Warmup guy at Jimmy Kimmel says the usual about what a great show it's going to be. He tells us that Sara Foster is from the movie The Big Bounce, because they're smart enough to know that we neither know that or care. Then the boys are all running down the hallway with the, apparently, totally indispensable Shauna, and she's shouting directions left and right and it's like every fast-walking trip down every hallway ever. Drama is talking about how they shouldn't tell Kimmel Drama's there because there's bad blood and I still don't know what the hell that's about. Sara Foster is the Alice Krige of the Miutrix. And apparently I'm a dork for making that reference but I don't care because I want this over with. Vince and Sara Foster talk and stuff and it's like they broke up with each other but they don't know who broke up with whom, and then they fuck. And this is HBO, so the door slams in our face. Not that I'm complaining. Drama and Shauna have a weird conversation and it turns out Drama was once married but only for nine days and then it was annulled and maybe he has the sneak for Shauna but I don't know.
Emily -- Hi, Emily! -- shows up, sits down next to Eric, and asks if he smokes. They have a great little chemistry, very minimalist but very real. "Cigarettes?" he asks, lest we forget for one second that ERIC SMOKES WEED and he says he's trying to quit and she asks how hard he's trying and the long and the short of it is that they duck outside for a cigarette break. And to fall in love some more. Turtle says, "I thought he quit," and Drama says, "Cigarettes, not pussy." Which is kind of funny, I guess. Considering the context. And then Shauna beats him to death with her ugly purse. Well, with the heavy handbag of her stern gaze, but still. This is Shauna, whom we're pretending is very forbidding and sassy. Outside, they're totally cute with their little cigarette-smoking love affair, even though it's L.A. so there's, like, snipers on the buildings waiting to take them out for smoking in public. Or with the assault rifles of their pissy gazes, I guess. They talk-cute and smoke-cute and nothing happens, so they smoke another cigarette.