If there was ever any doubt – I’ll cop to – about doppelCoop = Bob, at last now we have confirmation that Bob is at least part of the evil lurking inside. Whether this makes any difference concerning the whereabouts of Dougie Luv’s soul vessel, I have no idea.

Part 5 was full of moments where you could really identify the ice creams you were there to sample, be they honey lavender or vermilion eggplant. You had Frank’s wife lamenting the growth of black mold spores, the key to the Great Northern (clean place, reasonably priced), and the three disaffected showgirls filing their nails on their chests. Never to play last fiddle, never in a million years, we have the late great Ernie Hudson making sure Major Briggs was gone but not forgotten. I love Jesus’s style.

So the coffee didn’t automatically snap our besieged colleague back into action but we learn that he still has that mighty appreciation for a cup of “damn good Joe.” Incrementally moving between interstates of awareness, we have to settle for baby steps as the worm hole lubes up for the wrinkle in time.

I somehow want to focus on the Dr. Jacoby deal. With two teasers to get turnt up to full climax of what this dude’s been up to, the time is now. Never a sympathetic character but rather a foil to lampoon his creator’s anxiety about the limits of psychiatry, Doc has morphed into a wildly pendulous pirate radio personality. He says virtually nothing of definition, content instead with an amorphous stew of buzz words plucked from the collective animus desperate for gut affirming answers. In this case, he also provides the tool. For a price. A shiny gold (read – orange) shovel by which to shovel your way out of the shit. So happy to squirm her way a little deeper into (hint – not out of) said shit, bat shit Nadine looks on as a most suitable customer. Cha-Ching