Bomb Shelter

Shout-out to my sister-in-law for letting me come over and use her HBO so I could fill in for Djb this week. Here's hoping that SFU does not stand for "Sub Fucks Up."

A non-product-placed sport futility vehicle drives down a darkened Los Angeles street. Inside is the typical American nuclear family. Dad's trying to navigate using the built-in GPS, Mom's yammering away on her cell-phone headset, Junior's playing a handheld video game, and Daughter's DVD just ran out. It's a short scene, and everybody's talking over each other, so can we just agree that it's a trenchant commentary about how modern technology is a curse that has made it impossible for us to connect with one another on any sort of human level? We can? Okay, then. I'm much more interested in the fact that the GPS screen places them about six blocks from where I stayed last time I was in L.A. Anyway, Dad's distracted by his GPS, his daughter's demand for a new DVD, and his wife grilling Junior about whether the game he's playing is violent (it is, but Mortal Kombat also promotes hand-eye coordination and deductive reasoning skills for youngsters who want to figure out how to rip out someone's spine). While Dad's trying to deal with all this, the missus orders him to take an immediate left turn, which he does, not taking into account the fact that he's cutting across the paths of not one but two oncoming trucks. The grill's-eye view of the screaming daughter fades to white just before they are all instantly interconnected on a molecular level due to the fact that their vehicle has been transformed into a scale model of a Frank Gehry building. RIP, Edward Gordon Gorodetsky (1956-2004), Coco Grimes Gorodetsky (1962-2004), Michael Timothy Gorodetsky (1992-2004), and Amanda Lynn Gorodetsky (1995-2004). Wiped out the whole fam damily. That'll learn 'em to use electronics.

At the breakfast table, Nate "Ashes to Asses" Fisher "admires" a picture of Lisa's sister Barb and Hoyt and the kids, observing to Brenda "The BC Stands for Biological Clock" Chenowith that the twins are creepy and smell like bananas. No comment on Michaela. Brenda points out that Nate just doesn't think any kid is as good as Maya. Nate agrees, and so do I. Other kids Maya's age tend to misbehave by displaying such disruptive behaviors as motion and speech. Brenda suggests that they could have a pretty great kid. Just as I "could" get drafted by NASA. Nate has no answer for that. They exchange mistimed looks -- his surprised, hers annoyed. They back up into some nice, safe exposition about a visit they're expecting from Barb and Hoyt the following afternoon. Brenda's wondering if she's expected to cook for someone who hates her, and Nate's claim that Barb doesn't hate her is a pretty clear yes. She brings up the procreation issue again, and Nate's had enough time to recover from his whiplash to agree that "it's something to think about." Not good enough. Brenda's in a hurry all of a sudden: "I'm kind of at an age where I can't commit to a relationship that doesn't have the possibility of having a child." I think we can all agree with the six words in the middle of that speech. But way to lay down the mom ultimatum this early in the game. Nate does a fair job of concealing his panic, but he insists that he's not saying no. Brenda lets it go, her every look and gesture screaming, for now.

George "At The End Of The World As We Know It, I'll Feel Fine" Sibley has, to the surprise of Ruth "My Husband Doesn't Know Me From A Hole In The Ground" Sibley, picked up groceries. Well, actually, he's just picked up about twenty pounds of walnuts at the Farmer's Market. Freak. Ruth shows him a brochure they got from a retreat called "Loving Couples," on which she's circled the seminar entitled "Tantric Love." All I know is that if these two start doing anything remotely Tantric on my screen, it is I who will be retreating. Ruth seems nervous that George is about to shoot downher suggestion , but he says he's happy to join her for an upcoming weekend. But first, where does she keep her extra water? She should be prepared in the event of an "earthquake, or a terrorist attack, or a catastrophic drought" with plenty of water, flashlights, and batteries. Not walnuts, though. Those are just tasty. Ruth gently says, "George, lately it seems if it's not one thing with you, it's another." George: "Exactly." Not the answer Ruth was hoping to hear.

