So, Lady Doctor says it may not be "healthy" for Little Lady and Charley to be married, and Adam / Charley says Little Lady was always saying her father (the midget Frohike) was "a great man" and that Charley could never live up to him, and it bummed him out. The Lady Doctor says, "Our work can continue…it's not too late." Dude, Little Lady is all like, sniff sniff, don't let me stop you, really meaning, I love you! Come back! Adam is all like, hell, plug me in, meaning, if she won't grovel, I'll just be stubborn and refuse to make my own choices or be responsible for my own life anymore. Marvin tries to comfort Little Lady but she cries and cries. Marvin has something to gain by Adam's absence, no? Adam is just a schmuck. Not nebbishy at all like I first thought. Little Lady is really getting screwed here. Her tears are real. The Emmy goes to her.
Back at the Lone Gunpad, Byers is typing in the headline for this week's paper: "THERAPY OR THOUGHT CONTROL?" Not sexy enough, in my opinion. Jimmy doesn't know how to spell his name, I mean, if he wants his name to go on the story now. Dude, since when does taking the call mean you get a byline, anyway? In Fantasy-Newspaperland? TV-Paperville? Fauxjournalismhocken? Did he write it? Can he write? No, because Jimmy doesn't like how the story ends. Frohike says, "You're a journalist!" Cough cough, sorry, NO, he is NOT. Frohike continues, before I fake-interrupted, "You write the story, you don't change it or it's outcome." Yeah, that's what REAL JOURNALISTS are supposed to do, but you guys? Are like, crime-fighting journalists. With a van. And, you know, are politically motivated to change the system. Righty tighty, lefty loosey, and stuff. You are not just regular journalists. You do pratfalls, but in costumes, and you know kung fu. Come. ON. Jimmy points this out a little differently, and Yves looks all soft when she asks, "How would you end the story?" Jimmy says he'd make sure Adam and Little Lady hook up because "it seems wrong when science gets in the way of love." Frohike and Langly shift and groan. I just gag and think of the Jack Daniels in the other room. A whole bottle! So, what are they going to do about it? Hold on, let me get the bottle.
Back at the "Hobbes Research Center," Adam drops willingly into a tub of blue goo (ooh, rehabilitation flavored!). Lady Doctor looks all evil, grabs her pitchfork and horns, and moves her hair away to reveal not the number of the beast, but an electric component of her own. The goo thickens. Sorry.