At Ye Olde Body Shoppe, Paco is working on his own stitches and giving David some relationship advice. Despite the fact that he refers to Keith as "David's bone-daddy," instead of the already canonized "Big Black Sex Cop," his advice is actually pretty good. He calls Keith a "rage-aholic," but when David says he doesn't understand why Keith got upset about being called a fag, Paco points out that David got called a fag too, but did nothing about it. As he goes on to quote a Bible passage that proves his point, he's suddenly dressed in his funeral suit. David immediately identifies the chapter and verse, and Paco begs to buried naked instead.
And speaking of naked, Brenda is upstairs with Nate, still cracking on the décor. She professes disinterest in hearing about his bad day, but when he looks wounded, she grabs a seat and asks him to come sit beside her and unload his burdens. As he walks over, I notice for the first time just how right Daniel was. That guy's head is a perfect rectangle. It's like looking at a brick with hair. Nate's litany of woes includes the facts that he's scared about being an undertaker, there's a giant corporation trying to put them out of business, and his sister is potentially a crack-headed arsonist. Dude, it was crystal, not crack. We've been over this. Brenda psychobabbles about there being a lot of sadness in the house and Nate's gift for channeling other people's pain and blah blah I-don't-care-anymore-cakes. Let's get to the money shot, dammit. And here it is. Hearing a noise, Ruth opens the door to find her son down on his knees, disrespecting Brenda's Bing. You should feel free to close your eyes here, and mentally substitute "From way downtown, bang," "Cunnilingus and psychiatry have brought us to this," or any other vaguely risqué Sopranos or Sportscenter catchphrase you might like. Despite it being not TV, but HBO, the whole thing is shot tastefully from behind. Or at least as tastefully as possible for a shot of guy between a girl's thighs. Ruth suddenly remembers that aloha also means goodbye, and runs off screaming. Nate just lies on the floor, moaning, "Oh, god. Oh, god" over and over again as he calculates the number of hours he'll have to spend in therapy. Brenda remains her usual blasé self as she opines that dinner is apparently served.
Monica Lewinsky: A funeral home, huh? And here I thought the Mural Room was kinky.