03x05 - U.S. Male

[bunniefuu]

[bright tone]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

[thunder booming]

- "Neither snow nor rain nor
heat nor gloom of night

"stays these couriers

from the swift completion
of their appointed rounds."

So says the United States
Postal Service

in their sunshine motto,

adapted from the ancient Greek
historian, Herodotus.

Now back then, swift could have
meant a year and a day.

Now, it's 10:00 a.m.
the next morning, anywhere,

from here to Cochabamba.

People all over the globe
every afternoon

stand at their mailboxes,

wondering what
might be inside.

You never know
what to expect.

And in Oz, most times,

the best part is
the expectation.

[children playing]

Prisoner number 99C124,
William Cudney.

Convicted February 10th, '99,
m*rder in the first degree.

Sentence: life, without
the possibility of parole.

- She got an abortion behind
your back without telling you.

- I forget
what abortion is.

- It's when the baby
goes to heaven

without ever gettin' born.

So let me get this straight,
you aimed for the doctor,

but you got
the son instead.

- No, I aimed for the son.

You took out
the kid on purpose?

- Yeah.

Now that doctor
knows how I feel.

He k*lled my baby,
I k*lled his.

- [scoffs]

- What are you going to say to
him when you see him?

- Who?

- The doctor's son,
up in heaven.

I already know what I'm gonna
say to Dr. Nathan's husband

if they let me in.

- Hey, where the f*ck
have you been?

Come on. We don't got
a lot of time left,

put these on.
- No.

- Cyril, don't start with me.

- I don't want to box.

I don't have to box.

- Yeah, you do.

- No, Mr. Cudney
said I don't have to.

[eerie tone]
- Cudney?

- Yeah.

God doesn't
want me to box.

- Okay,
no boxing today.

- You're not mad?
- No.

As a matter of fact,

I think you should listen
to what Mr. Cudney says.

It's okay, come on.

- O'Reilly.

Have you come to join
our prayer meeting?

- Yeah.

"Woe is me, this is a sickness
and I must bear it."

First, you go and tell
my brother it's okay to box.

Then you promise me
you never talk to him again.

You got that?

I never had much use
for the Bible before.

You mind if I keep this?

- No.
- Yeah, I didn't think so.

- Hey, Gloria.

- Watch yourself, O'Reilly.

- Cocksucker.

- Yo, Bricks.
- O'Reilly, you're the only one

that get that sh*t right.

- You checking out
the competition?

- Man, they better pray.

My man Bricks about to wipe the
canvas with them Muslim b*tches.

- I don't know, man. I saw Khan
working out in the gym.

He's peak.

- So's my n*gga here.

- Let's go get high.
- Ah.

- Whoa. You think you ought
to be getting high

the day of your first fight?

- sh*t, yeah,
I'm like Tyson, man.

Know what I'm saying?
I party, then I fight.

Then I party some more.

[laughter]
- All right.

See you guys.
- Hey, baby.

Hey, Pancamo, put me down
for five Grovers on Khan.

- That's a big bet.

- I got money to burn, man.

Hey, Hamid?
- Yes?

- I just thought
you should know

that Wangler's been talking
trash about you and Said.

I think it's time you taught
that heathen homeboy

a little lesson.

- Don't worry,
I intend to win,

in the name of Allah.

Bismillah, ar-Rahman, ar-Rahim

- Yeah, whatever,
just kick his ass.

♪ ♪

[laughs]

Yeah, right.

[crowd chattering]

- Kenny "Bricks" Wangler!

And in this corner,
Hamid Khan!

Listen to me
at all times.

Touch gloves
and go to your corners.

Touch gloves and
go to your corners!

Ready. Ring the bell, Lenny.

[bell dings]

- Hit the body, Khan!

Hit the body, Khan!

[dark tone]

♪ ♪

[dark, percussive tone]

♪ ♪

[bell dinging]

- Hey, Bricks, nice one, man.

