Cold Cuts

We open on a pair of fat guys hanging out along a dark, deserted dock. And even thought this episode totally sucked, neither of them is Wide Guy. Instead I'll just call them Oblong Guy and Trapezoid Man. Oblong Guy is getting impatient for some reason, and he angrily places a call to some other random, geometrically-configured mafioso (Ronnie the Rhombus? Nico Nonagon?) to report that the "Vespas" they're waiting for haven't shown up yet. Yeah. I put "Vespas" in scare-quotes because, well, they scare me. And also to prove that's really what he said. Otherwise I doubt you'd have believed that a guy that fat would want a scooter that small.

Cut to Tony, standing on a busy sidewalk somewhere and complaining to Johnny Sack about those self-same scooters. A smug Johnny plays dumb, claiming that the Vespas never "got into [his] hands." When reminded that he's the one who controls Port Newark, Johnny shifts the blame to "heightened security" because of Al-Qaeda. Oh, great. Now I have an endless Eddie Izzard-inspired image in my head of Osama Bin Laden puttering around Afghanistan on a scooter saying "Ciao!" to everyone. Thanks, guys. Johnny climbs into his Maserati, which he's somehow managed to park diagonally on the sidewalk, and then Tony comes over to ask why no one told him that the Vespa deal wasn't going to "happen." "A lot of things didnt happen that seemed like they happened," replies Johnny, in whatever the Italian version of a koan might be. "Your cousin didn't whack Joey. The Vespas never got into my hands." And with that, he drives off. And here's our first Figgis Failure of the evening, by the way: It's a handheld shot that starts with the Maserati logo on Johnny's trunk, and then scampers drunkenly down the street, careens off to the left, and finally settles into a cock-eyed close-up of an angry Tony. Oy. I used that exact same shot in the first movie I ever made. In the fourth grade. Ciao!

We now join a little league soccer game, already in progress. Janice is prowling the sidelines, cheering on Sophia Baccalieri. All the other parents are shouting and hollering to their own kids, as well, producing a cacophony that is almost, but not quite, as annoying as Meadow saying the word, "Sooooooooooootcase." Janice is easily the loudest of the bunch, but second place definitely goes to a patrician-looking blonde woman who is screaming about "number seven's" elbows and calling the opposing team "a bunch of losers." "Hey," screams Janice. "No negatives, you!" And no verbs, either, apparently. Blondie's kid suddenly lays a hip-check on Sophia, which sends Baby Baccala sprawling to the ground. Janice yells to the referee, calling for a yellow card, or an error, or a penalty, or a Pele, or whatever it is you get for misbehaving in soccer, but none is forthcoming. Considering the relative sizes of the girls in question, however, I think Little Blondie probably deserves at least a five-minute major and a game misconduct for violating the laws of physics, because if that collision had happened in the real world, Sophia would have sent her flying halfway to Los Alamos. Janice obviously takes exception to Big Blondie's take on this turn of events, and so she heads over to confront the woman face to face. Shouting soon escalates to shoving, as Janice gets in the first push, and Blondie attempts to emulate her daughter's freakish ability to conserve mass by shoving Janice right back. Oops. Janice reacts to that one by going straight for Blondie's throat and tackling her to the ground, which prompts the only giggle of the scene as Blondie's shocked, "What are you crazy?" trails off into a mouthful of grass. Once she's got her foe pinned, Janice delivers a few meaty sounding punches and a shouted "How do you like it now, bitch?" Sigh. Would it really have killed them to go with, "This is how we do it Hoboken, bitch"? The referee and some parents eventually manage to pull Janice away, and it's at this point that I'd like to draw your attention to two of our innocent bystanders: Not Janeane Garofalo and Camcorder Man. They'll both be important in a few minutes.

Bada Bing backroom. Silvio is playing cards with Paulie and Carlo Gervasi when Tony shows up to tell them all about the Vespa situation. Carlo is pissed, because he's under the impression that "the young crowd is crazy for these scooters." Yeah. Razor scooters, maybe. In 1998. There's not a kid on Earth that dreams of owning a Vespa. Not even AJ is that dorky. ["I see dozens of douchebag kids in my neighbourhood who'd beg to differ, but then I live in Little Italy." -- Wing Chun] Tony isn't sure whether to believe Johnny's story or not (In Vespa Veritas?), which seems a little odd when you remember that Johnny pretty much just came right out and admitted stealing the scooters. Silvio: "I will say, very interesting timing, T. You and John have that little chat at the funeral, whatever that was...suddenly, no Vespas." It's the facial mugging on the "whatever that was" part that really sells the line. Tony suddenly gets a call on his cell, and he kicks everyone out of the office, but not before ordering Vinnie Delpino to go find Oblong Guy and investigate what's been happening down at the port. As soon as the room is empty, Tony answers by immediately promising to take care of "the property taxes." "Hello to you, too," replies Carmela. "I just thought you should know," she adds, with obvious relish, "your sister Janice got arrested."

