Saturday. The kids sit in class already back in their R.U.T. doing S.T.A.R.E. with their doppelgangers.

"Looking good, S.C.U.M.; it's now been one hour, so one more remaining. Remember: you can't talk or break your starring or you'll have to start all over again," Eric warns them.

After a few minutes Gerald walks over to Kyle.

"Kyle, son, your mom found that picture of you naked in the tub when you were two and is sharing it on Istagram!"

Kyle doesn't react at all.

"Huuummm, not falling for it, are you? Think you're getting too smart for your old man, do you? Us more seasoned people have more decades of tricks up our sleeves. We'll see…"

Some more minutes pass. Eric gets up and eyeballs the room for victims; he walks up to Wendy.

"Hey, Child Wendy. So … I've been thinking a lot lately about your boobs. Um hum," he takes a bite of an apple, "Just can't get those itsy bitsy teenie weenie raisons out of my mind. I just wanna reach and get two scoops. Yeah, bet if I squeeze 'em they're like two small water balloons with only enough water in them that doesn't require inflating them. They're like those things boxers use in all the movies, only small enough for babies to practice on. I call 'em nature's lollipops. Sometimes I sit there and I imagine how many licks it would take to get to the—"

"GAH! Shut up!" Wendy yells.

"Oh, man, too bad Child Wendy, you'll have to start the two hours all over again," he bends over and sets a timer on the floor, "For your information, I get my jollies via the Victoria's Secret catalogue just like every other boy my age. Or the K-Mart circular for those who can't afford a catalogue, right Child Kenny?"

Kenny furls his brow, holding back from commenting.

Eric sits back down and watches them.

Chewing a bite of an apple, Gerald walks up to Kyle, "You know, your mom and I have been thinking about sending Shelley here for the summer. Wouldn't that be great?"

Kyle doesn't react.

"She could be your new doppelganger. Isn't that right. E.T.C.?"

"Um hum," Eric acknowledges Gerald.

"Hey, you two could be bunk mates!" Gerald adds.

Kyle begins to grimace, but not look away.

"Yeah, I should have known that wouldn't work; you're too cool-for-school, as we used to say back in my day," Gerald says underhandedly, trying to give Kyle an over-inflated ego.

Eric finally gets up and walks in amongst the desks. He finally stops at a random kid.

"Remember, don't lose focus, Child Jake…"

Eric moves up close to one of the kids legs and unzips his pants; he begins peeing on the kid's leg, "I'm totally Obamaing all over your leg and telling you it's raining. Yup…" he shakes it side-to-side, "It's like Waltzing Waters over here. OH – it's getting in your shoe."

"No! Not in my shoe!" the kid yells.

"Oh, gee, you're not supposed to break, Child Jake. Back to zero," Eric says as he starts a timer and sets it down.

The kid shakes with anger. Eric continues eating an apple as he makes his way back to his desk.

"A little less leering and more S.T.A.R.E., Child Clyde and Child Craig."

Clyde clenches his teeth in anger.

Gerald walks back over to Kyle, "You know, son, I knew you wouldn't fall for that; your mother wouldn't use a site like Instagram. And if I said your sister was going to do it, you know we'd ground her if she did. I, however…" Gerald pulls out an iPhone, "am you father and if I did, say, have that photo of you," he fiddles with the phone, "and I had a social media site, like a MySpace page, I could post it online just … like … this," he holds the phone to the left of Kyle's face.

"What? No!" Kyle blurts out as he looks over quickly. He sees on the screen a meme of a monkey with the old phrase. Monkey's Always Look.

Eric walks over.

"Oh-ho, burn! Adults are smarter than your average Cretan, Booboo," says Gerald.

"And by the way," Eric comments, "Since Executive Director is the legal aide of the city, he can carry an electronic device so he can be reached in the event of a legal emergency. Child Kyle, "Eric says while holding up the toilet paper dispenser hat, "you're needed for some important C.R.A.P. right now."

