Oz
Junkyard Dawgs

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Aaron: B- | Grade It Now!
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The Pest Savant at the End of the Universe

After an all-too-brief shot of Business Barbie looking fetching with her hair up in a bun, we see Poet explaining his grand scheme to Reggie. Basically, they're just going to steal credit card numbers from every customer who places an order. Except they're calling with a political survey, which means they're not actually taking orders. And the whole reason Poet quit the last time around was that the lady wouldn't give up her credit card. In other words, it's the dumbest plan ever. Man, where's Murdock and Hannibal when you really need them? Oh, that's right. They're dead. ["Murdock's DEAD?" -- Sars]

Augustus Interlude. Apparently, there's just as much junk underwater as there is on land. This particular monologue is so dumb that using the pun "water you talking about?" (a perennial favorite of my father's, by the way) would actually have improved it.

Ahh, Rebadoze. At least HE gets his own phone. Or at least free use of the one in the library. I wonder what Leo is going to say when he gets a $600 phone bill from 1-900-GRANNY-69. Timbo wanders through the library, claiming to be looking for Patti, but really just serving as a foil for Rebadow to provide the necessary exposition about today being the day of her lumpectomy. From there it's a quick jaunt over to Unit Zzzzzzz, where Pablo pumps Rebadoze for information about their mutual girlfriend. They're interrupted by a passing behemoth, who loudly taunts Pablo for being a "bookworm fag." See? This is what I mean about not believing that Pablo wouldn't be a prag by now. Because he's young and stupid instead of old and boring, Pablo responds by pulling out a shank and shoving it right into the back of the guy's neck. I'm surprised he didn't need a stepladder to reach that high. The guards descend on him in an instant, and we're "treated" to a "nice" little shot of Pablo's "ass" as he's thrown into the hole. I've got two words for you: Cottage and cheese. Although at least now we know why he's not a prag. You try and tattoo a swastika onto that ass and you're gonna have stretch marks all over it in less than an hour. Enjoy your bread and water, Pablo. You'll thank them when it's swimsuit season.

Back in the library, Rebadoze waits tensely by the phone. Oh, Christ. They've even got copies of Hill's book all laid out on the desk, perfectly placed to give you a subliminal urge to head straight to Barnes & Noble the instant the show is over. A guard comes by and demands that Rebadow return to his cell for count, and even threatens him with "the hole" if he refuses. I'm not sure which is worse, the thought of seeing Rebadoze's cottage-cheese ass, or the thought of what he and Pablo might discuss down there while they're both naked and thinking of Patti. Ew.

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Oz

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