You're like Tyson, all right,
Cicely Tyson.

- A package
arrives unexpected.

You open it.

Sometimes it's a gift.
A bottle of vintage wine,

let's say, from a relative.

Sometimes it's
from the Unabomber.

Innocent looking box,
and it goes boom.

[ticking]

- Yo, some Muslims
f*cked with us,

now it's our turn
to f*ck with them.

Let's go.

- Yo.
- [whistling]

Yo, yo, yo.

I got a poem.

- You said what?
- sh*t, I got a poem, man.

Ever since I got
back in Oz, right,

I ain't been
writing no poetry.

But I got inspired by something
I saw the other day,

so this poem right here
is dedicated

to Minister Kareem Said.

[applause, shouting]

[booing]

That's it.
I figured you easy.

All you want to do
is get your palm greasy.

Capitalize.

See, f*ckin' America
been in your eyes

for more than 450 years.

And now you want to hide
your tears in your so-called

Allah-given mission
to help your brothers.

[crowd whooing]
Well, Allah gave me vision,

and I'ma tell all the others.

Talkin' about revolution.

What I saw,
that was revelation.

You frolicking
with the devil's maiden.

[crowd exclaims]

And now you happy 'cause now
you can manipulate her thing.

Well, I'ma
put you on to something

while we locked up
in here in this clink.

Why you trying to get us all
to the heaven above,

when she forget about
your contradictorial ass?

Heh.

Make sure you hide
them bloody gloves.

[crowd exclaiming]

[dark, percussive tone]

♪ ♪

- Allah--

- This has gone from a private
humiliation to a public one.

You disgraced us all.

- You have a choice, Said.

Her or us.

You either promise you'll
never see that woman again,

or you are finished.

- Finished?

- We'll choose
someone else to lead.

[tense percussive music]

- Patricia.

Tell me what's wrong.

- [sighs] I've been getting
these phone calls--

threatening phone calls--

demanding that
I stay away from you.

- Stay away from me?

- I saved the tape
from the machine.

I thought maybe

you might want it
or the lawyer, or somebody.

- Did you change
your telephone number?

- Well, yeah.

But I--
I can't just move.

What if they find out
where I live?

I--I just don't understand.

Why are they telling me
to stay away from you?

- Don't you worry about that.

I'll speak
with Zelman.

He'll know best
how to handle this,

how to protect you.

- I don't want to stay
away from you.

f*ck 'em.

Oh, God, sorry.

- No, you're right.

f*ck 'em.

Oh.

Tell me neither of you know
anything about threatening calls

to Tricia Ross.

Tell me.

Because whoever it was
will pay.

In this life or the next.

- [panting]

When I got married,

I got my wife's name
tattooed on my arm.

That's pretty stupid, huh?

Like a marriage is ever
gonna last

as long as
a f*cking tattoo.

I told Shannon
that I wanted a divorce

'cause of what
I feel for Gloria.

[chuckles]

I still love Gloria.

And I try to fight it,
but I can't.

She's under my skin, man.

She's under
my f*cking skin.

- Come on, man.
Look, I b*at the sh*t

out that m*therf*cker.
- You had some fun.

- All right?
- One love, one love.

- Getting your ass whipped.
[laughter]

- You ask us to help you take
out Wangler, Pierce, Poet.

Then you say wait.

- I don't want to k*ll them

or there will be a w*r between
us and the other homeboys.

I just want
to slow them down.

- He's right.

We got to make the deed
look like an accident.

- Poet and Pierce first.

I have my own plans
for Wangler.

- Kenny.

Kenny.
- Bricks, damn! What the--

Bricks, man.

- I need to talk to you.

- What?

- It's bad news.

Your wife's dead.

- What?

- She was sh*t,
execution style.

- Oh, sh*t.

- That's too bad, yo.
- Word.

Real sorrowful, Kenny,
real sorrowful.

- There's more.

