Mike pulls out his cell phone so he can get Ted down to the bar. Brian sighs, "And I was having such a good time." Oh, and it shows. Melanie and Lindsay exposition, for those of you who are just joining us, that Teddy's been really depressed since he got fired from his job. Lindsay politely refers to it as "the incident." Brian snorts, "I wouldn't exactly call shooting a load off in front of my boss an 'incident.'" Humph. What would you call having sex with a subordinate employee in your office? A coffee break? Anyway, Ted's not picking up the phone. Emmett worries that Ted might do something drastic: "I mean, he could be lying in bed right now. Dead." Nah, he's too much of a masochist to kill himself. He'd rather live to suffer, and suffer to live.
Ted's. Emmett knocks on the door, but gets no answer. He lets himself in, and finds every available space of the condo filled -- and I mean filled -- with wadded-up tissues. Oh. Ick. I felt like putting on a pair of gloves just typing that. Emmett calls Ted's name, gets no response, and opens the bedroom door.
Big mistake. Ted's on the bed, watching a porno, jerking off, surrounded by more wadded-up tissues. ["Okay, I'm not a porn addict (seriously), but I have to ask -- if you were so far gone with regard to maintaining normal hygiene that there were wadded-up tissues all over the place, outside any garbage receptacle, then wouldn't you maybe just...dispense with tissues entirely? Actually, never mind. If the answer is yes, I don't want to know about it." -- Wing Chun] Emmett's all, what the hell are you doing? Ted gasps and covers up. What does it look like he's doing? Emmett sniffs that it smells like a bathhouse in there. How long has it been since Ted left his house? Ted sighs that he hasn't left in four days. Wow. And to think I tell you guys on the message boards to get outside every once in a while. ["Pfft. Rookie." -- Wing Chun] Ted explains that he's in the middle of a marathon. Emmett picks up a video box and drawls, "Just like AMC: 'American Masturbation Classics.'" Emmett thinks that Ted has a problem. Ted snorts that he sure does: "Usually, Ricky Rod's hairless chew-hole drives me crazy, but for some reason, it's lost its magic." Hmm. "Ricky Rod's Hairless Chew-Hole" would be a great name for a chain of restaurants. "Opening soon in West Hollywood, Castro Street, and Liberty Avenue!" Emmett says that, eventually, Ted's got to pull himself out of this depression. Ted's like, what does it look like I'm trying to do? He adds, "Now, if you really want to help, grab a nipple and squeeze." Wuh? Ted and Emmett, do...I mean...having --why would they do -- NOOOOOO! As I search desperately for something to scrub that image clean from my seizing brain (yes! Leftover vodka in the freezer!), Emmett thankfully declares that he is not "a human tit clamp." Ted, eyes wide and glassy, call Emmett's attention to the screen. Emmett admits that the guy in the porno is hot. Intrigued, he sits down on the side of the bed. Ted pokes him with a bottle of lotion. Emmett almost takes it without thinking, and then jumps away. Hee! Emmett protests, "You are not sucking me into your black hole of depravity!" Emmett orders Ted to get up. Ted nods that Emmett's right: "I've been in this bed long enough."