Inside the house, Tony and Carmela admire the ocean view while the real estate agent (named Virginia Lupo, which one can only assume is another lupus-related sickness pun) provides all the necessary exposition. It seems that the house has actually already been sold, but the presumptive buyers are having trouble coming up with financing. Since Tony would be offering cash (wink wink, nudge nudge), she thought there might be a chance they could swoop in and grab the place. Then she waves to the current owner, who lives next door and is standing out on his porch with the preppy over-the-shoulders sweater look, doing his best Bob Ross impersonation. The owner offers just enough of a jaunty wave to let us know that he's an asshole, and then the scene ends.

Courtroom. Sigh. The most boring trial in the world is finally wrapping up, with the judge proclaiming that the jury is unable to agree on a verdict. Man, you know things are bad when you actually start missing Judge Ito. Even so, the judge insists that he's going to instruct the jury to keep trying. Junior is furious, but F. Lee Melvoin reminds him that they have to let things play out. The jury is brought back in, and while the judge drones on about civic duties and whatnot, we get several shots of the other jurors rolling their eyes at the one dude Thin Guy targeted with a threat last week. Extended airtime is given to the only other juror with a SAG card here, just so that we'll recognize her later on. Meanwhile, Junior affixes Threatened Juror with his best Mr. Magoo death stare. Hee! "I'm going to ask you to reason with each other," continues the judge, "and apply the law, and come back in here with a verdict."

"If not, I want to move on," metas Tony into his phone. Heh. Even the writers know how boring that subplot is. He's standing at the Chez Soprano front door, paying off a delivery guy for a large order of Chinese food. Mmmm, General Tso. Conspiracy theorists, take note: this guy is absolutely NOT Jesus Rossi. Tony carries the food inside, and is soon joined by a still sickly-looking Carmela. She's concerned that they can't afford the house with AJ's college bills coming up in a few years, and Tony chooses to reply by saying that the other buyers seem to have found their financing, rather than commenting that tuition at Hoboken Vo-Tech probably won't be much of a burden for them. While Carmela OCDs about the proper placement of knives and forks around their plates, Tony is furious to discover that their order is missing the "goddamn mother-fucking orange peel beef." AJ wanders in, clueless as usual, and wonders what it is that the grown-ups are talking about. When he hears about the house down by the shore, he's thrilled. "Un-fucking-believable!" he exclaims, shocking his parents. To be fair, I was shocked too, but only because I was desperately hoping to hear him say, "What, no fucking orange peel beef now?" "You're fined three dollars for the F-word," nags Carmela, using a parenting strategy that, if applied to Alan Ball, would likely generate enough revenue to mean that HBO would never have to place products again. AJ's defense that he heard Dad swearing as well doesn't earn him any points, as Carmela insists that she's going to "make this policy work." "It's too late," replies AJ, just to show that the grown-ups aren't the only ones who get to be meta.