|
|||
"The Blessed Lord said: 'You are grieving over those who are not fit to be grieved for, yet you speak words like a great man of wisdom. But the wise do not grieve, neither for the living nor the dead.'"
- Bhagavad Gita 2.11
"Now therefore restore the man his wife; for he is a prophet, and he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live. If thou restore her not, know that thou shalt surely die; thou, and all that are thine."
- Genesis 20:7
And so another season comes to a close, and that can only mean one thing: It's time for shout-outs! Props to Sars, Sobell, Wing Chun, all the other recappers, everyone in the forums, Brandi, Rosjag, The Mysterious Hawaiian, the even more mysterious Johanna, Cassie, Shane, DD, Raggedy Andrea, and -- because she totally deserves it -- Sars a second time. That's one disease I wouldn't mind catching, people.
Fade up on a father and his young child in a park, as they prepare to release a pigeon that the little girl has nursed back to health. "We're doing a good deed," explains Dad. "When we do something kind, even for a little lost bird, we give a gift that resonates throughout all humanity. Be free, little lost bird. Be free!" To my eternal disappointment, the guy behind them (who may or may not be Foreshadowing) totally fails to yell "Pull!" and whip out a shotgun as soon as the bird flies off into the air. Even more disappointing, however, is the missed opportunity for a History of the World shout-out. "I love the peasants! They are my people! I am their sovereign! Pull!" Ahh, it's good to be the king. From there, we cut to a scruffy-looking Hollywood wannabe who is cruising down the street sipping a smoothie and running lines out of a script encased in a bright red CAA folder. "Fuck you, motherfucker!" he snarls. "No, fuck you, motherfucker!" As has been noted on the forums, he's clearly auditioning for the role of Nate. He's even got the stubble going a little bit, although it's nothing compared to the amber waves of grain Krause is able to command. At any rate, Foreshadowing was clearly a busy boy this week, as the laxatives he slipped into that pigeon's birdseed take effect and cause the newly-free flying rat to crap all over Mr. Motherfucker's pointy red ski cap. The actor heads into a nearby convenience store to wash off the bird crap, and the stereotypically foreign clerk tells him not to use the broken toilet. Which, of course, he promptly does, shouting "Fuck you, motherfucker" all the while. It's like a mantra with these writers. Or perhaps a koan. What is the sound of one man swearing, anyway? Mr. Motherfucker blithely goes on his way (after perfecting his line reading one last time by shouting at the clerk), and the Armenian Apu is left to clean up a rapidly spreading flood in the bathroom. Instead of whistling, he places a call to his wife while he works, and we see the cheerful-looking Mrs. Armenian Apu struggling to get decent reception on her cell phone in a warmly-lit kitchen. She finally gives up and heads outside so that she can hear her husband screaming about broken toilets and asshole actors, and the long chain of airborne events that have resonated throughout all humanity finally comes to an end when a giant chunk of blue ice falls from sky and crashes right into her head. Heh. Farewell, Anahid Hovanessian. But don't worry; your death was not in vain. Due to the disturbingly high frequency with which anvils fall from the sky in this, our Alan Ball world, the California state legislature will no doubt be passing the Mandatory Hovanessian Hard-Hat Ordinance any day now. After all, what's the use in keeping people from smoking in public places if you're just going to keep dropping shit on their heads every time they step outside?