Roswell TV Show - Crazy - Roswell Recaps, Roswell Reviews, Roswell Episodes | TWoP

Recapped by Djb · Aired 2000-04-10

Following a "previously on Roswell" intro so long it nearly requires its own commercial break (followed, necessarily, by five weeks of non-productive retooling of the "previously on" section), we fade in on Michael "Lord of the Fries" Guerin in his mysterious new capacity as head chef at the Crashdown. Apparently, his brief stint in the working world has consisted of a hostile takeover of the diner itself, for he seems to be the only member of the staff specializing in culinary preparation of any kind. He barks goading remarks to his "ladies," including the not-true-for-cantaloupe-or-other-vitamin-bearing-perishables untruism, "Food doesn't taste better cold, all right?" Yeah, well, food also doesn't taste better when streaming in colloid form through an IV tube into a nutritionally challenged and subsequently constricted artery, but even that hasn't enticed any of the bypass-worthy characters of this show to consume so much as a Centrum in seventeen grease-and-coke-drenched weeks. And I'm sorry, Michael, but the non-voguish headgear you're sporting may be called a "do rag," but it's pretty much still considered to be a pretty remarkable fashion don't. Okay? Just thought you should know.

Through the front door of the Crashdown enters Max "I Come in Boredom" Evans, flanked by his too-peripheral genetic counterpart Isabel "Biggest Fifth Wheel Since the Invention of the Spare" Evans. Unconcerned with her responsibility of being the Crashdown's highest-ranking administrative official in the absence of all parental figures (which allows that "Lord of the Fries" reference to take on some breadth, if you really think about it), Liz "MacArthur" Parker hands off her order to Maria and proceeds to barely contain herself from servicing Max orally right there in the middle of the diner. Trapped in that really awkward proximity to the two, Isabel's body language fairly screams, "No matter how much you love each other, my hate for you both will always be stronger." Maria, still not hip to the fact that Michael's only impetus for sharing a bed with her in the first place was so he could steal the towels out of her bathroom, back in the days before he traded "poverty" for the far less arduous "non-poverty," speaks up. And this is what she says to him: "Is that so hard?" What's hard? Utilizing her newly-acquired skills from her five-week stint at the Christopher Walken School of Bizarre Syntactical Phrasing, Maria enigmatically responds, "Acting like a real couple kissing/arms around each others/shoulders actually/excited to see one another." And though his own slurred pronunciation of numerous (read: all) words calls into question many basic precepts of language (the picture/pitcher debate still rages strong in the Guerin house.

By Djb

Oh, wait, there is no one in the Guerin house besides Michael, because his mother disappeared and his father is a shape-shifting alien and he lives alone on the outskirts of town in a subsidized apartment, which should be made of government surplus cheese but in fact has more architectural integrity and aesthetic frou than the freakin' Taj Mahal. For those of you just tuning in), Michael is able to parse out Maria's message and pronounces the whole situation "overrated." But for Liz it doesn't appear to be rated anything besides NC-17 (sex, violence, whole lotta smacky lip noises), and she slithers off of Max long enough to tell him that she's ready to go to the movie. Yawn. Already they are very boring and I have grown lethargic and uninterested. I begin furiously rubbing my eyes and lean back just for a second, to awake really confused and angry less than fifteen minutes later, that weird coppery taste in my mouth and fresh out of a dream where my roommate leaps out of the downstairs closet wearing, for some reason, a clown suit. Y'know, that dream? Which is really odd, particularly considering my roommate's lack of propensity for the circusly arts. What's going on? Oh, yes. Rightfully indignant and thanklessly dissed, Isabel sits at the counter as Liz ditches her apron, her friends, and her singular remaining ounce of moral fortitude and takes off to reclaim her position as center float in The Max Evans Nookie Parade. Michael snaps me out of my brief (three minutes and forty-eight seconds, according to the counter), er, "retooling hiatus" (and to wake up to find not so much as one measly bottle of Tabasco in my mailbox) long enough to term Max and Liz's situation as "kinda immature, really." Okay, ye bastion of all things evolved in the universe, alert us as to why. "Just a couple of horndogs looking for a place to make out. We don't need that. We've got my apartment, y'know?" Yeah, I know. And like that they're off, hilariously stymieing Isabel's attempt at ordering dinner and leaving her hungry and me starving. Starving for some more of these delectable Roswell-brand jokes/barbs/general hijinks, that is.

