Joan's at the hospital, looking unhappy. A doctor returns an ice pack to Helen, which must have been for Joan's foot, but which Helen puts to her own head. Luke's there, too. The doctor says it's just a sprain, and tells her to stay on crutches for a couple of days. Joan: "Crutches?" The doctor says, "Unless you prefer hobbling." Helen says they'll take the crutches. He goes off to get them. Joan: "Great. I'm Tiny Tim." Helen starts lecturing them about not touching her washing machine. Joan says she was just trying to help: "It's bad enough to be called a bad artist." Helen: "I'm not a bad artist." Joan: "I'm just saying." Helen: "Okay, Luke, what was your involvement?" Luke: "I hit a button. It was scientifically unsound." I'll say. Joan makes a little "hmph" sound. Helen: "I don't want you people in my laundry room!" Joan points to her foot: "Mom, too little, too late!" Helen: "No, I feel I've been clear on this issue." Joan suggests meeting them in the lobby. They leave. The doctor comes back with the crutches, asking, "You know how to use these?" I guess it's a fair question for someone who'd put her leg in the washing machine. Joan replies, "I know how to make electricity from sugar." And yet, you can't figure out laundry. The doctor replies, as he starts wrapping her foot with a tensor bandage, "No, you don't. You just memorized it for the test." Joan raises her eyebrow: "Why are you punishing me? I haven't even done anything yet!" Doctor God: "'Yet.'" Joan: "Oh, wow. So thoughts really do count." Doctor God: "Thoughts are things, Joan. And I don't punish people. You punish yourselves. You're so good at it I could almost retire." Heh. Joan: "Well...why don't you?" Doctor God says he likes his work: "You know, it might help to think of these things as distractions." Joan: "From what?" Doctor God: "Yourself, ways you've been wronged." Joan sighs, "Well, somebody has to take care of it." Doctor God: "Yes, perhaps someone who knows better than to stand in a washing machine." Joan laughs a fake laugh and says, "You know, the more I get to know you, the less I like you." He comments, "Oh, that is seriously screwed up." He tells her to take ibuprofen 3: "The directions on the bottle are wrong." Uh...and will you be informing us as to the correct directions? Apparently not. He advises her to learn to avoid unnecessary pain. He walks out as Joan sputters uselessly, finally coming up with: "You should really...learn how to...pick on a supreme being your own size."