- What?

- She was found in the apartment
with another man.

A Ronnie Smith.

- Oh, man, Ronnie,
that was my boy.

- They were found
in bed together.

Look, I've, uh,
scheduled some time

for you to see
Sister Peter Marie.

- My baby, how's my son?

- He's fine.

He was at your mother's
at the time.

- Amen.
- Thank God.

- Anything I can do?

- No, no, no.

Look, do the cops know
who did this sh*t?

- They think
it was drug-related.

- Can I go to the funeral?

- I'll see what I can do.

[laughter]

- Oh, man.
I thought I was gonna die

keeping myself from laughing.
- Word.

Hold up, wait, wait,
what about when I--

what about when I
gave him this face?

- No, no.
[laughter]

Okay.

But you wanted that bitch dead,

and that n*gga Ronnie dead.

Now they dead.
- Mm-hmm.

Who loves you, baby?

- Y'all do, yo.
f*ck that.

- Handled it right.
- Let's go get high.

- Let's do it.
- Yeah.

- Of course, any kind of letter
from the outside

is a potential b*mb,

blowing up in your face
with memories

of what life was like before
the gates slammed shut,

before someone,
definitely not your momma,

screamed, "Lights out!"

Sometimes the sweeter
the letter,

the more bitter the aftertaste.

- [whistles]
- "My dear son,

"I woke up today dreaming
of what life would be like

"when you're free,

"telling myself that every day

"is one day closer
to you coming home.

[tense percussive tone]

"One day closer to us
being together again.

"Everything here
is the same.

"The neighborhood's
the same.

"Even the faces,
everyone looks the same.

"Is everything
there okay?

"Is there anything
we can do?

"We miss you.

We love you."

[music building]

[screaming]

[alarm blaring]

- They need an IV
started right away.

Water and glucose.

[pained grunting]

- I can't
stand the pain.

- I didn't see a thing.

- What about you?

[beeping]
- Lockdown!

Lockdown, lockdown!

[indistinct yelling]
Get down.

Lockdown.

- Lockdown!

[gate buzzes]

[indistinct shouting]
[banging]

- Jun, what up?

Junior, why we in lockdown?

Yo.

[intense music]

♪ ♪

- Welcome back, Kenny.

♪ ♪

- Pity what happened
to Poet and Pierce.

- They gonna live?

- For now.

But, you know,
life is fragile, man.

- What about me?

- How are you doing
in that program, man?

You meet with, uh, Rivera yet,
face-to-face?

- No. Just, you know, mostly

talking to Sister Peter Marie.

- About?

- You know, this and that.

- Well, Michael, as long as

this doesn't connect
to that,

you're safe with me.

- I wanna warn you, Miguel,

there's no way to predict
the outcome, emotionally,

of facing Officer Rivera
or his wife.

Yeah.

When you blinded him,
you hurt them both.

And they may have
no sympathy

for any pain or guilt
you're feeling.

So why don't you tell me
what you did to Eugene Rivera?

- You know what I did.

I don't know why we got
to waste time rehashing it.

- We have all
the time we need.

And it's very important to
articulate what you've done.

So when was it?

- It was last summer.

- Why did you do it?

- I don't know.

You know, I was
all f*cked up and sh*t,

some stuff going on.

And I got tense.

I don't know, you know?

I-it just happened.

- What just happened?

What did you,
Miguel Alvarez--

- sh*t!

I, um--

I cut his eyes really bad.

- How bad?

- Well, I stabbed him,
you know?

I stabbed them, his eyes,
you know?

The scalpel...

[metal clanging]

I--I dropped it.

And when it hit the floor...

[metal clanging]

It made this ringing sound.

- Okay.

Would you like to sit down?

Now...

Why did you do it?

- I already told you,
already.

It's 'cause
of tension and sh*t.

- No, Miguel.

Why you did this,
something so deliberate.

You're gonna have to
tell Eugene why

and he's going to ask.