GAH! Yikes! There's a photograph of Nate filling the screen, and his face looks like a picture that someone tore apart and then glued back together. Another picture of David boasts the same effect, and what with him wearing his undertaker's suit and pointing at the coffin wall, he's six feet of pure nightmare fuel. We're in art class with Claire "Picture This, Asshole" Fisher, where Billy is gushing over these photos that Claire took. Gushing verbally, mind you; he still seems too stable to be doing the other thing. Claire basks in the praise, as well as that from Anita, the only person in any art school anywhere who doesnt know who David Hockney is. Billy quotes Baudrillard, as you do, and asks Claire to explain how she did it. Basically, she takes a bunch of extreme close-ups of the subject's face, prints them actual size, photocopies them, and makes a paper-mche mask which the subject puts on for his or her portrait. Russell looks offended by all of this for some reason. Billy compares the photos to sculpture, which amps up Russell's creepy stalker vibe a couple more notches. How many notches does that guy have, anyway? Encouraged by Billy, Claire yammers on in artist-speak about masks and layers until Russell cuts in with a comment about how his background in sculpture "allowed us to make that leap." Claire turns and regards him in disbelief as he takes credit for having "worked together" to create the original concept, in a holy union of sculptor and photographer. Claire is too pissed to speak. "I think they turned out great," Russell finishes. Nice of him to say so.

I guess not all of the Gorodetskys got squished by a pair of trucks, because Rico "Don't Take My Wife, Please" Diaz and Nate are interviewing the family's lone survivor, an older brother in his early twenties. Rico commiserates over a family picture and suggests cremation, which the kid agrees to, with the ashes all buried together. That should save Rico the time it would take to separate their corpses. The kid just wants a "regular" service, but he doesn't know all of his parents' friends. His one remaining grandparent is in a nursing home and he doesn't really know his aunt and uncle in Florida, so it's just him. He is so not prepared for this. He really should have been, given how stupid his family was. He gestures at the family photo in Nate's hands. "My whole family," he says helplessly. Nate relates silently. He has a gift, you know.

That is one big-ass conference room that David "Iron Mike" Fisher and Keith "Titanium Mike" Charles and a lawyer are occupying. Sitting across the hundred-acre table from them is the guy who had his earring removed by David's teeth. His last name is Pasquese, and I think it would be rude of me to ignore the writers' clear invitation to dub his character The Pasqueasel. to him is another lawyer, who's running down the list of hardships that The Pasqueasel has suffered, including nightmares and the inability to enter a sushi restaurant. She adds up the bill: five hundred thousand dollars. That's a lot of sashimi. David reacts with the equanimity you'd expect given his recent state, i.e., none. Keith and the lawyer restrain him from jumping out of his chair and letting his incisors go in search of more jewelry. The attack lawyer and her client get up and leave without his ever having said a word. David's pissed. Keith just wants to know how strong The Pasqueasel's case is. Their lawyer points out that since David did actually bite the guy, the case is "quite good." Keith suggests a temporary insanity plea in light of David's PTSD. Makes sense, aside from the temporary part. The lawyer warns them that that's an option if the case goes to trial, but by then things will already be getting "very expensive." David and Keith look at each other in alarm, both of them contemplating the spendiest yakitori of David's entire life.

Brenda and Ma Chenowith both approve of the lovely outdoor restaurant where they're having lunch. Brenda mentions that she found out about it through Joe, not looking too thrilled that that subject came up before they've even had a chance to order. Ma wants to know if Brenda's talked to him lately, but Brenda feels too guilty: "He feels like I betrayed him and I never took him seriously." Ma assures her, "Well, you certainly did...betray him." And she cackles gleefully. Good one. Brenda insists that she really did see herself settling down and having a baby with Joe. Which, if memory serves, was what triggered her decision to go get herself some Nate-style lovin', but she leaves that part out. She just says that she never thought that she could "have that" with Nate, or that he would forgive her and take her back. Neither did I, except for the way she kept showing up in the credits every week. Ma points out that Nate's going through his own life changes, and Brenda claims to have a better understanding now of his relationship with Lisa: "How you can settle for someone who's just not the person you should be with." The fact that she's right about Nate and Lisa doesn't make the way she says it any less insufferable. Ma leaves it alone, and says that Brenda and Nate remind her of herself and Pa Chenowith. She even gets a little misty for a second, but snaps out of it with a boisterous "God help you." Word to that. When the server comes, Ma orders a porterhouse steak, pleading anemia. Brenda agrees that Ma looks a little pale, but takes an unconcerned bite of bread as her mother excuses herself to the Little Kooks' Room.

