Over at Brenda's place, which is so not the house we saw her in last week ["I thought maybe she was staying in the guest house on the same property." -- Wing Chun], Nate has arrived for a little booty call of his own. As they roll about on her massage mattress, Nate unzips the back of her dress to discover a tattoo on her lower back that reads "Nathaniel." "Uh, Brenda? Why is my name tattooed on your ass?" he asks, but she insists that it's not his name: "It's a coincidence. It's not you or anyone you know. Come on, you think I'm so enamored with you that I had your name burned into my flesh?" Nate points out that she obviously liked someone enough to have his name burned into her flesh, and she replies, "I would have done a lot more than that for him." The Funky Techno Music of Lust cranks up, and we fade to white as they mack some more.
The morning after. Nate returns home, but hears what the closed captioning identifies as "snoring" as he heads upstairs. Moving into the chapel, he finds David, lying in the Titan coffin. The following dialogue works best when transcribed verbatim, so here it is:
David: It's about time, you fucking moron.
Nate: What are you doing in there?
David: Would you help me out, you fucking moron?
Nate: Why can't you just climb out?
David: I think we both know the answer to that, you fucking moron.
As much as the dream sequences annoy me, I'll give that one a hearty "heh." But then we cut back to the most disgusting sight since the toe-sucking: Brenda is running her fingers through Peter Krause's veritable Amazon rain forest of chest hair. It's nasty. When some little guy in a pith helmet and Just Peachy's khakis emerges, Brenda looks down at him and inquires, "Dr. Livingston, I presume?" This wakes Nate, and she looks him straight in the eye and says, "You really should do something about this. It's really deep." Amen, sister. But then she adds, "It might as well be bleeding." Huh? You know what, I don't even want to know. ["Oh, you already know: the wound." -- Wing Chun] She asks what his plans for the day are, and he explains that he and David have to go fetch the registration from the wrecked hearse for insurance purposes. "Take your cell phone," she tells him, and then makes him promise several times that he will.
House of Stiffs. Lauren comes downstairs, practically glowing, and begins extolling the relative virtues of Six Feet Under as opposed to The Greatest American Hero. Get it? Because she just had sex and all? She ignores the healthy breakfast Mom has cooked for her, asking whether there are "any more of those Stevie Nicks raspberries." "Claire, do you have an eating disorder?" asks Mom, to which Claire replies, "I wish." Then, her duties for this week completed, she bops off to the Corpse Machine for another fun-filled afternoon with Gabriel The Podiatric Punk.