- I will.

- Then why can't
you tell me?

- Because I don't
owe it to you.

[dark, percussive music]

♪ ♪

- This is who I want to
sit down with, face-to-face,

and ask why.

- He's here now, Eugene.
- Really?

So what's his answer?

I don't hear his voice.

All I hear is voices
that sound like my own,

but they don't say
why Alvarez did this.

They don't tell me
why I deserve it.

- What happened
was not your fault.

And God is not going
to answer your questions

in a big, booming voice.

He's going to answer you
through talking to Alvarez.

So why don't you tell me
what you want to say to him?

- I keep thinking someone
is gonna open a door

and let me out
of this dark room.

- What else?

What else
do you want to say?

- I can't,
not in front of you.

- Come on.
I'm a big girl, go ahead.

Whatever it is, say it.

- I hate you, Alvarez,

you f*cking m*therf*cker!

'Cause of you,
I got to carry around

all this sh*t in the dark.

If it wasn't for Tina, I would
have k*lled myself already.

Sometimes I think I should
k*ll myself for her sake,

so she could start
a new life without me.

Some days, Alvarez,

I wished you would have k*lled
me instead of doing this.

I can't cry anymore.

Did you know that?

You made it
so I can't cry.

- Junk mail.

Selling you this,
promising you that.

Publisher's Clearing House.

You got your American
Family Sweepstakes.

You got Ed McMahon warning you
to open that envelope

because you could be
a millionaire.

And you know you can never win,
so, uh...

you toss it.

But what if you made
the wrong choice?

What if this was the
one-in-a-trillion time

you'd win?

[sighs] Man, this sexual
harassment thing

is eating away at me.

State settles
out of court,

reinstates Howell
to her job,

which implies my guilt.

But I'm not f*cking guilty.

- You're a victim of
the times, my friend.

Years ago, a woman complained
of workplace harassment,

no one believed her,
no one even cared.

Today, it's assumed that
every guy in every office

is an ass-grabbing pig,

which, of course, uh, we are.

- No, I'm not!

- Tim, come on.

You told me you've f*cked every
woman that worked in this place,

except for
Sister Peter Marie.

- Man, so I've slept around.

It's always been mutual.

I would never force
my way on a woman,

use my position
to get laid.

- Prove it.
- How?

- Don't let
the state settle.

Take her to court.

Get Nathan and Wittlesey
and Sister Peter Marie

to testify
on your behalf.

You know, fight Howell.

- The odds are against me.

- When are they ever
in your favor?

[gate buzzes]

- For the media, this is
like a seven-course meal.

- [sighs] Meaning, if I want to
take this any further,

I better be prepared
to see my face on TV

and in the headlines.
- Yes.

And if the public
only half listens,

only retains half of
what they read,

the story will burn hot
for a few days.

You'll look guilty at first,
regardless of the facts.

Then the story will cool.

By the time we win,
no one will know.

But you'll have to carry the
stigma of those first few days

with you for
the rest of your life.

- Gloria,

what have you heard about this
harassment case against Tim?

- Claire Howell in Solitary

says that Tim had her fired

because she stopped
having sex with him.

- Yeah, I don't
believe it.

Do you?

- No.

- But?

- I dated Tim, you know,
when I was separated.

When it comes to sex
and relationships, he's--

I don't know.

I don't know,
today anything's possible.

- Pete, Gloria,
I'm glad you're both here.

I'm, uh, putting
together my case,

and I'd like you both
to be character witnesses.

- Sure.
- Thanks.

Gloria?

- Yeah,
I'll let you know.

- What?

You don't believe
Claire Howell, do you?

- No, I just wanna talk
to her, hear her side.

- Her side?

What the f*ck is
that supposed to mean?

That you think what
she's saying might be true?

Which means I'm lying.

Which means you think
I'm capable of abusing women.

- No, I didn't mean--
- Thanks a lot, Gloria.

