Back at the firehouse, we are treated to further shots of Sean's too-tight-jeans ass, standing at the stove making Ramen in the middle of the night. Montana sits on the counter, her whore boots planted on the opposite counter near the sink. Ugh. Turn off the Cooter-cam, please. She wants Ramen. He pretends he is not going to give her any Ramen. They flirt in the most lurid, drunken way available to those pretending to remain members of the human species. No, really: "Have you ever watched Jane Goodhall's films? The female monkeys, I swear to God, will lay down and masturbate in front of the male monkeys to get them to give them oranges." Hey. I have about seven different flavors of Ramen in my apartment right now. And sadly, not one of them is Maalox-flavored. Guess how much I don't want to eat any of them?
All hands on deck the next day (well, except Syrus, whose apparent understudy in the firehouse is a skinny white boy who appears to be a pool-playing friend of Genesis. My, what a convincing decoy). Kameelah tells Sean she thinks he likes Montana "in a sexual way." Kameelah calls up thirty flights to the pool table, asking Genesis, "Did you hear something about Sean wanting to have sex with Montana?" Genesis claims that she heard Sean wanted to have sex with her, Genesis. It was a joke, Sean. Put Mr. Mojo away where we can't see him. For one second. It might require investing in a new pair of jeans, perhaps the ones down in the "baggy" aisle you probably didn't even know existed. But trust me, you'll be doing us all a favor.
What's that? You say Kameelah isn't afraid of approaching guys and telling them exactly what's on her mind? Eh? You don't say. Good thing, then, that we're seeing it in action all freakin' over again. After an interminable silent travel montage, Genesis and Kameelah step off a T train. Walking down the platform, a man whistles at Kameelah, which is apparently shorthand for "give me a pointless speech about how women need to be respected. Got that, perfect stranger?" And so she gladly obliges.
Over in the same exact laundry sequence from Episode 3 (the cracks begin to show when you watch every scene forty times, Bunim and Murray. I've read your book, you magnificent bastards), Genesis sits in a monosyllabic stupor as Montana preps us that Vaj is coming this weekend. Oh, good God. Montana says, "I wonder how he's gonna respond to being in the house." Silence. Genesis: "You're kidding." More silence. Hey, throw those cameras back toward the drying laundry, would you? I feel like there's a better chance of something happening over there.
Dear Vaj: WE KNOW YOU KNOW YOU'RE ON TV. You can meander from your hilarious prepared material ever so slightly now. It's killing me. And, for time immemorial, in the history of American culture and the future of our society as we know it, it's killing you, too. And here he is. He immediately pegs himself as doomed to die a slow, character-assassinated death in front of the remaining awake viewers of the Boston season as he walks into the firehouse and seals his fate with the entire production team who will in turn make him look as bad as possible, commenting upon looking at the house that "it's kinda small." And so speaketh the giant five-foot man. He puts his bag on Montana's bed, and Montana's confessional admits, "I think I was feeling a little uncomfortable. A little nervous." Cut to five seconds later, where Vaj lazes extraneously around the house while undertaking the unachievable chore of making Sean look better than somebody (he succeeds, with strident bravado to spare). Vaj shows off a tattoo of, like, a giant dripping hand (I don't write 'em, I just recap 'em), and when Sean feels forced to indulge him in conversation, he asks about its origins. Get a load of this I-memorized-this-jocundity-on-the-Greyhound-bus-up-here reply: "I got one of those big, industrial size Cracker Jack boxes. And those have extra big prizes in them. And this one was, like, a big tattoo. So I just pressed it on. And the damn thing won't scrub off." Ha. Ha. Ha? Sean's confessional tells us that he thinks that Vaj is "on the outside limb of the tree." Is that a log-rolling metaphor? I think I missed it. Speaking of which, Vaj next asks if Sean and his log-rolling compadres "have cool lumberjack nicknames, like Rolling Sean and Scalin' Joey?" Again, ha. Sean tells us in a confessional as such: "I don't dig Vaj at all..." Well, Sean I couldn't agree with you more if... "...and I think that Montana can do better." Whoa, there, lumberjack. Slow down the ol' confessing and give me a chance to agree with something you say for once. Cut to an unflattering shot of Vaj laughing like a hyena. Oy. The cutting room floor called. It's wants Vaj's entire visit back.