Oy. You people obviously have no idea how long it took me to come up with all twelve items for last week's list. And you thought the recaps took me too long before. ["How do you think I feel? I got less votes than Alan frickin' Keyes." -- Kenny The Corpse] On the other hand, it appears that there's also apparently a disturbingly large percentage of you with the name "Nathaniel" tattooed on your asses, so who knows what's up with these polls. At any rate, the people have spoken, and unlike the State of Florida, the United States Supreme Court, and the Federal Election Commission, I'll be bowing to the will of the masses. And with any luck, I'll be doing it before the next episode airs. Maybe.
So on a note that's not quite as random as it seems, am I the only one who can't hear the phrase "Dead Guy Du Jour" without immediately flashing on the diner scene from Dumb & Dumber? Mmmm, that sounds good. Anyway, speaking of Dumb & Dumber, here comes the DGDJ himself, along with his assistant. They're janitors working the night shift in some industrial-sized bakery in the LA basin, and the DGDJ (a.k.a. Dumb) is teaching his apprentice (a.k.a. Dumber) how to clean the giant dough-stirring vats. Dumb explains that it's important to keep them clean to prevent bug infestation, and after some insipid folderol from Dumber about the possibility of just spraying them down with Raid, Dumb climbs inside the vat to start scrubbing. Dumber leans over the top to hand in a bucket and sponges, and then inquires if anyone has ever had sex in one of the vats. Cut back to Dumb, who's wedged between a couple of wicked looking metal blades and wondering why on Earth anyone would do something like that. Which makes perfect sense, because everyone knows the only appropriate place to have sex in this world is the janitor's closet at LAX. Wow. Could you imagine the lines there would be if that were actually true? It'd make Disneyland look like a day at the DMV. Anyway, Dumber suddenly notices a roach crawling on his hand, and falls from the ladder in his efforts to shake it off. Predictably, he accidentally engages the dough-stirring mechanism, and we hear Dumb's suddenly strangled screams from inside the vat. With the Ironic Musical Detachment Fairy receiving an unexpected week off (and wasn't it nice of him to spend it helping me out with the homepage teaser?), the only question left is whether Alan Ball will elect to show us the presumably bloody contents of the aforementioned vat. Thankfully, he does not, and we simply fade to the non-musical, yet still ironically white, Title Card of Death, which informs us that Dumb's given name was Thomas Romano. And thus is born another Dead Guy Du Jour. Thanks, Flo.
Fade back up on Brenda's boudoir, as the camera pans across an empty bed and the soundtrack treats us to the worst fake laughter I've heard from an actor since my appearance in the Herbert Hoover Elementary School's sixth-grade production of "A Thousand And One Arabian Nights." Incidentally, that's when I first knew that any chance I might have at a career in entertainment would be behind the camera, not in front of it. Or perhaps making fun of it, but that's a different story. Anyway, Nate and Brenda have been rolling about on the floor, arguing over which one of them makes funnier noises during sex. I'd guess Nate, what with the wind whistling through the chest hair and all. The radio, which has just informed us that we're listening to KPDX In The Morning, begins blaring an old Big Band tune, and Nate wistfully confesses that he loves this music because his dad would play all the records when he was a kid. Brenda is somewhat surprised, as she would have pegged him as more of the Sting or U2 fan. Oh, please. Don't you think Sting is a little white-bread for a guy who hasn't shaved in a month? Nate figures Brenda was into the "hardcore punk stuff as a kid," and she admits that she was, although "that may have been the heroin talking." Nate gives Brenda the same worried look I was giving the writers before Brenda admits that it was a just a joke. "I love that look," she smirks, as he finally rises from the floor. Peter Krause delights the vast legions of his fans with a flash of the old trapezoid-butt, and scampers off to put on his jeans. He then mentions that he hopes David agrees to sell the business so that he can "get the hell out of here and go back to Seattle." Realizing the relationship faux pas he's just committed, Nate quickly amends that by inviting Brenda to go with him. I invite her to go to Seattle alone, but no one ever listens to me. Anyway, they flirt a bit more (with said flirting requiring Peter Krause to perform a virtual squat-thrust), and she tells him that he's out of his mind. "Oh, yeah?" he responds. "Then how come my name is branded on your ass?" Brenda gapes in disbelief, and Nate salvages some pride by saying, "I love that look."