Jitterbug music plays as Barto gets jiggy with his anatomy skeleton, doing an elaborate swing dance in accordance with some instructional video. From his groggy, half-lidded expression, it looks like Barto's been stretching the definition of medical marijuana again. Segue to the feisty Ferret, Jazzercizing in a sports bra and sweatpants. Flexible Ferret executes a variety of squat-thrusts and stomach-flexing lunges as an instructor counts tediously. In one step, a muscle-bound man flings her across the room and she falls to the floor like a sack of hammers. Her Jazzercise colleagues affect concern, but the stoic ferret cannot be deterred from further lewd gyrations.
Meanwhile, Ick and Ill are back on the same block of the same street they're always on. They should really get out more; who knows what the employment and entertainment opportunities might be outside that one-street radius? Ill leads Ick forward with her eyes covered, but she's peeking the whole time "just to expedite things." Ill tells her to "let go -- a little" and suddenly they're on the roof of their building, where there's a handy greenhouse for them to have sex in. Cue the inevitable beatific wailing of some Enya/Tori Amos hybrid as Ick says, "Wow," with emphatic eyebrow accents. Next thing we know, they're in the greenhouse going at each other like dueling air-powered nail guns. "This is weird," she simpers, "I mean good weird. But still -- I feel like me, but different. And you seem like you, but --" Straight? We'll never know how she planned to end this sentence, because Ill puts a stop to it -- with his lips! After another bout of turbo-soul-smooching, Ick says, "It feels a little less weird." "Only a little?" Ill asks, which is the signal for them to rip each other's shirts off, exposing their pasty white torsos to the repulsed plant life around them. They gnaw on each other listlessly. Ivan Sergei looks badly in need of a user's manual, leading me to concur with Sars's and manimal's contention that foreplay of the hetero variety is not his bag. The camera thankfully pans out onto the snow-covered roofscape, sparing us the stark moment of truth wherein Ill finds out Ick is packing a unit. "I was looking for someone," wheezes the ethereally emphysematous Enya knock-off.