Hill again, in front of two mannequins seated at a table. John and Jane Doe, we'll call them, since Hill does. They "go on a diet, eat better, get healthy, live longer." Good, yah? No. Bad. The stress John experiences while trying to lower his cholesterol will kill him. And while Jane eats low-fat, she's jacking up her blood sugar, since those pseudo-healthy products are loaded with sugar to mask their foul taste. Oops. See Jane suffer adult-onset diabetes. Bottled water's next. Now, asks Hill, "What the fuck could be wrong with that?" One word: plastics. So, reveals Hill -- going all John Edward as he zooms over some celestial backdrop in a crystal ball -- as we seal ourselves in a bubble of health, we're actually killing ourselves and destroying the planet.
But ohmigod, Susie, like, who cares about the planet, because we are, like, so thin.
Ryan, bathed in light, stands at the bars, wondering about the world beyond the walls. The Greek chorus -- a.k.a. Beecher and Busmalis, The Laundry Shrews -- reveals that today's the day that the jury decides Cyril's fate. Father Salty O'Brogue wants to know what's going on; Ryan says the jury may deliberate for a while, wishes he was in solitary with Cyril, and worries that Cyril is scared and confused. "Good," says Salty. Ryan looks both confused and pissed, but then the wise man of The Guy Upstairs, all pale and liquored-looking, explains that the stupider that Cyril appears, the better the chances for overturning a guilty verdict. Now Ryan's just confused. Crusty McPriest explains that he's not going let Cyril fry without a fight. Now Ryan's just pissed, and tells Reverend Piss-and-Vinegar and his God to fuck right off and mind their own business.