Previously on Rock 'N Roll Suicide... well, nothing really went down in the last episode that's gonna inform the narrative here. You know that Sam ran into his mother a while back, right? And that he's dating Lisa Bonet? Okay, cool.
So we pick things up with Sam crouched in an out-of-the-way corner of the 125th Precinct, struggling with the fact that 1973 typewriters don't have a delete key. "Stupid analog piece of crap machine," he mutters. Hey, watch your language, buddy -- ABC can't afford the FCC fine. Not in this economy, anyhow. At least Michael Nesmith's mom has already invented Liquid Paper, so you've got that going for you at least. But it's not wrestling with antiquated technology that's got Sam in such a pissy state -- it's the fact that, for this night at least, the 125 has apparently been transformed into Party Central, with uniforms and detectives alike flagrantly disregarding open container laws and public decency standards. What could possibly be the cause for this celebration? Somebody finally figure how to stamp out all that crime? No, something more momentous as it turns out -- the cops are celebrating how something as beautiful as the human act of love could produce Ray Carling. And here's the Birthday Boy now, dressed to the nines in his best Huggy Bear ensemble and with a hooker on each arm. No, I'm not being ungentlemanly about the ladies who have accompanied Carling to his birthday bash -- the man brought along actual hookers, an entire squadron of them actually. "Let the scotch flow free," Carling declares. "And let no hooker spend the night in holding." It's appropriate that he delivers this line with an affected Kennedy-esque accent, since I believe this is how Ted usually celebrates his birthday.
Sam wonders if, maybe in their haste to celebrate, the other officers of the 125th Precinct have forgotten about more pressing matters -- you know, like the whole keeping law and order thing? Carling tells him to relax: The 114th Precinct will take up the slack this evening because New York is apparently a sleepy kind of one-horse town where an entire battalion of cops can take the night off without any uptick in crime. Now if you'll excuse Carling, he's gotta go sex up some hookers, while Mrs. Carling celebrates with her gift -- not having to touch Ray at any point this evening.