As Twitchy is talking, the Mayor looks intently at the paper, and even sniffs it. I did that in junior high, but I doubt that it's a rexograph. Twitchy, disconcerted by the Mayor's odd behavior, trails off and seems almost ready to hyperventilate. The Mayor sharply asks him to show him his hands. Twitchy lays them on the desk as if they were covered in barbeque sauce and the desk were a lion's open mouth. The Mayor thinks Twitchy's hands could be cleaner. Twitchy says that he does wash them, but the Mayor admonishes him, "After every meal and under your fingernails. Dirt gets trapped there, and germs. And mayonnaise." I can't even express how much I love him already. First of all, one of my best friends gets mustard under his fingernails all the time. Different condiment, same idea. And the Mayor is terrifying. He hasn't even done anything, and my skin is crawling just contemplating the things he's capable of. He continues, "My dear mother said cleanliness is next to godliness, and I believed her. She never caught a cold." He gives a chuckle that makes it sound like he's thinking about Chianti, fava beans, and Twitchy's liver. Oh, and knowing now what he meant by "godliness" makes that statement even creepier. Again, nice with the foreshadowing. As an afterthought, he tells Twitchy to have Team Sprockets watched, and to let him know if any more "colorful characters" are in town. Twitchy says he'll get on it, and the Mayor replies, "You have all my faith. And if you screw up, I'll watch the snuff film of your death and cackle maniacally." Okay, he didn't say that last part, but he might as well have. Twitchy leaves.