J.D. comes in, in pain Keith: You ok, Dr. Dorian? J.D.: Keith, it's like you're begging me to hate you. Keith: I don't feel like I am. J.D.: You can't stop, can you?
J.D. walks away with scratches on his back. Jason: Dr. D, what's that on your back? J.D.: Those Jason, are the panicked scratches of the adolescent raccoon, who until animal control can get into my home, is currently residing in my sock drawer.