George answers the front door to find a fresh-faced young door-to-door evangelist named Albert asking "if you might have a moment to discuss your eternal happiness." Because I'm sure that never comes up inside a funeral home. George just says, "Yeah, sure. Come on in," breaking the first rule of dealing with door-to-door evangelists. And every subsequent rule. The young man's spiel about King Jesus Christ rattles on effortlessly until George wants to know what King Jesus plans to do about holes in the ozone and missing plutonium. Albert rallies with an uninspired answer about God solving problems in his own way. George isn't buying it. He doesn't think any problems will be solved by people "going door-to-door and asking people to get down on their knees and pray to the SKY!" Fortunately, he's got a few websites that he hopes will enlighten Albert a little. He turns Albert around and starts writing URLs on his tracts, using the young man's back as a desk. Albert looks pretty thrown. I just hope he can recover from this minor setback, and make it a learning experience as he continues on what I'm sure will be a long, fruitful career of annoying people.

Brenda's picking at her salad and waiting for her mom to get back from the bathroom. But Ma, instead of returning, has sent an emissary to summon Brenda to the biffy. Once Brenda gets there, Ma calls through the door of her stall and asks her for a pad. "Did you have that vagina surgery?" Brenda demands, but Ma hasn't (although she did have a consultation, of course). She's just been bleeding a lot lately. Brenda opens the door to find Ma huddled on the floor, clinging to the handicap bar. "It won't stop," she moans. Yeah, a pad's not going to cover that. If there's a puddle underneath her, I'm glad I can't see it. Brenda whips out her cell phone to call 911.

Claire tokes up in her studio. She's also sitting at her table and using a wigstand as a form to assemble a new mosaic mask, presumably for another photograph for which Russell will claim credit. She quickly puts out the blunt and hides the ashtray under the table as Ruth arrives with a load of laundry. Ruth says it's an excuse to come up and visit. Claire says her mom is welcome any time. As long as Claire's not sparking up. Which I guess would translate to Ruth being welcome never. As Ruth puts away Claire's clothes, she comments on how quiet it is in the house now that nobody's there anymore. Too bad Ruth missed meeting Albert. Claire's distracted by what she's certain is Ruth's impending discovery of her fragrant new hobby, and sure enough, Ruth says, "I know that smell." She follows her nose to the hastily hidden ashtray and quietly asks, "Is this marijuana?" Claire braces herself and says, "Uh, yeah," and waits for Ruth to go ballistic. But Ruth's more in the mood for a slow, horizontal trajectory along Memory Lane as she recalls that she used to smell it on Late Nate sometimes. She assumed it was some kind of embalming chemical. Claire's not too panicked to roll her eyes at that. You know, I wonder sometimes how Nate, who's almost exactly my age, ended up with a mother who's more like my grandma than my mom. Ruth asks if Late Nate ever shared his stash with Claire, who assures Ruth that she discovered it on her own. Fortunately, Russell isn't here to disagree with her. Ruth expresses surprise that Late Nate would have kept such a secret from her and now I need to apologize to my grandmother. I must say, Ruth is reacting pretty calmly to the news that her youngest child is a pothead. She asks if Claire smokes a lot, and Claire lies unconvincingly. But not so unconvincingly that Ruth doesn't believe her. Maybe if you take the amount of weed Claire has smoked this season and average it out over her lifetime...well, you'd probably still get a lot. Ruth remembers reading somewhere that ganja is best used "as a spice...just a little pinch here and there." Claire acts receptive to that, but she's thinking, okay, if water is a spice. The public service announcement behind us, Ruth notices the mask Claire's constructing. She points out that Claire used to make collages when she was little. Claire doesn't remember that, but she's pleased to hear it. Ruth heads back to her quiet house as Claire points out, "You've got George in there." As if that's an improvement over silence. Claire asks if things are okay between the two of them. Ruth assures her that things are improving, supporting her assertion with a mention of their plan to attend the Tantric Love workshop. Please stop talking about that. Claire is at once scandalized and approving. Ruth takes off, laughing in embarrassment.

