Original subtitles

[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, murder 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 killed my baby, I killed 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 fuck 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 shit right.

- You checking out the competition?

- Man, they better pray.

My man Bricks about to wipe the canvas with them Muslim bitches.

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

He's peak.

- So's my nigga here.

- Let's go get high. - Ah.

- Whoa. You think you ought to be getting high

the day of your first fight?

- Shit, 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 fucked with us,

now it's our turn to fuck with them.

Let's go.

- Yo. - [whistling]

Yo, yo, yo.

I got a poem.

- You said what? - Shit, 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, fuckin' 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.

Fuck 'em.

Oh, God, sorry.

- No, you're right.

Fuck '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 fucking 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 fucking skin.

- Come on, man. Look, I beat the shit

out that motherfucker. - 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 kill them

or there will be a war 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 shot, execution style.

- Oh, shit.

- 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 shit?

- 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 nigga Ronnie dead.

Now they dead. - Mm-hmm.

Who loves you, baby?

- Y'all do, yo. Fuck 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 bomb,

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 fucked up and shit,

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--

- Shit!

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 shit.

- 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 fucking motherfucker!

'Cause of you, I got to carry around

all this shit in the dark.

If it wasn't for Tina, I would have killed myself already.

Sometimes I think I should kill myself for her sake,

so she could start a new life without me.

Some days, Alvarez,

I wished you would have killed 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 fucking 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 fucked 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 fuck 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 fucking 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 raped women, beaten them, murdered them.

Ryan O'Reilly had Gloria's husband killed

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 shit 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, murder in the first degree,

four counts, attempted murder,

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 kill 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.

Drugs, 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 shit 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! - Fucking 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 shit 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 fuck 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 shit.

- 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.

- Shit. 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-- fuck!

- 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 died.

- Clayton-- - Show me.

♪ ♪

- Here.

Right here.

[indistinct shouting] [blade stabbing]

- You know, I've been wondering,

you think whoever killed 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 goddamn 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 gun.

- Still, though, there are extenuating circumstances.

His father was killed 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 killed 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 fucked 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 drugs

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 drugs.

We don't have to kill 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 drugs.

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

I saved your boy's life.

- Fuck 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 fucked 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 dick 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 shit.

You know, shit don't come in degrees.

I mean, white or black, shit is shit.

So fuck everything you believe

and fuck everything you stand for and fuck you.

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

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

[both grunting]

[yelling]

- Fuckin' A! Get off him! Get the fuck up!

- Get the fuck back, faggot!

- Who started this?

- He did. - You fucking liar!

- Take him to the Hole! - Fuck you!

Fuck you!

Fuckin' asshole!

Fucking go! - Sit down!

- Fuck you, you fuckin' asshole!

[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.