Cut to a news broadcast, featuring what I'm sure sixty-five million emailers will tell me is a real-life New Jersey anchorman. He describes Janice as a local woman "with ties to the mafia," and then throws it to a field reporter by asking if the "other mother should go into the Soccer Mom Protection Program." Oy. Is there a Lame Local News Copy-Writer Protection Program anywhere? Because I watch HBO specifically so that I never have to hear shit like that. The field reporter fills us in on the details while Blondie gets checked out by some paramedics behind her, and then Not Janeane Garofalo gets her one line of the episode: "I just feel so bad for the kids." Hmm. Given how political this show has become of late, I can only assume that's some sort of oblique reference to Air America. On the other hand, remember when Janeane Garofalo really was on this show? Yeah. That was a good episode. This one? Not so much. We switch to Camcorder Man's footage of the actual incident, and even though I hated this entire episode, I do have to admit that what comes is one of the funniest single shots this show has ever had. A screeching Janice gets chased into the frame by a cop, who then brings her down with an open-field tackle that would have done LT proud. Hee hee. Rewind. Rewatch. Rewind. Rewatch. After positively identifying Janice one last time as the "sister of reputed New Jersey mob boss Anthony Soprano," we go to an interview with noted psychologist "Bela Kakuk." Heh. In an effort to exposit our primary theme for the evening, Bela explains, "Psychologists are finding that certain individuals are particularly prone to rage. Almost any frustration, inconvenience, or perceived inconsideration will set them off." In an effort to set our approximate level of wit for the evening, Kakuk delivers this information in a dry, emotionless monotone, whereas Tony reacts by smacking the set and yelling "motherfucker." Do you get it? Do you? Yeah, well you'd damn well better, because I'm getting really fucking sick of explaining shit to you motherfuckers! Or, you know, something like that.

Mere moments after his "motherfucker," Tony has already arrived at Janice's place. Now I may not know my Filones from my Kolars, but I do know that Livia's house is right around the corner from Bobby's. So if you were wondering, that explains why we see him walking away instead of driving at the end of the episode. Back in this scene, however, Bobby can barely even get the front door all the way open before Tony storms into the kitchen and starts chasing Janice around the table. She predictably declares her intention to sue Blondie, the newscasters, the township, FIFA, the AFL-CIO, McDonalds, the cop who tackled her, three random guys named Bill, and the Ford Motor Company for every penny she can get. "No. You're. Not," growls Tony, before ordering her to shut up, pay the fine, and not "turn this into one of [her] fucking cause celebras." Wow. Check out Tony getting all funky with the French this week! Although isn't it actually Toyota that makes a coupe or something called "Celebra"? Or is it an allergy medication? I can never remember. "Anybody's side but mine," complains Janice. "That bitch is lucky I didn't kill her." "Well, we know that," replies Tony, with an evil grin. Understanding slowly dawns on Bobby's face like the fourteen eggs sunny-side up he had for breakfast, and I think Sopranos historians will forever look back on this as the precise moment when he finally realized what a mistake this marriage was. "You and your fucking temper," warns Tony. He heads for the door, but then pivots and gets right back in Bobby's face. "This is the end of it," he says. Janice knows he's right, which only pisses her off even more (remember that later, by the way). "Get out!" she screams, completely failing to add the requisite "Now." Which is actually for the best, because then I would have been obligated to like the episode, and I'd really much rather just sit here and stew in my righteous anger for a while.

Bobby follows Tony out of the house, begging him see the silver lining here, which is that Janice reacted the way she did because she was finally feeling maternal enough to stick up for Sophia. "I don't give a fuck," replies Tony, before softening. "All right, I do give a fuck, but how many times have I got to tell you? Get control of your wife." Yeah. So says the fat guy with the angry wife who hates him. No, not that one. The other one

Sophia, meanwhile, is reading in bed. When Janice knocks on her door, however, she immediately shuts out the light and pretends to be asleep. Because she's feeling so maternal, Janice comes in and wakes her up anyway. Nice. Sophia whines that she's totally embarrassed and doesn't want to have to see anyone ever again, whereas Janice just remains condescending and clueless as she refers to herself "a parent." "You're not my parent," snarls Sophia. Aw. She's like a little Meadow in training. It's still cute when they're young, you know. "I'm here," replies Janice. "And I try to care very much. Now go to sleep." Sophia considers her options for rebellion at this point, and then coldly looks Janice right in the eye and asks, "Are you going to punch me?" Dun dun DUH! Although I guess it's not really much of a surprising revelation that Janice would be physically abusive. It certainly doesn't seem to shock Bobby, who's been secretly listening to this exchange from just outside the door. Heh. Looks like Mommy got busted. Although if I were Bobby, I'd be kind of worried that she might punch me instead.

Bobby and Janice both retire to the bedroom, where pretty much every exchange of dialogue can be transcribed thusly: Bobby: [Pleading]. Janice: [Manipulating]. Bobby: [Demanding]. Janice: [Manipulating]. After Janice successfully runs the full manipulative gauntlet from exaggerating her injuries to blaming her childhood to justifying her recent temper tantrum at the grocery store by complaining that the coffee beans were burnt, Bobby at long last manages to scrape together a few loose vertebrae and some thoracic nerve tissue, which he uses to transmit a message from his brain to his foot saying, "Put yourself down, please." The end result is that he threatens to end the marriage if Janice doesn't attend some sort of anger management therapy, and then he just shrugs and leaves the room before she can punch him or shoot him or shove a vibrator up his ass. I always knew Bobby was smarter than he looked.

Paulie and Christopher, however, may actually be dumber than they look, if such a thing is even possible. They're hanging out in Diet Tony's casino, speculating on what he earns there ($2,500 - $5,000 a night), and commiserating over the fact that Fat Tony now has a new "teacher's pet." "I'm just saying," Paulie is saying, "now you know what I went through." Yeah, right. If there's one guy in that crew who I can assure you was never Tony's favorite, it's Paulie. You can tell by the way he never gets the good sub-plots anymore.

