Paul and Mike have been detoxing their son on the way to rehab -- just a barfin' spittin' hissin' mess -- and it's clearly weighing on them. But then, I'd rather be locked in a barfmobile truck putting cold compresses to Zach Young's head and hugging him tight then spend one second with either MJ or Susan, much less both, so maybe I'm not being sympathetic enough. He does all the usual addict shit, and finally lures Paul into a confrontation about how this is all Paul's fault, which is too much. Mike calms Paul down as much as he can, in that low voice he uses when he's being awesome, and Paul's like, "Fact remains you shot your dad with the gun your mom used to kill herself. Can't help but think maybe something there bears investigating a l'il bit. Also, you are a crazy drug addict from a biological and adoptive family made up entirely of crazies and drug addicts." On a scale of one-to-Andrew-on-the-side-of-the-road, I'd put it at about a seven.
Ha! Dumb Keith is teaching Charlie to throw a baseball using the exact same trick as when he taught him to throw a basketball last week. I kind of love this show. Of course Keith only knows one trick. Of course the nasty old queens who write this show think the hazy Kevin Costner definition of fatherhood consists entirely of Keith teaching him this one trick over and over, just using different balls. Next week he'll teach Charlie to throw, like, a golfball overhand. "Hand in the cookie jar, Charlie. You're doing great."
Charlie's pretty mom drives up and we learn that it's been a week since they were introduced, and also she's suddenly moving to Florida. Inside, Keith points out that he lost an entire week before that to Bree being a gross controlling monster and keeping Charlie a secret, but it's not really a fight, just exposition to get us up to speed, because this episode is just like, "Yeah, she pulled shit, get over it." So she apologizes a hundred times and he apologizes for pointing out how ugly her whole approach was, and then she accepts his apology for... Doing nothing wrong whatsoever beyond questioning her absurdly crazy judgment.
Bree feels his life-giving energy pouring out through her plastic surgery scars, so she drags him upstairs to suck more of the life out of his nimble young 37-year-old tadpole self, which shuts him up, because men are all about sex and their brains stop working, so that's how you should end every argument.
Poor old Susan is spending the last of her food stamps on gourmet pomegranate juice and prosciutto at Trader Joe's when MJ starts howling about how he wants to travel back in time to the '70s and watch his favorite cartoon, Tom & Jerry, so she tells all the women in line that she's on dialysis and they lay down palm fronds and put her on the back of a donkey and she doesn't even have to pay for her groceries, it's just balloons come down from the ceiling and there's glitter and a neon sign lights up that says DIALYSIS in rainbow letters and she just stares ungratefully at them like she can't believe they didn't bring her some coffee and where's her dialysis footrub and bring me some more of those lemon-poppy muffins samples from Aisle 5, because momma gets dialysis six hours a day, three times a week.