Oz (1997–2003): Season 2, Episode 7 - Animal Farm - full transcript

[bright tone]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

- It's called
"the butterfly effect."

A butterfly starts
flapping its wings in China,

and over the course of time,
that little movement of air

becomes a hurricane in Texas.

See, one day you got a butterfly
dancing on a flower,

the next, you got
pianos stuck in trees.

And the little butterfly,
he didn't know any better.

He was just out looking
for food, for love,

for some kind
of satisfaction.

[buzzer]

- Count!

- [moans]
Oh, fuck.

[grunts]

- Let's go, Beecher.

- Um... I'm not
feeling well.

- This place
smells like a gin mill.

So do you.
You been drinking?

- No.

- Yup,
you been drinking.

Let's go.

- Where'd you get
the moonshine?

- I don't know, man.

- You don't know?

It just magically
appeared in your cell?

- Yeah.
- Who brought it in, fairies?

Or was it Keller?

Because if
it was Keller,

I'll leave him
in the hole for a month.

- It wasn't Keller,
it was me.

- Then who sold
you the moonshine?

- Some guy
in unit B.

- What's his name?
- I don't know.

- Maybe you need
some time in the hole.

- Tim, I'd like to talk to him
alone for just a moment.

- Sure,
you deal with him.

- [clears throat]

- I know, sister,
I know.

I was doing so well.

- You've also been under
a lot of pressure recently--

your wife dying,
you falling in love.

You told me,
remember?

Who is it, Keller?

- He's in the hole
and you miss him, right?

I'm going to send you
to the hospital ward,

get you some aspirin,

let you sleep it off
this one time.

Listen,

you drink again,
and I will kick your ass.

- Mail call.

Hey, Beech-ball.

Yeah, I heard you went
on a little bender.

You're upset about your wife
killing herself, huh?

Would it make you
feel any better

if I told you that
she didn't commit suicide,

that I had her killed?

- You're lying.

Maybe I am...

maybe I'm not.

- She wrote me a note
telling me her reasons.

- She would've
written anything.

She would've
done anything

with that gun
pointed to her head.

- Bullshit.

- I guess you'll
never know for sure.

Best part is,

either way,
it's your fucking fault.

- Hey!

What's going on
over there?!

- Nothing.

[chuckles] Later,
fuck-wad.

- Can I get
some water?

- Hey, O'Reily.
- Yeah.

- I heard your brother
came into Oz yesterday.

- Yeah.
- You seen him yet?

- No.

- You know what unit
he's in?

- No.
- Want me to find out?

- Why you suddenly so interested
in me and my family, Coushaine?

- I don't know,
you're both brothers,

both inmates in the same prison.

It's just kind of--
- What?

You trying
to convert us?

Give Cyril and me
a family discount, hmm?

Fuck you.

- No, I'm just--
- Move away.

- Hey.

You're Cyril O'Reily,
right?

- Can I have
my ball back?

- Hey, you look
like your brother.

- Can I have
my ball back?

- I know Ryan
from Emerald City.

- Emerald city?
What's that?

- You want to see
Em City?

You want to see
your brother?

- Mm-hmm.

- Come with me.

[ominous music]

♪ ♪

- Where's Ryan?

- Well, Cyril, the way things
work in Oz is this:

before I take you
to your brother,

you have to do
something for me.

- Okay, what?

- First, take off
your clothes.

♪ ♪

Come on,
it's all right.

- Supposedly cats
can see in the dark,

but how do
we know for sure?

And if you could
be given cat's eyes,

even for one night,

would you really want
to see what's going on?

[overlapping chatter]

Cyril.

Cyril.
Hey, hey.

- Hey.

- Hey, knock it off!

- He's my brother.

- Looks more like
your sister!

Knock it off!

Hey.

So, uh, where'd
they put you, huh?

Which unit are you in?

- I don't know.

With him?

- Don't worry,
I gave him the royal welcome.

[laughter]

- You better not
fucking touch him!

You got that,
motherfucker?

[indistinct murmuring]

- Why, you gonna
touch him?

- I want you to stay away
from that Nazi fuck,

you understand me, Cyril?

- I think I--
I did a bad thing.

- Oh, fuck.

Listen to me,

I'm gonna get you transferred
out of Unit B, okay?

Now, I don't know how long
that's gonna take me,

so in the meantime,
hit me.