Thanks for the vote
of f*cking confidence.

- Tim, wait a--

- Ahh!

[intense music]

♪ ♪

Hey.

How's Didi?

- She misses her grandma.

So do I.

- We've got all manner
of men in here.

Men who've r*ped women,
beaten them, m*rder*d them.

Ryan O'Reilly had
Gloria's husband k*lled

because Ryan
loved her so much.

I remember thinking at the time,

such passion.

Could I ever
feel such passion?

- Tim.

- You know, I was gonna fight
this harassment charge.

I was going to ask you and
Gloria to testify on my behalf,

build a case because
Howell is lying.

I didn't force her
to do anything.

- Well, why not fight it?

- Because I am guilty...

Of using her--her body.

Of not giving
a sh*t about her,

about her feelings for me,
about her feelings for herself.

Now I know I did
the same thing to my ex-wife,

and to Gloria...

To you.

[gate buzzes]

[chuckles]

Diane, if I asked you
to testify on my behalf,

would you
have done it?

- Sure.

'Cause what
we had was real,

if only for a moment.

[tires screech]

- Prisoner #99K871.

Yuri Kosygin.
Convicted March 23rd, '99.

Eight counts,
m*rder in the first degree,

four counts,
attempted m*rder,

illegal possession
of a firearm.

Sentence: life imprisonment

without the possibility
of parole.

- Nikolai Stanislofsky,
Yuri Kosygin.

- [speaking Russian]

[speaking Russian]

Are you here to k*ll me?

- [speaking Russian]

- Okay.

According to your
work assignment,

you're to be here in the library
from noon till three

helping out the librarian,
you know...

rearranging books
on the shelf.

You're also to take the
book cart to the hospital ward

and the AIDS ward, Unit E.

Hey, Kosygin.

You understanding
any of this?

- Yes.

- Well, breathe or something
every once in a while.

Sit over there until
Mrs. Hubble comes back.

- Hey, you're Kosygin, right?

Yeah. And I heard of you,

The most brutal hitter
in Little Odessa.

Antonio Nappa.

I'm extending my hand
to you in friendship.

- I don't need
your friendship.

- Fine.

Let me tell you something.

My boys control
everything that goes

in and out of this joint.

dr*gs, cigarettes, gambling.

You decide to start
your bullshit here,

you won't live
till morning.

- You Italians...
so melodramatic.

- Hey.

- Yes?

- Got word
from Mr. Nappa.

Your pal, uh,
what's his name,

needs to learn
a little respect.

- Kosygin is
no pal of mine.

I'm a Jew, he's Cossack.

In my community,
he's feared for his savagery.

[speaking Russian]

You Sicilians
think you're so tough.

He would cut out your heart,
eat it and not think twice.

- Yeah, well,
you better talk to him

before I do.

[gate buzzes]

- So what do you think?

- About what?

- The new guy, Kosygin.

I tried to chat
with him during dinner.

He sat there frozen
like the tundra.

He scares the living sh*t
out of me.

- Me, too.

- Lights out!
[gate buzzes]

[indistinct chatter]

[gate buzzes]

- What you got there,
Busmalis?

- I wrote Miss Sally
a fan letter.

Oh, my God, look!

- Wow!
- f*cking thing's autographed.

- They're fake.
- What?

- They're fake,
the autographs.

They're done by a machine.

- Yeah, how do you know that?

- All right, Miss Sally's
may be real,

but not the puppets,
especially not Nooter.

- Why not?
- He's got no hands.

I mean,
how's he going to write?

- With his mouth.

I mean, if he can
swing a mallet with his mouth,

he can certainly
write with it.

- There's a letter.

"Dear Agamemnon,
thank you for writing.

"Nooter, Pecky, and I
are happy, happy, happy

"that you like our show.

Keep watching,
Miss Sally."

- [laughs]
- Form letter.

- Keller, you're
a cynical bastard.

