Back at the office, Kenneth chastises Lemon for hanging on to her mini-fridge in defiance of the green initiative. She says she deserves to keep it, because she's losing her apartment. Frank tut-tuts her, and she asks him what he knows about being green. Kenneth counters that Frank is, in fact, the greenest person on the show because he never lets anything go to waste, including others' food in the garbage, and he never washes his clothes. Lemon notes the health hazard of Frank's "sun tea" making, but Kenneth points her to a beautiful flower box Frank has cultivated outside of his window by pouring his jars of urine there. Kenneth tells her she has two options: 1.) Give up her mini-fridge or 2.) Let Frank continue with his "sun tea" experiment. She opts for the latter.

Back at the hospital, Tracy wakes from his hallucination and begs Dr. Spaceman not to go through with the vasectomy. Luckily, Jack aborted the operation before it began ("If a patient's friend runs into the operating room and yells at you, you have to stop. It's the doctor's code."). Jack, who nixed his vasectomy also, looks forward to the day his luscious-locked children can play with Tracy's.

30 Rock. Lemon is nearly ready to admit defeat in her attempt to push Brian out of the apartment... until she sees Frank filling up his "sun tea" jars from the communal water cooler. Cut to that night, as she is filling up on fluid and crossing her legs like an about-to-burst first grader. She hears the door opening and starts to unzip her pants. Brian comes in and beholds the unholy sight with a look that can only be described as horror. The next morning, she runs jubilantly into the studio, announcing that she got the apartment. Jenna asks her how, and she tries to dance around the answer, but Frank is nearby. He's onto her. He tells her she's the disgusting one. Instead of using the system to stop global warming, she's used it to kick a gay cop out of his apartment. She shouts boisterously that she has no regrets. It's Manhattan real estate, after all. No rules -- like checking in at an Italian gelato parlor. She triumphantly tosses her tote toward the sky like Mary Tyler Moore. Which would have worked if not for the low ceilings.

Over in Tracy's dressing room, Tracy proudly hangs up his acrostic from Tracy Jr. Frank runs in, excited that Tracy can finally tell his sordid strip club story. Tracy vows never to tell the story now that he's having a daughter because the story is demeaning to women -- "especially if they had their boobies sneezed on by a tiger."