Archibald buttoned up his shirt and glanced back at Jimmy with a faint smile. "Well, I really ought to be going now."

"Oh, hey, already?" Jimmy asked in surprise. "But we just - can't you stay? We'll catch a movie, or -"

"Jimmy, I am on a very important quest," Archibald said with the air of someone on a very important quest. "And this was just a short stop on the way. Obviously, I will get back to you at the end of things when I've decided... well..."

"Decided... what exactly?"

Archibald picked up his sweater vest and dropped the damning evidence of his lies from his pocket: a caterpillar-sized motorcycle and the hotlist.

Jimmy picked up both items before Archibald, staring at the two of them in shock. "What's... what's this? This motorcycle... it... you're seeing Kahlil again."

"No, no, you misunderstand, Jimmy."

"Oh?" Jimmy looked hopeful, eyes sparkling with desperate pleas for an excuse he could buy.

"He goes by Coolhil now."

"That explains... the property of Coolhil written on the bottom..." Jimmy choked on his words as the sobs bubbled up like sobs in his throat. "And this? The Hotlist? These names... you're..."

Archibald took the motorcycle and slipped it into his pocket, and then grabbed the pen that hadn't fallen out, taking the book and crossing out Jimmy's name. He wrote a number down and remarked, "This Vegetable Daddy is exploring his options. You're in the top three, if it makes you feel better. I'll be sure to get back to you if you make it to callbacks."

"That's it!" Jimmy snapped as Archibald slipped both pen and hotlist back into his pocket. "Get out! Out! You freak! Y'think it's okay to fuck around with someone's feelings like this?"

Archibald raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Jimmy, this is exactly why you aren't in spot number one."

"Get out of my apartment!"

Archibald could see the rage in his eyes. Hell hath no fury like a gourd scorned. He cut his losses and offered a smile, "I'll try to keep in touch. Say, does Jerry still live around here?"

"You keep away from my brother, you absolute Freak!"

Archibald made a mental note to avoid Jerry, who was pure and did not deserve this nonsense anyway. Archibald nodded, waved an invisible hand goodbye, and hopped away out the door. "Duly noted."

Jimmy fell into sobs which Archibald could hear from the outside. Mainly because Jimmy still had his window open. Unfortunately, Jimmy also noticed this, and he began to throw books out the window at Archibald's head, so Archibald took a quick run down the street. When he was far enough away, he pulled out the hotlist and examined the names again. He had heard of his involvement with Dad, but wondered if the divorce would make things too awkward. Instead, he skipped ahead, finding a unique name in the group.

Goliath. Goliath Pickle. Yes, he remembered Goliath from the early days, back when he played in Dave and the Giant Pickle. It was brief. They touched non-existant hands at the catering table, fell in - well, not love, but they were in something -, had a lovely tryst, and then Lovey had to show up on set to sign some papers for another performance she had done with the group. Suddenly it was all 'Archibald, what are you doing?' and 'Archibald, you didn't tell me you had a wife! What's wrong with you?'. Well, he didn't have a wife anymore. He imagined Goliath wouldn't mind catching up.

He found Goliath's home easily, knocking on the door and patiently waiting. The Giant opened the Giant-sized door, looked down upon the Asparagus for a long moment, and said, "No. Fuck you." And slammed the door shut in his face.

"I'm not married anymore, Goliath!" He called, hoping it might change Goliath's mind.

There was no answer, and he rightly assumed it did not. In his opinion, this whole chapter was a bust—a chapter of his life, of course. He trudged away, wishing he had hands and pants pockets so he could look especially cool trudging away, and not like a candy cane hopping away sadly. He was far from running out of options, but he decided to take a break and hit up the bar at the local bowling alley. Some beer would cheer him up, he suspected, and if not, he might find a desperate, familiar face, and they could cheer each other up.

He entered the bowling alley, ordered a beer, and scanned the room like a virus scan scans a computer, except in this case, the virus was doing the scanning.