Dave crashes from his trip, Steve gingerly perched near him. "Oh my God, Steven, I really thought I was in that ninja game," grins Dave. "I almost killed you. I was really going to kill you." Steve agrees. He knows there was a demon spatula in that kitchen, bearing his name. "And the irony of it is, you don't even look like Yasu," explains Dave with amazement. Coughing, Steve awkwardly asks about their papers, which naturally aren't complete. Dave decides he'll forge a doctor's note so that they can get extensions, but Rachel and Steve have already commenced hyperventilation. Feeling a surge of courage, Steve decides he will be a big boy and write his paper all by his grown-up self.
Frosh Pit. Shaggy sits cross-legged on the bed and lovingly fondles his wad, which, I note, he has not blown. Heath plops down on a chair and intones that he earned a whopping eighty-nine cents. Welcome to the first ten years of your acting career, Heath. I'm overcome at seeing Heath and Shaggy in a room together -- don't they know they're supposed to be in separate subplots? Ron is disgusted at Heath's failure. "All you had to do was get a few hundred dollars! How hard is that? Didn't you see Oliver?" he fumes. "That little bugger scammed people all over the place!" The bickering continues until Ron rather brilliantly calls Heath "Puss in Boots," at which point I'm laughing too hard to notice that Shaggy's got some lines here. Basically, he's caressed the wad long enough, and is ready to release it. "I even laid it out in a briefcase and pretended I was getting a hostage back, you know?" he grins. Aw, except ew, Shaggy suddenly looked so much like Tom Green right then. It passed, but for a moment, I wanted to weep. And so, bored, Shaggy tosses his wad at Ron, who gleefully catches it and wastes no time spending it on his dish guts stock.
Steve, Lizzie, and Rachel seat themselves in the Frosh Pit lounge and dig in for the night, ready to tackle their papers. The following all-nighter montage may be one of my favorite montages yet, and since it's currently 3 AM while I type, it's not without a prick of relevance. Rachel begins by gingerly highlighting a few lines in her textbook Steve, his nose buried in Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, decides, "This isn't that bad!" Lizzie dumps coffee and Coke into an enormous bowl. "This is actually really good," Steve says, now reading the CliffsNotes. Rachel meticulously paints her fingernails with liquid paper while Steve proclaims, "Anthony Hopkins reads this great!" and waves a book-on-tape of the Rand novel. Forming a long chain of colorful paper clips, Rachel is shown wearing not only several such necklaces, but a giant papal-style hat fashioned from legal paper and florescent Post-It notes. She looks like the Queen of Office Depot. Lizzie gobbles caffeine pills and swigs her Coke-and-coffee brew. Rachel's highlighting has hit a manic level; she's marked every line of every page, reducing her textbook to a giant, soggy yellow mess. Steve nibbles a pen, which promptly explodes blue ink all over the corner of his mouth. "I just read fifty pages and I don't remember a word of it," Lizzie giggles. "There's...it's not a test, it's a paper," she then babbles. "I think I'll...go back...or maybe...I could flip ahead. It's like my body's awake, but my mind is asleep." Her speech is strung together from a series of quick cuts underscoring her jittery state. She's a caffeinated monstrosity. "I'm going to take a nap!" she announces, too loudly. Cut to her looking completely catatonic, eyes open but body unmoving. Rachel jogs her awake. Steve leaps awake, too. "Anthony Hopkins is yelling!" he shouts, wiping blue ink all over his left cheek.
Dumbfounded, Ron stares at his monitor. Heath and Shaggy are agitated. "This sucks, Ron!" shouts Shaggy, evacuating his mild-mannered persona in favor of a mildly apoplectic one. "You don't know what you're doing, do you?" Ron begs them to ride out the trough. "It's happening! It's going up!" Ron celebrates. Heath freaks when it hits twenty-two dollars and demands that Ron sell everything. Wee Warren Buffett balks, deciding he'd rather wait and see how high the shares might climb. "Don't get greedy, Ron!" Heath shrieks, shoving his roommate away from the computer. "Sell, you bitch, sell!" He clicks frantically until the transaction is complete: Their profit is $27. Ecstatic, Shaggy says, "Divided by three, that's eight bucks to wrap around my wad, baby!" What I find most hilarious about this scene is that no one corrects his math, or even acknowledges its inaccuracy. I'm convinced that's intentional, and it's subtly brilliant. Heath tackles Ron to prevent him from fondling the mouse and clicking away another fortune. Shaggy laughs, but chokes that off when he notices the stock rising...and rising...and rising. Note to the young people: the stock market is seriously fucked. The More You Know.