After McManus capriciously denies his request to send Norma a turkey baster filled with love via Next Day Air, Busmalis angrily announces his intention to sue the state of Shelbyville in order to protect his inalienable right to masturbate with a sense of purpose. You go, Agamemnon! Millions of incarcerated would-be fathers with nothing but time and, er, something else on their hands are hanging on your every word! Well, when they're not perusing their copies of Swank, that is. Unfortunately, the commissioners quickly deny his appeal, noting that "while procreation is a fundamental right, the purpose of punishment is to take away such fundamental rights." "We lost?" mutters a confused Busmalis. "But how can that be? Every sperm is sacred! Every sperm is great! When a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate!" But not even the peppy musical stylings of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life are enough to sway the judges, and Busmalis is forced to haul off and deliver what I'm proud to announce is actually the girliest punch of the episode. The head commissioner is sent sprawling to the ground by the massive force of the five tiny air molecules Agamemnon's fist disturbed as it passed more than three feet away from its intended target. Busmalis quickly dives on top of him, only to pulled away by the guards and led off to solitary. Whew. For a minute there, I thought he might be headed for the hole. I'm not sure I could have survived seeing a full frontal of Little Agamemnon. It's bad enough that I'm stuck with the mental image of him in the Grumpy Old Pod, dreaming of Jessica Tandy and beating off into a plastic cup while Rebadow lies around fluffing his neck-strings on the bottom bunk. On the other hand, the anvillicious irony of his presence here in solitary hasn't been fully revealed yet, so maybe the hole will start to look a lot better when it is.
A much needed respite from the felonious fogies brings us to the staff lounge, where Father Mukada encounters a teary-eyed Claire chatting with Dr. Nathan. After Claire departs, Gloria -- who just a few short weeks ago used the word "fuck" three times in one sentence while emphatically declaring that she would never violate the Hippocratic Oath again -- ignores even most basic tenets of doctor/patient confidentiality in the service of exposition by revealing to the good Father that Claire is pregnant. Because he just doesn't get enough of the good gossip during his weekly bridge club sessions at the Hadassah Community Center, Mukada summons Claire to his office for a discussion of the impending demon-spawn. After a quick montage reveals that Claire has banged pretty much every male prisoner in the joint, she reveals that the baby is most likely to be "golden brown and marinated in salsa," which will present any number of problems in the "redneck" trailer park where she resides. Which reminds me that I'd like to officially announce that I'm moving to Wisconsin, just so I can tell people that I perpetually reside in the state of Eau Claire. Yeah. Sorry. Geography puns are a weakness of mine. Showing a level of resigned maturity that I didn't think she was capable of, Claire describes her plans thusly: "I'm going to take a leave of absence, drop the calf, and from then on keep my fucking legs crossed." Well, hallelujah. And also, heh. Tom Fontana wraps this whole little segment up in a nice bright ribbon of finely woven contrivance when Claire returns to solitary to monitor her charges, and finds Busmalis there, bemoaning the fact that he'll never be a father. Anvils ahoy, people! Look out below! Oh, and farewell, Kristen Rohde. I didn't think it was possible to be scarier than Schillinger, but you pulled it off with flair.