Left alone, David and Keith are going to talk about themselves, everyone's favorite topic when applied liberally to...themselves. But first, confection-oriented banter, because ovens are really just a metaphor for the coffins cakes are put in to make us value our own short lives while presiding over their own deliciously moist funerals. Keith regards a slab of Ruth's wedding cake, telling David, "I feel like I've been eating this cake for twelve months." Through a yawn I might soon be inclined to share with David if this scene goes in the predictable "Does that mean you'd rather be with me...or your new boyfriend, Duncan Hines?" direction I would fully expect of it by this point in the series, David volleys, "I wasn't going to say anything." Well, I was. First and foremost: "Twelve months"? Is that really what he said? Is there no more concise a way to state the time period of twelve months? Would we cut him the same slack were Keith to have observed he'd been eating that cake for fifty-two weeks? A twentieth of a score? Just call it a year. Not every line needs to reek with artful poetry. Keith takes a final swig of champagne and tells David he thinks it's time to go home, but David tries to sound noncommittal in asking him to stay, adding, "If you're too drunk to drive, or whatever." They bicker about the fact that Keith has never stayed over David's house before. For those of you who didn't see the episode and need more information, make a mimed hand puppet with each of your two hands and face them toward each other, alternating back and forth with the two of them snapping, "No, you are!" "No, you are!" "No, you are!" Do it for a good, long while to get the full effect of their repetitive, testosterone-fueled anger. May I suggest, perhaps, twenty-six consecutive fortnights?
Back at the slums of Beverly Hills on the corner of LaBrea and Encroaching Desperation, Nate wears the sheared hide of a downed grizzly bear while sitting on Brenda's bed. Oops. I amend the previous observation. Nate is merely shirtless. "I have to drive to Santa Barbara to pick up her body," Nate sobs. Brenda recommends that Nate just sleep, promising him that it will help. He wails that all this is "impossible," as Brenda looks on in a sympathetic fashion, thinking hard about the human evolution chart and not being able to determine exactly why that is.
Boys kissing boys! Tee hee! David and Keith lie in David's bed, Keith commenting on how quiet it is. David one-ups the peculiarity of this observation, noting how "strange" it is that, well: "I just got blown in the same bed where my mom used to read me The Runaway Bunny." But just before a wry comment on the hilariously wanton promiscuity of gay men could be registered by the stereotyping or self-hating, David and Keith are interrupted by the sound of sex moans from upstairs, where Ruth and Cromwell are celebrating their wedded bliss with microphones attached to their genitals.