Meanwhile, a leather-clad Bobby Bacala pulls up in front of a bar that might as well just be called "Irish!" for all the green lettering and shamrocks it's sporting. He heads inside, and sits down beside some random guy at the end of the bar. Pretending to be nothing more than a nice guy with a friendly interest in the joint-fitters union, Bobby strikes up a conversation with the random guy, who turns out to be the shop steward for Local 184. The conversation quickly turns to an upcoming election, with Bobby questioning why anyone would want to vote for Dick Hoffman over whatever Hoffa progeny may be running against him. "The pension has been ripped off for the last twenty-five years," explains Mr. Steward. Which also explains Junior's interest in the election. "You look like a smart guy," replies Bobby, who suddenly looks almost, well, menacing even. "I can see why your local puts their faith in you to do the right thing. I'm just saying, if it was me? I got kids that depend on me. Like yourself. And to waste my votes on somebody like Dick Hoffman, I might as well put a bullet in my head. Here…here…and here." Heh. Go Bobby! Get down with your bad self. Literally. He downs his drink in one swallow, drops a few bills on the bar, and walks out without saying another word. Mr. Steward just sits there and stews.

Oh dear God. Apparently not satisfied with simple product placement, the show is now running full-on infomercials for Body By Jake. Adriana is home alone watching TV, clearly coked to the gills. Christopher comes in, and she jumps up to greet him with a kiss and a hyperactive offer to make him some scrambled eggs. As she cooks, a cigarette dangling precariously from her lips, she watches Christopher take out his gun and hide it in the closet. Then she suggests that they move to California. Yeah, right. That'll happen. Christopher shares my disdain for the idea, pointing out that she's burning the butter. "Let's be honest," she says. "What's our future here? You could end up in jail, or something horrible could happen…someone could have it in for you, you wouldn't know." Christopher gets angrier and angrier through all this, replying, "Fucking negative shit coming out of your mouth. I had that fucking bird watching me when I got made. I'm already under a what-do-you-call-it, possibly. So stop with that." "I worry about you, that's all," whispers Adriana. "I love you so much." "So if you love me, stir my eggs, okay?" he answers. Heh. That's almost, but not quite, the line of the night.