Dr. M. welcomes them in, staying on the heels of Dr. Pretty Lady with a Baby. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he follows her around the room until she asks, "Why are you following me?" with that wide-eyed stare women use when they're humoring a desperate man. Dr. M. bumbles some attempts at conversation until she's like, can you go back over there now? Dr. M., clearly not a winner in the ways of love, is like watch me go! and goes back to the console, rejected. A.G. starts banging on the heated walls, forcing Dr. M. to hiss "What are you doing!" A.G. yells "I'm trying not to turn into a puddle of perspiration here! What are YOU doing, Romeo?!" And then he makes some crack about how Dr. Pretty Lady is an icicle. Because all women who don't immediately lay down at the feet of the men who speak to them are frigid -- sure. A.G. continues lambasting Dr. M, saying he has no game. "YOU suck like a Hoover! You have the conversational skills of a monk!" Dr. M. hisses, "What makes you an expert in the art of all things conversational?!" All the white-coats stare. Seems that insurance salesmen know something about talking to people; A.G. insists he "can sell holes to a donut." What talent! A.G. really, really wants to get out of the hot room, and as he complains, Dr. M. stares at Dr. Pretty Lady until some plonky, romantic piano music starts up and Dr. M. heads over to try again with her. A.G. squawks in the earpiece "Trying again with Frosty?" Some Steve Wonder vocals come in. Dr. M babbles on for a bit until, all Cyrano De Bergerac-y, A.G. starts feeding tender pick-up lines into Dr. M's earpiece. A.G. says 'em, Dr. M. repeats them verbatim. This works! And Dr. Pretty Lady gives up her name: Dr. Lauren Rivers. "Now sell her some insurance," A.G. chirps. Dr. M. looks ecstatic.
Commercials, all innocuous except for the two thick-necked dudes who argue about Whoppers. The are nails on a chalkboard. Onions rule, my ass!
After serving A.G. a silver tureen of what seems to be oatmeal, Dr M. speaks vaguely about sacrifice and relationships. Then he hops up and tells A.G. to start working out so that they can get to the weather lab. Then the two get into a fight, A.G. recalling (correctly) that he fed Dr. M. lines and that he would have "drowned in his own drool" if it weren't for A.G. Dr. M. draws himself up and gets snippy. He can talk to women just fine, thank you. The conversation ends with a good! Good! Fine! Fine! And they both stomp off.