By Djb

But the wacky escapades of the scene were bound to give way to the strenuous endeavors of Roswell's loudest lip mics eventually. Seriously. That sound is so not necessary. Ever. Breathing like they'd been dwelling in an underwater city for years before discovering that they did not possess gills, and smackier than a Long Island receptionist with a fresh pack of cherry Hubba-Bubba, Liz and Max spoil another brilliantly lit (read: pitch black) night scene simply by committing the crime of appearing somewhere within it. Gettin' busy in the Alienmobile, the pillow talk ("headrest cushion on the driver's side talk"?) concerns Liz's mumbling something about "the movie," to which Max responds that he hears that "it got bad reviews." Yikes. How inadvertently self-referential. Having lost at least two viewers to sexy fun times just because of poor press, one can only hope that the few lone and misguided fans of said bad film deluge the movie theater owner's house with little bottles of Tabasco sauce. Sound crazy? Well, I hear it's worked before. But at least this lascivious sequence is disrupted by an event of possible plot development, as a flashlight shines through the Alienmobile window to reveal the triumphant return of one Renee Zellweger (no, really, I know it's not her. You already told me that, but I've known all along. Stop composing that e-mail. Don't press that send button. 'Cause I already know. So don't you go and -- aw, crap, see what you've gone and done?) to the small screen. She bangs on the window looking ten kinds of crazy, yelling something about being followed, that they should act like normal kids. She even tosses in that old standby for thin science fiction plots out of the Ten Lazy Ways to Instigate Universal Paranoia handbook: "Don't. Trust. Anyone." She runs off with a promise to find them again, but nevertheless vows to solve the biggest unsolved mystery this show, and the world, has ever experienced: How the hell did she wrap up that role in Bridget Jones? Was it her brilliant comedic turn as the memorable "Gina" in Empire Records, or maybe the dramatic prowess displayed in A Price Above Rubies? It's like the people who cast her in that film never even read the damn book, y'know? Yeah, well, neither did I.

By Djb

Opening credits: Hey! A new shot at the end of the end of the credits! All six black-clad teens stand, alt-rock style, on a rocky embankment overlooking water. I take this to symbolize the increasing push to make this a truly ensemble show, one that stands up and proudly admits, "When we're canceled, we are all very much canceled. No spin-offs, no hair dye commercials, no Teen Steam-esque self-help exercise videos for fat girls who need television stars to help them motivate. Just canceled. Together." Good for them.

Still in the process of waiting for the indispensable Flood Light Operator Guy's flight to land at LAX, the "writers" have compensated for his absence by scripting fourteen consecutive scenes of preestablished couples making out. Again. Fade in on Michael and Maria writhing in ways that make even the close-captioning editorialize, "Oh, come on, now. Phooey," but they are soon to be interrupted by the arrival of Max, Liz, Isabel, and Alex. The ensuing sequence is a verbal reiteration of the opening scene, one that we might have completely forgotten during those three lavishly long thirty-second commercials. That's how dumb we are. Renee is back. Max preaches acting normal and doing nothing. Michael trusts no one. Maria's hair is different, yet remains questionable from a fashion perspective. And so I'll ask again: Does any of this sound familiar to anyone? Oh, wait, I forgot about all of the jump-cutting and red backlighting that so complement the dialogue. A series of six really pensive close-ups do nothing for the scene but distance me further from it as I drift into a really long mental exposition about how much better their skin is than mine, and when I put down the oil-free soap and rejoin the action, they've come to the consensus that they have to hide The Most Interplanetary Paperweight in the Universe, and they have to hide it at Guerin Manor. Maria forlornly observes that "I thought this was all over with." Yeah, sister. Sing it. Those Wednesday night ratings were just plain awful.

