“We don’t shit where we eat. Or eat where we shit,” says Nancy to her boys, one of whom — Silas — is resplendently shirtless as he waters pot plants in his great-grandmother’s pink bathroom. (Silas is, let’s just say, no longer a boy. His rogue grandfather has even nicknamed him “Portnoy.”) “I’ve taken a shit on mushrooms,” Uncle Andy later declares as he whips batter in the kitchen. “And on a mushroom, actually.” There were, appropriately, a lot of references to shit this episode; our crew is deep in it.
“Did you know Mrs. Hodes is in jail?” Shane asks Mom over the phone as she waits at the Mexican border wearing a tie-dyed minidress and stilettos. “She got busted for a pot house. Your pot house, Mom.” “Hey honey, I’m kind of busy right now,” says Nancy, who, indeed, must go and explain the drug run she has undertaken to a border cop tapping on her window. “Are we safe?” asks Shane, his role as purveyor of truth–slash–voice of doom amping up this season. “Of course we’re safe,” says Nancy, promptly hanging up.
Mrs. Hodes — Celia — is having a pretty awful time of it, and her ex-husband, ex-lover, and lesbian daughter are relishing it. “Dean’s downstairs hitting on some frumpy chick who dug him in law school,” Doug tells her through the glass, “and he wanted you to know he’s sorry there’s no money for bail.” It’s all very hilarious … until it’s just cruel. Celia’s cellmate, Cheetah, has made Celia “her special girl,” giving her a tacky makeover, and Celia whispers that her “life is in danger” as she tears up through the makeup encrusted around her eyes. Celia may be the wicked witch of Agrestic, but how far can our irreverent crew take this before we start loving them less?
Well, we do still love them. They are still excessively pretty, excessively snarky, and their ungodly existence is still endlessly delicious (“We can hear the ocean,” says Nancy. “How great is that?” Shane: “That’s Silas watering his pot plants.”) But how much shit is coming down the pipeline? With Nancy peddling drugs across the border, Silas gardening, and Shane mopping up his dying grandmother’s … shit … it’s starting to look — in the words of Celia’s flaky, frumpy lawyer — as though everyone is “fucked like a stray dog in Chinatown.” —Emma Pearse