This week, Breaking Bad loses it’s marbles and starts kicking them around, gleefully laughing at us mortals as we scramble after them trying to predict just what will happen next.
Let’s get cooking.
Walter may be vomiting in toilets and fastidiously running an empire built on the backs of exploited Mexicans; but he’s still no Gus Fring for a few reasons. The Fring A team were in an entirely different league than the Goodman A team, a different species really. Send the Goodman boys out to do some simple extortion and you end up with a paraplegic and a load of spilled oranges. The Chicken King didn’t leave his entire empires fortunes in a mattress sized pile in a storage locker like some common thieving LA cops either. Neither would Gus Fring get to the point of collapsing in his tighty whities from exhaustion after a twelve hour plus day of money pit digging in the arid deserts of New Mexico. Hell not even Mariano takes Walter seriously this episode.
Somewhere out in the desert, when he’s hoarding his massive pile of money and proving himself the true Scrooge McDuck to the Huey, Dewey and Louis of Saul Goodman & associates, Walter is laid pretty low. It’s not a rock bottom, all time low. He’s not in the crawlspace, but he’s definitely somewhere beneath the skirting boards when he’s hazily begging Skyler to keep the money for his children so his horrific deeds won’t all be for nothing. Walt Junior will never be left wanting for waffles and Holly will be able to afford therapy to manage her crippling fear of purple. Congratulations Walter, it was all worth it.
The Heisnenberg revelation is clearly taking a toll on Hank, who is increasingly looking like a depressed Ben Grimm and fumbles certain victory right out of his meaty paws during his diner rendezvous with Skyler. Instead of a tell all tale to Diane that would have set up the investigation like so many pins on a family bowling outing for him to knock down in court, Hank ends up with a hysterical woman bellowing “AM I BEING ARRESTED” at him as his easy victory slips out of his grasp.
Hank Lone Wolf Scrader really has some of the worst luck in these situations, just as he’s about to get his man, to make that one final leap that will propel the case to it’s conclusion, he’s set upon in a car park by two towering Mexican hard cases, or nearly blown to pieces in El Paso, or delayed by Saul Goodman trickery and legal mumbo jumbo. I was half seriously concerned that a guy in a members only jacket would saunter up and pop Hank in the head before he could get a confession from Sklyer.
Anyway, after dealing with a sisterly screaming match while resembling a forlorn, lost Mitchell brother, Hank looks to just about get a sniff of victory back at the DEA and HANK NO DON’T TELL GOMIE HE’S THE DEEPEST GUS FRING MOLE. Ok, so Hank gets back on the trail of Pinkman’s Millions and head’s down to the police depa NO HANK MATT DAMON HAS BEEN JACK NICHOLSONS INSIDE MAN THE WHOLE TIME! Right, so once Hank gets to the interrogation roo OH FUCK JESSE HAS MARIE AND WALT JNR ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE CITY AND YOU CAN ONLY SAVE ONE OF THEM. SHIT!
On a related note, who the fuck are they letting work at the DEA these days?
HANK YOU FOUND HIM YOU’VE FUCKING FOUND HIM
On one hand, Marie succeeds where trained DEA agent and professional Brewmaster extraordinaire Hank fails by expertly poking at her sister with accusations and watching as her puffy, Joker in drag mug gives the game away. In fairness to Hank, it’s the kind of manipulation that only your schizo kleptoid sister can master, so we can partly excuse his ham-fisted appeal to basic human decency in the diner.
On the other hand, Marie becomes slightly less respectable when she transforms into a sort of demented child snatcher, kicking off a screaming match on the level of an Eastenders Christmas Apocalypse special; or maybe Simon Callow and Brian Blessed trying to shout down God.
Marie, when you’re screeching about it being a “MADHOUSE” and clutching a baby that’s clearly chosen to stick with the household in which she is periodically used to hide blood money from the authorities, whisked away to the verge of a life on the lam on a whim and get’s threatened with death by an international fast food magnate, it’s time to have a word with yourself.
“Aaaaaah, GET THE CRAZY PURPLE MONSTER LADY AWAY FROM ME. WAAAAAAAH”
Another beneficiary of Albuquerque’s well intentioned yet poorly implemented Pinkman Economic Stimulus Plan, Skeet takes to sniffing out those stacks like truffle hog on the trail of some haughty fungal cuisine.
You really have to question a man who, upon finding some unexpected cash on his doorstep, immediately begins searching for more, figuring that his neighbours are obviously undeserving.
Skeet has now retired himself into a life of leisure, outfitting his pick up with some sweet rockets and chilling away the rest of his days in the splendour of his solid gold house.
“I’ll send you to Belize…”
Wearing only a pair of red polka dot boxers, Saul Goodman tosses great armfuls of tasteless buttoned shirts and oversized comedy ties he bought on the cheap from a clown college closing down sale into an ever expanding blaze of garish colours and questionable paperwork.
Finally, Goodman discards his wallet, passport and suspect law degree into the cleansing flames as a bemused Francesca enters the office.
Francesca: “Saul, why are you burning all of your personal papers?”
Saul: “Saul Goodman no longer exists, say hello to Miguel Sanchez!”
Jesse has reached the spinning stage of complete psychological breakdown. Look forward to next week when he stays up till 3am re-slating his roof when he should be baking.
The APD Dickhead Duo
Detective Dick: “I’ll give you this Jesse. You’re never boring.”
Detective Head: “Not boring at aaaaalllllll”
Detective Head looks at the large, monotonously ticking clock behind Jesse Pinkman. It’s been 4 hours since lunch and his ass aches in the unforgiving plastic seat.
Jesse Pinkman stares blankly.
Detective Head: “Why were you tossing millions of dollars all over Albequerque?”
Detective Dick: “I promise you we can hold out just as long as you caaaan”
Detective Head: “That’s a fact. I’ve got a bladder the size of a hot water bottle”
Detective Dick shifts uncomfortably. The topic has reminded him of his enlarged prostate, the niggling need to urinate has suddenly come increasingly to the fore of his mind, bringing with it a familiar throbbing pain.
The clock continues to tick. Six hours pass.
Jesse Pinkman stares blankly.
Sunning it on the crisp hot sands of Belize, sipping at an icy cold long island iced tea and scheming on which oversized Hawaiian shirt he’ll invest in next.
Todd and the White Knights
THIS WEEK on Whitetrash Mercenaries:
The boys team up with a lovely Houston dame to crash a junkyard crystal meth cookout and graaaaaab everything that isn’t nailed down.
Meanwhile, uncle Skeech and cousin Merle make off with a vault full of sugar free Physeptone oral solution from a local pharmacy. All this and more, this week on Whitetrash Mercenaries. 10pm Eastern, after Storage Wars, only on A&E.
Ted, struggling to sit up under his own power, defecates himself from the strain. As a pretty young nurse grimaces and begins cleaning him, Ted’s face contorts with shame and impotence.
Not Ranked: Gomie, Matt Damon, The Childsnatcher, Lone Wolf McQuaid, Lydia, Cousin Merle, Walt Jnr, marbles, Huell, Belize, Declan, the Mitchell brothers, Mariano, Simon Callow, Gus Fring, Francesca, Simpsons references, Storage Wars.
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