By Matthew Wood

Rule No. 1 among friends and bandmates: Don’t let a chick get between you. And, if you do, don’t let her get engaged to some Australian chump.

Yes, Bret and Jemaine are again at odds over Sally, the bad news broad who dumped Bret, then dumped Jemaine. It all starts when Jemaine sees her at the Laundromat, rehashing old feelings — until she finds out he’s still living with Bret. Awkward.

Jemaine dreams of a future with the beautiful Sally, including making “Business Time” with her every Wednesday night, even if the highlight of sexy time for her is probably sorting the recyclables. And no, that’s not a metaphor.

As Sally convinces Jemaine to move into his own place (well, it’s more of a “studio compartment”), Bret rekindles his love for her as well.

When Jemaine’s housewarming party coincides with Sally’s birthday, they both blow off the party and set off a birthday gift escalation that includes Bret writing her a love song, then painting it on a pebble (which he loses) and Jemaine making her a glass butterfly, which he sits on during the bus ride over (but he does include glue in the present, which is nice).

Unfortunately, ol’ girl has already gotten engaged to Mark, a hot Australian dude with great abs. Typical chicks, always passing up a couple of perfectly nice Kiwis for some flash-in-the-pan Aussie.

So, it’s now two hearts she’s broken. Well, Bret also gets his heart broken by current girlfriend Coco, who gets sick of his crocheting pictures of Sally and such, so I guess it’s three hearts.

And, here they are again, living together (sans girlfriends), still without a gig. At least nobody quit the band this week.

I must say, I thought this was weakest episode of the season. I’m really hoping they can move the story along a little more — you know, beyond chasing the same chick and singing the same songs about not getting her. In the end, the songs are what put this show over the top, and it was definitely not one of the strongest showings from the “band.”

I’m really hoping we can get back to some hip-hoppin’ in the next few weeks.  I miss the Rhymenocerus and Hip-Hopopotamus — their street names — and I hear the chicks love that crap.