Oh, and in addition to the "Name All Fifty Recaps" contest, what do you say we run another one to come up with nicknames for David and Keith's apartment? You guys were pretty good at that last season, and I've been letting you slide without homework for way too long this year. So let's see what you've got. There's a fresh, shiny "TM" just waiting for the winner.
There's also some fresh, shiny naked people waiting for Brenda and Scrunchie at their orgy party. The show gleefully continues their strict reality-based "Ugly People Only" nudity policy, right down to the creepy guy in the corner, standing all by himself. But hey, we've all been that guy at some point in our lives, right? What? It's just me? Okay, then. Never mind. Brenda loves what she's seeing, but Scrunchie can't even be bothered to wipe the "been there, done him" look off her face. They sit down and watch for a while, which prompts Scrunchie to observe that "sex is so stupid." Which, if you think about, it kind of is. I've always wondered how the first two humans figured out what they were supposed to do. It's sort of like that first guy who figured out you could dry tobacco leaves, roll them up in a sheet of paper, light them on fire, and stick them in your mouth. Flick -- ahhhhhh. Anyway, Brenda insists on mingling, which leads them to a cramped sofa where an ugly naked guy snorts cocaine and claims that "this shit is amazing. I found it in my kid's room and beat the crap out of him." Oy. Irony stops pummeling the Green Goblin just long enough to swoop down and pass the mirror to the guy's wife, who adds, "Don't get me started on my kids. They leave the house at all hours. I have no idea what they're up to. If I think about it, I could cry." Irony himself takes a quick snort before leaving, and then Brenda and Scrunchie get up to check out the rest of the party. They pass by a bedroom where there's a foursome in progress, and Brenda stands in the doorway to watch. I don't suppose anyone can explain to me why a show that treats death with such joie de vie is so clinically detached when it comes to sex. I find that odd.
And once again, David and Keith are fighting. This time it's about Taylor's little secret, and why David waited so long before telling Keith about it. You know, this relationship is really starting to remind me of our forums of late, which is why I'm moved to quote the foremost social thinker of our times here. No, I don't mean Noam Chomsky. I'm talking about Rodney King. Can't we all just get along, people? Of course, Noam would totally hate the phrase "Big Black Sex Cop," which is one of the reasons I take so much delight in using it so regularly. In fact, I think I'll use it now: Keith picks up his Big Black Sex Phone and dials a number. David begs him not to call Karla, and Angry Keith spits back a bitter "I'm not calling her, idiot."