- Hey, you think Miss Sally
sits and reads

every piece
of mail she gets?

With a rack like that,

she's got to be getting
a million letters a day, man.

They got some secretary
sending that sh*t out.

- No, really? No.

- Hey, look,
live in your fantasy world.

What the hell
do I care?

- I got an idea.

We should write Miss Sally
and ask her to come visit.

- Visit?

Sorry, bro, Miss Sally
ain't coming to Oz.

- She might. Who knows?

I'll write her. Now.

- Man, I'd still
like to f*ck her.

- I wouldn't mind a four-way
with Nooter and Pecky.

- What?
[beeping]

- Visiting hours!

- I gotta go
see my family.

- Man, your people
don't quit, huh?

But that's okay, bro,

as long as they keep
bringing them goodies.

- No sh*t.

- You know, one of these days
I'm going to have to tag along

just to thank
your moms myself, okay?

[gate buzzing]

[percussive music]

♪ ♪

- Where's Papi?

What happened?

What happened?

- Papi had a stroke.

- A stroke?
When?

- Two nights ago,
at home.

Mami was off
from work, thank God.

He's in intensive care.

- sh*t. But he's
gonna make it.

- Well, they're doing
what they can.

That's what
the doctor said.

- I--I called him the other day
to say sorry.

- For what?

- Cursing Isabella.

But before
I could it--

we started talking
about something else.

Something stupid.

What was it?
God damn it, what was it?

- Don't worry about it.
- No, I can't remember!

I called to say sorry,
but before I could,

he asked me something first
and I--I-- f*ck!

- Keep it down,
Ricardo.

- Carlo.

Carlo.

- Did he say anything to you
guys after the last visit?

- About what?

- The stuff I said.

Was he mad?
- Carlo, it's okay,

I don't think he was.

He loves you.

- [sighs]

- You wanna sleep,
go back to your cell.

- Yesterday,
a letter arrived in Oz

postmarked May 7th, 1965,

34 years.

Must have got stuck in
the sort machine or something.

Anyway, the inmate
it's addressed to is long dead.

So they take
the envelope...

throw it in
the dead letter box

without even opening it.

Now nobody's ever gonna know
what was inside.

- Clayton, what are you
still doing here?

- Where'd it happen, Leo?

I wanna know the exact spot
where my father d*ed.

- Clayton--
- Show me.

♪ ♪

- Here.

Right here.

[indistinct shouting]
[blade stabbing]

- You know,
I've been wondering,

you think whoever k*lled Dad
is still alive?

Is still in Oz?
- Clayton--

- I've got to wonder.
Is the guy I'm standing over

in the library
the same animal

who stabbed my dad?

- [sighs]

- Rebadow.

17 years ago a CO
Was shanked during lunch.

Do you remember?

- So many years,
so many killings.

They all blend into one.

- The CO's name
was Samuel Hughes.

- Your father.
- Yes.

Do you remember him?

- I'm sorry.

- Well, you have
to remember something.

- I don't, I swear.

- Listen, that's just
not good enough.

Now I want you to think.

Do you hear me, Rebadow?

Think.
- Please, I--

- You think about my father,
you g*dd*mn son of a bitch.

- Officer.

- I don't know
what to do.

I mean, should I tell
Leo what I saw?

- Hughes has made a couple of
big mistakes since he started.

When he was working with me
over in Emerald City,

he kept mixing it up
with the Latinos.

And then he pulled
that knucklehead move

with the stun g*n.

- Still, though, there are
extenuating circumstances.

His father was k*lled here.

That's got to be weighing
on him and the warden.

I think your first instincts
were right.

I think you should sit down
with Clayton, sort it out.

[gate buzzes]

- Look, Father Mukada,
I'm sorry for what you saw.

I...

I overreacted.

- You don't have
to apologize to me.

Rebadow, sure.

All I want for you to know
is that I know how you feel.

