tommy, back for the pay-per-view MMA they're going to be stealing from him. It's all very communal. Frank makes his way in and steals a pint, while over at the Gallaghers' they're feasting on burgers. Lip introduces everybody to sweet Karen, and they sit down to watch one of those reality shows where they do dangerous jobs on a boat and hopefully die.
Karen's dad is at the bar, and when he sees Frank he headbutts him -- dropping, he keeps his pint aloft -- for Ian's "dirty adolescent prick" and where it ended up last week. The people in the bar can't seem to tell the difference between the beatings onscreen and the beatings in the bar, or else they don't care. Since it's Frank, it's kinda both.
Pride wounded and serious amounts of blood drying on Frank's admittedly adorable Modelo Especial t-shirt -- which it turns out is Ian's -- he comes home on a drunk rampage and menaces poor Ian, eventually headbutting him in turn. Steve jumps in and starts yelling at him, Fiona's horrified, they all stare and it's really gross for a while. Veronica holds onto Debbie, covering her eyes, but the little dear's got a cast-iron skillet in hand the second she's free. Frank turns his attentions on Steve, and Fiona gets him out of the house while everybody scurries around and freaks out and feels trashy some more. Frank whines that nobody's noticed he's bleeding, and spends some more time bitching about Steve.
Steve thinks about going back inside, but fuck them for being gross, and Fiona watches Frank clean up. He's ashamed of himself and sighs for forgiveness, but she's having none of it. Trying to get your own back by hurting somebody else is a great way to feel twice as worse. Finally he fesses up, sort of, but she doesn't speak.
Ian and Lip head upstairs so Ian can change clothes; Lip tells him to fight back time. "If I ever do, I'll fucking kill him," Ian admits, and Lip lights him a joint, rolling his eyes with the desperate horror. "Eight to ten for manslaughter. Get laid as often as you want. Tattoos and everything. It's gay heaven, man!" Ian is in no mood.
Frank can't find any clean clothes in his disgusting room, so he turns the Modelo T-shirt inside out and backwards and puts on a hoodie and jacket to cover the stain, rampaging off through the city while Steve stalks him in his latest car. He thinks really hard about the right course of action, and then I guess thinks better of that.
That night, Kev closes up with a man still asleep on the bar; when he comes in the morning the guy is still there. He drops an egg in a beer for the old fella -- long hair, beard -- and that's breakfast. Debbie goes running down the street stealing newspapers, while Ian meets Veronica for a little stealing. She flirts with a delivery man, whose girlfriend had some kind of psychotic break and ended up stabbing him with a cheese knife, while Ian steals a variety of dairy products from his truck. Veronica's hotness is bewildering as usual.
Everybody runs back and forth between the two houses, trading dairy and coupons; Conrad's jamming out in his truck so hard that he doesn't notice Frank passed out on the street. Lip feeds Liam while Debbie clips coupons, and when Ian asks for pizza for breakfast Fiona directs him to healthier fare. Fiona grabs the morning's mail from the indoor welcome mat -- Fuck The Dog... Beware of the KIDS! -- and realizes it's the last Friday of the month: Disability Day, Frank's Christmas. So then where is his alcoholic ass, if not waiting for the check?
Carl is licking the tops of his sunny-side-up eggs when Steve arrives with donuts, and they explain it's because they remind him of breasts, and that's what Carl's up to today, I guess. "I brought all the essential morning food groups," Steve protests when Fiona nags him about healthy breakfast food: "Caffeine, sugar, lard." They discuss last night and Steve's sweet as usual -- "Never apologize for your parents. Believe me, I don't" -- and the family realizes that what they thought was Frank sleeping behind a chair in the living room is actually Ian's tent drying out for his ROTC training in Wisconsin week.
"I thought it was Dad," Debbie admits hilariously. "I left him a cup of coffee this morning. I thought I heard him say Thanks."
Fiona heads over to the neighbors' to ask about Frank's whereabouts, and of course Kev and Veronica are fucking each other's brains out, but Kev takes a second off to admit that Frank was super-hammered last night but gone by last call, "Which is pretty weird, because he usually hangs out to sink the other drinkers' dregs." God, I hate Frank Gallagher. Every time you think he's as gross as it gets, he invents new grossness.
Fiona reports back as to the fact that Frank is actually missing at this point, and they all jump in on a phone tree -- pulling neighbors' cords through windows, borrowed cell phones -- for a good long time. Veronica calls the hospital, Lip talks to somebody who hasn't heard from him since Michael Jackson died, and then the phone Veronica's talking on gets pulled back through the window and down the lane, back to her house. It's pretty hilarious, but even better when she finds Kev at the other end, hauling it in, and resumes her conversation.