Outside at school, Alex "'I wish I were big' but I think I may have already used that nickname and I'm too lazy to comb old recaps and look it up" Whitman disregards Isabel's firmly-in-check why-can't-we-not-be-friends sneer while observing Max and Liz necking at lunch. Yeah, hot lunch at public school pretty much brought out the Casanova in me during my own secondary education. How often would I gaze longingly into my lover's eyes before picking up a morsel of food and asking, "Oh, darling. Would it please you to savor just one more nibble of Steakum With Cheese while I pour you another sparkling glass of Capri Sun?" Good times, good times. But times are not so good for Alex and Isabel, who bemoan their own face-sucking-free situation. So against my version of what Alex's better judgment should rationally be, he remains steadfast in his pursuit of Isabel, unshaken even by the shock collar encircling his neck that emits a small but painful electromagnetic wave when he comes within a fifty-foot range of her, as per the judge's orders. But right smack in the middle of telling her that it would be nice to "have someone" with whom he could share "common bonds," the consolation couple is presently interrupted by the arrival of the world's remaining supply of dark-hued eye makeup, carrying with it a girl who calls herself "Tess." Yeesh, another character, another nickname. Here we go again. Let's see: egregiously overwrought facial make-up. Kinky blonde hair and hair-related extensions. Clownish over-enunciation, lady-killing potential, and a taste for the wilder and sweeter things in life. I don't know -- Tesla? Whoever she is, she alters the flow of conversation rather dramatically from her first second on-screen. Tesla asks if she can join them. Alex pretty much tells her to scram-o-la, but Isabel tells her to stay, using that transitional masterpiece, "Are you the new girl?" Yeah, the new girl. That's her. They chat. The conversation is riveting, I'm sure. They talk about social classes at West Roswell and the dynamics of the eraser room. Alex becomes quiet. Tesla uses real sugar on her yogurt and Isabel points out that she does that too. "I can't stand people who use fake sugar," she barks abruptly. Hey, new best friend, you need a quarter for that judgment call? Isabel and Tesla are now best friends. All of which really puts a damper on my now-conditional love for Isabel, who I presume will consequently be spending most of her already limited screen time accessorizing with skank.

By Djb

Interior Chez Evans, where Max and Michael "Wu-Tang" Guerin ramble on. Oh, I'm sorry, did Michael already have a nickname in this recap? Well, then, that must have been before he began wearing his latest gangsta-gear hat in the hope of achieving a hip, edgy aspect. And I tell you what, it's working. He is totally legit in every kind of street-cred way, hanging out in that suburban kitchen, drinking a long, tall glass of -- what is that, orange juice? Anyway, Michael, nice hat. The headgear section at Urban Outfitters must be, like, empty. They once more discuss the dynamics of the Maria situation. He says she wants romance and commitment, that things are getting frosty, that "she went to the French Club meeting today instead of meeting me in the eraser room. The French Club. What the hell is that?" Well, Michael, I think it's the club where they . . . oh, never mind. So Max rambles off generic dating advice culled from every Isaac Hayes song in existence (you gotta treat your woman right, you gotta take her out, you gotta make her feel good), only to be silenced by the abrupt resurfacing of Tesla, barely cleaned up and refreshed from her grueling first round of making me absolutely hate her. Max and Michael glare speechlessly, perhaps as if to express their star struck wonder at the sudden arrival of this early-nineties glam-rock legend, right there in the middle of the kitchen! Michael is predictably rude, Isabel turns up for some quick damage control, and Tesla renders the leitmotif pretty darn heavy indeed with her insistence that Isabel not "forget the sugar." We know. You like things sweet. You said it four seconds ago. ["Was that a Def Leppard reference? Because it sure sounded like one to me." -- Sars] She retreats to Isabel's room, mercifully far enough hidden in the depths of Chez Evans that the remaining three can share an in-earshot-to-anyone-with-ears conversation about not being able to trust a stranger.

