As "Hot Stuff" plays, Lizzie models clothes for Ron. "That's cute," he shrugs. She's basically wearing a shlumpy long-sleeved shirt over a t-shirt, which is one thing I love about Lizzie -- she's cute, but she's not shoving her boobs in my face. "Does [Steven] even think I'm pretty?" she frets. "He doesn't even notice me anymore." Ron encourages her to work her mojo, but Lizzie has apparently forgotten that she owns a water bra. "Send him 'yes,'" Ron suggests. "A lot of yes," she grins. "So much yes," Ron giggles. He's sitting near Lizzie's Eric lampshade, which is looking mighty frightening this evening. Lizzie changes her outfit by blousing the t-shirt and leaving the shirt hanging open. She poses and asks for Ron's opinion. He studies her. "Is that as big as your boobs get?" he asks. She gasps, then stares at them. "Oooh, I have a shirt for that!" she squeals. "I knew you would," Ron sighs in delight.
Loud music. Flashlights. P.B. The Samoan. It's all the ingredients of a really killer Dungeons and Dragons party. But there's other dancing people there to clue us into the fact that it's the Poochy party. In case we still hadn't made the connection, Shaggy shouts, "Poochy Palace!" Everyone cheers.
Steven's in his room reading The Bible. Elevator music plays in the background, because the sweet little baby Jesus loves synthesized easy-listening favorites. Lizzie enters in a moderately low-cut red shirt. "Here you are!" she gushes. "Party's over there, goofball!" She shuts the door and plops down next to him. "What'cha reading?" she simpers. "The greatest story ever told," he glows. "Cool," she nods. "Anyway, you look really good." Steven thanks her profusely. "No. Really good," she coos, flashing major fuck-me eyes at him. Steven smiles thoughtfully, convinced it's the warm cocoon of Christ that's buffed him up.
Shaggy and Rachel dance. "This is the best!" he shouts. "I know!" she yells. "We make such a great team!" Shaggy's hips throb. "Right!" he pants. "There's nothing we can't do...together." He moves toward her just as a giant, violent mosh pit starts. Rachel flips out about the metal music blaring through her speakers. Heath is in the center of the pit, moshing in his crusty blanket and knocking people over with his burning rage. Whatever. I don't buy that Heath ever thought life meant anything but a string of vaginas, and sometimes cookie dough.
Outside, in the girls' living room, Ron is watching Cable Girls Gone Wild with P.B. and the Samoan. "Damn," they breathe. "Suddenly I'm, like, a Melanie Griffith fan," Ron says, amazed at himself because that sentence has never actually been uttered before in civilized circles.