Vonda's been doooown, she's been down, down, down!
We fly through the skies of Boston, whee! Dame Edna emerges from the Uni and begins to cough and gag in a rather disgusting manner. She spits something into the sink that pings musically, like a bullet hitting a spittoon. What nice tone her loogies have. Oh, Dame Edna, ew. She's in black and white fake Chanel today, with lots and lots of pearls. New Guy, Wilson Jade, the one with as much sex appeal as day-old Oscar Meyer baloney. Even "balogna" is sexier. Dame Edna, of course, says he's "lovely" and "wonderful" and sexually harasses him some more. Oh, please. Are your stupid glasses smeary? Is your wig cutting off circulation to your brain? This guy is so not hot, even my boyfriend asked incredulously, "Is this guy supposed to be hot?" Maybe, in a perfect world, he would be hot. But he's so very not. Nelle walks in, reminds the New Guy her name is Nelle, not Morgan, and if he needs anything, he can kiss her ass. He asks if he's in "the girl's room." Dame Edna says that here, they "don't distinguish between the sexes." He gives her a look like he can tell that just by looking at her. Oh, he could use some help on a case -- is Nelle a nice person? "Not at all," she says. Great, when she has a moment, could she come up to his office? Greaaat.
Miss Bump and her bigamist client, played by Heather Locklear, discuss her case. Both husbands need to be there, to show their support. Heather doesn't want to do any time. Miss Bump says they can't lose the case. The huge painting of Napoleon looks at them as they talk. Heather is all, is that painting of Napoleon looking at us? Nooo. Yes? Noo. Yes. It's John Cage. Miss Bump demands that he meet her in his hole "this instant!" John stammers and says, "Oh, balls."
Once in the hole, John says that what he was doing was "very benign peeping." Heather asks if he "live[s] inside the walls." Miss Bump, once again overwhelmed by the cuteness of John, grabs his face and calls him "a cute little stuffy," and "the best little lawyer." Yes he is! Yes he is! A wubba-wubba-wubba-woo! A wubba-woo! Heather says she isn't sure John likes being pinched like that. Why don't you show us how he'd liked to be pinched, then, the ex-Mrs. Tommy Lee? Maybe give him a big old Melrosian smack across the face, for old time's sake. Perhaps a hair-pulling fight in a swimming pool would be something John enjoys. And then, there's T.J. Hooker. Don a uniform and chase someone around, for fun. Oh, and could John help out with the bigamy case? The mariachis will let him go for a bit.
Heather perks up at the mention of mariachis. She always wanted to do that, but was rejected because she was a woman. Really? It wasn't the no-musical-talent thing? Because I've seen plenty of Mexican bands with women in them. Miss Bump, the focus off her, rolls her eyes and takes a seat. John asks that he not be mocked regarding the mariachi issue, and Heather insists she's serious; she even went to Mexico to live, briefly. John lights up like a cigar and is all, you deeed? Wow, ese. That is loco! They continue to bond over their mutual love of records by the Kingston Trio, because they sang lots of faux-Mexican standards. John points at his face and says, "Tom Dooley." Heather loves "Tom Dooley"! Christina says he sounds really Mexican. It's a song, duh! John says he used to pretend he was "Tom Dooley." Oh, did he used to hang down his head and cry? Aww. Heather reminds John that, in the song, Tom Dooley was hung by the neck until dead. John says he liked the crying part more. Miss Bump leaps to her tiny li'l feet and says, "Hey, square pants." Heather cocks her blonde head and asks if John will help in the case. Weeel he? He weeel.