Unfortunately, we don't get to see House rip Mom seven new assholes before we cut to Chase, Mindy, and Mom running into a pharmacy and demanding to see the pills the pharmacist gave Brandon. Mom decides to take full advantage of the circumstances and starts browsing the pharmacy's selection of sunglasses. There's always time for shopping! There's also time for Mother and future Daughter-In-Law to trade bitchy barbs because this show hates women. Chase and his hot leather jacket return with a refill of Brandon's cough medicine. He shows the pills to the ladies and asks them if they look the same as the pills Brandon had. He's pretty surprised when they say that they're the same pills. The pharmacist is smug.
House mourns the loss of his perfect, beautiful explanation. "Beauty often seduces us on the road to truth," Wilson Deep Thoughts. "And triteness kicks us in the nads," House adds, and out of anyone on this show, he probably knows a thing or two about being kicked in the nads. I have to imagine that, upon leaving work every day, he faces a long line of people who do just that. Wilson wonders if Brandon has lymphoma. House says that the tests and scans have ruled that out. Wilson tells him to toss all that aside and do an exploratory laporotomy. House says that surgery will kill Brandon in his current condition. But he'll do it anyway.
The Cottages do some pre-op work on Brandon. Brandon complains that his fingers are numb. Foreman pushes something into the wall of Brandon's heart until the kid crashes. Foreman closes the curtains on the room, leaving Mindy and the parents to wonder what's going on. Chase whips out the defibrillators and brings Brandon back. He's alive, but he won't be having surgery today.
House is pleased to tell his newest clinic patient that Cuddy let him cut out of work an hour early because he kissed her ass. The patient, a young guy whose lip piercing and neck tattoo suggest a certain attraction towards self-mutilation, is too caught up in his own problems to care. And what are his problems? As House correctly deduces, he's got something stuck up his ass. And if it's big, there will be some tearing when it inevitably works its way out. The poor kid just stands there, stricken, until House, adopting a more sympathetic tone, says he's been a doctor for a long time and seen a lot of things in people's asses. Nothing will shock him. "It's an mp3 player," the kid says. I hope for his sake that it's an iPod mini. House pauses and reflects, then: "Is it...is it because of the size or the shape? Or is it the pounding bass line?"