And speaking of our old pal Pie, here's Tony, sitting astride his horse in the middle of the Soprano living room. "I think I want to come home," he proclaims, looking down at Carmela. She's relaxing on the couch, and she gets in some sneaky dialogue recycling of her own by replying that "there are some non-negotiable conditions." The first of those conditions is that Tony "can't have [his] horse in here." Except she totally says "whores" and not "horse." Heh. "Why not?" he wonders. Carmela: "Are you kidding me? The smell? The shit all over the place?" Tony: "I'll clean up after her." Carmela: "You always say that." Ack! So much subtext, so little time! Tony decides that he'll think about her terms and conditions, and then Carmela snarks that he's the one who brought it up in the first place. Yeah, but she's not exactly slamming the door on the idea, now is she? "I should go," says Tony, checking his watch. "You didn't take care of that?" nags Carmela. Tony unzips his jacket to reveal that he's finally found a gun, and then in a highly impressive display of equine acting, Pie-O-My backs up, turns around, and starts to head out of the room. You know, this scene kept bothering me for some reason, and it wasn't until the third viewing that I finally figured it out. That's actually not the Soprano living room, and I don't think it's even a room anywhere else in their house. I'm assuming they couldn't get the horse onto the set for some reason, so they just built a different one and used that. That is a damn fine horse, though.
Cut to a high school, Tony wandering through the deserted hallways. He stops in front of a trophy case, and angrily scans the awards as he attaches a silencer to his gun. Then he's suddenly in a dark and dingy basement, wandering through what looks to be a locker room of some sort. He eventually finds himself approaching a well-lit office, where a guy who could never ever be anything but a high-school football coach is working at a desk. Tony raises the gun to shoot, but suddenly the coach speaks up, shouting, "I know you're there, Soprano." Tony lowers the gun and enters the office, ignoring the coach's exhortation to "do it" anyway. The coach sizes him up once he steps into the light, and then notices the gun in his hand. "What's that," he asks, "a bigger dingus than the one God gave you?" Heh. And it's not half as big as the dingus of his Carmela keeps locked up in the closet. And she's not afraid to use it, either. Coach laughs and calls Tony a dumb-ass, and Tony replies that the coach had best show some respect, because Tony's not a kid anymore. "No," says the coach. Heh. Was that another fat joke? The coach reminds Tony that he tried to pull him away from his mob friends when he was still in school, and earns triple bonus points for managing to use the words "cleave," "bums," and "pissmeyer" all in the space of sixty seconds. Tony chooses, for some reason, to answer that by announcing that he's in therapy now. "That's a damn shame," replies the coach, before claiming that Artie was the worst of the bunch back in school, and that he kept warning Tony to stay away from him. Woohoo! Now that's a man after my own heart. "Artie owns a restaurant now," Tony tells him. "He's doing great." "Bucco?" laughs the coach. "So what? The exception that proves the rule." Hmm. Would that be the dumb-ass rule? "I suppose you blame it on your father when you're crying to that shrink of yours," continues Coach. "No, more my mother," answers Tony. Hee!