Previously: Jack turns the lights off and tells Jill to "proceed as usual," doubtless setting off a lengthy spell of forearm-nibbling on his part. Elispa and Mikey find their living situation fascinating, and belabor this issue with various cronies. Mr. E issues an ultimatum about Mikey -- and Elispa chooses Mikey. Undaunted by their various "issues," Barto and Ferret vow to drag the wheezing carcass of their relationship through a couple more episodes.
Jack scuttles to the door carrying a rainbow-colored duster and a bath mat. Why hello, Poor Man's Transsexual Felix Unger -- is that your pasty white abdomen I see? For the first of what promises to be numerous times in the coming hour? I need a drink. Of arsenic. And here comes Jill -- who, to ensure that the audience makes no mistake about his newfound status as a photography hobbyist, now comes permanently equipped with a camera and assorted gadgets! "Locked out again?" Jack asks smugly, returning to her anal frenzy of Venetian blind detailing, or whatever. Jack wears stiff low-rider Toughskins and one of those doily-esque, bubble-sleeved peasant blouses favored by the barmaid on the St. Pauli Girl label. Though even the St. Pauli frau had the good taste not to wear a black bra under hers. "It's the third time this week!" she needles him. Jill rattles off all the places the keys might be, then grouses about Barto not being around to let him in. Jack fusses by the window, arranging the bathmat on the windowsill. Um, what? Perhaps the script directions read, "Engage in frantic busywork, the more nonsensical the better. PS: No one's watching anyway!" Meanwhile, a look of dawning realization from the Lucille Ball School of Sit-Comical Scheming manifests itself on Jack's chisel-face. "You know, you could always leave a spare key here with me, and I can leave one with you," she says. "Purely as your neighbor -- not as your girlfriend." Jill says, "Okay," rather warily and they quibble tiresomely about the "insignificant" kind of key exchange that goes on between neighbors, as opposed to the "way more significant exchange" represented by inter-relationship key swapping. Jill contemplates leaving his key with Audrey but decides not to, based on the possibility that she might lose it. Which is an extreme likelihood, since those Lycra unitards she's forever wearing don't seem to come equipped with pockets. "I guess you're my only choice," Jill grumbles, adding, "Or Miss Petroskie in 3C -- she seems nice," which is the cue for Jack to bat at him with the duster and fall cackling into his lap. The truth about Romeo? He's out of a job.