Episode Report Card Gustave: B | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Wanna Fanta?
By Gustave | Season 3 | Episode 7 | Aired on 12.08.2003
Back out on the floor, Bitchelle is making last-minute preparations with various extra-agents to hand the reins over to Gael just as the meeting is starting. Chappelle enters. Everyone takes their seats. "There is no longer an outbreak threat for the city of Los Angeles," says Chappelle. For some reason, everyone except for Bitchelle -- and that includes Adam the Woman Hater -- is shocked by this turn of events, even though it's old news that Kontagious Kyle is no longer Kontagious. I mean, where were these people last week when everyone was debating whether or not to shoot down Kiefer's Kopter because there was no V-I-R-U-S threat? As Chappelle outlines their "top priority" -- namely the prevention of Hartmano's escape from the U.S. -- Crystal Gael enters the room. "If you're taking over for Bitchelle," says Chappelle, "be on time!" Hey, Chappelle? If Bitchelle is in charge, and handing the reins over to Crystal Gael, what are you still doing in the building? Crystal Gael apologizes, and Chappelle brings him up to speed. The meeting continues and functions mainly as exposition to remind viewers of last week's events, namely that Kiefer and Hartmano were last seen in L.A. and are probably headed for the Mexican border. According to Bitchelle, the Mexican government has been alerted. "What about Special Agent Charlie Brown?" asks Chappelle. "I'm assuming that he's coming back here," answers Bitchelle. "Don't assume anything," says Chappelle, neglecting to follow up that statement with the highly anticipated classic, "because when you 'assume,' you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me.'"
The time is 07:06:27 PM. The setting sun is the color of my favorite drink: vodka and cranberry with a splash of orange. The wonderful thing about Cape Codders is that the orange and cranberry have this wonderful way of masking the taste of really cheap vodka. Ahem, or so I've been told. Our view is obscured momentarily by a small plane flying in front of it. We go inside, and the plane is filled with ladies wearing sparkly, revealing outfits and updos. I guess this is what the "Fanta Girls" do as their day job. You know how you walk into a bodega on the Lower East Side or tune into a Spanish-speaking radio station and there's that generic "Latin" pop song playing that, to your ears anyway, is indistinguishable from a plethora of other Latin pop songs? Well, that's the song that's playing in the cabin. A Salazar henchman with a face like a basset hound offers Felipe Hartmano a glass of champagne to celebrate his successful escape, but Hartmano, who appears to be getting his nails buffed by an attentive Fanta girl, isn't up for a fiesta. His attention is elsewhere, namely on Kiefer, who is taking an impact-induced siesta on the floor of the cabin. He grabs an open bottle of champagne -- a fairly good brand, the one that has those white flowers on the bottle that you can peel off -- walks over to Kiefer's unconscious body, and pours some on his face so that he wakes up. "For some reason, Hector wants you alive," says Hartmano as Kiefer twitches on the ground like a freshly-caught fish. "Maybe he wants to kill you heemself. Or maybe he wants to watch me do eet. I'm just not sure I can wait that long." It's official. Hartmano is working my last nerve. We get it, Hartmano. You're Latin. You're evil. You're full of "presence." You're prone to making Bond-villain-style speeches, and you really really want to do Kiefer. We. Get. It. But before Hartmano can have his way -- whatever that "way" might be -- various henchmen, on orders from Hector to keep Kiefer alive, escort him away from Kiefer and back to the Fanta girls.