Jack and Ferret wend their way toward the inexorable Cloudia's Café. "I think he said it," mewls Jack in her unwashed denim jacketlet. The Ferret feigns concern, swaddled in the giant powder-blue tea-cozy she's wearing as a poncho. "What do you mean you think?" she asks. "Well, it was sort of muffled. I'm sure he said it, I mean what else could he have said?" It's just a thought, but "I love men" comes to mind. "Well, what exactly happened after you said it?" asks the Ferret Inquisitor. "Nothing. It just felt like the whole room took on this really weird vibe," Jack says. The Ferret urges her to say it again, but Jack objects that it's too big a risk. "Damn, everything was going so great," Jack whines, though she might have gotten a clue from the fact that most of their dates took place on a moldy roof with no one watching. Let's face it, Jill didn't want to ruin his cred with the Chelsea crowd by squiring even a virtual female around in public. Let's move on. The menus arrive and Ferret blurts out, "So Barto and I didn't have sex last night." Jack looks disoriented by this revelation and Ferret says, "Yeah, we're gonna take a little swim in Lake Audrey here for a minute." Pardon me, then, while I suit up in an STD-repellent neoprene unitard. That's better. "Okay, so you didn't have sex and then what?" asks Jack, making a heroic effort to wrest her attention away from herself. "We've never not had sex after a date," Ferret boasts. "Ever. In fact, we've pretty much had sex every single day since we started going out. At least once." Anyone for taking a bilge pump to Lake Audrey before this gets any more graphic? I'm bailing out. "I know: I live with you," Jack simpers with an inappropriate smile. "I don't think Barto even noticed," Ferret says. Jack suggests that perhaps they've gotten to a point in their relationship where they "don't need to have it every time." The Ferret, incredulous, asks, "Why?" "'Cause you just don't. It's nothing bad," Jack says. "How can it not be bad?" brays Ferret, causing Jack to bare her gargantuan chompers and guffaw.

Elispa sits on her couch riffling through a fashion magazine when Mikey walks in with a giggling Amazon, who on second glance turns out to be Showgirls' Elizabeth Berkley. What's that noise in the background, you say? Just the death knell sounding for her career. "Hey, Elisa, this is Gabby," Mikey says. Gabby says, "God, this place is amazing," looking like a case study for botched orthodontia. "We're subletting it from a friend of a friend who knows Donald Trump," Mikey says, earning toothsome laughs all around. Before Mikey and the Beaver hasten upstairs for a soulless one-night stand, Elispa blurts, "Your highlights are amazing! Where do you get them done?" Am I way too circumspect about etiquette, or is it totally wack for a woman to call attention to another woman's dye job in front of her date? Someone start a forum on this, please. "My guy Howard," gushes Beaver. "He's a genius. I could give you his number if you want." Elispa babbles about how she's been conthidering lowlights, and Beaver insists that auburn "would be awesome with [her] skin." Mikey, experiencing separation anxiety from cheap sex, mopes, "I've got skin." Elispa, looking Smurflike in a turquoise hooded sweatshirt, apologizes for stealing Mikey's friend, but it's too late: Beaver wants to know where Elispa got those righteous pants. Elispa brags that she has another pair in velvet, and Beaver demands, "Show!" They adjourn to Elispa's closet while Mikey sits there with a thought bubble over his head that says, " ''''' '''' ''''' ''''' ?!"