They have a bit of a dustup about how Kev needed to call somebody before work, and his cell is gone, and the phone was off through somebody else's window, and the fight is really about Veronica's place as Fiona's best friend and helpmeet in the care and feeding of the world's most awful people. It gets ugly and loud and they are both in tremendous pain, but just before you think it's an atypical kind of fight, she tells him Frank's missing and that he should have fallen asleep after their session anyhow. Yelling, yelling, and then he kisses her sweetly on the forehead and takes off. Then she cleans the house in her underwear for the benefit of the internet. TV would have you believe that everybody does this, but in fact it is not really a common source of income. Take it from one who knows.
Everybody runs around looking for Frank for like a million years. Which, why not just have Debbie forge his name, cash the check, and move far, far away? He is the worst. I guess they love each other and whatever, but he's honestly a burden on all of us. Debbie's freaked out because she's the only one that likes him as well as loving him, they check garbage and dead places -- narrowly missing him at one point; checking coffins at the mortuary -- and they eventually bring in Hot Cop Tony that's in love with Fiona.
Tony explains that Frank is permanently missing at all times, so how are they supposed to file a report? "We've found him in dumpsters, garbage trucks, Mrs. Lutski's bathtub..." But never on the last Friday of the month, Fiona reminds Tony -- who gets this, even though Steve still doesn't -- and the cops go into overdrive, because Frank missing on Disability Day is like Santa Claus taking off work the one day of the year he shouldn't: Impossible.
Lip's screaming at illiterate Kev about how if he's going to bitch about their using all his phone lines he can do his own damn taxes, which takes the wind out. Kev (and Karen, and Lip) realizes the shameful secret of Last Friday, and then remembers that Frank "The Plank" left with Steve well before closing time last night. After they're gone, it says on the news that a body's been found, so Kev runs off as his barback is talking about being a huge lesbian or whatever, it's awkward.
Veronica's ironing with her boobs out -- while a giggling man masturbates in front of his pet monkey, elsewhere -- when Steve and Fiona arrive to once again apprise her of the situation: "He never misses that check! He waits on the corner, practically tackles the mailman before he can get out of his little jeep..." They talk about how maybe Frank is dead, in exactly the way they always assumed he would be, and then Ian comes in and stares at Veronica's breasts for awhile, telling them that Debbie's having a meltdown: She's heard about the dead body. Veronica logs off before the monkey-owner can come, because isn't that always the way.
Debbie's friend Holly told her about finding the body in the worst way, and Fiona tries to comfort her: "It's Holly, sweetheart, okay? She's been in third grade for four years. I'm gonna deck that little bitch." So but does that even make sense? Steve asks why Frank would even be over there, just as Lip walks in to blow Steve's spot about being with their dad that night and not saying anything about it all day today. He admits he went to apologize after the Ian Incident, but that he left him there fairly early; Kev interrupts with news about the body and they all rush over to the crime scene, cheering that somebody is dead who is not Frank. The moment before they see the victim's face is pretty heart-wrenching, but they are gross afterward.
Fiona's bugged that they still haven't found him, and we realize that the body they've all been passing by and ignoring this whole time wasn't even Frank: He's waking up in Toronto on a snowy park bench with no idea where he is, and because it is Canada and he is an uncouth vagrant, they chuck him in jail immediately. It's Canadian jail, so it's not even really something they feel great about, and he's taken in by a Mountie, which is like getting a kiss from a Monchichi, but we do what must be done.
Frank's got no passport, so they don't believe that he's American, and of course he's doing himself no favors -- "Whole country's a bunch of parka-wearing, draft-dodging, chickenshit cowards who didn't have the balls to stay home and fight the Vietcong to preserve our American way of life!" -- and finally this dude recognizes his "Chicago" accent among the annoying James Lipton Fellatio speeches William H. Macy likes to deliver in this role every five seconds, because he got his Economics PhD at the University of Chicago. He offers to help in exchange for a cigarette or cash -- neither of which Frank has, of course -- and then asks for a "reach-around hand job" through the bars, which... If you don't know what a term actually means, I say just avoid it.
It's not even a good joke anyway -- What, being in the drunk tank overnight changes a man so desperately? -- but then, by misusing the central phrase of the joke, rendering it incomprehensible, you've caused two problems. Three, if you count the ongoing gay joke that this show thinks it's not telling. Not that I have the time or the inclination to tell you what "reach-around" actually entails, but... Maybe they do things differently in Canada.
