Back at Mike's office, Jack Foster is telling Mike that he's a handsome, big-boned, healthy man, and that's what they're going to sell. Jack asks Mike how tall he is, and Mike says he's not going to tell him. Jack is insulted, and reminds Mike that opening is Jack's business. He tells Mike to fall backwards and to let Jack Foster catch him. They're going to shoot a TV spot, and Mike vehemently says no way, Jose. Nancy reminds Mike that they're in debt up to their eyeballs and that he HAS to do this. Mike grudgingly agrees to do the commercial, and Jack reminds Mike that he will catch him. Like a bad venereal disease.
In Ed's office, Ms. Migaski walks in. She's, like, the judge's secretary or something. But the way she's talking, she could just as easily be carrying the judge's baby, because she really, REALLY wants Ed's help. It seems the judge is missing. He just walked into the office and said he was done, then left and hasn't come back in days. Ms. Migaski says that the judge has a cabin by the lake, and that's where she thinks he might have gone. She hasn't contacted the family yet because she didn't want to worry them. Ummmm...hello? If he's been gone for a while, I think the family might be a tad alarmed already, there, Sweetknees. She says Donnelly's weirdness happened all of a sudden: one minute he was fine, the next he was a candidate for Most Likely To Snap And Take Out A Family of Five With An Uzi Screaming About How His Mother Never Bought Him Sweetened Cereal. The secretary has printed some directions to the cabin for Ed and wants him to go look for the judge. As if Ed doesn't have enough to do around Stuckeyville, now he's gotta play bounty hunter. The secretary hopes the judge hasn't done anything crazy. Well...you know, crazier than making people stand on one foot and sing "Bad Bad Leroy Brown" to get out of a speeding ticket. Ed hopes so, too.
Commercials. The bald guy on ER appears to be dying. Apparently NBC needs pallbearers or something, because they're constantly shoving this information down our throats. Fine. I'll help bury the bald guy. Just quit showing the freaking commercials, please.