Back upstairs, Matt approaches Andy and tells him how he's been freaking out because no one remembers Tim Batale. Andy: "Who?" Matt's all, "Tim Batale. 1998-99. Oxford shirt. Khakis. Wes fired him for popping pills." Andy doesn't recall anyone getting fired for that reason. Well, no kidding. Matt gets agitated and says that this is "unbelievable." Andy, blessedly nonchalant, says, "Well, show me his picture," and points to the staff group photos on the wall. Matt stares at the picture wall for a bit before twitching and saying, "Oh." Then, he looks to the left and sees Jack Nicholson in the cast photo from 1921. Then he drops his coffee mug, and the bottom of it reads, "Kobayashi." Then he realizes that, though it seemed like it, Tim Batale was never really conversing with Toni Collette at all. Then Helena Bonham Carter sticks her head inside the doorway and calls Matt "Tyler." Then he realizes they're not really living in the 1800s at all, they're all just creepy Amish separatists, but nobody's really buying that, and Matt realizes that he's gone too far. Matt tells Andy what Delilah of the Substance Abuse said before, but he's vague enough not to come right out and say he's been popping pills. Andy asks what he's staring at, and Matt says, "Me. I'm wearing an Oxford shirt and khakis." Are we all caught up now? Andy...could not care less. I love him. He pats Matt on his shoulder and trots off. Matt continues to stare at himself in the photo. And that's when the tinkly piano of the score from the awesome movie Brick starts to play, which is just the perfect note to go out on. Matt returns to his office, pops a few pills, and lets the screen fade to black.
Next week, the lovely Kim will be your tour guide while I'm navigating Fox's annual decision to cede all its programming hours to American Idol. And then I was supposed to return for the last episode before the sweet embrace of indefinite hiatus, but then hiatus got bumped up a week. So who knows when we'll meet again? Summer? Never? Direct-to-NBC.com? I'm counting on The Black Donnellys to make sure the answer isn't "May sweeps." Godspeed, you Irish street toughs.