Rico drops his kids off at home with Vanessa. She starts to shut the door in his face, but he wants to talk to her about something. Julio told him that Kenny Sims's sister Julie has been babysitting. "Isn't she some kind of druggie?" Vanessa blows it off, so to speak: "She smoked a little pot in high school. We all did." "I didn't," Rico objects. Vanessa: "I know, Rico, 'cause you were boring." "Were"? Rico says that his real objection is with "Kenny's whole family" moving into the house. Vanessa's position is that she's a single parent and Julie's a good babysitter. She also mentions that Julie is coming over the day, so that Rico can do something stupid then. Rico disagrees with the "single parent" thing and says he can watch the kids, but Vanessa doesn't want him in the house. "So I have to keep paying for a babysitter?" Rico whines. Vanessa, pissed now, says, "I work as much as you do. You're not paying for anything." It's a bitch when outmoded gender norms are so...outmoded, isn't it, Rico?

In David and Keith's kitchen, the defendant is throwing a diva-level conniption about the lack of rice. Keith says, "We'll have pasta." David doesn't want pasta, he wants risotto. Pasta isn't nearly gay enough. Of course, what he's really upset about is the prospect of the lawsuit bankrupting them. Keith puts his hands on David's shoulders and walks him through a calming exercise. Remember when Keith was the angry one? Keith tells him to think positive thoughts, and David asks if that includes "Beating the shit out of Roger fucking Pasquese?" Again? Dude, look where that got you the first time. Keith says they'll be okay even if The Pasqueasel does sue them, because Keith's assets won't be in play: "Maybe this is the upside to us not being able to get married." Keith is just Mr. Positive Attitude all of a sudden, isn't he? David glumly predicts, "He's going to take my part of the funeral home and garnish my wages for the rest of my life." David, I don't think there's much danger of that, because that would require you to actually go to work sometimes. Although I am somewhat amused by the thought of the Pasqueasel doing intake interviews. Bereaved client: "I don't know what to do...my life is over...." The Pasqueasel: "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Anyway, Keith thinks that they might get somewhere if they get the Pasqueasel away from his lawyer and try to talk some sense into him. David seems doubtful, but Keith figures they've got nothing to lose. He's right: they don't. Fade to white.

Seems like a commercial should go here. I miss them, but at least the scenes on this show are short.

Ruth and George are watching the smarmy video from the Loving Couples workshop when David pokes his head in and asks to see Ruth downstairs. It seems George has taken over a storage closet and crammed in enough bottled water to float an aircraft carrier. He even moved Rico's cremains urns to a smaller closet. David tells George that they can't keep all that water in there, and there's a somewhat tense discussion about whether to use the spare bedroom or the driveway, until Ruth suggests the bomb shelter. George looks at Ruth as if he would, as the commercials say, marry her all over again. "You have a bomb shelter?" he gasps. Yeah, it's news to us, too, dude.