By Djb

Crashdown. Maria is mid-zany-repartee with a flower delivery boy who is not delivering flowers to Maria. They're for Liz. They have a note that reads in a female production assistant's handwriting, "Meet me at Señor Chow's in an hour. Alone." Ooh, alone. How romantic. In an I'm-gonna-kill-you-later-on-our-romantic-date-kinda-way. Liz informs the audience via Maria that it's the restaurant where she and Max had their first date. Oh, good, I'd been missing that place. I love pool. And Chinese. Together. And I'm starving.

By Djb

And will remain so, it seems, as the combination Chinese place/pool hall I so adored in Episode 10 has morphed into a really, really red Mexican restaurant. Is it also Chinese? Does that culinary fusion exist yet? Who was General Tso, anyway, and why was this warrior's one legacy a spicy chicken dish often served with sesame seeds? Questions, questions. But for now, the mystery only gets, well, more mysterious. Liz sits. Not one full second later, she is joined by Renee, so-called "incognito" in a curly wig of such drastically ugly proportions it makes me marvel at the standard issue for Witness Protection Program participants who are not former FBI agents themselves, and therefore miss out on the employee discount. Back story: there's an alien hunter. He's a bad dude. He's looking for Max Evans and anyone he might be involved with. All six of them are ambiguously reported to be "on the list," but not the one in that VH1 show where they choose inane topics from rock's history like "Best Song Title" or "Best Song Cover" or "Best Guitar Note Played Ever" that is really often hosted by Andy Dick. No, Lucy from The Practice, actually I DON'T care who your favorite "Best Live Performance" is, because I too have opinions that are more valid than yours, considering my not being an idiot. I don't think that's the list Renee was discussing, but she's gone after nailing down a meeting time for tomorrow with Liz and I never do quite find out.

Commercials: I'm sorry, Ben Stiller, but was the script for Keeping the Faith you received for perusal written in invisible ink? And maybe you put your Kellogg's secret decoder ring somewhere and now you can't find it? Is that it? That must be it.

Back in school, the continued scourge of red backlighting indicates that the addition of some rows of lockers and the subtraction of a mariachi band is pretty much all that delineates the set marked "school" from the set marked "Mexican restaurant." Oh, budget constraints, we hardly knew ye. Max sees Liz, who for once halts their smacky make-out-itude before it reaches full-coital proportions. She's scared. She saw Renee. Max is upset that Liz was tricked into seeing her. They argue about Renee's trustworthy merits, and Liz tells Max that they're all on the list. Max, horror dawning: "What list?" Oooooh. Not completely inauthentic dramatic development! Yup, that's a compliment. Don't get used to it.

By Djb

Cut to that ambiguous location buried somewhere deep in the middle of the desert that the six of them always seem to go when they're in the mood to pace and point. Liz seems to think that they can trust Renee, but Michael and Isabel are adamant that Renee is entrapping them. Maria suggests, Choose Your Own Adventure With Our Lives style, that they put it to a vote. The aliens are three for three in their decision not to meet her again, but Maria diverges from the human party line in her decision to avoid seeing Renee. Alex storms away, a startling stab at melodrama rendered relatively benign by my forgetting he was there to begin with, and Isabel follows him to the Alienmobile. Max and Liz hug in a melancholy fashion. Michael thanks Maria for "seeing it my way," and she responds that she "just want[s] this to be over with." Again, I couldn't agree more, babe, but you guys were the ones who decided to keep this train barely on its tracks to begin with. Monday nights? Screw you all.

Cut to yet another round of Backlighting for Dollars (correct answer? RED!), where Renee dons a cloistered-monk disguise of some kind while skulking around in the most realistic depiction of "the wrong part of town" to hit my television set since the MTV premiere of the "Beat It" video. She waits. Her watch reads 9 p.m., but the kids do not show. Upon being startled by one of those icky homeless sewer-dwellers, Renee's paranoia kicks up again and causes her to flee. Ordinarily I wouldn't be so scared in such a situation -- but look at all that red!