And so the next time you
want to fly off into a rage,

you come talk to me.

And maybe together we can--

I don't know,
maybe we can work through it.

- The only thing that's
gonna get me through it

is knowing who--

who k*lled my dad.

Unless you can
help me with that,

we got nothing
to talk about, Father.

- ♪ Dear John ♪

- Then, of course,
there's the "Dear John" letter

Or Jane,
as the case may be.

When your loved one--
or ex-loved one by that point--

tells you how much you
f*cked up her life and hurt her,

how much she gave to you
and tried to help you

and all you did in return was
leave her swinging in the wind.

Oh, and yeah,

she's found someone else,
someone other than you

who really understands
what love is.

- ♪ Dear John ♪

- Let's talk about your pact
with Schillinger.

You met him
at Lardner, right?

- Mm-hmm.

- How would you describe your
relationship with him there?

- What's that thing you become
when you first

go into the nunnery?

- A postulant?

- Yeah, I was a postulant.

He was mother superior.

You know, I-I've gotta
to tell you, Sister,

until I met you,

I'd always thought nuns

were a bunch of old maids

that'd always just given up
on life.

How'd you know?

- Know what?

- That God had called you.

You were supposed
to be a nun.

- I felt his love.

- What's the love
of God feel like?

- You'll know
when it comes.

- Oh, I doubt that.

Don't you gotta
take those vows, right?

- Obedience,
poverty, chastity.

- At the end of the day,
you go home

and your bed is empty.

- It's not empty.

- Oh.

I forgot.

God's waiting
there for you.

You're the bride of Christ.

- Yes.
- Still, there gotta be nights

when God's love feels cold,

when you're lonely
and you wonder if

you made the wrong decision.

- I have--
[bell ringing]

- Visiting hours,
I got my ex coming.

- She's very beautiful.

- Oh, yeah.

No, that's Kitty.

That was Kitty.
She's my first wife.

I got Angelique today.

- How many ex-wives
do you have?

- I got three.
Four, if you count Bonnie.

I married her twice.

- I was married, you know.

- See, you never
stop amazing me.

I'd like to hear more
about that next time.

- Yeah, next time, we're going
to talk about you, okay?

- Look forward to it.

I like being in the same
room with you, Sister.

You give good aura.

[dark tone]

♪ ♪

- Oh, my.

[gate buzzes]

[coughing]

- Hey.

Ah.

Hey, hey, hey.
- [crying]

- Withdrawal, huh?

- Uh-huh.
- Okay, okay,

I've been there.

Here's what we do.

Hang on.

Come on, just talk.

- About?

- Anything.

- I don't know, man.

- You know, when I went
through withdrawal,

I tried to figure out
why I was taking dr*gs

and why I was being
so self-destructive.

- Yeah, and?

Where did you get that?

- Your father.

My first night here,
he burnt it on.

And then he
humiliated me.

Hurt me.

He hurt me real bad.

I got to tell you
the truth, Andrew,

I hate your father.

- You and me
ain't that different.

- We don't have to,
you know.

We don't have to
take dr*gs.

We don't have to k*ll ourselves
to pay that cocksucker back.

He doesn't deserve to have
that kind of control

over our lives.

I was all alone when
I went through withdrawal.

I was like a little kid.

I...

just wanted my mother.

I just wanted
my mom to hug me.

- I miss my mom, too.

- I know.

I know, come here.

You're gonna be all right, man.

It's all gonna be all right.

[gate buzzing]

[indistinct chatter]

- Come in.
- I'm sorry we're late.

- No, it's okay.

- Uh--

I'd like to apologize
to you all for the, um,

the way I acted
last time I was here.

You see, I'm--

I'm an addict.

And, um--

I'm hoping that with
all of your help,

maybe I can take
some control of my life.

Because I don't think
I've ever had control before.

- Welcome, Andrew.

- It's all right, man.

[dark tone]

♪ ♪

- Hello, Dad.

