Ahhhhh...the theme song. The theme song is actually starting to grow on me. Like lesions on a leper. Like fungus on an amputated foot in a dumpster. Like cheese on unwashed genitalia. Yep. It's growing on me, all right.

Commercials. Guess what? Bounty has come out with a new paper towel so absorbent that it sucks the soul right out of your body if you touch it. No lie. Sucks the soul right out of ya. They need to hire Satan for a spokesman or something, and bill it as the official paper towel of hell or something.

Back in Stuckeyville, Molly and Jim are tooling down the road when Molly's jalopy fizzles, sputters, and dies on them. You can tell Jim's a little peeved as he gets out of the car and tells Molly to shut the ignition off. Molly says she did shut it off; sometimes it takes a while to quit running. My God. This car's in worse shape than Bob Hope. Molly mentions the irony in the fact that they were on their way to buy Molly a new vehicle when this one conked out on them. Jim points out that it isn't irony because her car always breaks down when he's with her. Molly tells "Sadie" not to listen to Jim, or something like that. She uttered the word "Sadie" -- that much I know. My closed captioning was on the fritz, and according to my television screen, the exact quote was "Sadie, sqizzle fuhrfuh gurute." Jim asked if Molly just called him "Sadie," and Molly says that her car's name is Sadie, because when she was eighteen years old, she thought it would be cool to name her car "Sadie." Jim laughs and asks what eighteen-year-old thinks the name "Sadie" is cool. When Molly gives him the evil eye, Jim gulps and says, "I thought I was the only one who thought it was cool!" Good save, Jimbo. You almost chomped down on a knuckle sandwich slathered in Mollynaise. Jim opens the hood and stares at the engine. Molly asks what's wrong with it; Jim says he doesn't know, since he's not a car guy. She wants to know why he's staring at the engine, and he tells her that's what car guys do. So he teaches her how to look like a car guy. First you fold your arms. Then you rock back and forth on your heels and nod a lot. Then you dip into your savings and pay some guy $1,000 to tighten a spark plug for you because all mechanics are dirty low-down thieves who will cheat, lie, and steal from you every chance they get. They're worse than Taliban soldiers. Really. They are. Mechanics are evil. They serve as Satan's backbone. I mean...that's what I read, anyway.