- What?
- Hit me.

- Ryan.
- Just fucking hit me.

Stop.

- [whispering] Come on,
hit me.

[indistinct shouting]

- You just bought
a ticket to the hole!

- Ryan!

- Shut up
and go with him!

- Ryan! Ryan!

- Ryan!
- See you later, brother.

- I want to be you, Ryan!

- You're dead.
- Ryan!

- McManus,

I want you to transfer
my brother to Em City.

- Your brother,

the one who killed
Gloria Nathan's husband?

The one who we just put in
the Ad Seg for punching you?

[scoffs] Give me a break.

- You leave Cyril
where he is,

and Schillinger
will suck his bones dry.

- Well, Schillinger's
gonna suck anyway,

so why should your brother
be the one that's spared?

- He's slow.

Cyril had an accident
last year, and he got slow.

He doesn't understand
what's going on here.

He can't protect himself.

- Sad, but too bad.

- I'll do anything
you ask me to--anything.

- A deal?
- Yes.

- Okay, I want you
to rat on somebody.

- Pfff. Who?
- Yourself.

- I want you to confess you told
Cyril to murder Preston Nathan.

- I didn't.

- Oh, you did.

- If I say yes,

I'm looking at another decade
added onto my sentence.

- Probably.
- No way.

- Well, then
your brother stays

in Vern Schillinger's
ever-loving arms.

- McManus, don't you
fucking play with me!

- Hey!

You got something
to say, say it.

I'm a busy man.

- Fuck you, McManus,
you fucking cocksucker.

- A federal court today
upheld a new state law

that requires sex offenders
released from prison

to register
with local police.

Victims' rights groups
are calling the decision

"a total victory",

because the law permits
neighbors to be notified

if a sex offender
moves to their community.

- They can't do that.
It's Orwellian.

- Or-who-lian?

- If a man pays
his debt to society,

if he redeems himself,

he deserves a chance at
a normal life when he gets out.

- Perverts
aren't normal.

I mean, if one moved
next door to me,

I'd want to know about it.

- You?
- Yeah.

- You're a convicted
murderer.

- So?

- So, what if
it's murderers next?

What if when you get out,

you have to register
with your community,

tell everybody
you did time for murder?

- Why stop there?

Register bigots,
fat ladies,

fuck, people who
talk in movie theaters.

I hate those people.

- No, you know what
they should tell you?

They should register, like,
some sex-crazed nympho

with real big titties

when she moves
onto your block.

That's what
they should tell you.

- Yeah, they should give you her
phone number and her address.

- Word.
- Bet you wouldn't mind that.

- Yeah, thanks for the
stimulating conversation, guys.

You guys are like goats.

You have to bring everything
down the level of a goat:

titties and humping.

[together] Sex offending.

[man muttering]

- Sippel, follow me.

- I am a priest.

I am a pervert.

I knew early on that
I had a vocation from God.

I knew early on that
I had these other...

These other
tremblings.

I acted on the first,
but never on the second.

Never.

I've done nothing
but good works my whole life...

Yet I never...

[sighs] I never saw God...

Until I saw that boy.

14 years old,

his body so perfect,

so pure, so angelic.

I had to touch it.

- Prisoner #88S510,

Robert Sippel,

convicted March 10,'88,

sexual abuse in
the second degree.

Sentence:
15 years.

Up for parole in ten.

- I fondled him for a moment,
just a--just a moment.

He didn't yell,
he didn't cry.

He didn't tell a soul.

I confessed.

I want to be saved.

I want to do good.

I want Jesus to forgive me.

- He has, Robert,

but you need
to forgive yourself.

You've done your time.

Tomorrow you'll
be out in the world,

able to start
a new life.

- A new life?

What kind of life
would that be?

- And Sippel gets out
tomorrow morning without a job,

without a place to live,
and no support,

so I called a friend
at the diocese

to see if a bed was available
anywhere, and he laughed.

- Well, can you
blame him?

The church paid off
a million dollar lawsuit

to Sippel's victim.

- Ray, I want you to call
your buddy, the cardinal,

and get him
to help Sippel.

- Oh, no.

- Why not?

- Well, it's not a favor
that I'll ask.

- Because...

- Look, my relationship with
his eminence is stormy at best.

I can't be calling him
every ten minutes

asking him for a favor.

- And?

