The whole hunting discussion comes to a painfully visual halt when Carol describes the way in which seeing her husband killing a defenseless animal makes her horny. "Sometimes," she reports, "I even clean his gun." With the de rigueur single entendre out of the way, the conversation turns to Jake and his hobbies, which apparently include antiquing. Once again, we're informed that his wife finds something incredibly sexy about seeing her husband get a good price on an antique chest. I'll let you make up your own single entendre on that one. And finally, Mickey asks the NBF for his hobbies, but NBF doesn't want to say, because he's on a first date. This week's "Written by Mike Binder" credit, by the way? Appears over total silence. Ah, if only it could stay that way
Later that night, Donna is doing some more of her contractually obligated plot advancement. Or, as I like to call it, incessant whining. She's upset that they don't have any hobbies, and that Mickey spends all his time with his buddies instead of her. It's not until she suggests that they themselves go antiquing, however, that Mickey loses it. First he makes another back-acne reference, and then he tells a story about some friends who bought a beautiful antique, brought it home, and discovered that it was covered with some sort of mold that made their kid sick. Donna's response? "Where do you think of these things? You're insane. You should be ashamed of yourself." I couldn't agree more, honey. Mickey then revises his story to say that it was actually lead paint chips instead of mold that made the kid sick. "[He] had the shits for months. Poor little kid just shitting everywhere around the house. Just constantly, twenty-four hours a day, just little shit droppings everywhere." Something tells me I've found this week's Repetitive Word Of The Week. Also, Mike Binder is a shithead. He continues, "So, if you want that, we'll go and get some antiques, and we'll let the shit-a-thon begin." I'd say you're about five weeks too late on that last one, buddy.