Just as Ron makes headway with Lizzie, Steven opens his Bible and begins to read. The sweet light of Heaven prepares to rain glory and wisdom upon him. We fade to black wondering why Coldplay was the background band of choice for this transformation.
The good thing about this episode not airing is that we were spared commercials for the offensive programming FOX didn't cancel.
Steven's metamorphosis is complete: he is now wearing a sweater vest. Apparently, that's the sign of true, pure piety. He's reading the Bible, until he looks up at Heath with a serene smile on his face. "Have you ever read The Bible?" he asks. "It's awesome." Heath is cocooned in his bed, wrapped in a scratchy brown blanket, his hair mussed and greasy. "Very moral," continues Steven. "Kind of like eight Star Wars episodes in a row." Um. Clearly he hasn't yet seen the train wreck that is Natalie Portman in the two new episodes. Even the cast of 7th Heaven can feign interest in the scripts better than she did. Heath argues that The Bible is a crock of shit: "[It's] just a bunch of stories made up by rich people to stop poor people hitting them on the head with a stick and taking their money." Steven finds that horrible. "I agree. It's a catastrophe," Heath wails. "How can you say that?" Steven asks calmly. "Who do you think created everything? Is it a coincidence that music sounds pretty, that water turns into rain?" He's positively glowing with the radiant light of the sweet baby Jesus. "That our butts are down here, and not on top of our head?" Steven continues. "God's work is everywhere." Heath wants him to shut up. "God doesn't exist, okay?" he shouts. "Nothing matters. You may as well just do whatever you want, whenever you want." Steven would prefer to love his neighbor. Literally, yes, but here he's actually just quoting from scripture. Heath nods. "You are right, you are right," Heath says. Steven is delighted. "And I will start by nailing that little sophomore hottie at the party tonight," Heath concludes. Steven shoots him a hilariously condescending expression, lit by his new profundity. "Now, I don't think that's what it means, do you?" he asks, gently scolding without losing his weird smile. "Tomato, to-mah-to," Heath sneers.
Apparently, Shaggy's connections in the housing office are none other than P.B. and the Samoan. I had expected it to be Perry, since he turns up everywhere and does everything and nothing, but oh well. I'm just as happy with these loons. Rachel begs P.B. and the Samoan to make Larice's application vanish, but the Samoan is afraid of getting fired. Shaggy -- blatantly wearing a pink-and-electric-blue-plaid shirt yet making no apologies for it -- leans forward and begs them to reconsider. As a bribe, he offers them his most prized possession -- a compilation tape of 250 nude scenes he's taped from cable stations since he was eight. It's his lifelong project, and he's sacrificing it for the Poochy Party Palace. How tender. P.B. excitedly asks who's in it. "Holly Hunter," grins Shaggy. The Samoan looks repulsed. Rachel panics, sensing their plan is about to implode on Holly's scrawny back. Shaggy tries again, this time offering Katie Holmes, Ashley Judd, and Richard Gere, "if that's your thing." P.B. and the Samoan exchange decidedly not-repulsed glances, because anyone who got Ronned by a gerbil is okay with them. "Jamie Lee Curtis, Trading Places," Shaggy continues. "Must've been cold that day, know what I'm saying?" They all laugh brightly. The Samoan wants Alyssa Milano, and Shaggy gleefully says he got all her best stuff from Poison Ivy 2 without any of the painful plot. Rachel's all, "Whoaaaaa!" to convey how impressed she is, and to amp up the supposed value of the video.