City Council. Celia is making a presentation with Modine's scale model when Doug blunders into the room. Celia tries to force him out, as it's a closed session, but apparently the other council members have devised a scheme where one (Mitch) will resign his seat, the other three will vote Doug as interim holder of that seat, and Doug will give Mitch's landscaping company domain over all the shit-highway-adjacent landscaping. This all happens in the span of about two minutes, which is awfully efficient for bald-faced corruption. Instead of scowling, Celia really should be taking notes. She pledges checks and balances and oversight for this, Doug's second reign of not-quite-terror, but everyone else just laughs in her face and applauds as Doug busts out the vodka. Make 'em pay, Celia. Make 'em all pay.

Nancy returns home with celebratory ice cream because she just got a job as Modine's executive secretary. Shane smiles as big as a canyon at the news, though the modd is brought down considerably (and a little hilariously) as U-Turn calls and bitches Nancy out for not getting him his money from that brick yet. U-Turn's in the middle of a massage ("Fuck, Yevgeni! Not so hard!") and Page Kennedy is still a total cut-up in the role, which helps lighten up the constant and repetitive barrage of "Bitch, get me my money!"

So now, faced with the task of really having to move this brick, whether or not she has a DEA agent stalking her at the moment, Nancy calls up Rent-A-Cop from Season 1. He's still pants-shittingly afraid of her, as evidenced by the fact that he forgets to bring the money with him to the meet. He tells her to wait while he goes and gets it. While she waits, an increasingly paranoid Nancy looks around the campus and sees everyone as a potential narc. Also, everyone looks to be about thirty-five years old. I mean, continuing education is rad and all, but where are all the kids wearing pajama pants? Nancy gets super freaked when she thinks she sees Fundas's car lurking around, so she takes off.

Meanwhile, Andy and Rodriguez have been sent to the middle of the California desert in full fatigues in order to, says Rodriguez, see if they get spotted by some newfangled tracking drone or whatever. Which gives them both plenty of time to fuck around (not literally), which leads to Rodriguez's bright idea of photographing each other lighting their farts on fire. ...Okay, maybe they will end up literally fucking around. Andy thinks he's working on a real good one, but Rodriguez sees something flying their way, and before you know it, Andy's bare ass ends up splattered with Rodriguez's blood, as the drone plane zooms directly into the middle of his chest. Oh, man, now who's gonna kill the towelheads for cool America? Andy, gobsmacked and afraid, grabs the phone (equipped with a tracking device, dumbass), and takes off running into the desert.