The good news is, if you manage not to crash, you end up driving home. Somewhere safe, that was there the whole time.
When Conor gets home, Marvin Gaye Washington is tickling and making out with Bridget on the couch. Conor is in no mood for their shenanigans -- last thing that happened when Pippi Longstocking over here showed up was that he barfed on fifty grand worth of watches and got grounded -- but Bridget's more interested in fighting with him about whose fault it is they can't go to Bunchy's party, because they don't understand Ray's rationale any better than the grownups do. Pippi pipes up and points out that both parents are gone, so why not just go?
I like this portrait of the household, actually. I used to yell at my parents whenever I'd go home because what would happen is, they would tell my little brother to take out the garbage, and maybe he would or maybe he wouldn't, but they would get busy with other things, and then by the time things had gone too far in the garbage department, they would FLIP OUT on him. Now everybody's feelings are hurt. And it's like, "I get that it's annoying, but if you can't hold yourself to the routine how do you expect a kid to change for it?"
Not that they were in the wrong, he was being ADD and a lazy little shit for sure, but the whole thing is like, everybody is now miserable. If you want him to take out the garbage, be present for that happening. Enforcing a rule haphazardly every 4 to 11 days is not going to get you results, it's just going to create friction (and frankly, one more reason for him to ignore you). Parenting isn't politics, it's behavioral science: Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?
My parents LOVE it when I drop by and give them these pearls of parenting wisdom, by the way. It is their favorite thing I do. Which, whatever, as long as they're happy -- and the garbage actually gets taken out -- what do I care if they think I'm a dick? (<-- Also my entire Theory of Parenting, pretty much.)
Is bothering a sassy dog walker, because he thinks that he is selling the dogs, because there used to be a pet store here on this city street. Is he wearing a hospital gown? Yes. Is his sweet little old-man butt hanging out of it? Not until the end of the scene, but you've got the right idea.
Ray extricates the guy and sits Ezra down to talk about what the fuck he's doing today. Turns out, Ezra's plan was actually pretty cogent: he wants to get Deb a dog -- "I don't even like dogs!" -- because he might die in surgery, and has spent the last five episodes going crazy about his wife's funeral and foundation and all that stuff, while poor Deb has been absolutely fabulous with it. So, he's actually right. He just needed to be wearing pants, and not skipping out on his surgery.