Back in his own office, Mickey tries to justify his actions to Missy by saying that "[His] mind just gets filled with a lot of really weird shit." I'll say. I'll also have to write a bunch of essays about it. You'll forgive me if the prospect doesn't fill me joy. She quickly agrees to come back, apparently having decided against pursuing the ironclad multi-million-dollar sexual harassment lawsuit that would have allowed her to live in the lap of luxury for rest of her life. Presumably, we're to assume it's Mickey's lap she'd prefer to be living on.

The boys once again gather in the neighborhood pub they seem to frequent, and this time Doug is whining about not getting the column. It seems he was passed over because he has to spend too much time picking up his kids from soccer and whatnot. Or whatever. Take your pick. We know Doug is really angry, because he tells us he's "good and fucking angry." The swear word means he's serious. Get it? Meanwhile, Jake is putting the moves on a woman down at the end of the bar, and Mickey and Doug look on in wistful envy. Jake's apparent modus operandi is to be completely upfront and honest, and he shows the woman pictures of his wife and kids while explaining that sometimes he just "likes to play." Mickey and Doug debate whether or not he's actually being honest, or merely "factual." It's just as exciting as it sounds. This scene also includes a brief montage of Mickey imagining himself falling in love with yet another far-fetchedly fetching young woman. What's even more disturbing than the evident ego-gratification in all of this is the bizarre top hat Mike Binder is wearing in these shots. He looks like a cross between Paul Simon and a drag queen doing Abraham Lincoln. I didn't bother checking the credits, but it's probably safe to assume that Binder is handling the costuming duties on this one as well. Doug steers the conversation back to the "A" plot, and reminds Mickey that he's "better off with [his] wife" than anyone else. Then he suggests that Mickey make up with her by cooking dinner, drawing her a bath filled with rose petals, and spending the evening rubbing her feet. Incidentally, for all of you out there who dream of one day ascending to the glorious role of recapper yourself, you should know that Sars is generally very receptive to that sort of thing. I mean, it's not like she hired me for my punctuality. ["Nobody on the staff makes a better pesto." -- Sars]