Ed's bowling in the alley after hours when Molly walks in. Ed asks what she's doing there, and she announces that she came to rob the place. Ed tackles her head-on and pins both her hands behind her back, slipping the cuffs on her. She admits it was a joke. He takes the handcuffs off and apologizes for her bruised kidney. She says her date with Jim went great; she got the goodnight handshake. Ouch. Her lipstick's still intact. Double ouch. Ed says that maybe Jim didn't pick up on her estrogen vibe. She says he knew she was hot and horny for his bones since she was as subtle as Don Knotts. Ed reaches back into his bag of lame excuses why men don't want to kiss Molly Hudson and says that sometimes guys panic. Molly starts to cry. She says she's jumped the gun on this one, too; she's seen this happen way too many times: "I like you...but..." She's had too many handshakes and too many walks home alone. She is resigned to the fact that this is all she gets and deserves. Ed holds her as she sobs. I scratch my inner ear with the tip of my pen and wonder if I've been too hard on Molly lately. Then I quickly remember that Molly is a "television character" and the actress playing Molly was hired for her build because the producers were looking for a woman who was overweight but had a great personality because it's someone on whom they can build a foundation of emotions. And that the actress playing Molly is secretly crying all the way to the bank as she cashes checks for each episode that are at least double what I make a year. And I realize that Molly's not the one that needs to be sobbing here...I'm the one who needs to be soaking Kleenex. Because I get a buttload of hate mail each week telling me to be nicer to a TV character from people who obviously have trouble distinguishing real life from television life. I'm the one who has a backlog of emails from people all across the country who think I'm Satan Smith because I pick on a television character. Where is the justice?
By the way, all of you who have ragged me lately for my disparaging remarks against a fictitious television character: seriously, go to your local bank, take out a loan, and purchase a life. Scarlett O'Hara was a tramp. Hannibal Lecter is socially retarded. Mother Goose was a welfare Mom. There. Three more fictitious characters get assassinated by a single keystroke. I'm a bad man, Mama. Don't you forget it.