David wears a look of grave concern (along with the aforementioned blue apron and rubber gloves) and asking, "Why are we buying the fake Windex when the real kind of the only kind that works?" Oh, word, David. I know the poor and the aged are used to reeling off chemical compounds which support their claim that the generic products are exactly the same as the name brands, but I'm sorry, but I am not filling my cart with "Cloke-a Cola" and "Formula 408" before leaving the store and buying my mom a genuine "Kate Spdae" bag from a street vendor on my way home. It's called Windex for a reason. And that reason is that it, um, dexes the windows, I guess.
Rico grits his teeth and asks David if he wouldn't mind picking up the deceased Mrs. Morrison. Don't do it, David! We can't have a repeat of that, and your torturer is still at large. David apologizes that he's "cleaning," and takes his leave before Rico can figure out what the word "large" even means. Awwwww. It's the opposite of you, dear. Having no respect for the concept of "earshot," Nate barely waits for David to be out of the room before he continues his attack on Rico, adding, "David can't take the van...the van is where it happened." Rico tells Nate that he should go, then, but Nate excuses himself after fourteen whole minutes of work with the argument that he needs to go "this get-together once a month where we get together with the other parents" at Maya's daycare." He's lying. But so is Rico about everything, so it's no big problem when Nate adds that, as long as he's out, Rico should pick up the real Windex and not this other Smurfy's Oil Soap he's been suffering with for so long. Rico heads toward the door in disgust. On his way out, he grabs his book for Nicole, the Dr.-Seuss-for-the-urban translation of a book that plays well with strippers and families of strippers, Hop on Baby Daddy.
Claire walks into the coach house and sits down at a table, where she sits and stares at her Edie photo once more. She hears a stirring in the bathroom and calls out "Anita?" Who? Oh, yeah. Wheel #3 in a series. But instead, the door cracks open and out pours Mena "Mena Suvari" Suvari, her forehead fighting yet harder for supremacy over her forehead-concealing bangs. Claire quickly flips over the picture she's been idolizing, but Mena Suvari is a lesbian! I know. That means nothing. But it's also her entire character, so in case you were curious, they said it once before but it bears repeating. Mena Suvari asks Claire what she's hiding, and Claire admits that it's a photo she took of Mena Suvari. Mena Suvari stands up and asks why she can't see it, and Claire gushes, "It's too good. I can't believe this actually came out of me. It's so good I don't even want anybody to see it. I'm not even gonna show it at my crit tomorrow, because...I don't know. It's just for me." And, apparently, it's also for Claire's impolite lesbian friend, who takes it out of Claire's hands and observes, "It's so beautiful." Claire stands up next to her to look at the photo. It's basically Mena Suvari inside the Black Lodge, looking like she's trying to crawl out of the photo and right on into Claire's pants. She insists that Claire has to show it at her crit, but Claire just shrugs and looks all perplexed. But the good thing about hot photographers taking hot photos of hot subjects is that everybody gets credit. Mena Suvari thinks it's time to talk about her for a moment, getting all marvelly at herself, "Look at my expression. It's nice to know that finally my hours of watching America's Next Top Model have paid off." Wow. Couple-a things. First of all, that's the biggest shout-out in history. Second of all, even anti-establishment performance art fake-TV-lesbians love Top Model. Fall in line, world. If you have HBO, you have UPN. Trust me. Claire tells her, "I definitely owe you one for this," and Mena Suvari suggestively responds, "I'll think about how I can collect on that." That will be way too subtle until I actually see people in bed.