Friday’s episode opened with Cally’s memorial service. As Tyrol stares off into space, Roslin leans over to Adama and says, “All this pomp. When I die just put me in a box and bury me in the backyard.” Adama tells her that he could never do that, which is what Roslin wanted to hear in the first place. Tyrol continues to stare at the wall, and people eventually get uncomfortable and leave. It’s all very sad. As Tigh and Tory try and slip out the door, Tyrol grabs them.
Tigh: Sorry about your loss, Chief.
Tory: Yeah. Sorry, Chief.
Tigh: … the Hell?
Tigh’s been visiting Six in the brig and asking her what it’s like to be a Cylon. When she asks why he won’t stop bothering her, he says, “Pssh. You think I want to be here?” Then he sits down on her bed.
Tory pays a visit to Baltar, who’s looking more and more like Chris McDonald from Requiem for a Dream. He brings Tory up on stage.
Baltar: We gotta winnah! I said we got a winnah!
Audience: Juice by Tory! Juice by Tory! Ooooooooooh, Tory!
But before Tory’s awarded the grand prize, a bunch of Mad Max extras run in and paint all over the walls and pull everyone’s hair.
Down in the hangar deck, Tyrol’s forgotten to replace a crucial component in Racetrack’s raptor, and when they take it out, one of the engines blows and they’re forced to make a crash landing. The raptor smashes into the deck and explodes. As the wreckage burns and explodes even more, Racetrack and Skulls’ screams are drowned out only by the roar of the flames… and boy are they mad when they WALK OUT OF IT five minutes later. Tyrol is like whatevs, and asks Figursky what his major malfunction is.
In return for being humiliated on his show, Baltar and his followers attack a local church, which made us all wonder, what the hell was this chick drawing? A bird? An ass?
Tigh wanders into the brig nonchalantly. Six asks him what he’s doing there, again.
Tigh: Oh… heeey. I didn’t know you’d be here. So… what’s goin’ on?
Roslin takes a few minutes to visit Baltar in the brig. Now that she’s dying again the gloves are coming off, and if Baltar doesn’t check his s**t, she’s gonna take him down, all the way to China Town. Baltar tells her that he hairsprays his hair at least five times a day and he can still run his fingers through it.
Adama goes down to Joe’s to show everyone what a normal guy he is. When he sees Tyrol staring off into space, he again tries consoling him about Cally. Tyrol flips out and starts screaming about how a life on a Battlestar isn’t the life he chose. All he ever wanted to do was move down to Cabo, live on a fishing boat and bang waitresses. So, thanks life.
Lee’s rousing rabbles at another Quorum meeting, railing against the ban on free assembly that President Roslin’s imposed. Roslin, who’s looking more and more like Howard Hughes, complains about germs and unveils a plan to disenfranchise minorities. She’s also talking about setting aside money and buying up casinos along the Strip.
Later, Six wakes up to find Tigh unpacking his things in her cell. He’s real sorry he woke her up. She gets mean and lays hands on him. Not one to be made a fool of, Tigh gets mean right back. Then he gets mean all the way down to the floor in a puddle of his own blood. And we see his gross eye hole. It’s all very sexual.
Baltar and his fan club make their way back to their dungeon, but are blocked by a marine. He says that the maximum allowable number of people are already inside, and no one else can go in. He tells them all to leave, but Baltar beats himself up then throws himself into a glass table and some shelves. He crawls, bloody and broken, laughing and clutching at the Marine’s legs.
All of the sudden, Lee pops out of a trashcan and announces that a stunning blow has been struck against the forces of religious persecution. Everyone claps and a party is planned for later that evening. After having the s**t knocked out of him, Baltar makes a speech and tells everyone that their homework assignment is to get in a fight and lose. All his girlfriends stand around and cry. In the back, Six is checking out Tory. I have a feeling that even in it’s final season, BSG will take us to new sexual heights.