Tony brings over an email from the Embassy explaining Frank's in Canadian lockup -- "He admitted to drug charges, but that's before they accused him, so they're thinking he's a juicer headcase" -- but it doesn't matter anyway because it's Frank Gallagher: They just want him off Canadian soil, and the US doesn't want him back. Well, not without a passport, although if they knew Frank that wouldn't change things. So he needs to get an emergency passport at the Embassy, which involves sending illiterate Kev -- who does have a passport and is probably the only one -- to get him through the paperwork and grab some cheap pharmaceuticals for one of Veronica's many enterprises (Tony's uncomfortable/adorable). Except, they remember, the border patrol asks for proof of insurance to get back in, and Kev doesn't have that.
At some point during all of this Fiona figures out what happened, and runs to the kitchen garbage: Steve's pack of cigarettes included a bit of Canadian health sticker-nagging. Steve cops to kidnapping Frank immediately: He was planning on dumping him in, like, Flint, Michigan -- he was transporting a stolen car to Detroit last night -- and then saw the signs for Toronto and just kept on driving. Fiona's aghast ("You think it's funny?" No, funny would have been Newfoundland) and assumes it's because he tried to hit Steve last night -- "No? Because he's got a family that he doesn't give a shit about?" -- so she punches him right in the face.
Confronting Fiona with the total trashiness of her whole existence being the secret key to her undying devotion, Fiona kicks him out of the house to get Frank back somehow, all up in Steve's grill: "What my dad is -- what my family is -- has fuck all to do with you," she shouts; all Steve ever wanted was for her to stop thinking that was true. She doesn't need saving, but she does need helping, and if Steve's ever going to be the daddy to her mommy to all the kids and neighbors, he needs Frank out of the way. 70% sweet, 30% creepy.
Steve comes back soon enough with a recreational vehicle, making them literal trailer trash, and his dwarven accomplice -- complete with disgusting Axl Rose ginger-dreads -- explains that he's a smuggler by trade and will have no problems sneaking Frank back across the border.
Tony comes back after the boys are gone, and asks homeworkin' Lip for a moment alone. Fiona's doing dishes and completely ignoring the total love of Tony, due to her oblivious self-hatred, and when Tony asks what the deal is with Steve she doesn't know for sure. "CYO Basketball League Awards Banquet is week, at St. Stephens. There's a chance I might get Coach of the Year." God, he's perfect. She's like, "How nice for you!"
Tony asks Fiona to escort him to the banquet with some sweet talk -- "They're eight, so mostly it's just helping them get the ball anywhere near the basket... One of the kids always licks the ball before he takes a shot, I have no idea why" -- and she's shocked, but pleased to accept. Steve's gotten her just far enough to see that good men are a possibility.
Frank wakes up in the trailer's crawlspace and starts chomping on the drugs they're smuggling back home, sucking water off a drainpipe leak; out in the van they're watching more MMA. When they arrive, the entire neighborhood's there with Canadian flags, cheering him and pissing him off. Fiona shakes her head at Steve, down in the crowd; now she has even better reason not to forgive him.
Debbie's happy to see Frank, of course, even after he yells at her about the Canadian beers she got him special, and Fiona sends her off for clean clothes. "Don't ever hit one of my kids again," she tells him, and won't let him cut her off: "Never again."
It's a line she's drawn in her head more than once, but maybe not as often aloud as she should. It's pretty touching to hear her say it out loud. Frank changes the subject to Steve, and his sputtering rage puts the smile back in her eyes. "He's the one who got you back!" she nearly smiles, and Frank informs her he knows damned well who put him there in the first place.
"When I woke up in Toronto, in a park, looking like a fucking homeless tweaker, all I could smell was Drakkar Noir. Middle of a park: Drakkar Noir. I just spent five hours with him in that camper? Same fucking smell!" Steve doesn't wear Drakkar. Lip perhaps, Kev certainly. The hotly anticipated Mickey Maguire, maybe. Not my Steve.
Debbie and Frank bond profanely while he's packing up his shit, and he whines that she's the only one that missed him. "No. Because Carl said, The cable's off. Where's the ladder? and Lip said, Dad's the only one who knows what to do on the pole." they discuss Toronto and its sights, and he tells her about fifteen lies, and I think she knows that, but it's nice to see them together, no matter how shitty he is, because Debbie is the only likeable thing about Frank Gallagher.