The day, Chris and Adriana are shopping for a wedding cake, possibly because they're the only two people left on the planet who actually think that wedding is going to happen. Tony obviously isn't expecting it any time soon, because he interrupts this happy little domestic scene by pulling up outside the store and laying on his horn for three hours until Christopher finally comes outside. Wow. It's actually kind of refreshing finally to see a boss that's more annoying than mine (not you, Wing. My other boss. Please don't punch me ["My name may end in an 'o,' but that's where my resemblance to Janice ends, I hope." -- Wing Chun]). Christopher climbs into the back seat (because the front is occupied by a pair of Tonys), and studiously arranges the can of soda in his hand so that we can't see the label, lest anyone watching be tricked into giving their hard-earned money to a corporation which keeps kicking up its product-placement dollars to the wrong damn capo. Tony announces that he just got a call from their "friend with the orchard," who told him that he's selling said orchard and retiring to Florida. It's clear from Christopher's reaction that he has fond feelings for the orchard owner, but after a few seconds, a more important realization hits him. "You still got your 'canned peaches' up there," Tony reminds him. Then he warns Christopher to watch what he says because the car was just serviced, and someone could have planted a bug. Personally, I'm more interested in trying to figure out why Tony's brand spanking new luxury SUV would need to be serviced less than three episodes after he bought it, but I guess the Cadillac people were off the set that day and the line somehow slipped through. Fat Tony orders Chris and Diet Tony to go up there and dig up all the "canned fruit," and in case you haven't figured it out yet, "canned fruit" is a euphemism for dead bodies, and not the contents of Wide Guy's pantry. Chris wants to do the job alone, because he's still pissed at Diet Tony, but Fat Tony explains that his father left some peaches up there as well, so it's a big job and they only have a limited amount of time to finish it. Chris reluctantly agrees to the partnership, and then tries to go back to selecting a wedding cake. Hmm. I wonder if he'll get a fruitcake?

Back at their apartment, Adriana is applying lotion while wearing nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties. It's almost, but not quite, enough to make me forgive Mike Figgis. Christopher is using this opportunity to deliver all the necessary exposition about our orchard owner, who is named "Uncle Pat," and who used to be "a knockaround guy" for Tony's father. Then he got the hiccups and retired. No, really. No, REALLY. "What, you think it's fucking funny?" asks Christopher. "He almost committed suicide because of it. How would you like it?" Once he was out of the family business, Uncle Pat bought a farm upstate, where all the little mafia boys used to go for the summer when they were "twelve or thirteen" years old. I guess that makes it like an Mob Bar Mitzvah or something, only without all the fancy parties and bad suits. Or at least without all the fancy parties. Christopher then takes a break from this story to ask Adriana where his "Barney's underpants with the ventilated cotton" might be, and until I checked the closed captioning I actually thought he said "mentholated," which would probably be quite painful. But refreshing nonetheless. Flick, ahh. Just kidding. Menthol is for wussies.

"I'll tell you one thing," adds Christopher. "I need Tony B. up there like I need a third nut." Dude, if Adriana keeps walking around in those skimpy outfits, you might actually need the third nut, so I'd be careful if I were you. "So much resentment..." Adriana observes, which launches Christopher into a lengthy tale about how Fat Tony and Diet Tony tied him to a tree up at the farm one year, and left him out in the woods until 3 in the morning. "I worshipped these two guys," he explains. "Tony Soprano especially. When he was by himself, he used to push me on my Big Wheels, teach me curse words. When he was by himself." Which is also part of our theme for the evening, because everybody gets along just fine one-on-one this week, but as soon as anyone extra is added into the equation, things get out of hand. Christopher brings us back to the present by asking for the "Tinactin," which makes me wonder who had to go out and solicit that particular product-placement, and also why Barney's didn't just offer him some mentholated socks to cure the problem. Adriana contemplates his ranting for a moment, and then rather tenderly suggests that they just pick up and move to somewhere "far away." She also thinks he could go back to writing, or maybe even become -- I kid you not -- a male model. Christopher: "I'll get back to the writing some day. But from a position of great wealth. As far as male modeling, I'd probably be a success, but I don't want to be around those fucking people." You know, I recently discussed the possibility of quitting this recapping job with my girlfriend, so that I could finally have Friday nights free, and I think I used almost those exact same words. "I'm a soldier," explains Christopher. "When are you going to understand that?" I think I said that line too, only I substituted "dork" for "soldier."

Das Sopranohaus. Tony goes strutting through the back yard, swigging a beer and puffing on a cigar, until he's suddenly brought up short by the sight of his now empty pool. Carmela is out on the patio as well, putting plastic covers over the chairs to prevent them from ever again being sullied by the touch of Artie Bucco's naked skin, and she explains her decision to drain the pool thusly: "The electricity cost a fortune. I can't afford that. You're the only one who uses it." Tony is furious, and he moves to get right into Carmela's face. She doesn't back away at all, although her expression does display at least a little nervousness. And then Figgis cuts us to an extreme low-angle shot from the bottom of the pool, which does manage to heighten the suspense around whether Tony is going to kill her and throw her body in there, but also has the somewhat negative effect of shrinking him to the point where he bears a disconcerting resemblance to Fred Flintstone. "I thought we were getting along much better!" he shouts. "Yabba-dabba-motherfucking-do!" Carmela chews him out for "polluting" all the decent divorce lawyers in New Jersey (and are we really supposed to believe there are only eight in the entire state?), and then claims that Tony was "begging" for a divorce "in a million different ways." That's actually a significant change of tune for her, because if it's now Tony who wanted the divorce in her mind, it'll be ever so much easier for her to rationalize things when she finally decides to take him back.

