The militia tracks Jake's credit card use and tracks him to the bar. Get him. NOW.
Sarah and Jake chow down on pizza and listen to some coffee shop rock ("Make this little dream come true-ooo-hoooo!"). Jake says Jerry made up that bicycle story because he was "just trying to help." Sarah is all, "Help with what?" With getting Jake laid, duh. Sarah says, "I don't need any more reasons to like you, Jake." Jake munches his pizza and looks at her.
Jerry, still playing to a wide audience, holds the soda gun and demonstrates his favorite gun-holding position -- sideways, "made popular by rappers and drug dealers. It's just plain cooler-looking, am I right, people?" Militia thugs are in the bar with him.
Sarah says Jake has a little dab of pizza right...there. She'll get it, and leans in for a kiss. Woo hoo! Jake's getting some! But it's Sarah, so there's a touch of meh to that woo hoo. For me, anyway. I like Dr. Thora. The phone rings. It's Jerry. He's in big trouble. And he's a cock-block.
When we come back from commercial, we see D.C. cops writing up a ticket for Jake and for Jerry. Jerry rammed a police car with Jake's car, and tried to use his ID, and told the cops he was NSA and should be let off for professional courtesy. Jake is furious, and thinks it's time for Jerry to go back to school. Jerry can't. He dropped out. A friend of his is "making 10K a month with a webcam and a girls' volleyball team!" Jake is beside himself. Jerry doesn't get it. "Because I want to do something with my life?" Internet porn may be a moneymaker, but is it really "doing something with your life"? All those trips to the bank must be fulfilling. Jake yells that Jerry wants to "avoid doing anything with [his] life." Jerry says he doesn't need "some nerd who sits at a computer all day" coming down on him like this. Jake says he doesn't need Jerry ruining his apartment and stealing his stuff. Jerry stalks off down the sidewalk, and Jake rips the handle off his car door in a nanite-fueled hissyfit. Halfway down the sidewalk, the militia guys see Jerry. Uh oh. Are you guys gonna kidnap him or something? Because we're forty minutes in already.
Jake cleans up Jerry's mess, alone, alone. He sweeps up nasty floor pasta with a look of regret. He picks up CDs with a look of melancholy, until he sees a melted popsicle fusing a few together in a sticky mess. Then he looks outraged again. P.S.: You didn't get laid, Jake.
Back at the NSA, The Man tells Leader of the Pack that Jake is the militia's next target. We know! Finally, Jerry gets beat up and kidnapped by the militia thugs. Leader calls Jake and tells him to come in right away.