Back in the Department Of Wasted Tertiary Characters Who Are So Far Above This Crap That They Need Space Suits And External Oxygen Supplies, Grace stands behind Jim's desk moving files around and asks him, "Are you still not coming back here? Your inbox is filling up." Oh, man. Tell it to my boss. Or just read about it in The New Yorker (long story. Email me…I'll tell you). Jim responds that he's at Silas Bodnick's funeral, and Grace responds with her level voice which is equal parts apathy and lots more apathy, advising, "You may want to call Mr. Glassman." Jim knows CPA Schnook must be mad enough to eat a hoof, but defends himself that "something's happening here." Grace changes tacks by telling Jim that his ex-wife called again (okay, wait. I'm not kidding for a second. Is this last week's episode? Maybe I just forgot to tape the new one. I'm totally not kidding). Jim's the only person surprised that she called again, and I mean, why would he be? The outgoing IRS central voicemail message must be, "If you're Jim's ex-wife, please leave a message after the tone. Everyone else, shut up and go buy Quicken." I know it's not April and all, but it's a bit ridiculous. No one files quarterly in Nevada? Grace goes on to explain that his ex-wife called requesting the key to Jim's house. Jim asks how she sounded, and Grace ponders before volleying back, "Sober." Another few lines of this stilted dialogue, and she's going to be the only one. Me, I'm going out with the suit guys for Coronas.
Jim ends the call and gets out of the car. A transition shot of the bright, blaring sun (aren't we only supposed to be looking at that with, like, a shoebox and a pinhole?) dissolves into the exterior of a pristine funeral home. The whole cast of characters saunters into the parking lot, including the truck driver named "B.R.B" we met in Episode One, accompanying a bawling bit of trash we recognize as the woman from the Polaroids inside the man's truck. Jim interrupts this private moment between hick and trash to offer the woman a monogrammed handkerchief, and dabbing behind her H&M sunglasses, she repeatedly says, "Thank you. Thank you so very much." She advances the plot in a sentence (because, when in doubt, throw new characters at the…oh, we've discussed all this), asking Jim, "Will you be coming to the burial?" God, what were they, brothers? Jim asks when it is, and Hick elaborates, "Looks like tomorrow, now. Seems they're having a little trouble getting Caleb Moore to burn. Boys have been too busy to dig ol' Silas's grave." A quick cut to an outdoor funeral pyre shows two men staring in at a flaming room, one of them observing, "Damn. That boy is cold." Y'all know what's even funnier than that little-known comedy genre called "cremation humor"? Actual death.