John From Cincinnati
His Visit: Day Six

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Mr. Sobell: C+ | Grade It Now!
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Are You There, God? It's Me, Weirdo

"He'll be all right," Jimmy Buffett, beach detective tells Butchie as the latter stalks off. "Yeah, looks like he's doing great," Butchie snarls, as he and Dwayne go their separate ways. Also, Butchie vows to "get good and fucking high" -- yeah, you say that a lot, my man, and yet you never do it. He also gives Kai a ring, getting her voicemail, which is too long for Butchie's liking, since his message primarily consists of telling her to "find a fucking shorter jingle" after complaining that Shaun was out back smoking weed in her absence. Terrible, terrible phone manners, these Yosts. The only way that Shaun could be any worse than what we've seen from Cissy and Butchie today is if he were to answer phone calls by belching into the receiver.

Remember that scene earlier where Tina was composing herself in front of a mirror in her hotel room when there was a knock at the door? Imagine that scene again, only with Linc playing the part of Tina and Tina playing the part of the knocker. Linc opens the door, sees Tina on the other end, and quips, "Room service?" Tina's not in the mood for playful banter: "A real good friend of yours wants to pay me to ruin your life." Linc invites her into the room to spill the beans on that duplicitous Zack Morris.

John's still standing in front of the Naval Radio Receiving Facility, which I guess is what he meant when he said he was going to be with his Father today, though there doesn't appear to be a whole lot of dialogue. Before we can muse too much on that, it's back to the hotel room, where Cass is busy reviewing footage she shot. "Doesn't work," she mutters. "Doesn't work either." She flings her pencil. Simply a thrilling sequence of scenes right there.

Cissy apparently knew enough to take Palaka to the Snug Harbor, because that's where he is now, musing about how chilly it is. The tattoo on his neck looks less like a salamander and more like a seeping wound. "He's burning up," Cissy observes to a visibly concerned Freddy, who goes from hovering in the doorway to hovering over her shoulder. "Maybe from your hot garlic breath," she adds. "Why don't you get out of the line of fire?" Freddy shoots back. "Well, twist my fucking arm," Cissy says. Look out, Mitch -- the chemistry between these two is palpable. "Purple salamander," croaks Palaka, winking at Freddy. "Honoring a certain someone." Freddy is torn between his concern for his flunkie's well being and his natural impulse to pummel Palaka verbally and physically for being such an exhaustive dope. "If yours hadn't come out green," Freddy stammers, "I would have gotten mine burned off, so as not to have us took for the Boobsey Twins." "I was poisoned and miscolored?" Palaka says, truly shaken by this further evidence of his poor customer experience.

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John From Cincinnati

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