Por-NO! Por-NO! Por-NO! Yay! Why am I so happy to see him? I don't know why. I just am. Roswell's answer to law unenforcement enters into his pitch-black office and sees shadows skulking in the darkness. And thus spake Porno: "You left without saying goodbye, Ms. Topolsky." He inquires as to her well-being, and she responds with her in a string of hyperbolic responses that polite society dictates should be confined to, "Fine, thanks. How are you, Porno?" Instead, she tells him that "I'll never be okay again." She's come to see him because no one will listen to her, and launches into her prepared speech about being on the brink of both sanity and mortality at the hands of the FBI and blah blah blah Fedcakes. She accuses, "Did you really think you could kill Everett Hubble and not send up a red flag?" Uh-oh, old episode plot-development recall. If this show becomes plot driven, I am dead. And this scene doesn't help. Renee tells Porno that she was the first FBI agent to make alien contact and told of an alien hunter unit in the FBI that kills, kills, kills. Renee wanted out, even though "once you know about the unit, you don't get out." Uh-oh, mini conflict of interest on the horizon. So I guess that's why she's hiding. Maybe? I guess. Not one to lose a round of "Alien Press Your Luck" without at least trying for Big Bucks, Porno asks her why the FBI doesn't just "swoop in and pick him up" if they're so sure Max is an alien. No whammies. No whammies. No whammies -- stop. Oh, a whammy. Too bad for Porno, who is informed by Renee that the FBI hasn't made a move for the same damn reasons Porno himself has not. Porno offers to help and Renee says it's too late, telling him to contact his old friend Agent Stevens if he wants to know what's going to happen to them all. Agent Stevens, meanwhile, has merely defected full-time to the ratings and quality sanctuary that is The West Wing, hardly a fate as dire as she's making it sound. Maybe she's jealous.

By Djb

Cut to Porno, late night in his office, generally boozing on the job and trying to contact the dead Agent Stevens. A million dollars he's dead. Won't take that bet? Okay, two billion dollars. No whammies. He calls the FBI. Stevens doesn't work there anymore. He calls Stevens's home. Dead. Surprise.

Commercials: What does "all day, every day" really mean, anyway? Is it long distance rates offered by AT&T, or the length of time I want Paul Reiser trapped in a room with hungry wolves?

Wacky culinary banter ensues at the red Crashdown as Michael can't cook fast enough for Liz and Maria's numerous customers. And though it's getting more and more difficult to hear Maria from all the way up there on her high horse, Michael reacts to her latest round of relationship begging by proposing a double date with Max and Liz that would make them look like they have nothing to hide, as well as letting him take out his woman in style. To a little bistro I know of called Red, perhaps?

By Djb

What's the color palette equivalent of a red sun striking a mustard vest? 'Cause that's what color Max's vest becomes, on shift at the similarly shaded UFO Center. A double-speakin' Porno sidles up to Max and lets him know that he can be trusted, saying, "I'm here to protect. Just like I protected you from Hubble the other night." The other night? Check Parker's journal entry, Valenti. That was like ninety weeks ago. Porno pretty much restates Renee's initial advice to Max, but his wig-free and not-dazed-with-psychotic-frenzy validates the argument a little more. For some reason.

Back to the Crashdown, where Alex walks in on Liz and Maria changing for the night. Get used to it, Alex, they're not getting gussied up for you. They drop the change-of-plans bomb, just in time to see the Alien Three entering. Isabel skulks off as usual, and Max showers Liz in an adorable little scented trinket of some kind. Michael, following suit in that comedic way where "poor" still means "hilariously tasteless," hands Maria a crumpled paper bag, the potential contents of which were covered so brilliantly in the forums that I won't try to expound any further. It's shampoo. So I'll just take this uncharacteristic opportunity to state my approval of Maria's hair in this scene. There. I said something nice. Can I cash in my "Get Out of Recapping the Rest of This Scene Free" card now? Thank you. Oh damn, it's over anyway.

