Chez Mars. Keith is paging through the Hearst student newspaper and lamenting the giant ads for drink specials at the local bars. The fact that college kids drink having clearly thrown him for a loop, he turns to Veronica and asks if the bar that served our friend Kappa Kappa Pavement -- The Break -- is known for serving underage kids. Veronica utterly narcs out, saying it's known as "The Cake" for how easy it is to get into, but all the bars around Hearst are pretty lax about carding. She hastily, and unconvincingly, adds that she only knows this through reputation, not experience. Keith looks sober -- no pun intended -- and ponders how he's going to be able to free Neptune from the scourge of Dollar Draft Night.
At the Neptune Sheriff's Station, Sacks is passing out copies of a list Keith has compiled of bars that've been known to serve underage kids. Keith instructs the horde of cops that he wants them to perform "surprise checks" on all the bars on this list, tonight. A heretofore unseen flatfoot, who looks far too much like Craig Bierko to not be a jackass, cracks that the list looks like his credit card statement. "Gentlemen," says Keith with utmost seriousness, "Jim Wilson was nineteen; I want this taken seriously." And when he puts it that way, I guess it is a tragedy. Poor nineteen-year-olds. I guess we can't expect them to possess responsibility or self-control or the ability to walk home without dying. Only on one's twenty-first birthday do those virtues descend from on high, brought forth by God's messenger St. Paul. Or, if you'd rather, the St. Pauli Girl. As the cops disperse, Bloated Craig Bierko pulls Sacks aside and asks if Keith was like this the first time around as Sheriff. "I wouldn't test him," Sacks warns. Oh, Sacks. Such loyalty to Keith. Don Lamb must be spinning in his grave that nobody visits.
Neptune Middle. The teacher tells her class that they have a guest speaker today, and it's Veronica, who will be "conducting a survey about gun awareness for her college Criminology course." Clearly, Veronica's looking to ferret out her honor student. Some mop-topped brat asks what a criminologist does, and Veronica takes the opportunity to remind us that she's considering a career at the FBI. The kid brats that Veronica's a girl and girls can't be FBI agents. Man, I wish this kid and Papamira would go grab a beer at Tipsy McUndergrads and discuss their antiquated anti-feminist views, and we could forget this whole stupid episode. Alas. Veronica tells "Ronald" that girls actually develop faster than boys and "have higher levels of cognitive functioning, including math calculation, written language, and verbal fluency." Ronald: Whuh? Veronica: "Well put, Ronald. We need firemen, too." I should get all up in arms about Veronica's ignorant and elitist sarcasm right now, shouldn't I? I'll do it once I can get out from under the weight of the rest of this episode's crushing platitudes.