Suburbia. A drunken Detective Haydu pulls up in his car to the strains of "Lady Marmalade" (original recipe). He makes his way into the house, and manages to tunelessly sing, "Hey Joe, wanna give it a go?" before Christopher pistol-whips him across the back of the head. After a long, creative, focus-pulling shot allows him time to regain consciousness, the Daddy-Killing Diner Pirate wakes up to find himself handcuffed to a banister while Christopher reclines on his couch, smoking a cigarette and watching Magnum P.I.. There's some banter in the usual "I'm about to kill you" vein, and then Christopher scores yet another zinger by calling the former Mrs. Daddy-Killing Diner Pirate "a real vile twat" for cleaning the guy out in their divorce settlement. Since this is The Sopranos, there's also a giant stuffed fish mounted on the wall. Of course, if this were Six Feet Under, that would have been a picture of one of the cast members pissing. Or possibly a giant bong. The scene ends with the DKDP denying any knowledge of either Jilly Rufalo or Papa Moltisanti.
At yet another diner, Tony and Bobby Bacala are sitting down for a late-night snack. Bobby is eating a steak with onion rings. Tony is having scrambled eggs with no oil and tomato slices. Heh. Only The Sopranos could ever make me laugh at a shot of a guy putting salt on his eggs. They discuss Bobby's promotion, and the big guy actually displays some backbone by claiming that it was long overdue. This, of course, inspires Tony to further coat his own backbone with cholesterol and nitrates by ordering a steak for himself. At this point the conversation delves into the show's only outright acknowledgement of September 11th, with Bobby bemoaning the fact that his mother "really went downhill after the World Trade Center." Of course, in the show's own inimitable style, Bobby quickly follows that up with, "You know, Quasimodo predicted all this." Bwah! Tony steps in to establish the difference between Quasimodo and Nostradamus, and then further elucidates between Nostradamus and Notre Dame. "It's interesting, though, they'd be so similar, isn't it?" wonders a not-at-all bashful Bobby. "And I always thought, okay, Hunchback of Notre Dame. You also got your quarterback and running back of Notre Dame it's interesting, the coincidence. What, you gonna tell me you never pondered that?" Bwah again! But then -- what about the fullback of Notre Dame? And the punter who kicks to the touchbacks of Notre Dame? And let's not forget the track team, which probably also carries the camelbacks of Notre Dame. I'm just saying. Tony sighs in frustration, and I'm reminded yet again that every time he tries to get close to someone, he's somehow stymied by the conversation. And whenever someone wants to get close to him, he's always too angry to realize it. Hey, wait a second. Why am I psychoanalyzing Tony? Oh, yeah. There hasn't been any Melfi yet. Well, where the hell is she? This shit ain't easy, you know.