Alex and Isabel repeat their earlier conversation at a nearby booth. He wants for them to be together. She can't let anyone in. They are interrupted once more at the dramatic high point of the conversation, as Tesla enters to toss in another round of unsolicited opinions, this time concerning Alex's choice in movie rentals. Tesla and Isabel have plans. Alex is forced onto the street. Decked out in his own gangsta-wear headgear (it looks much more contextualized on him, 'cause he's in a band. Not), Alex walks alone down the darkened and rain-slicked street out of every stylized noir and episode of Silk Stalkings on record. A car pulls up beside him, the window opens a crack, and an unfamiliar voice from within lures him in with the hey-little-kid-you-want-some-Topolsky bravado of, I don't know, an alien hunter with a cryptic list that may or may not contain the name "Alex Whitman." Alex hedges and asks why Topolsky didn't just come herself, and the voice from within non-explains that he'll "take you to her." Sinister as hell. But right on cue, the one-man swashbuckling cavalry that is the reformed Porno pulls up, sirens blaring. The car peels off, and Porno offers to drive Alex home, "no questions asked." Ew. You tell me which one makes you feel more violated and choose that car accordingly. I'm having some trouble making up my own mind on this.

By Djb

Back at Señor Szechuan (or whatever it's called), Michael is once again in the process of uncouthly eating with his feet, or whatever boorish cliché he's this time fulfilling. When the check comes and Michael pawns it off on Maria, she angrily storms off once more. Michael follows her at Max's urging, commenting, "Y'know, this dating thing really bites." "Yeah," Max's silent glare of condemnation seems to say, "have you seen who won't stop hanging around me?" Good point, Max. Way to stop being the dull nice guy for a minute. Oh, wait, he didn't say that. I did. Well, then, good for me. So Michael follows Maria over to the back of the Kremlin (that was another red-themed joke. I don't even know if it made any sense), where she again berates him for being the total loser we already know he is. She tells him that he just doesn't "get it," and he counters brilliantly, Model Congress-style, with the retort, "If I'm such a loser, why do you want to be with me?" I'm guessing budgetary concerns have something to do with this, what with the already shoddy and limited sets collapsing around them and the exorbitant expense of bringing in an entirely new mouth to feed (and eyes to shadow) in Roswell's great last hope of Tesla. So stand by your man, DeLuca. Because I'll tell you right now, Mr. Right ain't coming. It's just not in the strategic plan.

And the Oscar for Most Dramatically Intoned Line of Criminally Insipid Dialogue in the history of the moving image: "We are all going to die! And it's not going to be pleasant!" Michael arrives home at Guerin Manor to discover the place ransacked by a band of marauding social critics attempting to return Michael's domestic space to the aesthetic one would expect for someone of his social class. Among the rubble, they've even left a forty of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a bumper sticker that says, "My other car's a piece of shit." Okay, not really, but said marauding band would throw a plot curve slightly more invigorating than the arrival of an unrefreshingly berserk Renee, holding the communicator thingee from sixty scenes ago. She tells Michael that his last chance of getting her help is meeting the whole gang tomorrow night with said glowing orb. Because she has one too. Wow, I guess she must have been at the same nostalgia kitsch show that Michael found his at. I mean, come on, people. Pet rocks are so seventies. Even the glowing ones. Oh, yes. Even those.

By Djb

Back on the same rocky promontory now featured in the opening credits, the gang of six stands around and wears a whole lotta black. Gee, Mr. Director, I sure do wish this entire sequence could be a little more stylized. Oh, wait, it couldn't possibly be. Someone should tell Liz that no one ever actually stands like that, right leg slightly bent and planted in front of the left, staring meaningfully out over the rocky promontory, all the while pondering the potentially hazardous effect that the unstable climate of a rocky promontory could have on her designer leather. I've only seen such stagy poise with any regularity on television once before, but at least the kids from Fame knew that it was because they were going to start dancing. And nice top-of-the-head-originating ponytail, Tiffany. I think we're alone now. There doesn't seem to be anyone arou-ound. Meanwhile, Alex fields lame inquiries about the potential abductor in the car, and the gang once more comes up snake eyes in obtaining any actual information. Max preaches the benefits of not allowing anyone else -- Renee, Porno, Tesla -- in on their secrets. Agreed? Agreed. They all walk off because that's what the stage directions dictate they do, not out of any logical impetus to do so. Michael and Maria stay behind, and Maria apologizes for her scene at dinner, particularly in light of the weightier issues at hand. They share meaningful gazes. Michael again tries to express his love for Maria, but he's all man and men don't admit their feelings, so Maria lets it go. Oh, men. How they like football and beer and can't share their feelings. Boy, are they from Mars, or what? Ha ha. Kill me.