Tony and Carmela move inside, Carmela taking up her usual position behind the kitchen counter, and Tony struggling for like three hours to pull on a pair of sweatpants. After several loud sighs, he joins her in the kitchen, and attempts some tactical diplomacy by changing the subject to their daughter's impending nuptials. They agree to remain civil long enough to throw an engagement party, and then Carmela worries that Meadow is just too young to get married. "They're the same age we were," answers Tony. Then he puts his hand on Carmela's, and wistfully recollects that "it wasn't all bad." Carmela says nothing, however, and just carries her laundry basket out of the room.

Janice goes to anger management class. And really, that's all you need to know about this scene. It goes on forever, but it doesn't advance the plot, it doesn't have any subtext, and it doesn't add anything new to her character. Its not even funny or interesting. It's just a totally irrelevant digression into the theory and practice of anger management therapy. And while I'm the last person who should ever be critical of people who make totally irrelevant digressions, I still don't get the point of all this. And, yeah, I know. It's "real," and "the real world" is full of irrelevant digressions. Stop composing email. Because guess what? The Sopranos isn't the real world. It's filmed entertainment. If I want to be bored, I'll talk to my co-workers. Or even watch The Real World, for that matter. I'm not shelling out big bucks for pay cable and a high-definition DVR (tax-deductible though it may be) because I want more of my own real life, I'm doing it because I want to be entertained. Now, I'm perfectly willing to admit that the line between "real" and "entertaining" is a very thin one indeed, and this show is almost always just on the right side of it, but in this episode they missed the mark, and the result is boring and flat. And that's my totally irrelevant digression for the week.

Christopher's Humvee. Diet Tony makes awkward small talk about the fact that they're passing through the Hudson Valley, where the legend of Sleepy Hollow supposedly originated. Christopher, however, is just as pissy and uninterested as you'd expect him to be. Noticing that he's not getting much of a response, Diet Tony changes the subject to Uncle Pat's farm, and how much fun they used to have up there when they were kids. "He made me clear the brush by the fence with a fucking scythe," complains Christopher. "Yeah, I had to do that," replies Diet Tony. "[Fat] Tony, too." Chris was apparently unaware that the brush-clearing was a yearly ritual, and now he takes a moment to look back on things in a different light. He also softens his stance towards Diet Tony a bit, and some of the tension drains out of the car. The scene ends with the following dialogue, which I'm transcribing in full because I just can't tell if it's irrelevant or portentous: Diet Tony: "They used to call me Ichabod Crane." Chris: "Who?" Diet Tony: "Some very sorry people, that's who." Although, to be honest, he actually kind of does look like Ichabod Crane. As played by John Waters.

Melfi's office. This was by far my least favorite scene in the entire episode, because it plays out like a bunch of unconnected, pretentious monologues that really don't have anything to do with the rest of the show. It's like the writers found a few phrases they liked and then went and contorted the rest of the episode just to fit them in. And yes, I'm aware of the irony inherent in my criticizing them for that, so get out. Now. Melfi opens the scene by asking about Carmela, but Tony brushes that subject off by calling their night in the pool "a one-time deal" and saying that he's moved on. She then references last week's session, which serves to do nothing but invite unflattering comparisons, so Tony promptly changes the subject to Janice's arrest. "She got charged with aggravated assault and resisting arrest," he explains. "Excellent!" replies Melfi, causing Lorraine Bracco to earn double bonus points for making me laugh in the midst of all this crap. She wants to discuss the famous Soprano temper, because "rage is depression turned inward." I'll bet anyone reading this recap fifty bucks that Robin Green and Mitchell Burgess have that phrase cross-stitched and mounted on their living-room wall. Tony says that rage is bad for business, and also makes Melfi a wee bit uncomfortable by name-dropping "John" as in "John Gotti." "In the end," he adds, "I think [his temper] hurt him. See, we forget that, in the old days, the ones that came over and started this thing, they didn't get mad. They just smiled and nodded and made sure you got it later. That's the whole beautiful point." That's also exactly what Johnny Sack is doing to Tony, by the way. "You know what they say," he continues. "Revenge is like serving cold cuts." And yeah, it's clever how they managed a neat pun there that references Tony's lunch-meat issues, but I still have a hard time believing he wouldn't know that particular phrase. I mean, isn't that line in The Godfather somewhere? Or are we supposed to believe it was just a Freudian slip?

Melfi reminds Tony that anger runs in his family, not only through his mother, but also through his dad, who once cut off Mr. Satriale's finger right in front of his son. She also accuses Tony of being totally intolerant of even minor inconveniences, which doesn't make Tony as angry as you'd expect it to. "Thank you for holding," he gripes. "Your call is important to us. If it's so fucking important to you, answer the fucking phone!" Ahh. Now we're getting into my area of expertise. You see, Tony, there are many valid reasons why call centers are frequently unable to answer your call right away. When you combine Erlang scheduling formulas with advancements in CTI routing technology, you frequently get...I'm sorry, what? "Totally irrelevant digression" you say? Oh. My bad. "It's just a level of bullshit, bullshit, bullshit," he rants. "Every fucking new idea they come up with is supposed to make things better. It just makes things worse." Melfi: "Okay, right. I agree. The center cannot hold. The falcon cannot hear the falconer." Um, did she just quote Yeats to Tony? Because that seems wrong, somehow. They psychobabble about technobabble for a while, and then Melfi tells him that "if things don't go your way, instead of being merely disappointed or inconvenienced, you blow." "Actually, that would be my friend Vito," Tony completely fails to say. Instead, he just mentions that Janice is taking anger management classes, but that he would never consider doing the same. "Where did we start off?" Melfi asks, finally bringing things full circle. "Depression is rage turned inward." Sigh. Man, that scene sucked. ["Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before" -- William Butler Yeats]

