Ways You Know You've Been Watching Too Much Television -- #2: You keep cross-indexed, alphabetized lists of shows that feature an opening narration.
Fade up on Furio, looking forlorn as he sits in the Chez Soprano kitchen. Carmela makes coffee and tries to comfort him as Furio explains that his father is sick with cancer, and that he's flying out to Naples to be with him. He's so distraught over this news, in fact, that he barely even notices when Carmela practically pokes him in the eye with her cleavage. So much for that added frumpiness, I guess. Tony comes downstairs to join them, and after chastising Furio for not having left yet, he makes a show of offering his underling some cash for the trip. Furio declines, and apologizes profusely for not being able to drive Tony that night. Then his father keels over and dies. Fade to white.
Just kidding. We actually cut to someone else driving Tony, and much to my delight, it's Paulie Walnuts. Tony, however, doesn't seem to be enjoying his colleague's return all that much, mainly because Paulie repeatedly insists on holding a conversation about colostomy bags. I don't know about you, but I've found colostomy bags to be right up there with politics, religion, and Ralph Cifaretto's sex life on the list of things people never want to talk about at parties. But maybe I'm just going to crappy parties. Anyway, Paulie is concerned that his mother might need a bag for herself once she gets settled in at Green Grove, but Tony would rather find a different topic for discussion. Or, as he puts it much more succinctly: "For fuck's sake, Paulie. Everybody's gonna get old and die." Well, then. Thanks for the update, Mr. Crankypants. A suitably chastened Paulie asks if he'll be driving Tony the next day, but Tony declines, citing a sensitive and highly important business meeting he has planned.
Tanned and rested after a lengthy visit to Disneyland with his new boyfriend the Rally Monkey, the Ironic Segue Fairy shows up for the second scene in a row, cutting us to a golf course where Tony and his lawyer are doing some sensitive and highly important putting. Tony has done well to leave himself with about a two-foot putt for par here, but I have a hard time believing that anyone whose primary form of exercise comes from whipping wayward state assemblymen could have the requisite upper-body strength and control to display that kind of touch on the green. I'm just saying. He and his lawyer discuss a bunch of stuff we already know, and Tony once again repeats his desire to run the business through Christopher, because he doesn't want to "celebrate [his] daughter's first kid in prison."