Cut to The Prick Doctor, filming a Bob-Dole-esque commercial for his services. He's interrupted to take a phone call, and despite his protests, Tony orders him to come help treat Furio. Cut to a back room somewhere, where the Doc digs deep into Furio's leg to remove the bullet. Furio, still fresh off his Florida-thin victory over Bobby Bacala in last week's polling, solidifies his grip on your collective hearts by doing that which the Little Lord has thus far failed to do: taking off his Fuckpants. Heh. He's wearing blue skivvies. Man, even this guy's underwear is funny. Not that I was looking, or anything. Oh, to hell with it. My love for Furio transcends conventional gender boundaries, and I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit it. Heck, I even feel the same way about Mario Lemieux. Not Jagr, though. I just can't bring myself to love a man with a mullet. Anyway, The Prick Doctor triumphantly removes the bullet, leaving Furio to swear some more as the pain overtakes him. Outside, Chris demands retribution, saying that if he finds Jackie Jr., he's "doing him tonight." Tony says that's not going to happen, and Chris demands to know why. "Because he's Jackie Aprile's son?" he asks, demonstrating his previously exposited willingness to get in Tony's face. Tony delivers a line of bull about not exposing themselves to Feds, and Chris calls him on it, reminding him that "[he] preach[es] this wiseguy bullshit, and then the only ones that gotta follow the rules are us." There should probably be about a hundred [sics] in that last sentence, but I can't even figure out where to start. Tony grabs him by the lapels and presses him against the wall, demanding that while Chris "doesn't have to love [him], [he does] have to respect [him]." I hope that my excessive use of brackets in that one will make up for the previous lack of [sics]. Chris storms off into a time-lapse shot of the sunrise, and then the scene is over.