Up on the farm, Chris and Diet Tony are enjoying a lovely al fresco dinner with Uncle Pat and his daughter Louise. There's some banter about whether Chrissy grew up in the "inner city," even though he lived door to "the largest shopping mall in New Jersey," and then Uncle Pat sends Louise to go fetch some dessert. Once she's gone, Diet Tony announces that they know where Christopher's canned peaches are buried, but that they'll still need some help finding the ones Johnny Soprano left behind. Unfortunately, Uncle Pat no longer remembers where "the Johnson brothers" are buried, so he can't give them an answer. But don't get too worried about it. This entire scene will be rendered utterly meaningless in just a few short moments.

Cut to Chris and Diet Tony, digging away by the light of a few lanterns. They're worried about possibly having to excavate the entire farm in order to find the Johnsons, because they know that's what Tony will tell them to do. "Let him come up here and dig," suggests Diet Tony. "Please," answers Chris. "He's a heart attack waiting to happen." Diet Tony: "That's no joke. Our bodies are 86% water. His last blood test, he was 65% zeppola." That's funnel cake to you and me, by the way. Diet Tony goes on with a few more fat jokes, much to Christopher's amusement. You see? Nothing makes people bond more than bitching about the boss. That's why all us recappers are such close friends. Ow! All right, fine. I deserved that punch. Sorry, Wing. ["That goes both ways, hoss. Why do you think Sars and I have IM?" -- Wing Chun] "I should talk to him," sighs Diet Tony. "It's a shame, you know, because he used to be the funnest guy in the world." Christopher adds that, now that Tony is on top, he's really started to isolate himself. "Yeah," agrees Diet Tony. "Just him and his money." Christopher suddenly strikes something hard with his shovel, and he brushes away some dirt to reveal a skull. "Who is this guy, anyway?" asks DT. "My first," replies Chris. "A Czechoslovakian guy. This is the second time I'm moving him." Of course, the first time around he said he was moving him to the Pine Barrens, so wouldn't that make this the third time?

Back in Newark, a security guard is being chased down a bridge. And despite the best efforts of the promo-monkeys, it's not Wide Guy's security guard. Instead, it's some random dude who works at Port Newark. Vinnie Delpino and Oblong Guy beat the crap out of him until he reveals that it was Phil Leotardo who stole the Vespas. I have to say, there's something extremely gratifying about seeing Doogie Howser's best friend gleefully knee-capping a guy. Where was all that misplaced aggression back when Wanda Plenn kept dumping his boy Doogie? Incidentally, here's another totally irrelevant digression for you: I used to have a major crush on Lisa Dean Ryan, especially when she was on that weird-ass MTV show about the guy with the microchip in his head. Am I the only one who remembers that?

Old McYorick's Farm. Chris and Diet Tony have adjourned to a shed, where they're busily wrapping bones in a blanket and smashing them to bits. Christopher takes a moment to gaze contemplatively into the eyeholes of Emil's skull, while the publishers of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest cringe at the loss of a perfect product-placement opportunity. Surprisingly, it's Christopher who makes the first move towards dtente here, as he thanks Diet Tony for helping out with Emil when he didn't have to. "Fuck that," replies DT. "You're my little cousin." Then he offers up an apology of his own: "I think I can imagine what you may be hearing about me, and what happened in New York. All I can say is, there's no truth to it. As far as Tony putting me in at the casino, I knew people were going to resent that. But I went away for a long time, stood up for this family. And you, or anybody else, can think what they like, but I feel I had a little coming to me." Christopher falls all over himself to agree, even going to so far as to claim that it was Vinnie Delpino who was bitching about the casino, and that Chris told him to shut up. Uh huh. They also agree that they both love Fat Tony (but not like Wide Guy loves Fat Tony), and then merrily go back to their bone crushing. And once again I find myself writing sentences that no one has ever written before.

Once the bones have been evenly pureed (feel free to consult the Sopranos cooking thread for tips on how to garnish femur pudding), Chris and Diet Tony drive to a different dark, deserted dock and throw them into a lake. Farewell, Emil "Email" Kolar. Unlike Fairuza Balk, you'll live forever on my DVD shelf.

Back at the Bing, Vinnie and Oblong Guy arrive to give their report. The usual suspects are gathered in the back room, and everyone looks confused and upset when they learn that Johnny Sack now has the Vespas. "It's fucking payback," says Tony. "Johnny's got it in his head that somehow my cousin had something to do with Joey Peeps." According to Silvio, "Johnny should be out looking for the real killers, instead of spending all his time on that golf course." Heh. It amuses me that Silvio is the only person in the entire room who is smart enough even to get that joke. Which is probably why he felt confident making it. "We got a whole fucking shipment of cheese coming in month," complains Tony. "The imported provolone. I guess we can kiss that goodbye too, now." Hee hee. Only on The Sopranos would the mafia be dealing in motor scooters and fancy imported cheese. What's , Toblerone? Segways? Plastic singing fish? Tony does a slow burn for a few moments, and then suddenly releases his rage by smashing a pool cue against the table and breaking it in half. Everyone else just stands there looking confused and embarrassed.

