You know, speaking of wardrobe problems, I notice here that Kate is now wearing the blue sweater/high hair from the opening bit, even though in the last scene at the studio, she was in a different outfit. Hmm. Methinks that the teaser was originally the studio scene, with the Michael/Amy stuff coming after the first commercial, and they switched it. Otherwise, Kate has a lot fewer outfits than I thought. I hate when they bend time and space.
Oh, yeah. So anyway, when we last left our heroine and her associates, they were looking for a deficiency in Ronica's household. Nick suggests maybe wild parties or excessive drinking, or maybe "girl-on-girl action." Kate looks disgusted. The guys in the room, not so much. B-Plot eagerly brings up the matter of Ronica's boyfriend, who is a cigar-smoking so-and-so. Shatner thinks about that last mailing he got from the American Lung Association and thinks that the cigar smoke issue might have promise.
Then, before you know it, the meeting is over and Kate and Shatner are visiting in the outer office. She's inquiring, in fact, as to whether he would be interested in coming to her Thanksgiving party. Probably unwilling to ask the obvious question -- "Are we having tofurkey?" -- Shatner says he can't; he'll be in Vegas on Thanksgiving. He claims that he makes an annual "pilgrimage," so yes, Kate has to make a sketchy "pilgrim, har har" joke, with which she can't really get the bat off her shoulder, but...what are you gonna do? It's pilgrims. She asks Shatner to change his plans, since Vegas is always there (don't I know it), but he doesn't want to. They putter aimlessly down this road to nowhere until Kate just happens to mention that Mama Fox will be making an appearance, complete with sweet potatoes. Hmm, Mama Fox? Now, Shatner is up for it. What time is that dinner again? Oh, yeah. Half-past Skeevy and Inappropriate.
Hey, look who's strolling into the offices of Jerrold and Friends -- it's Cancer Boy! Goodness, how we've missed him. He enters in his hesitant way, stops at the desk, and looks at the sour-looking fellow sitting in Claire's usual spot. "I don't suppose you're Claire," Cancer Boy says. The guy looks at him flatly. "Claire is 'ill,'" he says, complete with finger-quotes. "I'm the temp." Cancer Boy makes a lame and obligatory "why yes, you look kind of mannish for Claire" joke, and then he gets down to business and asks to see Kate. Grumpy Temp just sends him back toward her office with no announcement. He's so fired. Or he would be, if he weren't going to be gone tomorrow anyway. Cancer Boy strolls off, and when he runs into Kate, she acts happy to see him. He starts to apologize for intruding, but then he collapses with the sadness of the story he needs to tell. And what is this sad tale? Well, it turns out that things between Cancer Boy and Jolene didn't work out. Gee, a woman hours removed from her divorce? Who knew that was a problematic setup? Oh, yeah, EVERYONE. Cancer Boy explains that the two of them had two wonderful months, but then she dumped him. By email. Ooh, cold. Your spam filter can't catch everything offensive, I suppose. He also gives the possibly unnecessary information that they didn't have enough in common, so even though the sex was great, it couldn't compensate. Also, their dogs didn't like each other. Heh. Kate is sorry to hear it. Cancer Boy goes on to say that since this brief interlude of happiness, he can't make himself a merry little hermit anymore. Kate gamely says they'll have to get him back out there, and he says he's having trouble getting out there, because his "bruised ego" is affecting his "mojo." Yes, he really says "mojo." Which is kind of funny, because Cancer Boy has lots of things, but "mojo" is not one of them. Cancer Boy says that talking to women makes him all nervous and sweaty, and the face Alicia Silverstone makes when he mentions sweat is really pretty cute. She asks how she can help, and he asks for a session with her to get himself back on track. She says she might be able to fit him in over the long weekend. He's oh-so-grateful.