Ma Chenowith is now parked in a hospital bed whose controls Brenda is fucking with rather incompetently. Ma snaps at her to knock it off and demands more Vicodin, but Brenda reminds her that she just had some. Ma is not in a good mood. Brenda begs her to be reasonable, but Olivier, who's also there, gestures expansively with his bran muffin and encourages Ma to be as mean as she wants. So helpful, that guy. Ma agrees that she'll be a nasty old crone, now that she's no longer a woman. Brenda sighs that Ma's still a woman, to which she hisses, "Then give me your uterus." Ah, I think I understand what happened now. In general, at least. The supply of fucked-up Chenowith siblings has been permanently and irrevocably cut off. Hard not to see that as good news. It would be nice if we could be sure of the line coming to an end, but I guess that's kind of up to Nate now. Speaking of fucked-up Chenowith siblings, the male one has just appeared with a basket of flowers. Ooh, awkward. Billy offers to leave, but Olivier's too into his role of stirring shit up and insists that he stay. Brenda puts a brave face on it and agrees. Billy observes that Brenda, too, brought Ma's favorite flowers, which triggers a new movement in Ma's symphony of self-pity. "She's not a woman any more," Brenda clarifies. Billy insists that Ma's still young and beautiful. This is all way too functional for Olivier, who breaks in: "Of course they're going to say nice things to you. They're your kids. Me, I'm a miserable prick who cares nothing about anyone but myself. And I look at you in your hospital bed, tired and worn out from surgery, and I selfishly wonder, how long must I wait before I can fuck you?" That just sits there in the middle of the room for a while like a big, steaming turd. "Finally," Ma breathes, "Somebody said something right." Brenda protests, "It would have been weird if I'd said it." Billy says, "Not in this family." Hey, that's my line. Olivier's little love poem appears to have had exactly the intended effect. To Brenda's horror, Ma kicks her children out of the room, her face telegraphing the answer to Olivier's question. And that answer is, "As soon as these freeloaders clear out of here." Man, her brain must be wherever her uterus is now.

A the funeral home, the Gorodetsky kid sits alone and flips through a catalog of caskets. Did you know you can buy those at Costco now? He could have taken care of this and picked up a 55-gallon drum of ranch dressing all in one errand. Nate happens by and watches him sympathetically for a moment, then heads out the front door without a word. And, scene.

This is a double date on drugs. Claire, the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts, Anita, and Russell are wandering through an outdoor flower shop or arboretum or something, making comments that I can accurately abbreviate as "We are stoned. Please arrest us now." Anita comments that nothing they'll ever create will be as beautiful as the orchid she is presently mutilating so that she can stick the blossom behind her ear. Russell claims that Anita's Lego dinosaurs are stiff competition. Claire snipes at him, "Why are you so above everything?" and stomps off. Russell peels himself off of Anita and follows. A woman approaches the newly-reflowered Anita and tells her she can't do that. "It's okay," Anita deadpans. "Dick Cheney is my uncle."

Russell catches up with Claire, demanding to know what her problem is. "I can't fucking believe you would try to take credit for my work," Claire spits. Russell sees it as taking "my" share of credit for "our idea." Seems to me like he's way out on a limb, but Claire can't articulate her position any better than to say "Oh, please." Russell accuses her of being so insecure that she needs to take credit for everything, and she stomps off yet again, saying she doesn't want to have this conversation. Oh, that'll shut him up. Wait, it won't, and it doesn't, and he drives his "point" home: "You know I tore that photograph and put the pieces on your face. That was the idea." It may have been the seed of the idea, but Claire was the one who ran with it and made something out of it. Yet all she can do is sputter, "I'm the one who told you to photograph it! I'm the one who saw the potential!" Russell says, "So, if Picasso painted a picture it'd be okay if you took photos of it and told everyone it was yours." Claire can't believe Russell is comparing himself to Picasso. Given a choice between Russell being a Picasso or a Garfunkel, I know where I stand. Although Russell would need better hair. Russell backs off half a step and explains, "One of the coolest things about this was that we did it together. I liked that. Working with you." Hmmm. I'm not sure we're talking just about art anymore. Any response Claire might have is cut off when a security guard approaches Anita. All four "artists" make a break for it. I think maybe that security guard is going to be in trouble with the Vice-President.

