Meanwhile, at the Stuckey Bowl, some truckers are sitting at the snack bar counter and ogling Shirley. One asks her if she knew he was a poet. Naturally, Shirley didn't. He asks her her name and she tells him. He makes up a poem on the spot. "Shirley Blue Eyes, pouring coffee. Shirley Blue Eyes, smooth as toffee." He asks what she thinks. Personally, I think he's like that...ummmm...that artist who used to pay for his meals with a hastily drawn piece of crap on a bar napkin. Was that Monet? Van Gogh? Warhol? I don't remember. Wing? ["Definitely Rembrandt." -- Wing Chun] Anyway, Shirley tells the trucker that the poem reminded her of the film Mickey Blue Eyes with Hugh Grant. The way he kept saying "forget about it" in the film...that alone displayed his pure acting genius to Shirley. It made her want to develop a crack habit and stand on a Hollywood street corner and wait for Hugh to come sweep her away from her life as a bowling-alley attendant and into the glamorous life of a Hollywood crack whore. At least until he ejaculated and pushed her out of a moving car into a West Hollywood gutter.
Over in a booth, Carol is babbling to Ed that Jackass doesn't want to read her stuff. Ed tells her that they must be careful in their relationship now. He gives Carol an analogy. Let's say Carol has two pairs of shoes. One brand-new and stiff...the other old and comfortable but covered in dog shit. Because the new ones hurt sometimes, Carol's tempted to keep wearing the old ones, but if she keeps wearing the old shoes, she'll never wear the new shoes. And Ed reeks of dog shit. Okay, that didn't really come up, but sometimes I'll bet he does.
Back at the counter of the snack bar, Phil approaches the truckers with his latest invention: the edible car air freshener. He starts chomping down on a pine tree air freshener, grins, and says, "That's a big 10-4 if I ever tasted one, good buddy!" For some reason, this didn't move me. It seemed to be a desperate cry for help from the writers to find something new for Phil to do. I'm at a loss myself to help them out, because I'm struggling enough just getting this recap written before my son comes bounding out here and wants to smear peanut butter and jelly on the computer keyboard for the rest of the day.
Molly comes home to her lonely abode, and her phone's ringing. She allows the answering machine to get it, and it's Jim, whining that he has to talk to her and that he's lonely and that he wants some sweet, sweet lovin'. Molly picks up the phone and says, "Stop calling me," then hangs it back up. She then stands there, a bit saddened by the way her life has turned out. She's Molly Homewrecker now. Wrecking homes with the greatest of ease. Need a home wrecked? Call Molly Hudson. She'll start nailing your husband on a regular basis until you're drinking heavily to forget that she ever came between you and him. That's 1-800-MOLLYISAHOMEWRECKER.