- Andrew.

You--you did it,
you're clean.

- Yeah.

- Wow, how'd you do it?

- A little help from God
and my friends.

- Yo, Vern.

- How you doing?

- Came to get
some exercise.

Work up a sweat.

- They're gonna teach me
how to wrestle.

- That's fine.

We'll just
stand here and watch.

- Get on all fours.

- Head up, head up.

- And then, wrestle through it.

Whoa!
[laughter]

- Hey.

You been
looking for me?

- No.
- Really?

Well, I thought you'd be
wanting to thank me

for what I did for him.

For getting
your son off dr*gs.

I mean, I did accomplish the one
thing you could never do,

I saved your boy's life.

- f*ck you.

- [sucking teeth]
Vern.

You need to adjust
your attitude.

If not, I got no reason
to keep being the good friend

to you that I am.
- Good friend?

- Yeah.

If not for
what I have done,

then for
what I haven't.

- What's that?

- I haven't f*cked him.

At least not yet.

You see, because I was
there for Andrew

when he needed someone
holding him,

comforting him,

I think he's developed
a little bit of a crush on me.

I have been tempted
to at least

deep tongue him
a couple times.

But I knew that would upset you,
so I haven't,

even though...

he wants me
to stick my d*ck up his ass.

And I'm afraid
one of these nights,

he and I,
alone in our pod--

I'm not going to be able
to control myself.

- You'll be dead
before you get the chance.

- Mmm.
Well, you better hurry.

Keller's getting horny

and O'Reilly's been
talking about a three-way

with Cyril and Andy.

♪ ♪

- I need to speak with you.

- Go ahead.

- Over here.

Andy, I'm very
proud of you

kicking your habit
like that.

And I'm hoping that
now you and I can

maybe start to have
more of a relationship.

- What--you mean
get closer?

Be a real
father and son?

- Yes.

- Not a chance.

I gotta get back
to my pals.

- Hey, those are not
the kind of men you should

be hanging out with.

- As opposed to who?

With those
stand-up individuals

that make up your
merry little band?

I gotta tell you
something, Dad.

My whole life,
you've crammed into my head

how superior
we white folks are.

Well, I don't see
the truth in that.

You know,
I look around this room

and I see white faces
and black faces,

every color in between,
and the only thing

that I know for sure
is that we're all sh*t.

You know, sh*t
don't come in degrees.

I mean, white or black,
sh*t is sh*t.

So f*ck everything
you believe

and f*ck everything
you stand for and f*ck you.

- Don't you dare talk
to me like that.

- Old man, you hit me way
too many times growing up.

[both grunting]

[yelling]

- f*ckin' A! Get off him!
Get the f*ck up!

- Get the f*ck back, f*gg*t!

- Who started this?

- He did.
- You f*cking liar!

- Take him to the Hole!
- f*ck you!

f*ck you!

f*ckin' assh*le!

f*cking go!
- Sit down!

- f*ck you, you f*ckin' assh*le!

[laughter]

- A man does everything
he can for his children.

He provides for them,

worries about them,

sacrifices everything
for their happiness.

- What's this?

- It's a little present
from your father.

- But when your own
flesh and blood renounces you,

you have no choice
but to renounce them.

My son, Andrew,
is dead to me.

[eerie music]

♪ ♪

My son...

is dead.

♪ ♪

- Base 4,
this is radio 320.

We got a problem here.

Prisoner's OD'd.

We're too late for the medics,
send the morgue boys.

[gate buzzing]

- It worked.

Your plan
worked perfectly.

- Yeah?

- The worst day is when
you wake up and realize

you'll never get
another piece of mail again.

Your family can't
take it anymore.

Your friends forget.

Even the folks at
charity correspondence

start to back off.

That's when you'd give anything
for another piece of mail

with your name on it.

To let you know you still exist.

To let you know
you still matter.

Even to Ed McMahon.