CSI
Big Middle

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A sensitive look at weight in America
Catherine: He got more than 17 and less than 23...he won both bets.
Warrick: All that action created this big middle, so he was able to win on both sides. I think Kelvin Russell sold VSL's numbers, and got killed for it.

And now we meet Lou Barnes, whom Brass evidently found wandering around a local crypt, mumbling, "Brains! Need brains! More brains!" As Brass beholds Lou's ashy complexion and vacant expression, he snaps, "Hey! Focus! You all right?" Lou elects to answer by passing out sideways. Brass cocks an eyebrow as if to say, I hadn't even asked him if he was gay yet.

When we return from commercials, we're in a hospital with Lou. A doctor matter-of-factly hands over a little baggie full of No. 4 buckshot and says briskly, "Found this in his leg. It's been there at least a week. He was septic. Lucky to be alive." Nicky and Brass then collaborate on conjecturing the circumstances leading to septicemia: Kelvin knew the line was going to go funky, but he couldn't cash in on it. So he hired Barnes to place his bets. And they both ended up on the wrong end of a shotgun. After an interminable flashback -- remember, watching someone sprint through the woods whilst being gunned down like a tranquilized bear is less likely to leave an impression on little viewers than Wendie Malick explaining how she never bargained for a husband who wanted a wet-wipe warmer.

Brass comes over and tenderly inquires of the invalid, "Hey, Lou! Lou! Lou! You wanna tell us who filled you full of lead?" By the way, "tenderly" is another way of saying "at the top of his lungs." Unfortunately, Lou has recovered enough of his mental faculties to gasp, "I want a lawyer."

Back at the Labitrail, a group of women from the Hogs and Heifers convention is waiting in the receiving room. They look less than thrilled to be there -- understandable, since a lot of guys in uniform are walking by, laughing and pointing. You know, given the grand circus of humanity available in that city, I find it hard to believe that Las Vegas cops would be so provincial as to act as if a group of obese women were some exotic novelty. That kind of behavior went out with the Hottentot Venus. Some uniform stops Sara on her way in there and snickers, "Walk softly. You don't want to start a stampede." Sara opens her can of whup-ass and sprays some in the guy's general direction: "I am going to remember that you said that, Metcalf, especially after these ladies sue you and the police for discrimination, you genius. Could you clear the halls for me, please?"

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