Across the hall, Schmidt had finally fully furnished his loft, and it was exactly as stylishly douchebag-y as you might imagine. Other than an awesome sports-watching TV and a bar that rose out of the living room table, the loft’s main feature was its “bang spots” (see Dotables). Yes, Schmidt could bang here, he could bang there, he could bang everywhere! As such, he was hitting up the bar in search of the first loose lady to cross his path. Note to Schmidt: When you’re trying to seduce a girl, don’t hack up a lung before telling her, “You could scream in [my apartment], no one would ever hear you!” If it weren’t already obvious, Schmidt was in the depths of a sex drought — he’d lost his mojo due to a lack of human contact from living alone. It was a problem that had to be solved!
Schmidt finally found a willing woman and gave her directions back to his bachelor pad. (I guess that’s how they do it in L.A.?) Only, when Schmidt arrived home, a strange woman was eating his expensive strawberries and asking, “Are you a friend of Schmidt’s?” In his enthusiasm to stave off the loneliness, Schmidt had given Coach and Winston keys to his apartment (as well as coupons for a free sub sandwich), and Coach had brought back a hit-it-and-quit-it and told her his name was Schmidt — just in case she saw his mail.
Schmidt reluctantly assented to pretend to be Coach’s Greek friend Frank Skabapoulos and use the guest bedroom, which… yuck… but when he got there, Winston was on top of Bertie (Jessica Chaffin) — remember Bertie?! — in a police hat. Apparently they were playing Bad Cop, Black Cop. As you do…. Schmidt once again improvised, allowing the other guys to use his bedrooms since the toothpaste was clearly out of that tube. He would get his boom-boom on atop one of the living room’s many appropriate surfaces and/or beanbag chairs. The only stipulation was that the guys could not leave the bedroom until Schmidt had ended the sex drought.
He hadn’t even gotten to second base when Coach’s crazy one-nighter ran out in a tizzy. With the identity confusion exposed, Coach and Schmidt tried to pretend they were both named Schmidt, that they were literally brothers from another mother. But Strawberry Shortstack wasn’t placated: “Then who is Frank Skabapoulos?” Cue Winston: “I AM FRANK SKABAPOULOS!” (Best moment of the night by a mile!) Surrounded by blank stares, Winston tentatively asked, “Is this helping, Schmidt? I forgot the plan.” Coach’s girl jumped to the conclusion that this was some sort of crazy group sex game going on, but Bertie was the only one down for that sweet action. And so Coach and Schmidt were left blue in the nether regions. Winston, however, had a truly excellent night on Schmidt’s “heavenly” guest room bed.
NEXT: The Karma Schmidt-ra