Ah, Jimmy Dean. What makes a country singer wake up and want nothing more than to sell sausage in grocery stores? Couldn't he just be a Nashville pimp instead?
Returning from the break, we get the patented Nurse Walks Across The Screen Sliding Back a Curtain That Reveals One Of Our Characters shot. It's Abby and Fireman Bob. If only they'd wound a mailman, so I could recap him as Postman Pat. Sniffle. Abby checks the cast for wetness. "What do I do when my foot itches?" he frets. "Live with it," she grins, offering him water or a Popsicle to console him. Ew. I can't think about Popsicles any more without wanting to squirm and scream. I watched the Hugh Hefner roast on Comedy Central last night, and one of the "comedians" -- I use quotes because of their barely amusing sets -- alluded to Hef needing Popsicle sticks to prop up his penis during sex. So you can imagine why I'll also never touch a Fudgesicle again. Fireman Bob wants a soda and twinkles a query about whether Abby's boyfriend would be mad if he bought her one, too. Easy there, Big Spender. She manages to ignore the obvious question and just tells him she isn't thirsty, then bolts when she notices Benton heading into Crotch-Wound Willie's room.
Willie is horrified that Abby hasn't already told Benton what his injury is. "[He] tried to circumcise himself," Abby says, trying very hard to hold a straight face. Benton is startled. Willie looks ashamed. "Let's have a look," Benton says, not without hesitation. Willie unveils the crotch carnage. Benton does the same triple-take Abby did. "Look, I'm not nuts, okay?" Willie insists. The ten-year-old in me is laughing so hard at the mention of the word "nuts" in this particular case, but the regular me can't actually articulate a snappy joke. So I'm going to stick with the tried-and-true: Heh-heh, he said "nuts." Ha! Benton doesn't understand why Willie didn't just have a doctor take care of this from the beginning. "I thought I could take the pain, snip snip, done deal," he blubbers. Clearly, this person is what psychiatrists call "fucking stupid." What apparently sober man could allow something even remotely pointy and sharp near the meat log? Abby coerces him into admitting he's doing this for his neat-freak girlfriend who loathes foreskin. He wants to call her in and ask her about finishing the job, or repairing the damage. Benton agrees to help either way. Before they snicker in front of the patient, Abby and Benton flee. She asks Benton if he thinks Willie needs a Psych consult. Yes, yes, a hundred times, yes! "No, I think he's just stupid," Benton decides. "Not to mention devoted," she giggles. Benton exits quickly in search of a private back room so he can pat petit Peter and promise him all the love and tender care his hooker money can buy.