Harris's office, which today is known as The Ass Palace. Ron is bent over his desk, looking pained. He calls in Dr. Price. As she enters, he sits down, carefully, finally resting his padded butt on the padded chair and leaning way to the left. He asks about O'Malley, the press and all that, but what he's really thinking about is his wish that his ass were as smooth and molded and unaffected by boils as the one possessed by Dr. Williams. They talk about Reon. "Terrible tragedy, terrible," Ron says distractedly. But what he's thinking is, "That my ass should be affected by a boil when it is otherwise so smooth and round and cool to the touch is the true tragedy in this drama." He dismisses her, but Price says they had a meeting scheduled. "Are you okay, Ron?" she asks. "Yes, yes," he answers, limping over to the other side of his desk. She brings up Nurse Peeler, who needs a raise. Harris get mad, his bald pate glistening with sweat. He says it won't happen this year. "Next item," he barks. Price says Nurse Peeler also wants to take eight medical students to Palm Springs for a training session. Harris tries to sit down on the edge of a table, then gets up quickly. You know, if there's this much comic gold to be mined, you should spotlight Ron Harris' ass every week. Price again asks if he's okay. He sits down then gets right back up, his ass-boil reaching a volcanic temperature. Harris turns the trip down too and earns a sour look from Price as she exits.
Back in the ER, Jackson and Williams are still fawning over the great Reon King. They take turns reading his chart out to Turner, who doesn't seem impressed by Reon, the two doctors, or the season finale so far. We're with ya, Turner. Along with Weiss and Dr. Price (because they rhyme), they all gather around Reon's bed, beside which his girlfriend is sitting. Reon announces that he has something to say. He asks about the rehabilitation. "Am I gonna be able to take care of myself?" he asks Turner. Turner says he probably won't. The girlfriend says she'll help. Reon decides he doesn't want someone helping him brush his teeth or helping him go to the toilet: "Last night I laid here for about two hours with an itch on my nose like a spider bite. And I couldn't do a thing about it." Reon asks LaShonda whether she still wants to be with him. "Of course I do, I love you," she says, automatically. Weiss, Williams and Jackson leave, because as a resident, you don't have to deal with the touchy-feely emotion crap. Price sticks around. Reon asks how long he'll live. Turner backtracks, not wanting to answer, but Reon starts ranting. "Forty years!" he yells, asking if LaShonda wants to wipe his behind for forty years. "I'm in prison," he cries. It's very emotional, and awfully well done here, with no schmaltzy music at all. Good job, all around. LaShonda thinks it's a little too good because she has to take a walk to collect herself. Reon tells her not to come back because he's not a man no more. And to prove it, he cries some more. After she leaves, he calls her the most beautiful girl in the world and says she likes to laugh and make love. In that order, because otherwise it could be a little embarrassing. Turner tells him, "One step at a time." Reon tells Turner to go lay down and force himself not to move just long enough for the panic to set in. Basically, Reon doesn't want to live. "I can't even wipe my own damn tears." Okay, now we get schmaltzy music, but it's okay because the scene was so well acted. We fade to black and white and then back up to garish color with Salma Hayek's "Goodbye, clomps!" Revlon commercial.