"Sadly," Eric says, addressing him again, "This information is of no use to me. Not now, anyway." Lafayette feels shitty for having given it up. "I understand dealers of vampire blood sometimes trade product with one another across state lines," Eric says. (This phrase recurs throughout the script this week, maybe on purpose maybe not, but the idea of crossing boundaries is always so huge with vampires, and there's the whole thing with Mr. Hamby's door alarm, and Jessica crossing from girl to woman. And there's Jason standing on the line between hate and salvation, unsure if he's a saint or a traitor, beloved or hated; and then plus you got Maryann literally crossing the lines between states, vibrating men into animals and dancing upright citizens into who knows what and generally dancing back and forth across the line that separates us from God, so maybe not so coincidental.)
Eric asks if Lafayette has any buyers in Dallas, and there's only one, nameless: "I have an e-mail address. Pussylover9@gmail.com." (Possible shemale.com; either way, Pam's amused. She laughs at Chow and even spares Lafayette a smile before going back to combing out the blood.) "A friend of mine in the Dallas area, his name is Godric, has gone missing. Now, while the circumstances of his disappearance are unclear, it stands to reason his blood would be very valuable, as he's over twice my age and ten times the vampire I will ever be." Pam chides him for his attempt at humility, and Eric spikily informs her that it's not humility, it's just true. "Your associate, this... Pussylover. Has he or she mentioned any new product coming on the market?"
Lafayette swears no, and swears that Eric knows he'd be honest if he did. Eric nods, clipped, and tells Chow to take him back downstairs, and there's a rather undignified splayed-out Sylvester the Cat attempt on Lafayette's part to stay put, but to no avail. His grip on speakers and lightswitches is no rival for Chow's vampire strength. "You gave me nothing," Eric hisses; Lafayette continues begging to differ long after they've forgotten all about him.
On the bus to Jesus Camp, Jason tries adorably to sing along to their weird anthems and chants ("We all come together as one/ Bound by the glory of the sun / Our mission here has just begun/ We won't stop until our work is done") which, as in any good cult, are the secret glue that keeps everybody together and feeling good. They cheer and high five each other, and Jason grins like the sun because he loves singing, but they leave him hanging. Enter Luke McDonald, a giant of a young man, who hits his palm and slides in next to him. "No relation to the restaurant," McDonald introduces himself, and Jason laughs. "Okay, any relation to the farm?" Luke doesn't get it, which is unrealistic but not as unrealistic, in Jason's experience, as meeting somebody dumber than him. Needless to say, Luke then attempts to bond over football.