Linc exhales and tries a different tack: "This is me grabbing my balls and jumping here, John," Linc begins. "Grab your jump balls, Linc," says John. (Coincidentally, that line can also be used in the all-male adult video knockoff of John From Cincinnati: John and Steve and Thad From Cincinnati.) "You use my words," Linc says slowly, "and you speak them, if I listen right, I can hear your Father." "Yes, Linc," John says, for once not repeating something someone has said. "If you are the end," Linc continues, "I am near you." "Yes, Linc," John says again. "Without Cass's camera -- whatever the fuck that is -- we're all toast?" Linc asks. And circle gets the square: "You're all going to be toast," John insists. "We're coming 9-11-14." "Fuck me, John," Linc says. "Fuck you, Linc," John agrees. Oh someone's getting fucked here, but I'm not sure it's Linc. Nevertheless, Linc suggests they find a more comfortable place to sit than the asphalt. ["It really sounds like the same person is writing this dialogue who writes the treemail on Survivor. -- Miss Alli]
Back in the café, Jerri and Dwayne continue to watch, transfixed, and let me tell you, if there's more compelling television than watching people watch the same thing as you, I'd like to hear all about it. Seriously, that's a request. Please tell me there's something more compelling than that. "Technically," Dwayne says, after Jerri scolds a customer who may or may not be Jimmy Buffett, Beach Detective (John might be able to recognize people on sight, but Mr. Sobell sure can't, especially if they've only be on camera once), "there's no way we can be seeing what we're seeing." Keep it down, Dwayne -- HBO might hear you and reach the same conclusion.