First of all, I'd like to give a big shout-out to Jorge. Jorge is this seventeen-year-old dude who lives in the projects near my apartment. He comes over once or twice a week and lets me sexually service him -- and sometimes a couple of his cousins -- in exchange for drugs. After a long hard day of recapping The Real World London, nothing restores my dignity and sense of value like popping some straight porn into my DVD player so that Jorge will have something to inspire him while I give him a hummer. This week, Jorge came over with some plastic tubing, a couple of Pyrex beakers, and a box of Melita coffee filters to show me how to stretch out the last of the pharmaceutical-grade cocaine I was able to score from Dr. Rabinowitz by cooking it into freebase form. It was just like You'll Never Eat Lunch in this Town Again after Spielberg removes Julia Phillips from the set of Close Encounters and she spends the next few years in a small room in her basement cooking up freebase and getting slapped around by her much younger boyfriend. I thanked Jorge for providing me with this exciting non-bourgeois experience, and although he doesn't speak English, I could feel tenderness in his hands as he pushed my head down so that he could keep watching Candy Stripers III.
B-roll of some neo-classical-style buildings in London, a Union Jack flag blowing in the breeze, and the outside of Attention Deficit Manor. Mike is making cold calls in a last-ditch effort to line up a race-car sponsor. He is wearing a forest-green long-sleeved t-shirt and, thankfully, a baseball cap. Apparently, racing season starts in a couple of weeks, and Mike has neither a car nor a team. Wow -- that's surprising considering all the time and energy Mike's been putting into getting a sponsor. To top it all off, Mike's dad is coming to visit. Before he leaves, he telephones Mike from the U.S. and makes a bitchy remark about not needing to bring Mike's racing helmet with him since Mike won't need it. If I were a more sensitive person who wasn't, in fact, heading straight to hell, I'd make a compassionate comparison between Mike's father and the "man" that Mike turned out to be. But since my hatred for Mike is so visceral, I'm all, "Go, Mike's dad!" Mike asks his dad whether he may raid his trust fund for the money he needs to race. Mike's dad tells him that it's his fund and that he can do what he wants with it, but that Mike will have to come home and handle the transaction himself. Mike asks his dad whether he's really mad at Mike for going to England. Mike's dad denies that he's mad. Mike points out that he's always made to feel guilty every time they talk. Mike's dad denies intending to make Mike feel guilty. In another lifetime, Mike's dad was clearly one of those Jewish mothers who says stuff like, "No, I'll be okay. I'll just sit here all alone in the dark and think of you." "I think that you're going to have fun," says Mike's dad. "But you have to deal with what the end result is." He wishes Mike "luck."