And speaking of things that are confusing and embarrassing, here comes what is undoubtedly the worst directorial choice in the history of this show. And you people thought the unnecessary close-ups of Tony's man-boobs were bad. Our old pal Counselor Wegler is wandering through the halls of his school one evening, when he runs into Carmela, who just so happens to be there for a PTA meeting or something. "You were pretty upset when you left," he observes. "I wanted to call. I began to really rue what happened." I'm sorry, did he say "rue"? Who talks like that? Before he can even finish his sentence, Carmela announces that she's "going back with [her] husband," and immediately turns to walk away. It's been debated in the forums all week whether that was intended as a threat or just a brush-off, and I'm personally inclined to join the "brush-off" camp. I think she just wanted him to believe that she'd successfully moved on. I also think they're trying to lay the groundwork for an eventual reconciliation between her and Tony, but that's just me. In any event, she starts to walk away, and then my fancy new HD DVR breaks down, and the scene drops into slow-motion and then freezes altogether. Oy. Why? Just...why? That serves no artistic purpose, it doesn't illuminate our understanding of Carmela's mental state, it looks like it was edited on a Commodore 64, and it completely and totally yanks you out of the moment. And then they follow it up with an actual wipe to the scene, and even in the fourth grade I knew better than to try shit like that. Memo to Mike Figgis: You've now made exactly one good movie in about fifteen tries. It's time for you either to start kissing Nic Cage's ass for a sequel, or start considering a career in long-haul trucking or something. In other words, leave Newark now, and don't ever come back.

Once the wedding-video transitions are finally out of the way, we find ourselves down on the farm, where Chris, Diet Tony, and Uncle Pat are spending a relaxing afternoon fishing by the lake. Chris is noticeably drinking Coke in this scene, and they specifically don't cover up the label this time because it's actually a plot point. Uncle Pat congratulates Chris on his sobriety, and then remembers that Christopher's mother has the same problem. That tidbit makes my mind wander while I try to figure out exactly how Mama Moltisanti became a Blundetto like Diet Tony. Or was she a Blundetto before she was a Moltisanti? And if so, how is she related to Tony? Uncle Pat, on the other hand, lets his mind wander in a completely different direction, and it eventually ends up over by some fence posts where he's finally remembered that the Johnson brothers are buried. Wow. Good thing they didn't make a big deal out his forgetting then, right? Continuing to grate on my every last nerve, Figgis ends the scene with a long, slow, pastoral pull-out that does nothing but pad the episode's running time. And it still only managed to clock in at forty-eight minutes. Whatever.

Livia's house. Tony and Janice are in the kitchen, and Tony is complaining that his maid left some mail from three weeks ago hidden behind the cereal boxes on the counter. Janice cheerfully (and reasonably) suggests that he just hire someone new, but Tony gripes that after two anger management classes she already feels entitled to tell other people how to live their lives. "Don't let it stop you from taking you kids to the rink," he adds, referencing the pair of ice skates she's carrying. Heh. Rink-rage humor always cracks me up. I've had that episode of The Simpsons where Bart and Milhouse play "Hockey Dad" on my TiVo forever. The rest of this scene, unfortunately, leaves quite a bit to be desired. It's basically just an opportunity for Janice to go on, at length, about all the wonders of anger management therapy. And again, it doesn't advance the plot, and it doesn't add to the characters because we've seen all this stuff from them before. Janice goes in for therapy fads, and Tony doesn't trust anything that sounds touchy-feely. So why rehash all that for the ten billionth time? I guess someone thought they were being clever by foleying in the sound of an annoying, yippy dog barking outside the window throughout the scene just to illustrate that small frustrations just roll right off Janice's back now. The only real subtext here, however, is that Tony is surprisingly supportive of his sister's efforts. But that's just because they're alone. It's not until you add her whole family in later that when things get really out of hand. And speaking of out of hand, the sound effects team gets to go really wild once Janice leaves, and they pipe in some approaching sirens as we end the scene on a close-up of Tony's face. Foreshadowing, or just Figgis being Figgis? You be the judge.

From the noisy frustrations of suburbia, we cut to the peaceful solitude of Uncle Pat's farm. And by "peaceful solitude," I actually mean "mind-numbing boredom." For them and me. Everyone is sitting around playing cards, when suddenly Fat Tony himself arrives to join the party. Uncle Pat and Louise greet him happily, and then Tony settles down to join the boys at the table while Louise goes off to get him some food. He gets a status report on everyone's exhumation progress (Emil is done and the Johnson brothers are scheduled for later that evening), and then he sighs happily and announces that "this is the life." Chris and Diet Tony readily agree, and then DT checks his watch out of boredom. Oh, that rascally Diet Tony. He can never just say what he means, can he?

We get a surprisingly well-composed shot of Tony, relaxing in a field and smoking a cigar. That one must have been done by the second unit. It's also the shot from the pre-season promos that everyone thought was Tony in Johnny Sack's back yard. Oh, well.

Continuing our fast-forward through the evening, we finally move to the docks, where Fat Tony supervises as Chris and Diet Tony throw the bodies into the lake. This was probably totally unintentional, but I thought it was interesting that Chris and DT were smart enough to sink Emil in pitch-blackness, whereas Tony stands carelessly in the harsh glow of spotlight while his associates dispose of two corpses just a few feet away. Then again, it's not like any eyewitnesses have ever made a difference on this show anyway, so it's probably not even worth thinking about.