.

Stan and Kyle lie in their bunk beds, trying to fall asleep.

"One hour on the toilet? You'd think he was glued to it. I think you've found your Hat in Life," says Stan quietly to Kyle.

"Thursday, during Shore Leave, I hugged my bedroom pillow and didn't want to leave it," says Kyle.

"Me too. I'm starting to understand Charlie Brown's friend Linus now. I hope we get to the helping part soon," Stan replies.

"Yeah."

.

Monday. All the kids are lined up for inspection.

"Good, Child Wendy. Adjust your weslies, Child Tweek, so the primary color bands are more horizontal to the ground. Oh my my my, Child Kyle, not good."

"What, Commissioner?" Kyle asks.

"First of all: your hair is too puffy."

"Hard water deposits are wreaking havoc on my fluff, Commissioner."

"Don't make excuses. Your weslies zipper isn't all the way up, and with that crease on that pant leg, I'm getting no thrills up any of my legs. Do I need to give you more C.R.A.P., Child Kyle?"

"I can do better, Commissioner," Kyle replies.

"I seem to recall hearing that one before. Now, get cleaned up for breakfast."

.

Kyle and Stan dish out food in the cafeteria.

"Come down and chew on some of this shi…" Stan trails off mid word, "No … I've become lunch dude; bitter, uncaring and slopping out Michele-Obahma approved food. And I'm forced to be single. Fuck – I'm not even forty yet."

Wendy shows up next in line to be served.

"Hey, Stan."

"Hey, Wendy, I say to anybody in earshot, in a strictly plutonic way."

"Notice anything different?" she asks him.

Stan really looks this time, beforehand paying more attention to dishing out the food, "You're a 'M.o.P.' now?"

"Yes, part time, but I'm still entitled to extra food, so keep dishing."

"Then you're like them, you're no longer down here with us," says Stan.

"I've moved on, Stan. This is my post now, unless you want to re-think our relationship status."

"You know I can't, the rules. You remember my forbidden love speech?"

"Yeah, I gave it a Razzie. It's either going to be me or not be me. Pick."

"Or me," Craig interjects.

"Not him. Well?"

"I don't know," says Stan.

"Well the clock's ticking – you better figure it out," Wendy replies and moves on ahead.

.

Eric exits the door leading to the upper floors and finds Kyle waiting for him.

"Ah, Child Kyle; ready for some more C.R.A.P.?"

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle says almost like a robot.

"Good, carry my things to the re-education room. What is on your mind?"

"You said there were levels to Myentology; how many again?"

"An initial eight levels before Cretans can become fully Translucent and reach a Condition of All Bars."

"And then I can start helping other Hogs?"

"Maybe. My deep and contemplative thinking has revealed there may be even more!"

Kyle doesn't blink and stares out with an empty look as he follows Eric to class.

.

A little later during class.

"Okay, S.C.U.M., it's been a while since we did any Word hurdling."

"Yay! Exciting and brave!" Butters claps, causing the other "M.o.P.S" to join in.

"I know you like it. Today's word is: Floccihavcinihilipilification. So, can anybody tell me how to use floccihavcinihilipilification in a sentence? Bueller? Bueller? Pip's not missed ghost? Anybody?"

Kenny raise a hand.

"Wow, really?"

.

Some more time passes.

"Okay, before you begin your fourth R.U.T., I'd like to announce an exciting new option for those who think they aren't in enough of R.U.T. – the R.U.T.-in' Pro course! Normally a forty-dollar value, it can be yours now for just nineteen-ninety-nine! Anybody? Learn how to be in a life time R.U.T. if you act now – just twenty bucks."

Nobody answers.

.

Eric and Butters push in a lamp with snaking positionable heads on a movable TV stand. Eric positions the lamp directly behind his chair as Butters plugs it in. Eric sits down and Butters re-takes his seat as well. Eric holds out a remote and presses a button, turning on four lights.

