By Miz J                                                                               

 LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE WAS THE TOMATO IN MY BLOODY MARY. Yes, even the amazing Miz J sometimes needs a little hair of the dog, especially the day after her birthday extravaganza, during which she is introduced to the magical deliciousness of Skyy Cherry Infusions.

Anyway, with all this boozy talk flowing like so much…er, booze, watch Freddy Rummy-er, Rumsen show us the consequences of drinking on the job and ruining a nice pair of slacks.

And right before the big Samsonite meeting too. Which, of course, Peggy steps into in order to save face. Personally, folks, Miss Olsen is my hero. I like her more with every passing, drunken Sunday evening.

A side story that gets in the way is Marilyn Monroe's untimely death. Most of the women in the office are upset by the news except scrappy Peggy, who contends that it’s a good thing Maidenform didn’t run that Jackie/Marilyn campaign the agency offered them a while back. Heh, is it fucked up that I totally thought the same thing?

Joan, however, takes it a little more personally, telling Roger that someday he’ll lose someone close and find out that it’s actually quite painful. Talk about foreshadowing. Or maybe it’s like TWOshadowing, because I didn’t see tonight’s ending coming AT ALL. It’s like when you’re fucking with your iPod and you walk into a tree or something. Not that I would know anything about that.

Don’s still not allowed at home, which leads him to pile on work just to pass the time, like organizing the agency blood drive. It’s funny how much free time he has now that he’s keeping his pants on. Oddly enough, Betty’s been doing the same thing, and becoming a recluse. Carla tries to get her out, and she does go riding once. While there, she invites Arthur and Sarah Beth out for a lunch, then ditches out. It’s SAD.

Meanwhile, Rumsen wakes from his drunken, piss-soaked stupor, shoes wet and squishy as he quietly leaves the office. I look at my drink, pause, wonder if perhaps my liver’s suffered enough abuse this weekend, and then take another biiiiiiig delicious gulp. I figure I’ll quit when I piss myself.

Since Don’s still living the hotel life, Jane is proving to be a wise and discreet secretary, something that you should note for later. She buys him some extra shirts, since he’s probably been rocking the same three for a while now, and probably not washing them, either. Sterling calls him into his office, where Campbell and Duck are waiting to tell him what went down with Rummy. The consensus is to fire him under the guise of a “six month leave,” even though Roger and Don really don’t want to. Drinking problem or no, Rummy’s actually got a storied history with the agency and clearly has talent. But Duck and Campbell persist, saying that this kind of episode could be repeated in front of clients and they have to nip it in the bud. In the end, Roger agrees, and he and Don take Rummy out to dinner to break the news to him…where they proceed to get completely fucking loaded.

The boozy trio ends up at an underground casino, where they run into Jimmy Barrett, who gets socked in the face by Don. Needless to say, the guys are promptly escorted out, and Roger and Don continue to drink the night away after sending Rummy off. Roger has been trying to figure out the entire time what’s going on with Don, and he plans to get the answer even if he has to blow off a desperate chick at the bar. Wow. What’s that all about? You’ll see.

Roger keeps talking to Don: “You want to be happy or you want to stay married?” Don says, “Well, you have to live your life,” words that get twisted in the next scene, where Don is confronted by Roger’s wife Mona. “He’s leaving me. For a secretary. And you told him he had to live his life. Twenty-five years of marriage.” She walks out of Don’s office, where Jane is sitting, crying, and Roger approaches to try to talk to her. Don puts two and two together, and that’s basically where it ends this time. No two-minute long montage with some indie artist’s “interpretation” of a blues song, no character contemplation, none of that artsy crap. It just ends, Soprano-style. Which makes me thirsty for some good wine. Excuse me.

Miz J, who works in advertising, has tons of opinions and a big mouth to broadcast them across the globe; however, the Internet saves her the trouble of yelling. Check out her blog at Miz J.