Lip's screaming at illiterate Kev about how if he's going to bitch about their using all his phone lines he can do his own damn taxes, which takes the wind out. Kev (and Karen, and Lip) realizes the shameful secret of Last Friday, and then remembers that Frank "The Plank" left with Steve well before closing time last night. After they're gone, it says on the news that a body's been found, so Kev runs off as his barback is talking about being a huge lesbian or whatever, it's awkward.
Veronica's ironing with her boobs out -- while a giggling man masturbates in front of his pet monkey, elsewhere -- when Steve and Fiona arrive to once again apprise her of the situation: "He never misses that check! He waits on the corner, practically tackles the mailman before he can get out of his little jeep..." They talk about how maybe Frank is dead, in exactly the way they always assumed he would be, and then Ian comes in and stares at Veronica's breasts for awhile, telling them that Debbie's having a meltdown: She's heard about the dead body. Veronica logs off before the monkey-owner can come, because isn't that always the way.
Debbie's friend Holly told her about finding the body in the worst way, and Fiona tries to comfort her: "It's Holly, sweetheart, okay? She's been in third grade for four years. I'm gonna deck that little bitch." So but does that even make sense? Steve asks why Frank would even be over there, just as Lip walks in to blow Steve's spot about being with their dad that night and not saying anything about it all day today. He admits he went to apologize after the Ian Incident, but that he left him there fairly early; Kev interrupts with news about the body and they all rush over to the crime scene, cheering that somebody is dead who is not Frank. The moment before they see the victim's face is pretty heart-wrenching, but they are gross afterward.
Fiona's bugged that they still haven't found him, and we realize that the body they've all been passing by and ignoring this whole time wasn't even Frank: He's waking up in Toronto on a snowy park bench with no idea where he is, and because it is Canada and he is an uncouth vagrant, they chuck him in jail immediately. It's Canadian jail, so it's not even really something they feel great about, and he's taken in by a Mountie, which is like getting a kiss from a Monchichi, but we do what must be done.
Frank's got no passport, so they don't believe that he's American, and of course he's doing himself no favors -- "Whole country's a bunch of parka-wearing, draft-dodging, chickenshit cowards who didn't have the balls to stay home and fight the Vietcong to preserve our American way of life!" -- and finally this dude recognizes his "Chicago" accent among the annoying James Lipton Fellatio speeches William H. Macy likes to deliver in this role every five seconds, because he got his Economics PhD at the University of Chicago. He offers to help in exchange for a cigarette or cash -- neither of which Frank has, of course -- and then asks for a "reach-around hand job" through the bars, which... If you don't know what a term actually means, I say just avoid it.