Where's Waldo?

Episode Report Card
Couch Baron: A- | 4 USERS: A+
Out Of The Woodwork

The MMA fighter has gotten his cut and found it wanting, so the tracksuit-sporting guy who, I guess, is putting on the whole show tells him that he's new, and as such may not be aware that people bet less on fighters they don't know. MMA asks how he knows he's not being shorted, and Tracksuit, who's got a bit of Matthew McConaughey in him, says he doesn't, but MMA's the one who approached him looking for action. The fedora-sporting tough (good look with a sleeveless shirt) then sidles up and slides his shirt open to reveal his sidearm. This being a strong enough argument for MMA, he asks about the "other thing" he wanted, and Tracksuit tells him he'll make the call as soon as MMA has the money. "Until then, get your white-trash ass off my property." Coming from Tracksuit, I'm not sure I'd take "white trash" as an insult...

...but whatever the case, MMA doesn't seem like he's in the best mood when he exits the property, which makes the timing of two goons who apparently bet on the other guy harassing him fairly suspect. They ask him to reimburse them out of his winnings, which I don't think is how betting works, and this leads to the bigger of the goons getting knocked out in approximately 0.43 seconds and the smaller one trying unsuccessfully to flee. MMA gets him in a chokehold, and AWESOMELY, the guy tries to tap out, which at least gets a laugh out of MMA but doesn't save him from his punishment of "raccooning," which involves two punches that will result in shiners soon enough. Considering the guy's lying on the ground barely able to breathe, he'd probably agree that all things considered, he got off easy.

Our boys and dad are in the car, and, irritated by his snoring, Art wakes Raylan up. Raylan points out that no one has approached the mailbox they're staking out, but Tim tells him, "You were snorin' really loud." Somehow I bet Lindsey doesn't mind so much. After some typical three-way banter with an edge, Art asks where Raylan was the day before -- as I pointed out, he was gone from the office for rather a long time -- and says he's been keeping "addict hours," almost like the baby's already been born. Art asks Tim to back him up, but Tim, awesomely, declines to take sides, and I admit it's a pretty close race between Raylan and Art as to who I'd less rather have mad at me. Art, however, breaks the tie by threatening Tim with morning prisoner transfer detail, so Tim admits that Raylan has seemed a little tired. "Smart money in the office pool is on exotic dancin'." That's some pretty genius money, there. Raylan asks Art what he thinks he's been up to, but Art replies nothing, because he knows that Raylan knows it's against the policy of their office for him to do anything on the side. Even blogging? Damn, I was looking forward to reading Raylan's bon mots about his day. Then again, I'm sure he can come up with a clever web pseudonym. Speaking of clever, Raylan shifts the focus by mentioning the expensive whiskey Patrick brought by, and brings Tim into the conversation as he supposes that Patrick is after Art's job, which is why Art's out there with them now. He offers that they can talk about it, but Art has to focus Raylan's attention on the fact that a boy of about thirteen has just pedaled up to the mailbox on a bike.

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