"To a job well done," toasts Tony, as the three amigos gather in a restaurant to celebrate. Except wouldn't it be about 3 in the morning right now? They already made a point of saying that they could only start work after dark, and it wasn't even close to sunrise when we saw them ditching the bodies. So what kind of backwoods, farm-country restaurant is open (and serving alcohol, might I add) at this time of night? And, perhaps more importantly, will I ever finally learn to stop trying to decipher the timelines on this show? "Pat seems good," observes Tony. And then, completely oblivious, he goes on to say that "Louise seems fat." This causes no end of barely repressed giggling in Chris and Diet Tony, and I absolutely have to praise Steve Buscemi for his work in this scene, because the double-take he executes upon hearing Tony calling someone else fat is dead-solid perfect. With a sly little nod to Christopher, he repeats the "65% zeppola joke," this time with Louise as the target. This gets Chrissy laughing even harder, and then Tony joins in, because he doesn't sense the irony. More fat jokes follow, sending Christopher into gales of uncontrollable laughter. It's at this point that Tony starts to get a little sensitive, because he can't figure out why Christopher is laughing at a joke that's not really all that funny. "He's drunk," explains Diet Tony, but Fat Tony shoots that idea down by pointing out that Chris is in recovery. "Well if you recover your fucking balls, give us a call," jokes DT. "We might like to hang out." I'm assuming he means he'd like to hang out with Christopher AND the balls, and not just the testicles themselves, because that would be weird. But very Buscemi-esque nevertheless.

Diet Tony goes on to make yet another lame twelve-step joke, and Christopher has finally had enough. "Sobriety is hard enough work without having to get mocked for it," he says. And I do kind of see his point. Especially when there are so many other things we could be mocking him for. Like the hair, or the male modeling aspirations, or "Christopher," or the fact that he totally could have reused his famous "dysentery in the ranks" line during Adriana's irritable bowel episode, but didn't. This gets Tony upset, because he can't stand it when other people take things seriously, and he essentially orders Christopher just to down a shot and shut the hell up with "the higher power yammering and the sweets and the key lime pie." What really annoys me about that, however, is that I know I've recapped a scene about key lime pie before, but I can't remember where. It must be one of my shows in Permanent Hiatus, because the search function isn't turning anything up. Except for nine hundred instances of the word "compliment," that is. "I'm sorry," sighs Christopher. "I didn't realize I was being a jerkoff with all that." And then, as he always does, Tony immediately apologizes for crossing the line, and repeatedly tells Christopher that he's doing the right thing. That doesn't stop the teasing, though, because Diet Tony brings up the Humvee, and the "hum job" Christopher must have given the dealer to pay for it. Some witty word-play ensues, and they go from calling Chris "a friend of Bill" to talking about his "bill" as a "beak." Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot to add his nose to the list of things we could be mocking him for. As a fellow super-schnozz, however, I can easily appreciate the fact that nasal humor is the straw that finally deviates Christopher's septum. "You know, that was you he made that joke about," he tells Tony. "The zeppola content." Tony, however, doesn't even bat a lipid-laden eyelash at this revelation, and just rolls right on with the nose jokes. Turning to Diet Tony, Christopher snarks that he could have called him Ichabod Crane, but didn't. That finally (thank God!) manages to shut Diet Tony up, and Fat Tony finally brings the scene to a close by raising a toast to the Johnson brothers, "whoever the fuck they were."

Okay, now I'm even more confused about the timeline, because suddenly they're all back at the farm, where Diet Tony is sleeping while Fat Tony flips through the channels on a TV. Eventually, he settles on a newscast about port security. At first he's all amused by the fact that less than 2% of all containers go through customs, but that giddiness soon turns to alarm when the reporter reveals that terrorists could use shipping containers to smuggle a GPS-equipped nuclear weapon into the country. And while I do think that's exactly the sort of thing that would get stuck in Tony's head like this, I also have to say that I was somehow inexplicably disappointed to see them focusing so heavily on a real-world concern like Al-Qaeda in this episode. I don't know. It's certainly nowhere near as bad as that dumb-ass wipe, but it did pull me out of the story a little, because I'm so used to this show living in its own, isolated world. The most they ever said about 9/11 was one backhanded remark from Carmela, so it just seems weird that Tony would turn into Tom Ridge all of a sudden. But maybe that's just me.

The morning, Tony comes down to breakfast to find everyone else already up and eating. He immediately starts ranting about what he saw on the news, and he's appalled that no one else seems to share his concerns. In fact, Diet Tony and Christopher actually look embarrassed that he would be discussing this stuff (and swearing about it, to boot) in front of Louise. When Fat Tony admits to having terrible nightmares about smuggled atomic weapons, Diet Tony makes a crack to the effect that it obviously didn't affect his appetite. Despite the fact that he went ballistic over a Jackie Gleason impersonation just a few weeks ago, Tony actually manages to laugh a little at his own expense here. But that's mostly just because this scene is really about Christopher, and the fact that he hates being teased by the two Tonys. So, of course, cue the teasing: "Speaking of scary shit," jokes Diet Tony, "was that you in the bathroom this morning?" "I thought they already dropped the biological weapon," adds Fat Tony. And then Christopher finally throws in the Tony towel, and announces that he's going back home to New Jersey. Fat Tony is surprised by this, but doesn't really try to stop him, so Christopher just says his goodbyes to Uncle Pat and then heads out the door. He does, however, warn him to watch out for the alligators down there in Florida, which gives me a nice excuse to say that my parents live in Florida, and really do have an entire family of alligators living in their back yard. There's Albert, Alice, and Albertina the baby, and one of the funniest things I've ever seen was Albert chasing some moron who was stupid enough to try and walk his dog back there. Yeah, yeah. Totally irrelevant digression. I know.

Cut to Christopher, crying in his car on the way home. Oh, yeah. That one's definitely going on the mock list.

