"She could have fucking died," sighs Old Tony, ending the flashback. Then he starts to cry a bit, before muttering, "fuck her." Melfi asks if he ever assigns any blame at all to his father, who was after all a criminal, a liar, and an adulterer. "Listen to me," she tells him. "This is very important. Your mother had her faults. But after all this time what should we do with the old woman? Have an auto-de-fe?" What's an auto-de-fe, you ask? Well, it's what you oughtn't to do, but you do anyway. "You need to forgive her and move on," continues Melfi. And for a moment, it looks like Tony actually might. But then he hardens, growling, "She made my father give my dog away." He totally excuses Dad for giving the dog to a girlfriend, and gets in a further jab by asserting that Livia would have had the dog gassed if it were up to her. Which is probably true. Man, there are just no good guys here at all, are there?
IHOP again. Chris and Tim pull up in Timmy's Z-3, Chris driving. A quick phone call reveals that the car's book value is $17,000, which he's knocking off the principal Tim still owes. You know, I've been thinking about buying that exact car now that I've replaced term papers with recaps, so I'm glad to know they can be had so cheaply. Or maybe BMW just wasn't quite as generous as Cadillac. They sit in the parking lot as Tim sadly signs over the title and laments the fact that he truly loved the car. "I'll see you when you get out," promises Chris. "We'll figure out the rest of the payments." Ah, Christopher. Ever the professional, that one. "You can do this," he adds. "I have faith in you. There's no chemical solution to a spiritual problem." Ah, Christopher. Ever the doofus, that one. Tim recycles his incredulous expression from their previous scene, and then gets out to head off to rehab and a remake of Regarding Henry.
A random doctor's office. Junior, Tony, Janice, and Bobby learn that Junior's medicine isn't working anymore, and so the doctor recommends that they adjust the dosage. Uh, yeah. Could you maybe add a little Benzedrine? I'm snoozing over here. Junior ends his sub-plot for the week by delivering the following sob story: "My life is death. I'm living in a grave. I beat prison, and for what? I have no children. Will somebody please explain this to me?" You know what's weird? That could totally be my story, as well. My life is death on this show, I live in a grave on Six Feet Under, I beat prison on Oz, and I'm still waiting for someone to explain Carnivàle to me. And, oh yeah. I have no children. Maybe that's because I never married.