Roam walks up to a sleazy-looking motel room and peers around furtively. The sound of a camera shutter doing its camera-shuttering thing ensues, as Roam is caught in three separate photos. Man, that Johnny Wong can be everywhere at once, can't he? Roam? Keep your clothes decisively on.

Mr. Private Investigator Man shows Goldman those selfsame photos. We learn that the woman who opens the door is "Kimberly Banks. She's the lead investigator for the Central D.A.'s Office." Right Hand comments, "It's too bad this chick's not a boy." Y'know, I know this show is about dirty, dirty porn and things, but why must everyone be so freakin' yucky all the time? Goldman asks what happens next, and Mr. Private Investigator Man responds, "You make adult movies. You tell me what comes next." And what comes next is...

Roam-eo and Jew-liet vie for rapidly declining face time. Hiding in plain sight in broad daylight in a public park (good one, folks), Jew-liet breaks up a spirited round of Take Your Daughter To Work Day, telling him, "You don't even care that I've got presents for you." Ooh, presents! First, in an actual, wrapped box...Adam's shoe. But I thought it was gone forever. Clearly a thorough investigation of the contents of the bottom drawer displays that this was not the case. But Jew-liet tells Adam that she found it under her bed. But that's where he was. He was under there for hours. Not. A. Lick. Of. Sense. It's rare a show goes so far out of its way to make sure there are continuity lapses that easily could have been avoided. For the other present, Jew-liet insists that Adam close his eyes, and she runs behind a tree and pulls out a cell phone. A small bag in front of Adam's closed eyes begins to ring, and he takes out a picture phone of some kind with Jew-liet's smiling face beaming back at him. He becomes concerned when she tells him that it's a gift for him, and he tells her he can't accept it. And, fight. Adam's parents say cell phones "are for business, not teenagers." Yeah, that's what my parents said about the Commodore 64, but my ability to override them and play Pogo Joe all day gave me to the cognitive reasoning skills to sit and stare at my computer all day, generating thousands and thousands and thousands of words out of a near-canceled television show that has the same depth of plot as, say, a Commodore 64 game of Pogo Joe. So to them I say, "Load, Shut Up And Deal, 8,1," and accept your gift like a gentleman. But no. Adam doesn't want to "take anything for granted," which Jew-liet infers to mean, "Like I do." Dear Drama Queens: Different side of the tracks. Break up. This will never work. Love, Abby. P.S. Maybe you can meet someone at a church picnic?