Spencer picks up from the Speidi Web. Spencer is already jealous that he is sitting on his office and not on a banquette full of leg-spreaders. Brody invites Spencer to Hawaii. Spencer lies and says that he's in Vegas. Heidi asks why Spencer lied, and he says he didn't want to explain to a drunk person in a loud club over the phone that he was going to go to couples therapy. It's fair, really. You know the first thing Brody would do is give a five-minute oral report to everyone, fabricating details where necessary. He probably wouldn't even successfully hang up his iPhone before screaming out, "Yo! Listen up, homies! Spencer's a puss--" And there would be Spencer, sitting there sadly, journaling about his feelings and his flaccid penis. But I digress... Heidi tells Spencer that, if he wants to go out to da club to catch syphilis from one of Hugh Hefner's Wednesday girls, he should just go right ahead. The subtext being that she will lord it over him until the day that she sends him into an early douche grave. He reads it loud and clear, for once not taking the bait, and says in a defeated tone that he wants to wait to discuss it with the therapist. She replies back curtly, threateningly, that she cannot wait to discuss it with the therapist. Therapy = Chinese water torture, apparently.
Back at da club, Audrina keeps stewing over the whole JB thing. Why, God why? This is almost as bad as the A-holes! Oh, and who is that I see in the distance, what with his vaguely Joaquin Phoenix vibe and squiggly lines emanating from his body? Why that would be JB, of course! Even Audrina is all, "Seriously, Adam DiVello? I mean... seriously?" (Because she talks in Grey's Anatomy speak circa 2006...)