Six Feet Under
You Never Know

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Nobody Likes A Busybody

Boy, that was just a big barrel of laughs, wasn't it? Yeah. So in the interests of lightening things up a bit before we continue with the recap proper, I'm pleased to announce the first winner (not counting the homepage -- The Boredello was tm phxchic) of our surprisingly popular "Name Nate & Lisa's Apartment" contest. It's Chico, with "Sinkhole de Maya." Which is appropriate, because we fade back up on Maya the Leviathan's giant, orthogonal cranium as she cavorts in a crib beside Nate and Lisa's bed. Which, by the way, seems to have gone from being a Family Bed to being The Bed of Overly Polite And Excessively Quiet Chipmunk Sex. Yep. that's right. Nate and Lisa are doing the nasty, if you can call anything "nasty" that involves use of the phrases "Are you sure you're comfortable?" and "Do you want to get on top?" You know the expression "She drives like old people fuck"? Well, Nate and Lisa fuck like old people fuck. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss Brenda already. Before we can leave this tender moment alone, however, the phone rings. The machine picks it up right away, and we get to hear one of those never-ever-as-cute-as- you-think-they-are messages new parents always have where they make the kid squeal into the phone on the off chance that one of the Powerpuff Girls might be calling to leave her a message. They also refer to themselves as the "Fisher Family," which will be mildly important in a few moments. It's Carol, of course, and she's calling because it's "the one hour a day [she] can eat carbs," and she's got a massive craving for corn mini-muffins. Mmm, corn mini-muffins. Yummy. Nate certainly seems to share my enthusiasm on this subject, because the sound of Carol's voice has inspired him to resume his rodent-like lovemaking with renewed vigor. The scene ends with him substituting a shouted "Don't make her the muffins! Don't make her the MUFFINS!" for "Oh, baby! Yes! Yes! YES!" Ew. Whatever turns you on, I guess.

David and Keith's Doormat-ory. David greets his lover in the kitchen with an enthusiastic morning serenade from Gilbert and Sullivan that features way too many "tra la las" for my tastes. Geez. If you're feeling that frisky, why not just throw him down on the tile floor and scream, "Don't make the bok choi! Don't make the BOK CHOI!"? Keith certainly seems to share my lack of enthusiasm on this subject, because he pleads that it's way too early for that sort of thing, and retires to the kitchen table to sew up a hole in his uniform. David apologizes, adding, "I just want to make sure I get it right. Some of the guys in this chorus are so good. One of them even recorded with Chanticleer." Um, he sang with a giant chicken? Well, that doesn't seem right. Excuse me while I click over to Google for a second. Ah, so that explains it. There's a actual chorus that's just named after the giant chicken. And here I thought I was all cool for remembering my high school Chaucer. Somewhere out there, Mrs. Weddell is laughing at me. Although a brief perusal of Chanticleer's homepage would seem to indicate that they're basically the Riverdancers of orchestral choir music, so I don't really feel bad for never having heard of them. It's still rock and roll for me, you know. Anyway, oversized roosters aside, Keith teases David a bit about singing in his sleep, and then admits that he tore his uniform while getting a Frisbee out of a tree. "That's what security guards do, David," he explains. "We help people." Heh.

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Six Feet Under

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