- And Sippel
disgusts me.

- Ray, he made a mistake.

He's repentant.

He deserves absolution.

- He robbed a boy
of his innocence.

He's a child molester.
- He was.

- That child trusted his priest.
He's a threat.

- To what?
To society?

To the priesthood?

To you?

- Hello, Father Mukada.

- You're still reading
The Breviary.

- Oh, yes, every day,

just as I was taught
to do in the seminary.

- But you're not
a priest anymore.

- When I was ordained,

I became
a priest forever--

forever,
just like you.

But the church has
stripped me of my powers.

I'm a priest forever,

but not allowed
to be a priest.

I'm a man forever,

but not allowed
to be a man.

I am...

Yet I'm not, you see?

Father, will you
pray with me?

- I can't.

I can't pray with you.

But I will pray for you.

- No, sir,
all I'm asking

is that you give him
a second chance.

He knows that he can't
work with kids again,

but the church, it's still a
part of his life, and...

But if you
abandon him--

I am aware of the victim.

Yes, sir.

No.

Thank you, Cardinal.

- Channel three news has
learned that Robert Sippel,

a Catholic priest convicted
of sexually abusing

a boy in his care,

will be released today

from Oswald Maximum
Security Penitentiary.

Sippel spent
ten years in jail

for the molestation of
a 14-year-old boy upstate.

As state law requires,

Sippel must register
as a sex offender

with police and is expected
to reside in the area.

Anxious residents have
expressed their concern

over Sippel's plan
to live in their neighborhood.

[somber music]

♪ ♪

- This is the cup
of My blood,

the blood of the new
and everlasting covenant.

It will be shed for you
and for all

so that sins
may be forgiven.

Do this in memory of Me.

[bell ringing]

- Hey, Schillinger.

- What do you want?

- Yo, how much would it cost
to mail me out of here?

- Mail you out?
What are you talking about?

- I've been trying to think of
ways to get out of here.

- Escape from Oz?

- Yeah.

And I figured,
you know,

you could box me up in a crate
and mail me to my wife

overnight express,
priority mail, whatever.

How much would that cost,

postage, shipping,
handling, etc.?

- Are you serious?
- Yeah.

- Then you're nuts.
- What's that, a no?

- Yeah, no.

- No, yeah, it's a no.

Get the fuck out of here
before I tip you over.

- All right, Vern,
I ain't mad at ya.

You can't help it if
you're ugly and stupid.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Ain't that a--

yo, what's up with him?

- He's in love.

- Adebisi?

Get the fuck out of here!
With who?

- Shirley Bellinger.

- Say word.

That bitch over
on death row?

- Word.

They been exchanging notes
every meal

for about a week.

- How do they
know each other?

- That's what's
funny about it.

They never even
seen each other before.

- Hey.

- Go away.
You've got diseases.

- I'm cured, Adebisi.
Cancer's not contagious.

- That's what they say.

- Look, I want back
in the kitchen.

- No.

- Christ, haven't I always
been there for you?

- No.
- Come on.

I'm the only friend
you got, pal.

- O'Reily,
you can read, right?

- Yeah, and so can you.

- Yeah, but not all the words
like this one.

What does that say?

- "Brawny."

- What's that mean,
"brawny"?

- Lots of muscles.

- I'm brawny.
- Yeah, among other things.

Here, let me see.

Let me see, hmm?

Oh.

Bellinger says that
tomorrow is her birthday.

And it's her
last birthday on Earth,

and the only thing that
she really wants to do

is to see your
brawny body naked, and...

- And suck your cock.

- Where does it say that?

Where does it say that?
- Right there.

"Fellatio,"

"cunnilingus."

Your girlfriend can spell.

- I want to see her.

I want to meet her.

- You want her
to suck your cock.

- Yeah.

- If I can arrange it,

will you let me
back in the kitchen?

- O'Reily,

if she sucks my cock...

I'll suck yours.

- [laughs]
That's an appetizing thought.

Pass.

- Hey, hey,
you can do it?

- I can do it.

All right, listen.

Tomorrow Adebisi's
doing your mop duty.

- Why?
- So he can see Bellinger.

- Fuck that.
Every day she shows her pussy.

- Well, you're gonna have
to go without it for once.

Here, take that.

- Fuck.

- Here, Shirley.

- Thank you, dumpling.

