After bundling up his own trash, Bruckman goes to collect the garbage from his old-lady neighbor. She insists on giving him a gold lighter and smiles, sunnily, before tripping off to get the trash. Bruckman looks down at Old Lady's yappy little fluffy dog. Suddenly, he gets a vision of the dog chowing down on Old Lady's entrails. "Get out of here, you monster!" he orders the dog, as Old Lady comes back with her trash. "You have enough supplies? Enough dog food?" he asks. The dog eyes him.
Bruckman trucks out to the dumpsters to throw away the garbage. When he gets to the metal bin, he stops, looking sick. He starts to turn away, then thinks, and turns back. "Oh, God," he says.
Next thing you know, the police -- Mulder and Scully in tow -- are on the scene. A be-ringed hand hangs out of the dumpster. The cop hisses that Yappi predicted the next body would be dumped! Mulder and Scully roll their respective eyes, and Scully asks who found the body.
Our intrepid agents scamper upstairs to talk to old Bruckman, who just sits in his recliner, drinks his scotch, and regards them balefully. Scully points out that Bruckman said he didn't touch the body. But he reported that he found a body with the eyes cut out. If he didn't move it, how could he know that? "Well, they had been, hadn't they?" Bruckman asks. Scully's all, yes, that was my point, old-timer. "Then what are you complaining about?" Bruckman grouses. Mulder wonders how those eyes were cut out. "By a piece of crystal ball, of all cockamamie things," Bruckman spits, then starts sputtering that, you know, it just figures that the lunatic would assault the fortune teller with her own crystal ball. Scully cocks a delicate brow and asks Bruckman how much he knows about the recent slayings. Just that some nut's been killing fortune tellers and ripping out their eyes and entrails, Bruckman responds. That's the name of my new punk band, by the way: Eyes and Entrails. But, see, it turns out that the entrails bit had been kept out of the newspapers. Bruckman grouses that he never reads the paper anyway, because it's too depressing. Mulder and Scully exchange glances, and Mulder asks Bruckman to come with along them....
...to the crime scene, not the police station. Mulder opens the door to the Doll Collector's Domain, as Bruckman insists that he didn't kill anyone. Mulder calmly comments that while he isn't a suspect, Mulder does think Bruckman can "see things" about the crime. When I pause the tape to go make a sandwich, Scully's making, like, the most disgustedly skeptical face ever. It's vintage Scully. It's a beautiful thing. Bruckman acts all confused, and asks to see their badges again. "I'm supposed to believe that's a real name?" he asks Mulder. "Hey!" the Mulder action figure says, offended, from over at the action figures's summer home, atop the window air-conditioning unit in my living room. His hair is blowing all over the place and his tie keep whipping up and hitting him in the face, but at least he's cool, which is more than I can say for the Scully, who has chosen not to join him, having two weeks ago walked in on the Mulder and my red-patent-leather-clad Britney Spears doll in a rather compromising position. The Mulder keeps yelling across the room to the bookcase that he was just helping Britney with her power yoga, but for some reason, the Scully doesn't buy it. She's spent almost the entire summer with her back turned to the living room. Bruckman looks at the bloody doily on which the most recent batch of eyes and entrails were found, and then races out of the room to hurl. Scully's skeptical of Bruckman's psychic powers, but Mulder believes. How extremely unusual. "Something's telling me this guy's for real," Mulder says. "Oh, so now you're psychic?" Scully asks, as Bruckman comes stumbling back into the room. "The killer doesn't feel like he's in control of his own life," Bruckman begins. "I mean, who does, am I right?" But according to Bruckman, this guy sees himself as some kind of a puppet in the hands of fate. Mulder wonders whether Bruckman gets a visual impression of the perp; Bruckman doesn't. He looks down at the point on the carpet favored by the Stupendous Yappi and stares and stares. "He's having sex with her, there," he says, looking perturbed. Scully asks if it was rape, but Bruckman shakes his head. "Sometimes, it just seems that everyone's having sex except for me," he says. Mulder and Scully look at their feet, like, they're all, dude, we aren't. Or are we? Mulder wonders why the killer is murdering people in the way that he is. Bruckman looks at the dolls and shrugs and wonders why any of us do the things we do. He picks up one of the dolls, whose head is suddenly nasty and decomposing and, like, skinned-looking. "You'll find a woman tomorrow morning," he intones. "By the fat, little Nazi stormtrooper by Glen View lake. Her body is floating in Glen View Lake. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I've seen enough deaths for one night," he says, putting down the now-normal doll and leaving the room.