Friedman and Luke are playing the Sims II. Through a mouthful of chips, Friedman says the Sims rule. Luke: "So what do we do? We're out of money, we're down to our last happiness, and we've got flies." Friedman suggests going in the hot tub: "That always perks up the Sims, you know." I've never even played one minute of a Sims game, but it looks like lots of fun. That's actually why I've never played it: because I have very little self-control when it comes to things like that. I'd never get another thing done as long as I lived. I found out the hard way when I first got a computer more than ten years ago, and wasted far too much time becoming incredibly good at Wolfenstein. (And Solitaire, and then later Free Cell and Tetris.) It's all I can do now to pretend not to see the links for Letter Rip and Fowl Words on my desktop. Anyway. Luke: "We can't do that; we're going to have another baby." Hee hee! Friedman: "Forget the baby, man. If you neglect it long enough, a social worker comes and takes it away." Friedman seems to have something smeared all around his mouth in this scene, but in this lighting, I can't tell if it's flavour residue from the chips he's eating or an acne outbreak. Friedman suddenly starts making sounds that are supposed to be baby sounds, but they sound more like a baby gull than a humanoid baby. He jerks around a bit. Luke just gives Friedman a skeptical look. Friedman: "Oh, dude, these are, like, über-Doritos. The Platonic ideal of Dorito-ness." Luke takes Friedman's chin in his hand and turns his face toward him. Friedman: "Qué pasa, mon ami?" Luke: "You're stoned." In three or four languages, no less. Friedman, like he just remembered: "Oh yeah. Yeah. Yeah." He nods and smiles. Luke complains that his mother's downstairs. Friedman tells him to chill, he didn't smoke it in the Girardi house: "I swiped it from my Uncle Herb." Hee. "He has glaucoma." Friedman giggles about that as a doorbell rings, and tells Luke to focus: "The social worker's coming. He's here." Luke's face is covered with consternation.

Helen's in the kitchen chopping the daylights out of some mushrooms. ["Interesting choice of vegetable given the previous scene. Snick." -- Sars] Joan's sitting on the table telling Kevin, "When I see him it just makes me remember how hurt I was. Am. I know it's time to move on but all that old stuff is still there, you know?" So does everybody know now what Adam did? Kevin asks if she wants some brotherly advice. Joan: "Uh, no thanks, Sir Dumped-a-Lot." Heh. Kevin expounds: "Exes can't be friends. You have to cut the cord." Joan: "Oh? What about Brad and Jen?" What about them? Are they friends? Wait, I just remembered: I don't care. Kevin: "What about Ben and Jen?" Joan: "What about Ben and the other Jen?" I don't even know who they're talking about anymore. Even better, I still don't care. Kevin: "What about the other Jen --" Just then Will arrives home, and Helen snaps: "What about shutting up for one minute?" Will, just coming into the kitchen, announces pleasantly, "All done protecting and serving. Arcadia is on its own." See? Isn't it better this way, when we just hear about it secondhand? As he walks past Joan, she whispers a warning: "Watch it." He notes the dinner menu: "Oooh…coleslaw and…cheese grits. To what do we owe this culinary delight?" Helen says she felt like comfort food: "If you wanna order Chinese, go right ahead." Joan: "Told ya." Will: "Me? I love down-home cooking." He asks if she's okay. She claims it's the onions. Joan takes off for work. Will comments, "You're chopping that onion as if it ran the school board." Helen: "I said I'm fine! Stop playing detective." She suddenly cuts herself and hollers, "Damn it!" Will asks if she's okay, and Kevin turns his chair with concern. Helen: "Stop asking that!" She rushes off to deal with her wound. Kevin looks at Will, who indicates he'll go see about Helen.