CSI
Fur And Loathing

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Yiff-A-Dee Doo-Dah

The general upshot of all this is that George must be innocent, because he was standing behind Al, and Mr. Sesto was shot in the chest. So Nicky and Sara make their way back to Hodges, who informs them that the paint chips Sara lifted from George's shirt are multi-layered and highly unusual. The bottom layer is burgundy paint from a 1984 Monte Carlo, and the top layer is bright blue house paint. "Why would somebody use house paint on a car?" wonders Sara. Sara has obviously never met Hildi. "Who knows," answers Hodges. "I don't try to figure out what people do anymore." You are so right about that, my friend. In fact, even Sara agrees with him on that one.

Back to the A-plot. Brass and Catherine are interrogating Bud, and trying to find out how Rocky Raccoon's semen got all over his costume. "It started as a skritch," Bud confesses. "Then everyone got in a furpile, and pretty soon we were all yiffing." This news is accompanied by one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen on TV, and let's not forget that I'm the guy who recaps the pay cable shows. It's a grainy, washed-out sequence of shots featuring various "animals" getting their yiff on, and it's definitely the Alvin and the Chipmunks Do Dallas moaning on the soundtrack that makes it so nasty. Ew. Now poor Theodore will forever be associated with Ron Jeremy in my head. Although I bet Ron could yiff any time he wanted without even needing a costume. He may, however, need an explanation of what exactly "yiffing" is, because Catherine has obviously never heard the term before. "In a furpile," explains Bud, "when all the animals start rubbing and wiggling, some of them start to do things." And then those "things" are shown to us once again in another Behind the Green Barn Door sequence. Now that, my friends, is the quintessential definition of TMI-cam. "I know what you're thinking," says Bud. "You couldn't possibly," replies Catherine. I, on the other hand, know exactly what she's thinking. I feel the same way about "wibbling." Bud insists that he didn't kill Rocky, and also that he didn't put the ipecac and civet oil on his costume. "Look," he finishes, "if I don't have my costume on, I pretty much can't get yiffed." And you say that like it's a bad thing, Bud.

Outside of the room, Brass and Catherine debate about what to do next. They decide to ask Bud where all the "hip, young plushies on the go" like to hang out on a Saturday night. I don't know about you, but I'm betting the answer is going to involve Lady Heather. Or maybe just the back room of a bar set that looks like it was assembled in the corner of the writers' room. I mean, really. They've got like two pieces of plywood and a couple of bottles tacked together and we're supposed to believe this is a real establishment. Anyway, Gil and Catherine follow a "rabbit" down a hallway until they come to a "polar bear" bouncer, who asks them for the password. "E-I-E-I-O?" asks Catherine. Heh. I'd have gone with "some animals are more equal than others," but that's just me. The Old MacDonald bit fails to sway Mr. Polar Bear, but then Gil flashes a search warrant and everyone heads inside to find a scene even more disgusting than Bud's flashbacks, because this time they've left out the grain and blown-out colors and given us a full-frontal furpile. Thanks. I mean that. I don't know if it's due to continuity or a general shortage of animal costumes in the vicinity of CSI's soundstages, but the horse Gil was talking to back at the convention can be spotted on the bottom of the pile if you look close enough. Which I totally didn't do. Gil: "Look, we need you to stop skritching, or yiffing, or whatever, and take off your costumes and tell us your names." Aww. That's exactly how my prom night ended. Good times.

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