Peter Krause: So, um, I've been reading the papers lately, and I've decided that I deserve a raise.
Alan Ball: Okay. How much were you thinking?
Peter Krause: Oh, I don't know. How about $27 million a season?
Alan Ball: You're joking, right?
Peter Krause: Hey, I shaved my chest for you! The drain was clogged for a month!
Alan Ball: And this great nation of ours is eternally in your debt.
Peter Krause: I know! So pay up, motherfucker!
An opening shot of a nondescript man boiling water in his kitchen signals the triumphant return of the DGDJ. As is par for the course with these openings, we're teased with the possibility of a fatal gas explosion when the pilot light on his stove refuses to activate. Before he can relight it, however, Kitchen Man gets interrupted by a telemarketing call, and everyone's attention stays locked on the match that's slowly burning down in his hand -- at least until the guy on the phone screams, "Oh my God, he's got a gun!" that is. Cut to the call center, where a pasty-faced young man with a very large shotgun stalks through the office in that stutter-step Saving Private Ryan-o-Vision, carefully shooting every male employee he comes across. It's pretty powerful stuff, and it's all very well executed (pun totally not intended), although the stunt guys do get a little carried away with that machine that jerks people backwards when they get shot. Proving once again that the only real qualification necessary for running a call center is a complete and total lack of intelligence, the boss comes storming out of his corner office to ask, "What in the hell is going on out here?" You know, because the screaming and the wailing and the really loud gunshots weren't enough give it away. Or even inspire him to lock the door. Our angry young man (with his working-class Dockers and his radical plan) storms into the boss's office and dispatches him with a single blast from the shotgun. He tries to do the same with a secretary who's cowering in the corner, but fortunately for her, he's run out of ammo. Man, I'm betting this guy must have been a really lousy employee if he couldn't even remember to pack more than five shells into a gun that holds eight for his big final goodbye. At least he did remember to bring a pistol along. He contemplates using it on the secretary, but instead just shrugs and shoves the barrel into his own mouth. We cut back to a shocked and silent Kitchen Man just in time to hear the final gunshot though the phone, and then we slowly fade to white. Farewell Matthew Clark Hazen, Martin Jacobs, Andrew Wayne Milne, and Daniel Grant Showalter. Workplace violence is never funny. Not even when it happens to telemarketers.