The Home Pool Hall of Lexitude. Lex is looking over some plans on his pool table, yet right in the middle of it there's a green ball (the solid "6"). Our old friend -- that sneaky reporter Nixon -- walks in. He's wearing a suit, which is unusual given that you can hardly even get most tabloid reporters to wear socks. Without turning around, Lex wonders aloud why Nixon is there, given there've been no three-headed cows born in Smallville recently. Nixon says that they need to talk. Lex says that he seriously doubts that. That ranks pretty low on the comeback scale, Lex. Nixon is mad that Lex gave a story to the competition, namely that blow-for-blow interview he did with ReporterHo that ended up becoming a business-front-page story in her paper. Nixon is mad that Lex isn't feeding him stories. How many "Lex is great!" stories was Nixon expecting to do? Nixon asks what ReporterHo did that Nixon didn't. Nixon gives Lex a little up and down look as he says it, and I come very close to awarding him a GAYLE. "She gave me a pretty mean shiatsu massage," Lex says suavely. Nixon looks a little uncomfortable. But he must not want it bad enough, because he doesn't offer to match her bid. Nixon says that Lex can mock all he wants, but that he's been developing his own leads. He fingers a manila folder as he says it. Lex pours himself a glass of OJ. Nixon says that there's a story in Smallville, and that he plans to make his name on it. Lex turns and tells him that the Kents are off-limits and under his protection. I like how Lex just assumed that was the story Nixon was pursuing. Nixon asks whether the meteors are under Lex's protection. Nixon says he knows a guy who had an interesting view of the meteors, and who saw something fall out of the sky. A meteor, maybe? Nixon tosses his envelope over. Lex asks why Nixon brought this to him. Nixon says he needs money and access and that, unlike Lex, Nixon keeps up his end of deals. I think Lex has been keeping some ends; don't worry about that. Nixon leaves. Lex looks at the contents of the envelope. It's a flyer for a crop duster named Eddie Cole. "Nothing to large [sic]. Nothing to small [even siccer]," it says.
Clark is sitting on the most phallic-looking tractor ever. Those big wheels in the back don't help, either. He's trying to get his motor started, but the big tractor's engine just turns. Clark messes with it, slaps it around a little, and finally hits it in frustration, denting a panel. You've got to ease into it, buddy. You don't want your big phallic tractor to turn on you, Clark. Bo walks up and watches his son in shame. He hops the fence and tells Clark to take it easy. The tractor has been in the family a long time. "Go beat your girlfriend," Bo wants to say, hoping to continue a Midwest tradition. "They usually haven't been around as long." Clark says that the stupid thing won't start. Stupid, stupid tractor! Bo stops Clark and asks what's wrong. Clark says that he's worried. Bo says he's sure Chloe will call soon. Clark is getting the old silent trip treatment. Serves him right for jerking Chloe around for so long. Clark says that with Lex's ass money, they can finally get a new tractor. Bo says he's not ready to give up the girl just yet. Or the tractor, either. Bo says he hasn't decided to deposit the check. Yes, he knows Lex is just trying to do the right thing. But something in his gut (last night's chicken?) tells him something's amiss. Clark says that Lex isn't perfect, but that slamming the door in his face repeatedly only helps turn him into that which they fear. (I see a huge door in Lex's future, slamming.) "When did you get to be so wise?" Bo asks. I laugh out loud. "Ask my dad," Clark says. "I'll sleep on it," Bo answers. What the fuck? What does that mean? Does Bo have to sleep on it to figure out who Clark's dad is? Maybe he does, now that I think of it. This sounded scarily like it was going to turn into a Platitude Throwdown, of which Bo has won several international championships.