"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" yells a woman in a white bridesmaid dress as she kicks the shit out of an "un" "conscious" gentleman in a tuxedo we can guess to be her husband because of the obvious love shared between them. A wide shot captures her Mia Hamm-ing the formally-clad man in a parking lot, as a cluster of four horrified revelers watches her make like Homer Simpson on the Krusty Burglar. They would yell in horror if they actually had any lines, "Stop! Stop! He's already dead!" Because he is. Because it's the opening sequence of Six Feet Under. So you may want to kick a little softer and, while you're at it, stay out of the way of any mysteriously falling pianos. Because really, it could be any of you.
"You have got three beautiful girls!" Bride Of FrankenDeadGuy rants on as the onlookers onlook and the wife spits and kicks and a festive event chimes on in the background while a jazz band plays cocktail music that's probably, if I know anything about this show at all, a bluesy sax riff on "I Get A Kick Out Of You." Bride Of FrankenDeadGuy isn't finished, as she lands footfall after footfall to her kid's future therapy bills and bellows, "They are never gonna be able to have cocktail hour!" A tight shot on the tux-clad man's face shows a pool of chunky-style vomit strewn about an acre around him, and next to that lies his car keys. Was she about to let him drive the car? And, of course, the far more compelling question of this scene: what kind of a caterer serves rice pudding at a wedding? [“Maybe Arthur's already landed in a new career?" -- Wing Chun]
"You are a fucking alcoholic!" she screams, and finally another gentleman steps in because why won't anybody think about the children. He lightly chastises her with an incredulous cry of "Suzanne!" and she turns furiously around and screams, "WHAT?" A final shot of FrankenDeadGuy lying in his own pool of ill-advised dessert choices fades to white as we learn that Robert Duane Wething made it from 1958-2004 as the ever-living personification of the expression "She drives me to drink."
Nate "Man About Frown" Fisher sits on a couch in what appears to be the former house of Justin Ther-neaux and his partner in baby batter, Brenda "Biological Crock" Chenowith. In his hasty exit, Joe seems to have left behind many of his main possessions, including the furniture, some knickknacks, and the home's main accessory: its cuckolding slut of a female resident. Because look everybody, I found her! She's straddling Nate on the couch, which is a perfectly fine place for them to sit now that there's nobody to walk in and catch them in the act of doing anything, now that they've alienated the last person either of them has ever met and perhaps got hip to this new door-locking technology as well.