Hill, dressed as The Crazy Lady From Down The Block, wonders -- rhetorically, since we know from past hurts that he'll have the answer -- how one becomes a fortune-teller. Usually, he says, they're middle-aged ladies who just tell you stuff they wish would happen to them. They fabricate your dreams because theirs got dashed. And then he turns Jamaican (which is just like turning Japanese, except that he's got a bowl full of pot, which he dumps on the table and fondles) and zeroes in on the irony of having your future told by someone who "don't got none." If I were Miss Cleo, I'd be talking to my lawyer right now. Oh, wait, she already is.
In the hospital, Pancamo wants to know why he's not feeling so fresh. Gloria explains that he's got a staph infection (yes, that staff is a might infectious bunch, hardee har har). Gloria goes on to explain that a staph infection is completely nasty, and Pancamo, though Gloria's mentioned nothing even remotely related, divines that he's gotten this disgusting illness from being in the hospital. Pancamo worries that he might die; Gloria assures him that they're doing everything they can. To kill his sweatsuit-clad ass. At least that's about how much she seems to care. Pancamo begs for mercy, because he, like so many others, doesn't "want to die lying in [his] own shit."
And then we cut to someone theatrically pulling the cover off a pool table that's surrounded by Aryans. Robson says he's "getting hard just looking at that beauty," and I start thinking about the connection between Italian shit, Robson's dick, and pool tables. And then I start thinking about my vomit, and then I move on. Schillinger tells Franklin, still dolled up, to rack the balls, and I start thinking about how the friends of The Actor Who Plays Franklin must make fun of him for having to wear pigtails and lipstick and ride bitch. Then I start thinking that they probably work in cubicles or in retail, and that it's likely The Actor Who Plays Franklin that makes fun of them. And then I realize that I'm supposed to be paying attention to this crappy show, and I start thinking that everyone's probably making fun of me for my job, even though I stopped wearing pigtails and lipstick, like, months ago.