[gasps]

Well, I'll be.

That Simon thinks of everything.

- [whistling "Happy Birthday"]

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

Shirley...

You like your cake?

- Yes.

♪ ♪

- Happy birthday, baby.

- You're Simon?

- Quick...

before the hacks come.

- But...
- What?

- You're a nigger.

♪ ♪

- Suck my dick now.

- Hey, get the fuck away from--

- Suck my dick.
- What the fuck you doing?

Tony! Al!

- Adebisi, move!

[indistinct shouting]
- Suck my dick!

♪ ♪

- [sniffing]

- Yo, Wangler,
check this out, man.

- This sniffer's buggled.

- Yo, man.

What the fuck is up
with you, man?

- Go away.
- What the fuck?

You losing your mind
or something?

- Go away!

[vomits]

Stay down.

- How are you?

- Hey, Chucky,

how's your head?

- That can of peaches knocked
your brains loose?

- Hey, hey, hey.

Fuck those guys, man.

Don't even worry about them.

I got good news.

Antonio Nappa's
coming to Oz.

- For those of you going
to Emerald City, we got rules--

got a lot more rules
than anywhere else in Oz.

Your cell is your home.
You are to keep it clean.

You are to exercise regularly,

attend classes,

go to drug
and alcohol counseling,

follow the rules.

There is no yelling,
no fighting,

no fucking.

Okay, those of you
going to Em City

will each be
given a sponsor.

You can pair up as follows.

Nappa, Pancamo.

Hoyt, Burns.

Vincent, Adebisi.

The rest of you can follow
officer Tobin to Gen Pop.

- Goldfish.

They live their whole lives
in 30-second intervals.

Every half minute,

their little brain forgets
what the last half minute

of their life was like.

In other words,

when this little
goldfish is happy,

he thinks he's been
happy his whole life,

since his whole life
was only 30 seconds ago.

And when this little
goldfish is hungry,

he thinks he's been
hungry his whole life.

And when he's dying,

this little goldfish
thinks he's been dying

his whole life.

Imagine that:

death

being the only life this
little goldfish will ever know.

[heavy rock music]

♪ ♪

- Prisoner #98N744,

Antonio Nappa,

convicted June 4, '98,

murder in the second degree.

Sentence: 80 years.

Up for parole in 50.

- Needless to say,

I was saddened by
Peter Schibetta's rape.

His father, Nino,
and I were paisans.

I'm Peter's godfather.

No, his actual godfather,
at baptism.

- We won't
tolerate revenge.

- Nor should you.

All I ask is that you
punish the man responsible.

- We will
when we find him.

- You have no suspects?

- We have suspects.

The problem is,
we have no witnesses.

Pancamo was unconscious,
and Schibetta--

- Is unwilling to talk.

- That's right.
- May I see him?

- No.

- I tell you, Antonio,

I think that Peter's
mind has snapped.

He keeps talking
to his father,

as if Nino
were still alive.

- This Adebisi,
who raped Peter--

- Yeah.

- We can't kill him,
at least not yet.

But I want him to suffer.

I want to take away whatever's
most important to him.

- Well, that, uh--
that would be heroin.

He's a fiend.

- He's a user
and a dealer?

- Yeah.
- Then his black ass is mine.

I want you
to suggest to Glynn

that it's time to do
a little random drug testing.

- You got it.

- You,

you,

you...

And you,

come with me.

- Hill...

Rebadow...

Said...

Adebisi.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Hey, hey.

Let's go.

- Simon,
after the riot,

you went into severe
heroin withdrawal.

I thought you'd
kicked the habit.

- I did.
- Oh, come on.

These reports say
that you're still using.

Now, I want you to come
to drug counseling.

- Rehab is bullshit,
no offense.

- Fine.

Then I'll have you tested
for drug use every week,

and if you keep using,
I'll send you to the psych ward.

Have you ever been to
the psych ward here, Simon?

Peter Schibetta's there,

along with 20 other guys who've
lost all sense of reality.

- Reality.

Oz?

- So tell me, what world
are you living in?

Better yet,

which world are you
trying to avoid?

Because drugs are all
about avoidance, Simon,

about not being able
to accept some

secrets in yourself.

- Sister,

don't send me
to that looney bin.

I will come to your meetings.

I will stop taking drugs.

[overlapping chatter]

What are you looking at,
old man?