Bada Bing. Wide Guy is ostensibly watching the strippers dance, but then we cut to a reverse angle and see that Bouncer Bob is right in his line of sight. Aww. That's quite possibly the cutest potential couple I've ever seen. If this show ever does a spin-off, it should totally be about those two moving to Key West and opening a male strip club together. Tony and Diet Tony arrive with bags of fruit and vegetables in hand, and gush that Uncle Pat's farm is like "a whole different world" where "the bullshit really falls away." Oh, the irony. Oh, the humanity. Tony barely even manages to get himself seated on a bar stool before he's bitching about Al-Qaeda again, and I'd just like to take a moment to thank the Lord that I'm not Diet Tony, because I don't even want to think about what the discussion might have been like in their car on the way home. Reflecting this show's ever-increasing interest in the upcoming elections, Paulie makes a crack about the current administration being too busy handing out non-competitive building contracts to devote much attention to port security. Remember that later when he says he doesn't like to talk about politics. "The only thing between our homes and Port Newark is a chain-link fence," argues Tony. "If they get a nuclear bomb in a container, we're fucking dead." Yeah. Because Al-Qaeda's overriding goal has always been the complete and utter destruction of Newark, New Jersey. Dude, even I would join up if that's what they were really after. "That's why you gotta live for today," quips Bouncer Bob, who really ought to know better by now. Heh. And here I thought the love taps Tony gave him a few weeks ago were going represent his only beating for the season. Boy, was I wrong. Tony beans him right in the eye with a shot glass, and then practically leaps over the bar to start pounding on him with the cash register. And there's your money shot for the week, by the way, because all the bills in the tray go flying into the air. The whole crew just exchanges weary "been there, done that" looks as they slowly move to pull Tony off his helpless victim, and Silvio is forced to try to calm the other patrons without the benefit of a megaphone this time.

The morning, Paulie shows up at Livia's house to give him an update on Bouncer Bob's medical condition. I guess Figgis must have already known at this point that I was going the hate the episode, because he doesn't even bother to put Tony in a robe. He does, however, give him a cute new girlfriend, whom I'm told was the dermatology nurse Tony had back when he had his mole removed. Paulie is impressed, and I have to say that I am too. She's like one-tenth Tony's size, and yet she also seems a little smitten with him. I will never, ever understand that. Once she's gone, Paulie gives the bullet: "He's big, strapping. He'll be all right. But he's got some hearing loss in one ear. Looks like it could be permanent." Tony peels a wad of bills off the roll in his pocket (and who keeps cash in their pajamas, by the way?), and tells Paulie to make sure Bouncer Bob gets the best possible treatment. Oy. Knowing Paulie, the fifty-three cents that'll be left over after he pockets the rest won't even buy poor Georgie a Q-Tip. On his way out the door, however, Paulie drops the really bad news: Bouncer Bob is quitting the Bing, and he doesn't want Tony to visit him in the hospital. "These things happen," explains Paulie. "That's why I don't like to talk politics." Somebody tell that to David Chase.

Das Sopranohaus. Carmela tells Rosalie about her encounter with Wegler, and the amount of time it just took you to read that is already longer than the scene itself.

And finally, we wrap things up for the night at Janice's house. She's in the kitchen making dinner when Tony arrives, and he announces that AJ won't be joining them for the evening. Small favors, I suppose. "You lose them to their friends for a little bit," Janice claims, "but he'll be back." Yeah. Remember that when Tony brings up Janice's own son in a moment. Sophia comes into the kitchen and tries to take a soda out of the fridge, but I think we all know there's no way Janice is going to let her get away with that. And she's not even the one who wets the bed. Tony, however, just compliments her for handling the situation without getting angry. That happy feeling doesn't last for long, though, because Janice answers a call from a telemarketer, and insists on being as polite as possible while telling them that she's not interested. Tony just wants her to hang up without any explanation at all, and actually seems sort of peeved that she's not more upset about the intrusion. Because again, he hates it when other people have success. Which is something we already knew long before this episode ever aired.

They move to the dining room, where Tony is obviously the odd man out as the Baccalieri clan chats happily about computers and the quality of Janice's eggplant. That anvil you can see in the corner, incidentally, is the fact that Tony's family never has dinners like this anymore. And after stewing in that realization for a few moments, Tony swings into action. "I wonder where Harpo is eating his Sunday dinner?" he asks. Janice plays dumb, because she can't believe he's discussing this in front of Bobby's kids, and it's finally left to Bobby to explain that Harpo is actually Janice's long-lost son. Bobby Jr. and Sophia are surprised by this news, but it also seems to humanize Janice a bit in their eyes, because it definitely makes them see her in a different light. Tony, on the other hand, just keeps poking away at what he knows is a sore spot. "He's half French-Canadian, Harpo," he snarks, but unlike Bouncer Bob, I learn from my beatings and I'm not about to insult our fine, upstanding neighbors to the north. ["I would hate for anyone to think I would constrain them from mocking Quebec." -- Wing Chun] "I wonder what's French-Canadian for 'I grew up without a mother,'" Tony continues. "'Sacr-bleu! Where is me mama?'" Bwah! I would pay good money to hear James Gandolfini do a French audio-book version of Are You My Mother?. Janice probably wouldn't, though, because she finally snaps and lunges at Tony with a fork in her hand. He jumps out of his seat with a big shit-eating grin on his face, and then walks out of the house feeling satisfied with himself as Janice starts sobbing and screaming about how much she hates her brother. And then the music kicks in, and Tony casually strolls back to his mother's house, and what I am officially calling the worst-ever episode of The Sopranos fades blissfully to black.