Melfi's office. Aerial shot of Melfi looking very sixties with much too flippy hair. Tony is all gut in a paisley number as he slouches in his chair. "Do you wanna tell me what you're thinking?" Tony rolls his eyes and sighs, "Believe me, you don't wanna know." She eggs him on with her smartypants look as she drapes herself all over her chair in her beige sweater set. Way too much leg, Jennifer. "You wanta know what I'm thinking? Seriously? I'm thinking I'd like to take a brick and smash your fucking face into fucking hamburger." "Okay," Melfi responds, with a face that indicates she just wet herself. Tony feels bad and takes it back, saying she shouldn't worry, he knows he broke her coffee table before and it's not going to happen again. "But you'd like to smash my face," Melfi pouts. "Not really, it's just a way of describing how I'm feeling," Tony explains, but Melfi is hurt. "Do you think making hamburger out of me would make you feel better?" Tony launches into a speech about why she won't let it go, and is it a woman thing, and he's just telling her how he feels and now she's going to torture him with it, and he doesn't even know why he asked to come back into therapy with her. "I got the world by the balls and I can't stop feeling like I'm a fucking loser" is his punchline. Melfi perks up at this. Eureka, Oedipus! "Who makes you feel like a loser, your mother?" Tony doesn't plan on talking about Livia right now, and tells Melfi they've "wasted enough oxygen on that one." Everything and everybody is bothering him. "I see some guy walking down the street, you know, with a clear head. You know the type, he's always fuckin' whistlin like the happy fuckin' wanderer. And I just want to go up to him and I just want to rip his throat open, I just want to fuckin' grab him right there and pummel him for no reason. Why should I give a shit if a guy's got a clear head? I should say 'ah salut', good for you.'" Jesus -- Tony's got issues, but Melfi doesn't seem to be listening. "Let's get back to smashing my face," she says with a snotty sneer. Miss Parker chuckles, but shares Tony's exasperation. Tony slides down in his chair and releases an AARGH! noise. "No, I think it all ties in!" she screeches desperately. Tony cuts to the chase: "All right, sometimes I resent you making me a victim, that's all." He starts blathering on about the kind of strong silent type of men he admires, like Gary Cooper. I like to take them out for a nice meal, have a little too much to drink, and then...never mind. He didn't say that. I'm just tired of this scene and want it to end -- the whole happy-wanderer theme is annoying. I don't enjoy envisioning Tony in lederhosen. He goes on to whine and complain and confess about how all Americans whine and complain and confess. He calls them pussies. I loathe that term. It's right up there with that c-word that means the same thing. "And now I'm one of them. A patient," he goes on, saying "patient" in a fake girly whiny way. Somehow Melfi finds it pertinent to express the thought, "Your parents made it impossible for you to experience joy," at that moment. Tony's incredulous, so Melfi backs herself up and continues, "You said yourself you're not the Happy Wanderer." "Well, I'm more like one of them assholes than the fucking jerkoffs and douchebags I see leaving this office," Tony replies, and Melfi's body language sing-songs na-nanny-boo-boo at him. Progress? I think not.