- Hey.

Nappa,

he engineered the drug testing
to slow you down.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

- Looks like I'm gonna
have to kill me some dagos.

- Atta boy.

- Here's the plan:
we go out there,

grab that bitch Nappa
and his Guinea friends,

cut their throats.

- What, now?
- Yeah.

- It's the middle
of fucking lunchtime.

What are you, crazy?

- Is there
a better time?

- Yes, there's
a fucking better time.

Look, there's hacks
all over the place.

Everyone's gonna see.

- Let them see us.

- Please, go back!

You disgrace us all
when you act like a fool.

- Move out of my way.

- We're African brothers.
I know you see that.

- Look at all this
black skin around.

- No, you and I
are different.

- I'm no different.

- Yoruba...

What have they
turned you into?

- Who are you?

- Who are you ?

- There a problem here,
Adebisi?

- No problem, officer.

- Then get back to work.

♪ ♪

- Hey, hey.

What happened in the cafeteria
with that old man?

- Just some crazy fuck.

- You were gonna
take care of Nappa.

- Another day.

- You planning on doing
anything soon?

- Yeah, planning
on lying down.

Where's the CD player?

- The batteries are low.

Here.

- What's in here?

- Some hard shit
my cousin sent me.

Yo, what are we gonna do
about Nappa, man?

Adebisi?

Yo!

You know what?
Fuck it.

You slipping,

and if your balls
end up in a cannoli,

don't say shit.

[hip-hop plays on CD]

♪ ♪

[man chanting]

♪ ♪

[tribal drums]

- [screams]

- What's up, man?

[people muttering indistinctly]

- What the fuck?!

That's my motherfucking
CD player!

[chatter and laughter]

- Do you believe
in voodoo, Chucky?

The power of magic?

- No.
- I do.

There's an old wives' tale
in Sicily

that a new bride waits
until she menstruates,

then she takes her blood

and puts it into
the first tomato sauce

she makes
for her husband.

- What for?

- If he eats her blood,
she can control him forever.

Somebody's got
Adebisi under a spell.

Too bad it's not us.

- Those "National Geographic"
specials,

they're popular
here at Oz.

All those wild beasts
attacking each other--

ferocious lions running down
to the watering hole,

brutalizing antelopes
and gazelles.

How come there's never a program
where the animals get along,

where they help
each other?

Is it possible for, say,
a flat-billed platypus

to help a green-eyed cockatoo
cross the street?

Now what?

- The fun part:
we read everybody's mail.

Our nigger warden
has a rule:

every piece of mail
that comes into Oz

gets opened
and thoroughly examined.

- In case somebody's
pulling a scam or something.

- Right.

If we find anything suspicious,

we're supposed to pass it on
to the supervising hack.

- And do we?

- They spot check us
pretty regular,

so you gotta pick your shot,
letting something slip through.

- In the meantime,

we know every
prisoner's business.

- Right.

And like the great man said,
"Knowledge is power."

- Can do some real damage
with this bad boy.

- Relax.
You're suffering from PBS.

- PBS?
- Pre-bunny syndrome.

It happens quite often
in my line of work.

You dig and dig and dig,

and just before you have
to make like a little bunny

and go through the hole,
you panic.

- This is real,
pre-bunny syndrome?

- Well, yeah.

I mean, I made
the name up, but sure.

- Come on, man,
what's the slow-up?

- Keep your fucking
shirt on.

- Oh.

- What's the matter?

- It's a letter
from my mother.

- You have a mother?

- She's 90.

She says my grandson
has leukemia.

- You have a grandson?

- My fiancé was pregnant
at the time of my arrest.

- Rebadow, who'd have thought
about you doing the nasty?

You got a kid, huh?

Boy or girl?

- Boy... man.

Alex would be 34,
and he has a boy.

- Who has leukemia.

- I've never seen
either one of them.

- Okay, any other
new business?

- Yeah.

This guy Rebadow--
his grandson's got leukemia.

all: Aww.
- That's too bad, dude.

- The kid's dying,

and his dying wish
is to go to Disney World.

- Mine too.
- Mickey Mouse sucks cock.

- How do you
know all this?

- I work the mail, right?

I read the letter
from his mama.

Rebadow's family
doesn't have the $3,000

to send the kid
to Disney World,

so I'm thinking maybe
we should send him.

