Meanwhile, over at the Thompson house, Roger attempts to compliment Janet with "Now that's rosy perfection!" but she deflects him so she can talk about her mad hostessing skillz -- and rosy perfection salad. After Janet straightens his tie -- because she can't ever, ever let the poor man alone -- she heads down to the basement to get the sterno fuel. Too bad for poor Ricky that he's down there selling off Bruce's old stash of girlie magazines.
Cut to a very funny tableaux at the Millers' doorstep: two abashed teenaged boys, one tightly furious Janet holding her Tupperware before her like a shield, and Roger, holding a big cardboard box. Janet bites off, "Can you get Bruce, please? There's something we need to discuss." As Bruce stops dead on the stairs with recognition dawning in his eyes, Susan innocently inquires, "What's in the box?"
Cut to the boys on the couch. Facing them: Roger, Janet, Susan and Bruce. Susan starts: "First off, you are to apologize to Mrs. Thompson right now." Janet steps in: "Rick. After you finishing helping set up for the party, you are going immediately to the basement and cleaning it top to bottom. Seeing as you like filth." Susan: "And you're grounded. You're not to leave this house for a week, young man. Is that clear?" The women then take off, expecting the dads to explain why having a big box of porn is so wrong. This should be good, considering the big box of porn belongs to one of the dads.
Bruce starts with, "Guys, you messed up big-time." You stole something that didn't belong to you. Something that, in fact, belonged to ... me." And there goes his righteous indignation. Roger steps in and bails Bruce out: "It's what you stole that's the problem ... boys your age are very impressionable." Bruce tries to regain relevancy: "You shouldn't be looking at girly magazines! You could be scarred for life." This lets the guys segue into airbrushing, and break the news that the girls in the magazines have been processed beyond the parameters of human realism. Roger says, "The point is, some day you are going to meet and fall in love with a woman, and as a gentleman, it'll be your job to treat her with respect." (Side note: Bruce is looking at Roger like this is all news to him too: "What is this 'respect' of which you speak?") Roger continues, "Real women laugh, and cry, and grow old, and have families. The girls in these photographs are just a fantasy."
Meanwhile, Janet is busy chopping up pigs in a pickle -- no castration symbolism there! -- and asking, "What's wrong with your husband that he would even need that smut? It must be a nightmare for you." Ten bucks says that after Roger dies, Janet gets a bill from a self-storage place and discovers that he's been curating a library of some of the vilest pornography ever produced. Susan dismisses Janet's prudery. Janet says, "Roger would never bring that muck into our house." And why should he, with A1 Storage out there? Susan asks skeptically if Janet looks in every drawer. Janet most certainly does; she dismisses the idea of respecting a spouse's privacy with "Why would Roger need privacy? We're married." I'm telling you: an entire storage locker, with a lounge chair and a collection of H.R. Giger-meets-Tom of Finland erotica, and quite possibly a string of severed human ears from all the bums he's kicked to death over the years in an effort to keep from exploding. That is what Janet is going to find when she goes into that storage facility after Roger's death from a heart attack in 1986.