By Djb

This must be almost over. Really, it must be. MUST BE. Alex and Isabel are both at the Crashdown, for no other reason than that they all must be in the same place during the impending climax of the episode considering that only two of them have access to a car. Speaking of which, Maria enters that back area place with the lockers at the Crashdown to catch Michael in the process of stealing her car keys. Oh my God, WHY? Oh, wait, we already know why. She soon gets wise to the fact that he intends to see Renee after finding the pet rock on his person, and the verbal sparring kicks up anew. What about what he said to everyone else? What about his feelings for her? Hey, what about the vote, for crying out loud? You think that if you just don't like the adventure you've chosen you can just flip back to the and go to the page where you're NOT drowned by the green slime or eaten by the giant bear? Well, yeah, actually. That's really that only way Choose Your Own Adventure books were any fun to begin with, I guess. But it's her car, she whines. But she's not letting him go alone, she whines. No, he retorts. Yes, she whines. She goes with him. Just like in Episode 6 when he tries to steal her car the first time. Oh, right, that.

To the Crashdown dining room we go. Liz can't find any of the other personnel. She runs to the back room, where she finds a note written on a guest check in what is quite possibly the same handwriting as the note in the flowers, reading, "Meeting Topolsky at Buckley Point. Hurry." That's right, kids, put it all on paper. One with a carbon copy layer on it, no less. Way to keep a low profile.

Maria, the crown princess of total, freakish irrationality in this world and any other, stops Michael in the middle of the trip and demands to be let out of the car. "You can't make me go through with this. You can't put me in danger like this. Not if I don't wanna go." If you don't wanna go? But wait a second. Oh, who cares. I'm just glad she's not my girlfriend.

Cut to the remaining four in the Alienmobile, where a steaming Max seems ready to make good on the promos for once and kick some bad-boy Michael ass. Cutting back to the Jetta, Maria and Michael share a screaming fight that once again includes Maria's hopeful threat, "Whether you like it or not, we are in a relationship." The Alienmobile pulls up, and Max climbs out and begins shouting demands for the orb: "We trusted you with it and you blew it." Then Max reels back and hits him. Yee-freakin'-haw! Now turn that golden glove of yours on Parker and you'll really see that fan support I've been reading about in all the papers. As a result of being hit, Michael feels it necessary to stand dumbstruck and consider the situation in its totality for a moment before shrewdly deducing, "You hit me." They tussle momentarily, and I think Michael might finally get beat up and I wouldn't even have to feel bad about it in an ethical, child-protective-services kind of way. But alas, headlights blaze anew, and the wheels of both the car and the action grind to a simultaneous halt. From the car emerges an alien shape-shifting bad guy who, for some political reason I'm not clever enough to infer, used his wonder twins powers to assume the spitting image form of upstart Republican presidential candidate John McCain. Go figure. McCain steps out of the car and toward the gang, informing them that Renee won't be meeting them. Porno walks onto the Buckley Point sound stage from another direction to back up McCain's story that he's a psychiatrist from a mental institution where Renee has been since she disappeared from the sinking ship of the first eight episodes of this show. The good doctor tells the gang that they've found Renee, and that she's back in Bethesda and once again under the best psychiatric care available. Translation: dead. Quelle surprise. FYI, Michael, I learned that at the French Club meeting. That's what they do there. Since you asked. McCain takes off. Michael spies the orb lying near a tree, and Max advises, "We'll come back for it." But just as Porno seems to be passing it by, he stops at said tree and retrieves said orb. Michael sucks.

By Djb

Back behind the wheel of the transfigure-mobile, John McCain holds up the tell-tale shape-shifting hand and unspecial effects into some hairy beard guy with a backpack. Cut to orb-toting Renee in the middle of nowhere, where a car drives up and a familiar voice intones, "Good work, Agent Topolsky. You led me right to you." They pull her into the car. Couldn't have seen that one coming from Des Moines. We fade from red to black.