- Who, us?
- How?

- My bike club.

We raised $10,000 once

doing a run
across the state

for the Ronald McDonald house.

You all
earn money in here,

working whatever job you got,
same as me.

So I'm thinking instead of
spending the money on shit,

we can make a donation.

- Look, what the fuck do we care
about Rebadow's grandson?

- Hey, Kenny, if you don't care,
then you don't care.

But if you do,
then help out.

Whatever you guys raise,
the CO's will match.

Meeting's adjourned.

- Look, uh, it's not a lot,
but take it.

- Thank you, Augustus,
Tobias, Busmalis.

- How much do you have?

- With this and the money
in my account,

$72.

- 172.

From the brothers.

- I thought I was gonna die.

You know, so, um...

maybe your grandson,
he won't die.

- Maybe.

- But just in case...

[percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- I got kids too.

Mostly, they're a pain
in the ass, but...

- So how much
have you raised?

- Almost $2,000.

- Then this should
put you over the top.

- First thing tomorrow,

I'll wire the money
to my mother.

I've told her
it was coming,

and I told her I want
this gift to be anonymous.

I don't want my grandson
to know where it came from.

- You're ashamed?

- Yes.

[weeping]

- That's fucking
what I heard.

Rebadow collected, like,
three G's,

and that money's
going tomorrow.

Know what?

I'm thinking
we go to Rebadow,

we take the dough,

and then, so these other
fucks don't get mad,

we make Rebadow
swear that he sent it.

- No.

- What do you mean, no?
It's $3,000.

- I said no.

- Why?

- 'Cause sometimes
it's good to be human.

- Prisoner #98H432, Jaz Hoyt.

[ominous music]

♪ ♪

Convicted
August 12, '98,

aggravated assault
in the first degree.

Sentence: eight years.

Up for parole in four.

- Yo, Alvarez.
- Man, no, leave me alone.

- Wait a second, man, I got
to ask you a question, bro.

- What?

- Yo, you're working bed pans.

You ever see any opportunities
of getting out?

- Getting out?

What do you mean,
like escape?

- Yeah, man.

- [scoffs] You trying
to escape, bro?

- I've been exploring
the possibilities.

- Right.

Okay, well,

hospital ward, right,
that's a dead end.

'Cause if there was a way out,
my ass'd be like a vapor.

But hey,
you find that crack,

you let me know,
all right?

'Cause I'll be there
right behind ya, okay?

- Yeah.
- Okay.

- Fuck.

- Welcome to Oswald
Maximum Security Penitentiary.

We are, of course, pleased

that the state budget
increased its line item

for more
correctional officers.

Your presence here
will help alleviate stress

between the COs
and the inmates

as well as increase
safety for all.

I myself stood where you're
standing some 30 years ago.

The warden back then
gave us a piece of advice

I'd like
to pass on to you.

"Be aware and beware."

My own little addendum is,
"Be fair."

Again, welcome.

- Man, I know
that dude.

- The new hack?

- Yeah, man, he was
in Los Diablos.

- Los Diablos?
You wiped the motherfuckers out.

- Yeah, Rivera
was always a pussy.

- Yeah, speaking
of pussies.

- You shut the fuck up.

- What do you want, "Michael"?

- I want to have a sit-down,
just him and me.

- Yo, get out, man,
you're busted.

- Can I?

[exhales heavily]

You know, my grandfather was
in Oz for 40 years--

spent the last half
in solitary.

- Yeah, I know.

- My father's
an inmate here.

Got his tongue cut out.

- Yeah, I know, man,
so what?

- Yo, man, I've seen
my share around here.

You know, and I got no problem
with you taking over.

I mean,
you El Cid.

You have cajones.

But, yo, ever since
you came in, man,

I been low man.

I get my face
in the dirt every day.

I just want to know
what I got to do

to get in your good graces.

- Change your skin, man.
You're too white.

- Man, there ain't nothing
I can do about that.

- I'm not talking
about your outside.

I'm talking about
right here, man.

Too white.

- I'm not.

All right, I'll prove it.

You tell me
to do something.

- See that guardaespalda
over there?

- Uh-huh.

- Tráeme los ojos.

- Are you kidding me?

- Tráeme los ojos.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Poppa.

Gonglewski's shit
in his bed again?

I'll give you a hand.

