Sheila dries his hair with a towel thrown over his head, and then drags him through the house blinded in that way, then handcuffs him to her bed. That squealing sound is your brain. I never thought of Joan Cusack as particularly having a gender, but watching her crawl around and meow while dressed as Donna Reed -- and whatever system she's engaged, breastwise, is doing absolute wonders -- has sort of changed my opinion on that subject. Drastically. I mean, I could always see it in that way nerd boys pretend to think Janeane Garofalo is hot, or Björk, but somehow this scene is so ridiculous that she transcends her aging-Muppet status and becomes kinda sexy.
"Swing around, my man! If I'm going to embarrass myself, I might as well do it right!" Once chained up, she pulls out a big old box of fun. And you know my stance on that: Before you hit forty, equipment and games and all that is not necessary. I realize sometimes olds need a little help, because they are exhausted, but if you need that shit at our age, you're not doing it right. Or you're just not as interested in sex as you feel you're supposed to be, or as "kinky" as you think normal people are supposed to be. Or, and hopefully not, there is a crack in your teakettle that should be investigated further.
And before you assume, like this clueless if well-intentioned Doctor Who reader did recently, that I'm speaking for the gays here, no: I am strictly against accoutrements until they are your last resort. They recentered sex in the '90s just like the SATs, and now it's some competitive thing that comes in a bunch of new flavors all the time, and it's so, so stupid. Sex is about you, and the other person, and having a super-awesome time doing the very coolest and best thing it is possible to do, and it's something we've been doing for literally hundreds of thousands of years without ever having to buy things at the store. It's not about impressing other people, and the second you forget that, you're no longer having sex.
Even if, and I stress this, what happens next is that Joan Cusack pulls out a huge, white, veiny dildo, and comes at you with a grin like a Tasmanian Devil.
Later, Frank's walking a little funny. Sheila's prepared "slow-roasted Bavarian pork chop, with bacon-braised cabbage, some warm Bavarian potato salad, apple salsa fresca," along with two Tylenol and a blanket for his crammed rectum, and they sit down delightfully. So now there are two good thinks about Frank Gallagher. I hope he's greedy enough to keep from fucking this up for a good, long time.