As Eric stalks out, Lizzie runs weakly after him, but stops in the common room. "You ruined my life!" she accuses Rachel, who fails to point out that the whole penetration thing was pretty much Lizzie's decision from start to finish. Rachel feels terrible, and Larice pipes up that she's very sorry Eric cheated on Lizzie. Naturally, Rachel corrects her and explains that she accidentally blew the whistle on the fact that Lizzie blew Steven's whistle. "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time," Larice notes, critical of the fact that Lizzie's wrath is directed at Rachel and not at her own damn Eric-betrayin' self.
Kyle and Greg wait in the Chariot of Fire, unsure why Eric left them there. "We can't back him up in the car," Kyle complains. Greg is more concerned with the Filet-o-Fish smell tainting precious oxygen inside the car. I'm concerned that people still eat the Filet-o-Fish. Kyle wants beer. "I bet you there's some beer up there," he whines. "Let's just go up there and get it."
Shaggy and Ron are hanging out in the Frosh Pit. Heath enters and makes them swear to take down Eric if he arrives in search of Steven. "I'm from Canada," protests Ron. "We don't take people down." Not unless you're Wing Chun, baby, and someone's ass is romancing her boot. ["That's goddamn right." -- Wing Chun] Heath accuses "you Americans" of being wusses when it comes to fighting, which I attribute to the high cost of emergency care in this sweet nation. Heath's ramblings about the hard life in London's East End win an unimpressed stare from Shaggy, who just wishes everyone would leave him alone until the writers come up with something befitting how fabulous he is. "Are you two men, or pretty little ladies?" Heath levels. Ron raises his hand. "Pretty lady, right here," he says. "I'm a pretty lady," Shaggy agrees. Easy joke, but flawlessly executed. Ron blurts that Steven deserves a good mangling. "He should take his medicine like a man," Ron argues. "Let Eric beat his head in...and he'll have a new brother in his manhood." Um, I don't think there's room for two in Steven's manhood. Just then, the Goon Squad enters and ask to wait for Eric in the Frosh Pit. Heath tries to act tough. "Why would we let you wait here for Eric?" he glares. The Goons reveal that they're over twenty-one, which I presume means they're offering to acquire beer, because if beer's already up there, age wouldn't be a real issue. This makes me smile, because there's so much beautiful beer in my apartment right now. If there's one thing that's stuck with me after high school and college, it's the enormous importance one should place upon the acquisition of beer. Beer is fucking great. The only thing better than beer is junk food and beer.
Steven, still in the storage room, flips out when he hears that his archenemy stole the glorious neon key to academic mediocrity. "My paper's due tomorrow," Steven panics. "If I could just explain..." Heath sighs. "It's true," he replies, archly. "If he knew why you had sex with Lizzie, he'd be fine with it. In fact, he'd probably let you do it again." Indeed. Certainly, Lizzie would pop open like a champagne bottle. Steven frets that he's not exactly a finely honed fighting machine. A perfect exchange follows: "In every man resides a fighter, Steven," Heath intones. "Where? Does he hide in my ass?" Steven retorts. Well, there are worse things that could hide up there -- like Brussels sprouts, for example. Nasty little buggers. Heath wonders if Steven loves Lizzie. "Of course I love her," yells Steven. "I'm in pain every single day because I love her so much. I hate being her friend." But, he notes, he can live with sexual frustration if it means not sparring with Eric. Heath takes a deep breath and engages in some mental masturbation. "We were born to commit murder, Steve," he ejaculates. "We're all cavemen." Steven considers this, impressed.