Den of Porno. Dr. Scruffy sits on the living room table, his manners and his razor clearly left in the same untraceable location. As Kyle wears yellow rubber gloves and cleans several bloody items off the table, Porno (arm in a cast) and Michael (future career prospects in a tailspin) listen to Dr. Scruffy explain the promising prognosis: "She's far from okay. I removed her spleen and tried to repair the liver, but it's meatball surgery at best." Oh. It wasn't blood. It was meatballs. And "removed her spleen"? Wouldn't that make her into, like, a snake? And we all know how much snakes hate meatballs. Who the hell is this guy? I'm finding this scene extremely confusing. "The real question is whether infection sets in. If that happens…" A dramatic pause long enough for the witch doctor to have recited the entire Hippocratic Oath if he had any freaking clue how it went ensues; Michael, finally figuring out that he's pausing solely for dramatic effect and not because he's lost for words, picks up the dropped and rotting cue and asks, "What?" Who is this guy? Dr. Who answers Michael's question and not mine: "To have a fighting chance, she'll need a lot more than I can do in your dining room. She'll need a hospital." Michael proclaims the hospital -- a big building with patients in it, but that's not important right now -- "not an option," and Kyle chimes in, "Neither is letting her die." To Kyle, death is almost as bad as dishpan hands. Porno notes that "no one is dying yet," which must come as real solace to Isabel, all lying sweaty in the next room, like, "Oh, good, I'm not dying. Wait…'yet'?" Jesse reenters the room and helpfully reports that his dying wife with the punctured internal organs is "still sleeping," and then motions to Michael, vaguely threatening, "You and me. Outside." Ooooh. Fight at the bike racks, three o'clock after school. Michael follows Jesse outside, and Dr. Who asks Porno, "Mind if I smoke?" Porno tells him to go ahead, and Kyle moralizes from the corner, "I can't imagine why you lost your license." Whatever. Doctors smoke. It's worse than dishpan hands, but there it is.