Frank goes to cash the check, or so he says, but really he's running away from home. He doesn't even notice Lip as he's walking out, so Lip immediately takes a can out of his grocery bag and knocks a little kid upside the head with it (Psychoanalytic!) and steals the kid's bike. He follows his father from house to house, begging for a place to stay, and Lip follows like a guardian angel. Then there's about twenty minutes of Baby Boomer whining that I'm not into hearing, and which Lip would be better off ignoring altogether.
When Sidney Poitier said, "Not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs," the assumption was that the Boomers would be better parents than they'd had. And yet, all that's happened is that they've come to resent their children as much as they resent their parents. Old folks' homes and The Savages and refusing to see a movie with their kids unless it's Pixar, because there's something there for "the whole family," which means your selfish Baby Boomer parents, who would get bored instantly doing something just to make their kids happy. (And then awful Gen X, doing everything they can to annoy everybody on the fucking planet and somehow nearly justifying that bullshit, too.)
But so now we get to hear Wm. H. Macy yelling operatically about it? First at sweet Lip, and then at strangers? Giving voice to the resentment of an entire shitty self-obsessed generation? Admitting to his faults, but only ever as a passive viewer? Raised watching his own image on the television screen and the endless "Fortunate Son" montages of his memories on a continuous loop? No, thank you. No thank you to that, no thank you to "These kids I have done nothing to raise are still somehow a burden," no thank you to racist outbursts, no thank you to "What about me?" It wasn't just fear Fiona was feeling, when they got closer to the body under the El; it was the cold, gripping hand of Showtime's demographic.
At least Lip tried to be sweet about it, telling him it was only fun to make the Canadian jokes once they knew he was okay; he's not hearing that even when he gets to the Alibi and they're singing "O Canada," with their flags again. He does start listening when Karen's dad sits down and buys him a drink, sharing in the generation-hate and general dissatisfaction of abusive fathers who've found themselves homeless.
"I don't know you, Frank, but it occurred to me, you and I are the victims here. Two hardworking, God-fearing men. We raised our kids in a straight line with discipline and with God's good guidance? My Karen was twelve when I heard her use the c-word. And on a Sunday! And her mother? A woman whose only pleasures in life come from sex, TV cooking shows, and drawing maximum benefits from the welfare state. Hundreds a week. And for what? Agoraphobia. A made-up disease for people who want to sit on their ass at home and watch TV. I don't know where Sheila's dignity's gone, or whether she ever had any in the first place. Her whole world is about this big, and the less she does, the more they pay her..."
That's when Frank leaves. Not because it's a grotesquerie, but because he's got to buy flowers and tie back his hair and seduce Sheila Jackson into giving him her disability check, too. Luckily, it's Joan Cusack we're talking about, which means maybe it could be love after all. He heads over there and apologizes for how her husband left her and her daughter sucked his whole family's cocks, and she eventually invites him in.
He takes his shoes off, grossing her out with his feet, and she serves him tea from a very cute service, and they talk about how he has so many kids, and her eyes go wide: She loves kids. She misses when Karen was a baby, and never left the house she herself can't leave; every word he says is calculated to touch her in her deepest places, and once he starts crying he knows he's got her by the short ones. When she interrupts herself to complain about his sickening feet, he has to turn it up; he starts screaming about leaving her home and then complains about how there's no hot water in his house. "We've got hot water," she suggests, and he's gotten himself so riled up he forgets himself: "Hey, congratufuckinlations!" But no, she means he can take a bath. So he does, with a beer, and it is delightful.
Steve shows up and Lip lets him in, the better to torture him with Fiona's total hate of him. He doesn't talk, only answers questions in maddening ways, and it's fairly excellent. They talk about how Steve might fix it, given the hugeness of stealing somebody's father and wasting two days getting him back. Maybe one in ten, Lip says: "Pretty colossal fuck-up... You're moderately clever; you'll figure something out, right?" Steve tries to flatter him about how he's in AP Bio Chem, but of course Lip isn't having that, so he heads upstairs. No advice, Lip says, on diving back into his sister's "cooch," as he puts it, or her "good graces," as Steve puts it. "Same thing, right?" Hopefully, Steve grins, once again striking out entirely. He really doesn't get Lip at all, does he?
Sheila brings Frank some of Eddie's old clothes, and it only takes a few seconds of her admiring his "lean" busted alcoholic body before he drops the towel, and they discuss his dick in super detail. "I never saw Eddie's. It always had to be pitch-black for Eddie. I saw an outline once in a thunderstorm, but... It was like a rolled-up pair of socks..." Things get amazingly creepy in record time, and she's so fucking electrically intense that Frank actually manages to come off sexy for a moment or two. They realize they're all alone, and that it's time to fuck.
