Episode Report Card
Heathen: C | Grade It Now!

Weaver shows up, spies the Assman, and barks that Abby needs to use whatever means necessary to keep him in his bed. "I don't want to see his Wee Willy Wonka wagging around here any more than anyone else does," Weaver snits. I only transcribed that line because Laura Innes deserves the damn Emmy for saying it with a straight face. Utterly ludicrous. And, assheads, it's Wee Willie Winkie, isn't it? I mean, if they're going for juvenile epithets for "dick," which apparently can only make one appearance per episode, they might as well get it right and not needlessly invoke Gene Wilder. Abby toddles off to lock down the Assman.

Frank tells Luka that Security called, and that his car alarm's going off in the garage and irritating everyone. Luka heads off to see about it. Malarkey then sidles up to Neela and asks her if she likes Indian food. Neela looks at him blankly, unsure how to respond to this and fairly sure that he's not worthy of even the bluntest, hokiest witticism. Malarkey inexplicably asks her out for a celebratory dinner once she opens her match letter. "May not be anything to celebrate," Neela says, distracted. "You'll do great -- you're smart, cute, you work your ass off," Malarkey drools. "Not like Lockhart. Some residency program's going to get a hell of a shock when they find out she hasn't passed her boards." Weaver is instantly visible in the background; stationed between them, her back to the camera, she stiffens visibly and her head pops up, turning to the side just-so to allow for maximum subtle eavesdropping. Neela is overwhelmed, between Fry Cook's health woes and Malarkey's blatherings and the general stench of failure, lunacy, and delusion that cloaks him like Pig Pen's dirt cloud. So she blurts out that "maybe" they'll go to dinner, and beats a quick retreat. Malarkey looks pleased with himself, because he's just the most enormous moron. I love the idea that he's been dying to prey on Neela the second she ceased to be a student, but it's so hilarious to me that he actually thought she'd lap up the chance to go out with someone she openly derides. Ah, sweet Malarkey, you are indeed full of it.

Kem is wheeled into her own room, where a kindly nurse introduces her to the call button and the television remote control. Kem's all, Great, nothing like a little Passions to ease the mind of a woman carrying an ex-Cartus. Screw the baby! What's in The Shed? WHAT?!? Carter watches his unresponsive girlfriend staring emptily at the wall, her face twisted by grief. The soundtrack to their suffering is the distant echo of newborns crying.

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