Leo "In A Coma, I Know, I Know, It's Serious" Johnson sits outside Earl's cabin in the woods, whittling some kind of long, wooden sticks for an as yet unascertained reason. Earl strolls outside, accompanied by the most enormous gut I've ever seen on a televised man not clinking a frosty beer mug and proclaiming "Da Bears!" over and over and over again. Man, am I kickin' it with the early 90s references today or what? Earl sings a ditty about holding a girl "in his arms," though from a wingspan-to-girth-ratio perspective, that seems like a physically impossible endeavor for him just at the moment. He congratulates Leo on a "good job," looking out into the woods and demanding, "Fly to my breast." I…nah, too easy. Earl tells Leo that he hopes he's been paying attention as he affixes a pointy arrow to the end of the wooden stick and warning Leo, "Nature is cruel." Actually, I believe the correct word you're looking for is less "breast" than it is "manboob."

Hank lies in the quiet comfort of the one jail cell in the back of the police station. A pair of legs in a waitress uniform carries Norma into the room, and she launches in after a vague hello with the unmistakable message, "Hank, I came here to ask you for a divorce." He knows how self-destructive he is and tells her he wants to go into therapy. "I don't want to be like this anymore." She sardonically tells him that his story is "very interesting," but insists she needs to get on with her life. He leans into the bars and asks her for one favor: "I want you to tell the Sheriff that I was at the rest stop the night that Leo Johnson was shot. I was on my way home. I can't prove it, but you can." Norma tells him that she won't cover his ass anymore, and he raises his voice ever so slightly in offering her the deal: "You give me my alibi, and I give you your divorce." Brows are furrowed and minor chords deployed. He grabs her arm through the bars and she rips it away. "I didn't come here to negotiate with you. This is it. It's over." Hank goes for the jugular, telling her, "You're his whore, Norma." And thus, Legs looks him straight in the eye and delivers the defining Peggy Lipton line for a generation of leggy women with ambiguously evil imprisoned husbands to champion for time immemorial: "I'd rather be his whore than your wife." The crowd of me goes wild. Norma doesn't let the door hit her in the ass on the way out as Hank rattles the bars of the cell, screaming her name after her.