Push, Nevada
Jim's Domain

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Djb: C- | Grade It Now!
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Ciao, Maine

Guns a-pointing and sets a-striking, we fade up where we left off last week: home alone and watching porn. Ha! Caught you! For the rest of the unlucky few of us with signed contracts or broken TiVos or any of "Affleck," "Bailey," or "Cecil" written across your family crests, we join the desert blue screen already in progress. Jim "All About The Benjamins" Prufrock lies on his stomach, staring up to see the barrel of Dawn "I Fired My Dialect Coach And All I Got Was This Stupid Accent" Mitchell's gun still staring him back from above. The "Worst Opening Line In Media History" Sweepstakes winner is announced in the form of Dwight "Old" Sloman's introductory sentiment, as he glares in a sinister fashion at Pawn and insists, "Hop to. Let's see some white meat." Oh, I knew he looked familiar. The mystery of Push, Nevada has finally been resolved: people, Dwight Sloman is, in fact, Colonel Sanders. He looks much more kindly when he's on the side of the bucket. But now, he's a vicious sociopath. And he's come to town to make Jim into one of his eleven delicious herbs and spices. And Soylent KFC is made of people!

Still worrying after the old man's power (he is a colonel, after all) -- and perhaps afraid that failure to do his bidding will force Sloman to call Mr. Salty and Juan Valdez off of their two-dimensional, smiley canisters and into action -- Pawn stares down and makes to obey. She informs Jim, "You have to die, Prufrock." Jim turns his head slightly toward her, already fearing the wrath of the Popcorn Chicken Processor. What part of the chicken is that? Sloman calls from behind Pawn, "It's not that hard," turning with a quick motion and, with one quick shot, taking out Pawn's mysterious "partner" whom we learned about in the last nine seconds of last week's episode. Mercifully, Sloman at no point adds, "Did I break your concentration? You were saying something about 'best intentions.' Oh, you were finished? Well then, allow me to retort." And, ouch. Who's the pawn now, Glorified Extra Partner Guy? Pawn turns around in a hurry, pointing her gun at Sloman and blaring, "Freeze!" Sloman takes a mere moment to register a what-do-you-mean-you-don't-want-a-side-salad-or-has-no-one-informed-you-that-the-side-salad-is-free-with-purchase look of surprise, evaluating, "Well, well, well. Delta Dawn isn't on my team after all." Say, who gave the colonel nicknaming authority? Last time I checked, the clock had not run out on this being my job. Why is he speaking in code? No matter. Pawn and Sloman pull their triggers at the exact same time, each throwing his or her gun and falling backwards in very. Slow. Motion. They hit the ground. Four people lie what-we-know-isn't-dead, all having inflicted what-we-know-aren't-fatal what-we-know-aren't-wounds on each other. Because we've heard of bulletproof vests. And because we know that a Push, Nevada without Jim Prufrock would be just exactly like no Push, Nevada at all. Say…

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Push, Nevada

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