Yeah. Okay. You know, I've been thinking all week about how to describe this next scene, and yet I'm still at a complete and total loss. It's just so…creepy? Bizarre? Implausible? Endearing? Endearingly creepy? Bizarrely implausible? Who knows? All I do know is that Ruth and Arthur are sitting side by side on the edge of her bed, and their playful proto-foreplay of gently nudging each other quickly escalates to an almost Tough Enough level of violence. I get that they're both too insecure to make the first move, but would a woman who once shouted "Fuck my legless grandmother!" in front of a room filled with complete strangers really be unable to whisper "fuck me, my sweet Mormon Moby-wannabe" to a man she's already invited into her own bedroom? Oy. In any case, the scene is wholly redeemed for me when a particularly powerful shove sends them tumbling to the mattress, and Arthur is forced to awkwardly remove his glasses so that he can properly spoon with her (No, not like that). As a fellow ophthalmologically-challenged individual, I've found myself in the same embarrassing position more times than I can count. Glasses suck for making out.
While those two engage in a bit of relatively chaste snuggling, David and Keith are out enjoying a refreshing beverage in a local gay bar. Well, David is enjoying his beverage. Keith is busy spinning around in circles on his bar stool and admiring all the pretty, pretty neon lights. He's very stoned. He's also on the prowl for another threesome candidate, and he's already selected some guy he's spotted across the room. This catches David by surprise, because they haven't "negotiated" any of the ground rules just yet. "We are negotiating," answers Keith. "I'm saying you can pick somebody else." Heh. David won't let it go, though, and he insists that they adopt a strict "no kissing" policy. "Unless you think that would be rude to the other person," he adds. Seeing as how it's probably unlikely that they'll be bringing Julia Roberts home to get nasty with, I don't think it's going to be much of a problem. David suddenly sees The Little White Sex Dork II entering the bar, and is quick to offer him up as a potential candidate. "We're not doing it with anyone we know," replies Keith. "That's just creepy." Well, it's good to know he's got standards, I guess. Keith leaves to go make a move on his own selection, and David gets a chance to chat with Patrick for a minute. "I think I'm not so much a gay bar person," says The LWSD II. "Is that really sad for me?" "No, I think that's really happy for you," responds David. Hmm. Was that a subtle hint of QAF-bashing I'm picking up on here? Actually, you know what? I'm not even going to go there. I know better than to get those posters all riled up.
So remember when I told you to keep the image of that bird in mind? Well, here's the payoff. Brenda comes home to find Zhora and Olivier going at it in the living room, and the shot is cleverly designed so that Ma Chenowith is positioned in front of Olivier just like the bird was in front of Ugly Naked Guy. "I bought a painting!" gasps Zhora, by way of explanation, and we pan over to see that Olivier's artwork is propped against the wall right in front of them. That's gross on so many levels that I don't even know where to begin.