Ari comes out and says something stupid and his cute highlights are gone, but he's still Jeremy Piven, so I guess it just means we should take him more seriously. Kevin Dillon and Turtle wait outside, and Kevin stage-whispers to remind Vince that he has no representation, and Vince gives him a little bit of a thumbs-up instead of whispering back, "You have less talent than Duncan Nutter and less sex appeal than Paula Poundstone and you will never have representation in this town." Nice guy. Vince and Eric head into Ari's office. Back on the couch opposite Anna's desk, Turtle seems to be braiding a lanyard. Maybe it's a Kabbalah lanyard. Kevin wants him to help him get off book for his Vagina thing, and Turtle is kind of laughingly into it and it's sweet. Kevin Dillon asks what I hope is an extremely rhetorical question about "if your vagina could talk, what would it say in two words," which is not the awesomest thing about The Vagina Monologues, because the awesomest thing about The Vagina Monologues is when Eve Ensler asks if your vagina got dressed, what would it wear. But that's not a setup for a Turtle joke, it's a setup for a Buffy wardrobe joke or possibly another Macy Gray fallout joke. So what would Turtle's vagina say, in two words? He flaps the book open and closed in Kevin's face and says, of course, "Eat me," in a vagina voice that sounds like Elmo. The weird thing here is that it seems like the usual totally-belabored setup to a lame joke pattern that this show uses so often, except...The Vagina Monologues is, as the name implies, about what your vagina might say, and one of the questions was what it would say in two words. So it's lame, and five generations too late to be relevant, but it's not as gibberishy as usual. So that's cool.
All of which is less bizarre and off-putting than what's going on inside Ari's office, because he's forcing them to watch a home video on his computer of something confusing, because he's saying, "Look at the boy, look at the boy, wait for it, wait for it," and then a little boy, Ari Jr., bicycles by, but then he yells "BOOM!" and pauses the video on the ass of his next door neighbor. And yeah, she's got a nice rear, I guess, except I would not take this shit from someone I worked for, much less someone that worked for me. Whatever the problem is, whatever you were denied at a formative age, whatever your therapist is still hesitant to bring up that makes you act this way, work it out on the handball court, dick. Vince is being nice about the whole thing, and Ari's blabbering about how this neighbor has four kids, and his wife says an ass like that is impossible to maintain, like it's this freaky mystery, and Vince tries to bring this back into daylight, saying, "You've got a good-looking boy there, Ari," but Ari will have none, and barks out, "He likes chicks! See that? See the glance?" And the kid kind of vaguely looks off in the direction of the mysterious Holy Grail ass. And he's tiny, this kid, like training-wheels tiny, just a little bitty baby of a kid, and I guarantee you that this kid does not give a damn about the neighbor's ass, unless being Ari's child has already so completely blown his mind that he's on his way to being Jack the Ripper by age six. Seeing that Ari can turn even the miracle of fatherhood into something pretty icky, Vince heads on a tour of the room and asks about the Chipette, Justine Chapin. Ari, charmingly, launches into this speech about how "every young actor in Hollywood wants to be the first one in there, man, take a number." Eric scoffs at the very concept of the virgin pop star, right, and Ari calls him a cynic, which is funny in a broad, ironic kind of humorless way.