CSI
Big Middle

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A sensitive look at weight in America

Fortunately, the contrivance fairy delivers unto them Cesar Dabo, who has just filed a lost ticket claim for some of the betting slips Catherine found in the beaver dam. Coincidence of coincidences, the only judge who called Cesar's career-breaking fight in favor of Cesar was...Mitch Urbana. "So maybe Urbana hired his former boxing buddy to do all his dirty work," Catherine muses. In other words, Dabo went to kill Lou and Kelvin, got the job about halfway done, and left a mess.

Within seconds, Warrick and Catherine have found the guy in a seedy hotel. Evidently, the way you celebrate a job shoddily done is by having a cocaine-fueled threesome. Keep that in mind the next time you get a middling employee evaluation.

Cut to Brass and Warrick attempting to have a conversation with a coked-up moron, an ordeal only slightly less excruciating than force-feeding a kindergartner a pound of Pixy Stix immediately before making them sit through the State of the Union address. Is what they're doing legal? Is whatever Cesar says going to be admissible in a court of law? What if he was offered a lawyer and refused? Oh, the troubling legal questions, none of which will ever be addressed on this show. Eventually, Cesar says, "Mitch said the kid was selling his number. He asked me to follow him, see what was going on. Then he told me about the rabbits." Warrick wants to know why Cesar was driving Mitch's car, and Cesar snaps, "What, was I supposed to take a bus? My ride's been out all month." Brass wants to know how much Cesar got for the hit, and Cesar says, "It wasn't a hit. I did it on my own. I saw how much the runner was taking out of those books. Making Mitch look bad. He deserved it. They weren't so happy with a shotgun in their faces. I drove them out to Rainbow Canyon. I took the cash and stuff. I came back here. I called Mitch and told him what went down -- I said I'd kill him too if he said anything." Then Cesar sniffs several times for emphasis. Warrick wants to know why Cesar didn't take Kelvin's pawnshop ring. "It's a little too flashy for the likes of a simple thug like myself," he shrugs. "I like the powdered-steel look." Oh, he does not. Instead he says, "Man, I thought it was a Superbowl ring! Freakin' AFFA. Just my luck."

And now, time for a whimsical experiment in which Gil and Sara attempt to press Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three into Flat Stanley. They're doing so by putting a 240-pound Resusci-Annie on the lad and, in Gil's words, "Increasing weight incrementally until you can't move." Sara tells Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three to just lie back and enjoy sacrificing his body for science. He's all, "This is like a dream I had once, except we weren't in a garage and Grissom wasn't watching." Gil's got the kind of look on his face now that makes me hope young Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three is wearing a cup, otherwise this is a Greek tragedy in the making. Sara's all, "How it's feel, dreamer?" and Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three gasps, "Like 240 pounds of pure woman." You know, it seems like the weight would be distributed differently -- the dummy's got all the weight in her torso, whereas in most people, the legs account for at least 20% of body weight. Anyway, Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three wriggles free and Gil soberly orders Sara to add another 40 pounds. As Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three flails and gasps beneath the heavier dummy, Gil and Sara debate the likelihood of someone being suffocated to death beneath someone else's body, and conclude it's very good indeed.

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