"Now you shall begin R.U.T. three. 'M.o.P.' butters, the three lights behind me … how many do you see?"

"Why, ah, three lights, dear leader!"

"Very good. 'M.o.P.' Clyde, how many lights do you see?"

"Three lights, E.T.C.."

"Good. 'M.o.P.' Craig, how many lights do you see?"

"Three, Commish."

"Good. Child Stan, how many lights do you see?"

"Ahhh … three, Commissioner?" Stan says a little confused about what the point is.

"Good. Child Kyle, how many lights?"

"I don't think I understand the point of this, Commissioner," says Kyle.

"I didn't ask you to think, I asked you how many lights you see."

"There are four lights, Commissioner."

"I don't understand how you can make such a mistake. Clearly you have Overts and Holdbacks. Shall we begin again? How many lights are there?"

Kyle looks confused, contorting his face and counting again, then replies, "There are four lights, Commissioner."

"There are three lights! How many do you see now?" Eric demands.

"But, Commissioner, I only-"

"Huh! How dare you question dear leader!" Butters exclaims.

"That's four demerits, but you can avoid those and BALLS, Child Kyle."

"What do I have to do?" Kyle asks.

"Nothing, really. Tell me … how many lights do you see?"

Kyle looks.

"How many? How many lights?" Eric asks again.

Kyle keeps looking. He shakes a little and an eye winces repeatedly.

"This is your last chance. Don't be a stubborn fool. Stay on the Bridge to Somewhere to help others."

Kyle stops shaking, the eye ceases, and a look of compliant apathy washes over his face.

"There are three lights, Commissioner."

"Good…"

.

Some time passes. Kyle sits, holding the cups of the S-Meter to his nipples.

"Are you hungry?" Eric asks.

"No."

"Good. Are you tired?"

"No."

"Good. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"No."

"Good. Any Overts to report?"

"No."

Eric looks at the needle and then Kyle but decides to move on. "Good. Any Holdbacks?"

"No."

"Nope, nope," Eric says, not satisfied this time, "You needle has gone down faster than a five-dollar crack whore. Any Holdbacks?"

"No."

"Hum. The S-Meter must need calibrating. Just to be sure, we'll try POS; the Playdough Ordering Scheme, where you make things out of playdough to reveal your dirty Cretan."

Eric sets up a TV dinner tray and places a tub of Caucasian-colored dough on it. He opens it and sets the dough in the center.

"I want you to envision the dough in three parts: the Cretan, the person, and the Translucent. Break it into three pieces and make one bitter than the others."

Kyle does so.

"Roll the two smaller pieces into balls, imagining you are working your Cretan and person."

Kyle does just that.

"Now place them side-by-side, to symbolize the internal struggle of the two. Now work the third piece; imagine you are trying to push out the O/H's."

"Yes, Commissioner."

"Good. Any Holdbacks to report?"

"No, Commissioner."

"Work it harder. Place it flat and roll it like a breadstick."

Kyle does so.

"Get those O/H's out of you potential translucent! Found any Holdbacks yet?"

"No, I … I-"

"Time to get rough with this Holdback; stand it up alongside your balls. Wet your hands," Eric says and pours some water on Kyle's hand, from a bottle, "And go up and down your Translucent to expel those O/H's!"

Kyle does so.

"Faster!"

"Yes, Commissioner!"

"Faster!"

"Yes, Commissioner!"

"firmer! Squeeze those O/H's out!"

"Yes, Commissioner!"

"Release those O/H's!"

"OOOHHH! I stole fruit in a previous life!"

"Winning! Okay, you can leave now."

"Really?"

"Yes, a Winning ends Analyzing. Cretans have O/H's from previous lives. Clean up."

Eric hands Kyle a towel and then leaves the room. Kyle just sits there not blinking. The top of the playdough Translucent falls off onto the TV dinner tray stand.