In the hospital cafeteria, Brenda and Billy share strained RomCom dialogue about hospital food, and have a strained RomCom moment when they reach for the same roll and their hands touch (the tongs are right there, you animals). Billy seems to want to say something, but Brenda manages to talk him out of it. Billy asks if he should tell their mom that he slept with Olivier in college. Brenda kind of wishes she still didn't know herself, but she's tickled at the thought of Ma's reaction. "We are the most sexually inappropriate people in the world, aren't we?" Billy says. And in other news, the earth is round. They have a little exchange about whether they can blame their parents. And speaking of parenthood, Brenda picks this moment to announce that she's thinking of having kids. "With Nate?" Billy asks. I think it's more accurate to say that Brenda's thinking of having kids with Nate than to say that Brenda is thinking with Nate of having kids, if you catch my drift. But that distinction, if there is one, escapes Brenda. Billy thinks that's great. "You are going to be a great mother," he says sincerely. Ah, so he is still crazy. Brenda looks at him suspiciously for a second, and then decides to take him at his word. "It's good to see you," she finally says. Wow. After the horror of what happened the last time they saw each other, he gives her one compliment and it's all good. But then they tuck into their lunches, and you know what's not good? Hospital cafeteria food. Oh, hospital cafeteria food, when will you ever learn?

Ruth leads George down to the bomb shelter (which has been there all along, okay?), explaining that the Late Nate's dad had it built during the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that she hasn't visited the thing in ages. At least four years, by my count. George notes that the door is lined with lead. That's true of all the best bomb shelters. It's so the occupants can die of starvation or murder each other rather than succumb to radiation sickness, you see. George is further impressed that there's not a drop of moisture on the walls. Or blood. "Someone knew what they were doing." Yeah, nice construction for something that only took thirteen days to build. ["Really. What are they, Jehovah's Witnesses?" -- Wing Chun] Ruth reminisces about the bomb shelter's past, but George is clearly interested in its future. "It's so dusty," Ruth says. "It smells like --" "Life," George says. Uh-oh. "It smells like life. Yes, sir. This'll do just fine." He would be creeping me the hell out right now even without the low lighting in the shelter. If Ruth dashes up the stairs, slams the lead-lined trapdoor, and parks her car on top of it, the director cuts away before we see it.

At a fancy (and, I'm sure, fairly gay) restaurant, The Pasqueasel pontificates to Keith about how he always uses black actors in the films he produces. He asks Keith if he's ever done any acting. Because, he says, Keith has "a face like a movie star." Keith lies that he's happy doing what he's doing, and The Pasqueasel suggests that Keith's life is a movie right there. Then he realizes he's being too subtle and moans, "I love cops." Did I forget to mention that David's sitting right there? Because David's sitting right there. The Pasqueasel's cell phone goes off and he excuses himself to take the call. David calls for the check. "Okay, not only is he suing me," David bitches sotto voce, "but he's hitting on my husband." Maybe it is time for another beating. Keith's met plenty of guys "with their big black sex cop fantasies," which, if it isn't a shout-out, is only because the show used that phrase first. The check arrives and David moves to pay it, but The Pasqueasel has finished his phone call in time to swoop in and snatch it up. David says they'll get it, since, you know, they already owe him half a million dollars and this looks like the kind of place where a dinner would be a nice down payment on that. Although he leaves out the last part. The Pasqueasel says, "What, you think you can buy me off with a dinner? It's nothing personal, David. But you really fucked up. And...well, someone's gotta pay." With that -- and a nakedly speculative look at Keith -- The Pasqueasel is off to the cash register. "Did he just make us an offer?" David asks. Keith says, "I think he'll drop the lawsuit...if I let him blow me." David, horrified, thinks Keith is right. Whatever else they have to say on the subject, they say with their eyebrows.

