Slowmar meets Betty Buckley for his first singing lesson, and, after joining her at the piano, immediately wants to know if he has to sing. No, she says, but I encourage you to try. He compares his voice to Barry White, and Betty Buckley chuckles before pegging him as a tenor and starting to play scales. When she offers Slowmar a turn, he instead compliments her appearance (calling her "mighty fine"), and she pops right off of the bench and suggests a different approach. Sadly, this approach calls for her to warble (and I do mean warble) "Jesus Loves Me." I mean, we all knew that Betty had to start the singing at some point, but I would have much rather heard her tackle the song stylings of Barry White. After subjecting Slowmar to repeated "Yes, Jesus loves mes," Betty Buckley wants him to try, but he's really not interested in singing. Or maybe he's not interested in Jesus. After asking if she made Ryan sing when he was growing up, Slowmar suddenly flips out, slams the piano keyboard, jumps up, starts yelling about how everyone's a liar, and channels Stevie Nicks by banging on a tambourine. Betty Buckley, flustered, calls for Officer Brass, who begins to limp over; nice that there's just one officer supervising a no-longer-spry woman's one-on-one sessions with hardened criminals, and that he's disabled. Slowmar gets even more wigged when he realizes that trouble's coming -- very slowly -- and drops to his knees, begging Betty Buckley for forgiveness and apologizing for his outburst. Hey, along with drug testing and singing lessons, has anyone considered anger management as a possibly smart counseling option for Slowmar? Betty Buckley, demonstrating far more class than Officer Brass (who calls Slowmar a "fucking mutt," which would be pretty inappropriate even if Betty Buckley wasn't there -- not that I'm overly squeamish about cursing in front of women, unless they happen to be my mother, but, I mean, isn't McManus all into rehabilitation through respect?), decides to give Slowmar another chance, and leads him back to the piano.
Hill pops by to explain what I believe is the Jungian theory that every person in your dreams is actually a version of yourself (if it isn't, go tell someone who cares), so that when you're dreaming about a person you hate, you're actually dreaming about part of yourself that you can't stand. Except Hill says "motherfucker." I'm remembering -- hazily -- that Hill's monologues used to have some relation to the plot; now they're just annoying intrusions, if you ask me. ["I agree. Except for the 'now' part. Shut up, Hill." -- Sars] And then the scene cuts to Hill sitting at a table with Redding, so maybe Hill dreams about Redding. And can't stand him. And they're the same person. Like Michael and Janet. Except Redding seems more like LaToya.