Schiff tells Shane to fill out the grocery list, and sadly is like, "Include some stuff for your mother, unless she's still trying to live on Doritos and Tab." Um, that sweet sweet kiss of a fourteen-year-old who just ate a bunch of Doritos. I hope this guy dies. Shane tells him to get over it and he's bouncing on this trampoline like it's sexy and he's all, "It'll take some time." Shane tries to explain, again and again, that they're leaving and not coming back, and then the Gummiberries hit and he starts bouncing all over the place, screaming. Literally, on a Skymall trampoline, and weeping. He stops being able to swallow and then his eyes start acting weird, and it peaks. It's like a command performance, if you find this stuff amusing.

Lars on dating Nancy Price: After high school it didn't fizzle, there were college break hookups. "Sometimes a faucet still drips after you turn it off." That's gross, but kind of sweet if you don't think about it too hard. Super accurate, either way. And it's true, you can't ever turn off the things that used to flood you. We're all the same ages we've ever been, and now Silas is learning that even in his boy narrative there are shadows and surprises: That the world was constructed around him, and now it's his duty to bring it down around himself. To know the world. This is the way it begins:

"I think I'm your son."

Silas stutters around it in circles, stops making sense altogether, winds slowly down, and finally Lars breathes and asks if he's talked to Nancypants yet. Of course not. "Mother of shit," is what he says, and yeah. Silas agrees. He apologizes and leaves, promising he doesn't want anything or anything, and thanks him for the beer, and leaves. It's pretty sad, either way, and they are both very good guys. Any other show, this would be the amazing point of the episode, but here it's just like this tiny real thing about men, sitting amongst all the crazy and the wreckage. Which is another way of saying Silas.

The address Mahmud gave Andy is his house. They sit upstairs and right away rule out American passports. "I could do Iceland, their economy has tanked and they're on fire." But he wants five grand and Andy only has three. Which pisses him off enough to say goodbye, because he's got to worry about the wedding of his daughter, who is running around screaming about her wedding. Fiancé? Hooman Jaka. Who is, among one presumes or at least hopes other things, Shi'a. "I am Jordanian Sunni, you think I would let my daughter marry a Shi'ite? To plant a tomato in a cornfield?"