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Downstairs in the Goldman kitchen, Little Brother 2.0 stands at a blender whirring together some gross kind of brown muck. PornDaddy and PornMommy sit over in a nook area, yelling at him to turn off the blender and demand to know what the hell that thing is. He identifies it as "Muscle Maker 4000," which this episode is apparently brought to you by. "You don't need any more muscles," PornMommy coos like it's a line of dialogue in one of PornDaddy's films, right after the blender repairman shows up and is all "What seems to be the problem" and she's all "Well, the blender isn't thrusting correctly and the oven isn't making things hot" and he's all "I'll show you thrusting that makes things hot" and the music is all "Chick-a-chick-a-wha-wha" and the repairman is all "Say I make your oven hot! Say I make your oven hot!" and the director is all "Now ten minutes of extreme close-ups and that'll be a wrap" and the repairman is all "SAY I MAKE YOUR OVEN HOT!" Once, a friend told me about movies like that. It's the only reason I know anything about them. Jew-liet barely even registers an exiting Little Brother 2.0 as she storms into the kitchen with a rushed series of "good morning"s. PornDaddy calls out from the counter that it wouldn't kill Jew-liet to give her father a hug, and she tries to escape on the grounds of the now-history-making-in-itself first-period history quiz. She hugs PornDaddy goodbye, because he might sell naked ladies for a living but he is a GOOD MAN; they banter about her outfit (and, okay, she's showing a little midriff, but mostly her body is covered by her giant bag, which is so big and secure she could actually stow her secret boyfriend entirely inside of it and sneak him onto airplanes and inside of guarded nuclear facilities); and so on. Before he lets her go, however, PornDaddy asks Jew-liet in that dad voice, "We on track?" She's slightly evasive in a kind-of "whatchoo talkin' about, PornDaddy?" kind of way. Doing ample justice to the infrequently-seen stage direction "Juxtaposing so hard it won't stop until it pulls something and really, really hurts itself," we jet right off to Roam. Mama Roam is in a tizzy of castrating lateness, snapping at Tom to tell someone named "Tony" that she left ten minutes ago. Confused and doddering and looking generally like other things are taking precedence in his mind (wildfires at Chest Hair National Park, 'haps?), Roam can only ask how Adam is getting to school. Mama Roam responds with vast impatience, telling him about the strict regimen of no bus (ooh, to have that taken away from him must have been a real bummer), no sports, no getting any sweet sugary love juice from the hottie princess daughter of the town's biggest PornDaddy. Other restrictions may apply. "I've been doing this all week!" Mama Roam guilts on, so Roam defuses the Mom Bomb as best as he knows how, telling her, "I'm coming home for dinner." Mama Roam doesn't have time to be impressed, and she instructs him, "Don't tell me, tell him. But don't tell him unless you're going to be here." Dear pronouns: thanks for all your hard work! Love, The Script. Her cell phone rings, and Mama Roam is on with Tony and out the door. He! Me! We!

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