Mark arrives home and removes his coat, strolling through his shadowy and silent house. He grabs a glass of milk to do his body good, then pushes open the door to Rachel's room. It's decked out in posters for the band Disturb, which is appropriate. Rachel is already asleep, having been able to reach that state without the aid of her father's shoulder. Mark stares at her, wondering how the child of a brunette Vulcan and a prematurely bald man got such a thick head of hair. Mark switches off her blaring Walkman. So far, Mark hasn't uttered a single line that wasn't already in a previous episode, and we're already honing in on the credits.
Elizabeth shuffles downstairs in her pajamas and finds Mark sitting at the kitchen island. "What are you doing?" she asks sleepily. "I'm feeling sorry for myself," he answers. She pats his shoulder and offers him soup. After last week, during which I ate soup six nights out of seven and occasionally twice a day, I can absolutely confirm that liquid food will do nothing positive for his mental state. Mark declines. He explains that he's listing all the things he's wanted to do with his life, but hasn't. Elizabeth squirms. "Too morbid?" he asks. "A bit," she sighs. But she offers her ear anyway. Mark warns her that he got a bit carried away. "Sail around the world," he begins. "Climb Mount Kilimanjaro." Seriously, what is the point of making that list if he's going to make it completely asinine? Perhaps the next item should be "Grow an afro." Elizabeth listens politely. "Play third base for the Cubs and hit a sacrifice fly to drive in the winning run in the seventh game of the World Series," Mark reads. That's so perfect -- his fantasy isn't even to win it all with a home run. It's got to be a sacrifice fly. Emphasis on sacrifice. Elizabeth fails to suppress a snicker. "They get better," Mark grins. He also apparently wants to get on the cover of Rolling Stone with his own garage band. "Do you even play an instrument?" Elizabeth asks. "No, but I've always wanted to trash a hotel room," he giggles. I can just see it: gripped by tepid yellow irritation, Mark sips a light beer, tears a piece of Hilton stationery in half, lightly knocks the remote control to the floor, and wantonly leaves a ring around the bathtub. Pure havoc. Next on Mark's list is to skydive, followed by the nausea-inducing "have noisy sex in a public place." Elizabeth has the nerve to say, "Oooh, I can help you with that one," as if incest isn't illegal in most states. And A Hero's Last Orgasm? Not in this lifetime.