Back in the Western, Herc and Carv are sitting in an unmarked police car discussing grave matters of great import -- namely, whom Herc would agree to have a homosexual dalliance with if it meant he could have his pick of any woman in the world with which to have a sexual encounter beyond polite description. Two thoughts on this. First -- yes, ladies, the menfolk actually do have conversations like this, only ours are much, much fouler since we don't have David Simon and Richard Price to pretty up our dialogue. And second -- shouldn't whatever poor bastard Herc settles on have some sort of veto power on this subject? Herc is reluctant to participate in this mental exercise: "The minute I name a guy, you're gonna be like 'I knew you were a cocksucker from the first time I laid eyes on you.'" Carver ups the ante: "Both Olsen twins. Ashley. Kate." "Mary-Kate," Herc corrects him, a little too angrily. "And, yeah, I admire their body of work." Well...I suppose that's one way to view The Adventures of Mary-Kate & Ashley: The Case of the U.S. Space Camp Mission, though probably not something you should probably publicize to a law-enforcement officer. Anyhow, Carver reiterates that the theoretical pleasures of the Olsen twins can be his, if only he names a guy. "I'm not catching, I'm pitching," Herc insists. Herc, I think we're all going to insist on that.
Back to the dogfights. The dogs fight. It's very unpleasant. But the one who should be really complaining about this is Cheese's dog, who winds up on the losing end of the decision. Cheese picks up the dog's body, walks over to the check-in table to retrieve his sidearm, goes behind a van, and a gunshot rings out. I am sad to report the gun was not fired to create a diversion so that the dog could escape and get nursed back to health on a farm.
We return to Point-Counterpoint, already in progress in the Western District. "Can't it just be like this unbearable-looking woman?" Herc wonders. "You know, like that old tune from the Golden Girls?" That is a terrible, hurtful thing to say about Bea Arthur. "The short one with the Coke-bottle glasses," Herc continues. My apologies to Bea Arthur. Anyhow, just as Carver insists that it must be a guy, Herc decides to hassle some passerby in a way that's not nearly so clever as he doubtlessly thinks it was. They also notice the crew from the Franklin Terrace moving into the neighborhood. Don't think too hard, gentlemen -- it might distract you from your purely theoretical explorations of buggery.