Poppa, I got a problem,

and I got nobody
to talk to but you.

El Cid is in Oz now,

and the only way he's gonna
let me stay in the game--

he wants me to pluck out
the eyes of--of a CO.

Some new guy, Rivera.

Now the way I see it,
if I do it,

I'm dead.

The hacks are gonna
tear me apart.

If I don't, El Cid will.

Poppa, I don't know
what to do.

I mean,
what do I do?

♪ ♪

- Count!

88P217,

86M510,

93K518,

92H24...

- 96J522,

98H498,

92M220,

97A413.

- Hey.

- What?

What, Alvarez?

- They say the eyes are
the mirrors of the soul.

- What the fuck
you talking about?

- Nice to see you.

- 97P468,

98N744,

91T818,

92L411,

89O792...

[dark music]

♪ ♪

- Did Diane Wittlesey
shoot Scott Ross

with the intention
of ending his life?

Did Wittlesey
murder Ross?

- No.

- Hey, there you are.

Do you have time to go over
the statistical reports?

- Uh, not right now.

I promised Coushaine

that I would sit in on his
reading and writing class.

- Okay.

- Hey, Leo.

- Hey.

- I've been meaning
to ask you,

how's your daughter?

- Well, she's out
of the hospital,

on the road to recovery.

- That's great.
I'm happy for you.

How about your brother?

- His trial starts
in two weeks.

- God gives,
God takes, huh?

- Yeah.

- How about it?

Come on, a little
one-on-one?

- Nope.

- Hey, Leo...

I know I can't tell the truth
about Ross's shooting,

but I can't carry the lie
around anymore either.

I try.
I can't.

- Then find a way
to lose the lie.

- Diane, I--

sorry.

- It's all right, Tim.

It's not like you haven't
seen me undressed.

What's up?

- You're always telling me

that I get lost
inside my own head,

that I got to
be more blunt.

So I'm going
to be blunt.

At Schillinger's hearing,

I put my hand on the Bible
and I swore to God

that I would tell the truth,
and then I lied.

I lied for you, and now
every time I see you,

I'm reminded of my lie,

of the vow to God that I broke,

of my sin.

- And?

- I want you to transfer out
of Em City to another unit.

- Wittlesey's working
in Unit B now.

- Find out why.

- Think she's been selling
cigarettes again?

- I heard she had
a nervous breakdown.

- It's because of McManus.

- Yo, I miss those
tits of hers, man.

- Me, too.
- What do you think?

- I never liked the woman.

- I wonder who the new
head hack's gonna be.

- As long
as it's not him.

- People are
always wondering

if their pets are gonna
make it to heaven.

If Jojo or Muffy

are gonna pass through
those pearly gates.

How much you want to bet
the animals are wondering

if their masters
are gonna make it?

Cats, dogs,
parakeets--

they don't spend
their whole lives

drowning in sin,
lies and suffering.

They just wallow
in the truth.

Imagine that--

if all we humans
knew of life on Earth

was the goddamn truth...

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Beecher...

Don't do this.

- Do what?

- Drink.

- You love to dabble in
people's lives, don't ya?

Because you're
so much better than us,

'cause you've
seen the light.

You've seen
the face of God.

So you wave
your dick around

in order to save us
lowly mortals.

Hill, Mershah,

Groves,

Jefferson Keane.

Fuck, you helped
Jefferson Keane

right into a lethal injection.

But in the end--
- No, no, no, no.

- When all is
said and done,

who have you
really fucking helped,

other than yourself?

- Poet.

- Poet?

I just saw on the news,
he killed a man.

He's coming back to Oz.

Little Miss Tucket
sat on a bucket,

eating some
peaches and cream.

Then came a grasshopper
and tried to stop her,

but she said,
"Go away or I'll scream!"

[dark music]

♪ ♪

[gunshot]

- Prisoner #98J448,

Arnold Jackson,
AKA Poet.

Convicted July 20, '98,

murder in
the second degree.

Sentence: 26 years,

up for parole in 19.

♪ ♪

[applause]

- Can we get by,
brother?

Come on, man.

- So what is it that separates
you and me from the goldfish,

the butterfly,
the flat-billed platypus?

Our minds, huh?

Our souls, huh?

The fact that
we can get HBO?

Well, maybe it's that humans
are the only species

to put other
animals in cages,

put its own kind in cages.

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