Keith catches up with The Pasqueasel at the register and demonstrates that he may have a brilliant acting career ahead of him after all: "I hate to play the cop, but you've been drinking, and I should drive you home." "Play cop all you want," The Pasqueasel purrs, handing over the keys to his Porsche. David is right behind Keith, looking like he can't believe that real life sometimes has worse dialogue than all that gay porn he's watched. "Follow us," Keith tells him. David does.

Up in Claire's studio, the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts admires the new mosaic mask she's been working on. He sparks up a pipe, because that's what these characters do, and brings up the Russell issue. Claire says she's so sick of Russell. And in other news, Billy and Brenda Chenowith are the most sexually inappropriate people in the world. Claire rants that "he thinks that it was his idea just because he was in the room when we -- when I...You know what, I don't give a shit." Well, that was kind of an abortive rant. Oops, I shouldn't say "abortive." The Matthew Barney of LAC Arts asks if Russell helped with the photos Claire gave him, and Claire insists that Russell is only the one who tore up the first photo. The Matthew Barney of LAC Arts says that Russell should lay off and "do his own thing with it." Those words reek of a future ass-biting, if you ask me. Claire just wishes Russell hadn't been connected with the idea in any way. You know, I don't actually think Russell has that much of a case, but there's something sketchy about the fact the Claire has trouble making her own argument. It's like she thinks she's less right than she lets on. But the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts has good news for her as he flops down to her on the bed: he showed her photos to his gallery manager, who was impressed and wants to meet with Claire. Claire is very appreciative, and that the fact that they're on the bed comes quickly into play.

I'm not going to pretend I don't know that that's Julie the babysitter sitting on the sofa in the Diaz house and watching something that sounds a lot like Army of Darkness. There's a knock on the door. When she turns off the tube and gets up to answer it, it's Rico. She hasn't seen him since high school. I wonder if she towered over him back then, too. She tells him that the kids are asleep, and Rico hands her some cash and dismisses her, all lord of the manor. "Vanessa didn't say you were coming by," Julie says uncertainly. Rico throws a little attitude: "They're my kids too." Julie figures she's as deep into this as she wants to get, and walks out the door. Rico settles in on the couch, all impressed with himself and his little power play, and and turns Army of Darkness back on. By the way, if there's really going to be a Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash movie, I am so there.

At Brenda and Nate's, Hoyt the Knob is sitting to Barb and going on and on about how beautiful their chickens are. Yes, chickens. Pet chickens. Four of them, in fact. He recommends them to Nate and Brenda, who are riding on the dangerous side of the fine line between "smiling pleasantly" and "laughing right in Hoyt the Knob's face." I'd be laughing with them, if it were funny. The congenial/awkward moment is shattered when Barb says, "Lisa loved animals." Now it's just awkward. Brenda disappears into the kitchen to get coffee, and if she did have to cook for someone who hates her, all the dishes have been cleared away by now. With Brenda out of the room, Barb gets down to the business of Lisa's ashes. Which, as you know and I know and Nate knows, don't actually exist, since Lisa wasn't cremated. I may have made the mistake of mentioning Lisa's cremains in the recaplet, but now that the recap proper is up, that's gone and you can't prove anything. Barb wants to know why the ashes were the old-school chunky-style, and asks whether Fisher & Diaz oversees the cremation process. Nate explains that they farm it out to a crematorium that they use regularly. Why don't they have a crematorium to the bomb shelter? Maybe they'll discover it season. Nate blathers that sometimes the crematorium rushes the last step. Yeah, like that one in Georgia, where they "rushed" it by not actually burning anyone. Barb wants the crematorium's phone number so that she can call them up and roast them in the fire of her rage. Nate offers to take care of it, but Barb insists: "It was suggested," she says, somewhat pointedly, "that they may not even be Lisa's ashes." Nate looks away, thinking, Shit, that's right. They're not. Seriously, up to this point, Nate really seemed to believe what he was telling Barb. The fact that he almost instantly decides to come clean seems to back that up. Or, an alternate theory is that I'm doing more drugs than Claire is. You decide. Anyway, Nate takes a deep breath and plunges in.