Rolling up in the lot at "Warner's" in a black Escalade, some other song from the Golden Age of Jazz is playing. Seriously, it might as well be the Fugeez. When you lose, lose large. Kevin's smarmily holding forth on topics of which he knows nothing, talking about how this French director is so awesome, a legend, blah blah blah. I guess he took that one first-year film class at Queens Community College where you figure out that in order to seem intelligent about cinema, all you have to do is grab hold of some director or filmmaker, doesn't matter who, and proclaim their genius. Over and over and over. This is why I didn't go to film school, because I like Hitchcock and Joss Whedon and couldn't come up with anybody that wasn't all played out in the film-school circle-jerk. And because I can't spell Krzysztof Kieslowski. Who is such a fucking genius. He's like the Matthew Barney of war-torn Eastern Europe. Making t.A.T.u. the Bjork of him, I think. So this is a little joke about people in the industry who don't really care about film, as Kevin says all Vince needs to do is talk about the French director's old movies, and when asked to elaborate on what those movies might be, asks, "How the fuck should I know?" Turtle is on the phone and smiling, which is not good. Not good. He's repeating over and over about "Vince'll love that, he'll love that." Oh Lord. No he won't. And I sure as hell won't. I ask Anna to please threaten to fuck Turtle up again, and again it gives me delicious shivers. He hangs up the phone and barks creepy/stupidly, and tells the people in the car that "Black Hack" (which, who the hell knows) says he's got like the perfect dog for them. Huh? A dog? I'm sure this is heading somewhere. I'm sure they're just putting the dog before the horse, again, so what seems like a totally bizarre and out-of-context development is actually the crammed-in retro-engineered start to a joke where the dog does something five minutes from now which Marky Mark finds hilarious.
Eric, because he's the innocent sweet little angel God put on this earth to protect us from the liberal Jewish stranglehold over all entertainment, news, and media, perks right up at hearing about the dog. A dog! Turtle clarifies that it's a guard dog, and since Kevin is a (retired? Nah.) drug dealer, he loves that idea. Wow, this could actually be Casino, for all I know. I could be getting punk'd. One by one the story elements are slipping into place. Turtle passes them a picture of the dog (because it's the future! The future, but now! Everything Bluetoothed! Everything connected! Bar codes on your neck!) and I am pretty sure Kevin actually starts to masturbate as he looks creepily at the picture of a dog and in his totally fake "deep" crusty voice goes, "He's got a great body, E. Look at those calves." You are not Tom Jones, Kevin Dillon! Stop talking like G.I. Joe! So Eric, upon looking at the picture and watching his dreams of frolicking in slow motion among the pieces of sports equipment and childhood strewn about the back yard with a wriggly, adorable puppy and its licky little tongue turn to dust, vetoes the dog. "This isn't a guard dog, it's a lawsuit." Turtle quickly calls bullshit, explaining that A. He was talking to Vince and not Eric (which is kind of rude), and B. The dog is house business, making it none of Eric's business, since he doesn't live in the house. Which is so lame, and I hate Turtle, because in fact Eric lives in the guest house ten yards from the house, in the backyard, where the dog will be bringing its victims down anyway. This is dumb. Why not just show it, instead of saying it? Turtle is a dick: Check. Eric is left out of the entourage in some respects: Check. Got it. Move on. Eric, feelings a little hurt once Kevin climbs on, drops the F-bomb on them again. Vince, no help at all, is like, "You did move out on us," just like that, with the weird expository cadence with which he's delivered every line so far. He's practically saying it into the camera. In fact, he should, they should just take out all of Vince's second-person pronouns and give him a Malcolm-over and have him say to the camera, "He did move out on us."