Usually the intro to the Previouslies is Frank being horrible and berating you shamelessly for having missed an episode/needing a refresher, and it's not worth mentioning, but this week it's Fiona on the toilet going, "Jesus, I'm raising five kids and still managed to catch last week," which for some reason is ten times more awesome/acceptable.
Speaking of toilets and Frank and their similarities, those two ridiculous goons from last week currently have one's head inside the other, because they still want their money from when he lost the car they were supposed to blow up. Today, the toilet. Tomorrow, the trash compactor. Put us all out of our misery.
So Fiona comes home from her 2AM job at the bakery just in time to refuse the family their crullers and turnovers ("We want sugar!" moans Debbie) in favor of various loaves of toastable whole grains and what have you. Given the dangers of the American Poverty diet I think it's a good move, and if there were a charity for the war on carbs I would contribute, but still: Nothing is more depressing than a gluten-free vegan semolina breakfast staring you in the eye first thing.
In other news, the toilet is going insane upstairs, causing us to -- in Veronica's words -- squat above the seat "like a Laotian coolie." Girl's a poet. Meanwhile Steve comes downstairs with this great idea about how Fiona needs a night off and will be joining him at a very nice hotel for the evening. He never quits, does he. As a boyfriend of a girl on the verge I can see where he's coming from, but even for this show the metaphor's so focused on Fiona this week that it barely matters what his rationale is.
Lip and Mandy/Ian are running loose on the streets due to yet another half-day ("Good thing public education is broke!") and discussing Ian's new starter jacket, whence Kash, or as Mandy puts it, "Tell Kash I'll take it in the ass if it gets me free stuff!" Then this crummy dick of a truck driver comes running up to them being rude and demanding to use a cell phone to call AAA or whatever, so of course they dick him around endlessly.
Lip's unctuous about how they can't have phones until they're 18 and then sends him to an imaginary bar ten blocks away -- "O'Flaherty's, tell them your family's from County Cork" -- and he promises them five bucks if they keep an eye on his truck. "Thanks, mister!" Ian giggles with hilarious disingenuity, and the second the guy's gone Lip calls for Kev and his crowbar.