This week's episode begins with a TV commercial for El Pollo Knockoffo, one that emphasizes the old-school values of "Los Pollos Hermanos." At the end, the visual of cascading fried chicken parts (uh...yum?) dissolved into a visual of cascading meth crystals. NICE. And so now, after getting a fantasy of the fast-food chicken business, we get a crash course in the reality of Gus's blue meth business. Specifically, how it gets boxed up by Walter and Jesse, then transferred to the small army of employees who bag the stuff, seal it up inside tubs of Pollos chicken batter (each one marked with a star only visible under a black light), load it on to Pollos trucks, and ship it out across the Southwest. Overseeing the trucks as they disperse is one Mr. Gustavo Frings. Quite the operation he's got there for himself.
After the credits, Walt and Jesse are measuring out their haul. They owe Gus 200 lbs., and this particular batch, as reported by Jesse, weighs 201.6 lbs. (Also, is Gus's operation the only drug ring not operating under the metric system? That's almost quaintly patriotic.) Walt simply says, "Better to be over than under," but Jesse is perturbed that they're throwing 1.6 lbs. of product Gus's way for free. See, Jesse's been crunching the numbers (...oh, stop laughing), and he's decided that the million-and-a-half he and Walter are getting is peanuts compared to what Gus is making off their labor. Oh, Jesse. Maybe you can get into a weed-selling operation with an old economics professor of yours so he can tell you how capitalism works. Walter, rather than explain to Jesse about how they're compensated less because they incur less risk as humble lab techs, simply tells Jesse not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But to Jesse, the numbers don't lie, and the imbalance of what Gus is making (Jesse works it out to $96 million) versus his and Walter's take ($3 mil to split between them) is positively obscene. Walter takes the perspective familiar to sports fans worldwide: "Jesse, you are now a millionaire, and now you're complaining? What world do you live in?" Jesse replies that he lives in a world where "the dudes who do all the work ain't getting fisted.: Not that I don't think Jesse has a point, but seriously, what world IS that? Anyway, Jesse wants to hash this out, but Walt just walks away.
In Hank's hospital room, the family busies itself making the room "comfortable," while Hank dozes. Gomez shows up, gingerly asking Marie for permission. Hank stirs and, barely audible, calls Gomie closer to him. Closer. Cloooser. With Gomez's ear almost to Hank's mouth, Hank croaks out, "Asshole." Flynn laughs that his uncle "Got [Gomez] good," while Gomie's like, "Yeah, great to have you back, you big douche." Hank's laughter is choked off by the pain he's in. Gomez pulls out a map for Hank, one which shows the blue meth has been cropping up all over the southwest as of late. Hank asks how that's supposed to make him feel better. Because Gomez merely telling Hank he was right all along -- "You were the only one who saw it coming" -- is pretty cold comfort now. Hank slams him thumb impatiently on his Morphine button, but Marie remarks that he's still on lock-out. Hasn't been an hour since he maxed out the dosage. She heads out to find a doctor who can maybe up Hank's meds, and as she leaves, she orders Gomez not to talk any more shop.