And, finally, the book from the first act goes off in the third. "Here," Nate says, handing David Stiff. "It's a present from Michaela." David proclaims her "a sweet kid," and then, taking in the book's title, amends that, "a little morbid." Well, check out the mise en scene of that room you're in right now and tell me that she didn't nail it, Captain Death of the Death Star. David flips through it as Nate pronounces Michaela "so unlike her mother, that crazy bitch from hell." But lo! For just as Nate says, this, David finds something slipped between two pages of the book. What is it? It's a clue! In fact, it's a photograph of Lisa. Wearing a brown corduroy jacket and a maroon shirt because she's modeling the fall fashions in the L.L. Bean catalogue...OF DEATH!
Oh, no one cares no one cares no one cares la la la lee la la looooooo. Keith walks around his apartment in a suit watering plants because...well, why not. That guy whose ear David bit off is on the other line, informing him, "I'm taking a break from angry, ugly white men." Well, then, here's the remote. Happy hunting. We cut over to him -- Roger, I think? -- wearing a white bathrobe, a blue Speedo, and several rolls of fat cascading down off of what I can only call his "belly." This might be the wrong outfit for a booty call, Roger. Keith expresses no interest in talking to him, but Roger keeps him interested with a suggestion: "I have a business proposition for you. And I'd like for us to meet." He invites Keith to his house to talk -- man, that house has a lot of plants in it -- but Keith offers that his response is a firm "probably not." So Roger plays hardball, because from the tone this phone call has taken thus far, can you really imagine any other game he'd be more interested in playing than that? He informs Keith that "certain papers have yet to be signed. Our lawsuit might rear its ugly head again." Keith reminds him that they had "an agreement," a sentiment which causes Roger to observe, "I don't think a blowjob is legally binding." He asks Keith one more time, and Keith tells him, "I'll think about it." With which Keith meanders off to water a big plant shaped like his brain.
"Well, you see, Nicole," the white-bearded docent of The Contrivance Museum of Art has to loudly say in order to indicate to people that, yes, that is Nicole Richie in a cameo as herself I can't help wondering whether she knows is ironic. I'd make fun of her outfit or something, but...well, Nicole Richie doesn't need any more press. "Claire has a plurality of influences at work here," says Mallory. He goes on to explain further: "Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit with the fringe on top, and a delicious bullshit-y cherry on top." Docent Bullshit asks Claire if she'd like to add anything to what was basically tantamount to a poo-smeared white card affixed below the typical art show photo, and she steps forward to vamp, "Of course, it's more involved than that." But Nicole Richie -- not a movie star; star of as many movies as I am the star of -- cuts her off, noting, "I totally get it. It reminds me of paper dolls and bad relationships and lies people tell about stupid things." With which her father comes swooping into the room with a pen and paper and exclaims, "That's a perfect lyric. Now what rhymes with 'people tell about stupid things'? I know! 'Something something, everybody sings!'" Yeah, jambo jambo!