Sheila dries his hair with a towel thrown over his head, and then drags him through the house blinded in that way, then handcuffs him to her bed. That squealing sound is your brain. I never thought of Joan Cusack as particularly having a gender, but watching her crawl around and meow while dressed as Donna Reed -- and whatever system she's engaged, breastwise, is doing absolute wonders -- has sort of changed my opinion on that subject. Drastically. I mean, I could always see it in that way nerd boys pretend to think Janeane Garofalo is hot, or Björk, but somehow this scene is so ridiculous that she transcends her aging-Muppet status and becomes kinda sexy.
"Swing around, my man! If I'm going to embarrass myself, I might as well do it right!" Once chained up, she pulls out a big old box of fun. And you know my stance on that: Before you hit forty, equipment and games and all that is not necessary. I realize sometimes olds need a little help, because they are exhausted, but if you need that shit at our age, you're not doing it right. Or you're just not as interested in sex as you feel you're supposed to be, or as "kinky" as you think normal people are supposed to be. Or, and hopefully not, there is a crack in your teakettle that should be investigated further.
And before you assume, like this clueless if well-intentioned Doctor Who reader did recently, that I'm speaking for the gays here, no: I am strictly against accoutrements until they are your last resort. They recentered sex in the '90s just like the SATs, and now it's some competitive thing that comes in a bunch of new flavors all the time, and it's so, so stupid. Sex is about you, and the other person, and having a super-awesome time doing the very coolest and best thing it is possible to do, and it's something we've been doing for literally hundreds of thousands of years without ever having to buy things at the store. It's not about impressing other people, and the second you forget that, you're no longer having sex.
Even if, and I stress this, what happens is that Joan Cusack pulls out a huge, white, veiny dildo, and comes at you with a grin like a Tasmanian Devil.
Later, Frank's walking a little funny. Sheila's prepared "slow-roasted Bavarian pork chop, with bacon-braised cabbage, some warm Bavarian potato salad, apple salsa fresca," along with two Tylenol and a blanket for his crammed rectum, and they sit down delightfully. So now there are two good thinks about Frank Gallagher. I hope he's greedy enough to keep from fucking this up for a good, long time.
Nice visual callback to the UK version here: Fiona combing nits out of Carl's quarter-inch buzz while they all sit around watching TV once again. Steve calls after a few minutes of some show about a superstar geneticist -- see, they're classy too sometimes, I guess is the implication, or it's something Lip and Ian wanted -- and then he's outside, with a van full of roses.
Not just the roses, but the van: That's quite an apology, especially since he says it's for hauling kids around with. Like I said, we've been doing this for a long, long time; all he knows is that he wants to have a family with her, and she's already got one, which makes him want her more, because they are amazing. He apologizes for the kidnapping, and the more he sells her on the van, the worse job he's doing; she runs inside to get cash to pay him back for the washer, and he's so sad-eyed, and she's so brittle and bright trying to do the right thing and fake-smiling through it and he's like, "It was a mistake. I thought I was doing you a favor, with your dad." He was. That's the problem. She leaves him outside and rejoins the family, Veronica patting her arm, tender and quiet.
morning Frank comes down in a peach kimono, popping Tylenol and sitting on his ass pillow again, while Karen looks on. She's bemused, and knows enough to know Frank is hardly better than Eddie, but she's so cute that it's just sort of lovingly tsk-tsk. And then in the credits one more: A new pair of faulty fluffy pink handcuffs on QVC that they're apologizing for... Just as the firemen are coming to free him from same, and of course he's naked but for fluffy pink pasties to match.
So on the one hand, the kimono and the ass play demonstrate the degree to which Frank is willing to be feminized/demeaned in pursuit of Sheila's government check, willingness such that a Canadian reach-around probably sounds good, whatever that is. But on the other hand, you can only make that joke if it's about Frank and not a statement on sexuality, because then Ian is just fake multiculti BS. And we've already got Weeds trying to have it both ways, and how many shows like that do you need? All of which I know is not the case -- and thank God, honestly, for Joan Cusack -- but I can't help feeling a little yicked out at this moment in the story, because what's going to get a bigger laugh: The sixteen homophobic trials of Frank Gallagher, that unconscionable prison-rape joke, or... Anything else that's happened this week?
Anyway. Don't let anybody near you with a giant dildo unless you've done your homework; don't kidnap people's dads unless they're prepared to enter Alanon for their coda issues; don't do your personal activities on the internet, it's not a firm business model; and don't turn down hot cops when they ask you to a Christian Sports banquet. Especially the last one. Take it from one who knows.
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