It's later now, and Gil and Catherine are examining Blue Kitty's costume in one of the labs. After observing that Bud felt safe enough to skritch in the suit, Gil goes on to wonder if he would also feel safe enough to "explore some of the more aggressive aspects of his animus." Nice alliteration. Catherine busts out the body fluid black light thingamajig that Sobell would totally know the correct technical term for, and soon discovers that the crotch of the kitty costume is covered in cu…seminal fluid. Sorry. I keep forgetting I've gone network here. Gil and Catherine recoil hilariously in disgust. "Okay, well, I've heard of some guys getting off in weird ways," gripes Catherine, "but humping an animal suit? I mean, whatever happened to normal sex?" I'm sorry. Is humping animal suits considered abnormal now? Because I can stop any time. Really. Having already referenced Jung, Gil now goes Freudian on our collective psyche by pointing out that "the only unnatural sexual behavior is none at all. After that, it's just a question of opportunity and preference." Yeah. Freud obviously never recapped Oz. "And evidently," Gil continues, "many prefer the feel of fur to the texture of human skin." Hmm. I'll freely admit to not watching this show as closely as I would if I were recapping it full-time, but I'm pretty sure I've never seen the episode where it's revealed that Gil is from West Virginia. "Well, I like hairy chests," admits Catherine. "Have I got a guy for you," replies Aaron. "But I'm not about to bop a six-foot weasel." Oh. Never mind then. He doesn't make pancakes anyway. Liam shows up at this point, mostly to reveal that he found ipecac and civet oil on the big blue kitty costume, but also because he's almost ready to challenge Peter Krause for the highly coveted Worst TV Haircut of All Time award and he'd like to get some last-minute grooming tips from Gil. Once it's clearly established that something from the outside of Blue Kitty's costume somehow ended up in Rocky Raccoon's stomach, Liam grins like the proverbial Cheshire cat and announces, "That's what you get for eating…"
Commercials. Don't get it? Just keep trying. It'll come eventually.
When we come back, Nick and Sara are examining George's pants and wondering whether he's dumber than a stump or merely dumber than a box of hair. They're also wondering how it could be possible that George only has one drop of blood on him, and that's on the inside of his cuff. So you know what this means, right? Yep, you got it. TMI-cam experiments! Woo. Hoo. First they try recreating blood spatter at room temperature by spraying a syringe full of blood into a glass tank. Then they repeat the experiment at 22 degrees and discover that the blood droplets freeze into tiny little blood ball bearings. Except isn't blood 98.6 degrees when it leaves the human body? And since 22 degrees isn't really all that cold, do we really think the blood would freeze in the tenth of a second it takes to cross a small ten-gallon fish tank? And for that matter, how is it that I deal regularly with comatose telekinetics and pissed-off talking fish in my regular TWoP gigs, and this is the one thing I have trouble suspending disbelief for? Eh, whatever. Further TMI-cam musings present us with a surprisingly grotesque (but still pretty cool) stop-motion shot of Al Sesto taking a round of buckshot at point-blank range, and then we follow a cute little frozen blood droplet as it flies along an utterly impossible trajectory that defies all known laws of physics and ends up in the cuff of George's pants. Yeah. Double whatever.