David Chase: Hey, you know what would make this show better?
George Lucas: Ewoks?
Aaron Sorkin: Latin?
God: Not calling me "feckless"?
Gerald Levin: I don't know, but I do know it ain't the UPN.
Ronald Reagan: I say jellybeans.
Mikhail Gorbachev: Nyet! The proletariat demands vodka!
John F. Kennedy: Come on, guys. It's gotta be strippers and free meat. Or maybe that little hooker thing.
David Chase: Uh, actually I was gonna say continuity, but you know, whatever.
Michael Imperioli: Oh yeah, yours is definitely better.
David Chase: Listen, Chris, you don't have to kiss my ass anymore. You're not getting whacked.
Michael Imperioli: Well, in that case, screw continuity -- I wanna bang Balk next season.

Oh, don't we all. Anyway, Fairuza, who's now in character with the big hair and trashy clothes, runs into Adriana in a dress store somewhere. Adriana is looking for something "dressy, but not evening. You know, muted?" Judging by what she considers "muted," I'd hate to see what would happen if her amps went to eleven. Balk suggests a little black number, but Adriana demurs, saying she needs something for a funeral. When Fairuza learns that the dearly departed was only twenty-two, she asks if it was a car accident, only to be told that it was in fact a murder. Now this is where I would have politely ended the conversation and walked away, but unlike our young FBI agent, I'm not getting paid to listen to Adriana babble. Oh, wait. Never mind. "Anyway," she says, "the last time I went to a funeral, my boyfriend bitched me out over what I wore. It was his boss's mother's wake. I said, come on, you think Tony noticed for even one minute what I had on?" Fairuza's eyes light up at the mention of Tony, but she still keeps nodding her head and cracking her gum. As the sales clerk watches them and thinks, "I could so spit on a whore from this balcony," Adriana grasps her heel in pain, causing Fairuza to exclaim, "I'm the same way! I love Blahniks, but they were killing me last night." She suggests that they get a cup of coffee together, and the girls merrily depart the store, chatting about footwear all the while. The only thing I know about shoes is that you're apparently not supposed to wear wingtips with jeans, so despite the fact that the MBTV style guide also has an unwritten rule that I'm not supposed to mention Tomato Nation all that much, on this subject I simply must defer to the master. ["That's goddamn right." -- Sars]