"Oh, Judah! Stick it in me!" He can't believe she said it. "Judah! Pork me with your hot tool!" He can't believe that either. I can. I work for the internet, I know these ladies well. They have ideas about anal sex that are laughable at best, they are sheltered enough to think incest and rape are sexy and fun, and they have a real problem understanding the difference between imaginary behavior and acceptable real-life behavior, because they never had a single object lesson. And inside each dowager's hump is contained pictures of Jared Padalecki buttfucking Robert Pattinson, and the vast knowledge that since no hot tools are likely to come a-porking, this second life and the constraints they've placed on their own fierce imaginations will probably have to suffice.

Asks MagsLothlorien, "Should I suck you?" And Studmuffin69 reminds her strongly that that's not what they did, once upon a time, while watching a hobo cough up a hairball, or maybe vomit. He's right, she says, and flips over on hands and knees, shouting his name with her rump in the air, and then -- as one homeless cops a shit against a piller and a third scratches his crusty dick -- Andy whispers to himself, over and over, Copenhagen Copenhagen Copenhagen, tattooing Nancy's breasts across a wide expanse of floral-printed polyblend, and bends to the task.

When the knock comes at Sundusky's door, he's ready, with a baseball bat. "Hi, Nancy Botwin," she smiles widely. "Shane's mother. Could you put down the bat? Thanks." She hands it all over, the "instrument thingie," the Ray-Bans, the rollerblades. "And a replacement animal companion. It's an iguana. They eat grains and fruits," Nancy explains brightly, while his mouth codfishes. "Birds carry germs. Major turnoff for the ladies." She turns to Shane. "I'm sorry I killed your cockatoo. He was an innocent casualty of youthful vengeance." Shane says he's learned a valuable lesson about the destructive power of firearms, as his mother nods, so the bird's death was not in vain.