Cragen stomps into his office with J. Edgar Scoutmaster and slams the door: "Don't you ever bad-mouth my people in their own station house." J. Edgar bitches at him for blowing an investigation involving nine regional bureaus. "It was an undercover operation! We wanted to bring in the big predators!" "That's why the bad guys are running rings around us," says Cragen. "Why?" says J. Edgar. "Because they're working together," says Cragen, "and we're not." The pervs all get along, so why can't we?
Benson goes into the interrogation room where Stabler is waiting with Uncle Tickly. Stabler holds up a pad of paper with Uncle Tickly's doodles on it. "Butterflies," says Stabler, "now how cliché is that? Delicate, short-lived." "And easy to catch," says Benson. She turns to Uncle Tickly. "Okay, the Brooks girl -- anyone else?" "Oh yes, many more," says Uncle Tickly. "The Internet has opened a whole world of possibilities," he says, in the same kind of diabolically cheery voice that you tend to hear narrating those old science films at school. "No more trees to climb, no binoculars to lug around?" says Stabler, sarcastically. "You can see into a little girl's bedroom with just a click of your mouse." Uncle Tickly looks at Benson. "You see why the children love me?" he says. He nods towards Stabler: "He's so cold . . . so angry." Stabler's like, aw, bite me! Uncle Tickly turns towards Benson again. "The kids from the bad homes, the neglected ones, the abused, when they leave the social worker's office with their anatomically correct dolls, when they leave the police station, they're in tears." "What's your point, Wallace?" says Benson. "When they leave me," says Uncle Tickly, "they're all smiles." He says smiles with a horrifyingly Disney-esque lilt. Fade out on his freaky face.
Then up comes a title-screen afterword: "At any given moment, there are 3.4 anonymous chat room users on the Internet." Including you. Yeah, YOU.