Props to Wing and Sars.
We open this week on the glass and chrome living-in-the-not-too-distant-future set of what this intrepid researcher will call "some kind of office thingy something something." A suited, fidgety, security-pass-wearing, eighteenth-century-classical-composer-haired Michael "Cops and Slobbers" Guerin sits at one end of a sleek glass table, while at the other end sits a severe-looking individual in a security guard ensemble. "So," the non-Michael guy begins, holding up a piece of paper and acting acutely aware that his greatest asset as an actor lies in the "cast this genetic doppelganger only when the budget is too small to allow for the real Dabney Coleman" niche of his résumé. Dabney continues, "Mr. Gweerin." Michael corrects Dabney's pronunciation, Dabney shoots back a withering "Back off, Junior, I was in Nine to Five…actually, I just read for the part of Franklin in the vastly inferior TV series, and I didn't get it, but back off anyway, Junior" look (you know…that look), and moves on with what I'm seeing shape up as some kind of interview. "It says you've been an emancipated minor for the last two years." Where exactly does it say that on his application? In the box checked "yes" to the question reading, "Of hillbilly pedigree?" on the average security guard job application? Dabney notes that that is "a lot of responsibility for someone your age. Do you like responsibility?" Michael notes, "I like to stay on top of things," and we cut to a wacky slacker-alien-on-the-job-hunt clip of Michael inside The House That Government Subsidy Built, holding a bunch of papers and angrily barking into a phone, "I only got four notices! How can you cut off my power?" Cheep cheep cheep cheep…heh. Sorry. I only laughed to break that gnawingly uncomfortable silence. Back in the interview, Michael notes, "I'm a big believer in self-discipline." Cut back to him standing in an electronics store -- we'll call it Radio Slack on account of he's a slacker -- staring down a large-screen TV and telling a salesman, "I'll take it." Because the clips serve to illustrate just how not self-disciplined he is! It's not only hilariously original, but it also employs the advanced narrative tool discovered in the "writers'" room when one "writer" turned to another "writer" as they were "writing" this scene and said, "I love this part. It's so ironic." And it is. It totally, totally is.
Dabney worries that a second job might interfere with Gweerin's studies, and a shot of Michael asleep in class elicits the laffer, "I think I can handle it." And so Dabney wants to "cut to the chase, Gweerin. You already have a job flipping burgers. Why do you want a second job?" Michael notes that there are many reasons, and we GET IT when we cut to a shot of Michael at a fancy-ish restaurant, making a pursed-lipped expression of sorrow when his date, "Madame Toussaud's" Maria DeLuca, snaps, "Please don't tell me the words 'Maria, can you pick up the check' are gonna come floating out of your mouth once again." Michael tells Dabney that his reasons are "financial." As opposed to one's usual desire for simultaneous vocations in the "short order" and "infrastructure protection" industries: namely, "starfucking." But nevertheless, Dabney seems impressed by this answer, and even more so when Michael pulls himself out of this Dream On-meets-Inside Schwartz narrative structure and gives Dabney the straight dope: "And I guess I sort of want to see what it's like out there in the world." Dabney smiles and stands, walking to Michael and congratulating him on getting the job. Orientation starts tomorrow night at "0200 hours." Grrrr. Don't you hate it when civilian types like heads of security at pharmaceutical companies and Really Stern Dads and stuff use military time because it makes them sound all tough? Michael concurs, bristling as if to say, "Let's go ahead and leave the military time to the actual military. Capiche, Pete the Pill Protector?" opting instead for an incredulous, "That's 2 AM." Indeed it is, Crabney Coleman indicates: "You're working the graveyard." Crabney walks away. Michael looks around, the Roseanne Barr Twangy Chord Of Misbegotten Blue-Collar Scheduling Conflicts serving as a valuable public service announcement for us all to never, ever, ever be poor.
Opening credits: Shut up, bitch.
Our long-lost epistolary convention of "cheesy voice-over narration" finally gets a fucking pen pal, and we return to find Max "Dugan Returns, And Returns And Returns And Returns" Evans sitting on the dock of the landlocked state of New Mexico, reading a letter. Liz "P.S. I Hate You, You You You" Parker's voice is everywhere, which is all places too many: "Dear Max: It's so horrible and so unjust to pass you in the school and have to wonder whether some teacher's gonna call my father." Boo hoo, Liz. You had me until "it's so horrible to see you." And then you lost me. Let's go see if she can get us back: "But no matter how hard my parents try, nothing can keep us apart." This would all probably be a lot more touching and gay were Liz narrating this sequence with an emotional investment slightly higher than that akin to "reading stereo instructions that have been translated from English to Japanese and then back to English again." Like, "Dear Max: Me like preset stations long time" or some such equally well-written thing. She goes for the jugular: "I love you." Max smiles ever so imperceptibly, and the pier on which he sits threatens to tear loose from its moorings and float itself back to an actual state with some goddamn water. "Even when I can't see you in the day, I see you at night. In my dreams. And I have been. Dreaming about you." Because every time she's telling secrets, she remembers how it used to be. And she realized how much she missed him. And she realized how it feels to be free.
The voice-over continues as we jet over to the Crashdown, Liz dreamily wiping off the counter and watching as Max walks up to the front door, stares in mournfully all, "But it's the only place to eeeeeeeeeat," and moving swiftly away before Slackjaw has a chance to swoop down and enact some of that just-add-third-season-necessity-and-stir Instant Vigilant Justice we've come to know so well. And here is what the voice-over says: "Over and over, it's you and me holding hands and flying through the night. I know it sounds cornball, but it isn't. It's amazink! Like Superman and Lois Lane in the first movie. Y'know, the good one." Thus splitting the audience into the two polarizing camps of the ones that screams, "If your version of 'the good one' is The Quest for Peace, where Gene Hackman is all bloated and cashing his paycheck in the middle every scene so he can pay for his replacement colostomy bags, damn geezer" and the one that smacks its collective forehead, yells, "Oh, shit! Smallville premiere!" and lunges thankfully for the remote.
Kyle "Cure For The Common Show" Valenti walks in the front door of The Den Of Porno wearing a (honk honk!) Better Get Maaco ones-y and carrying a few pieces of mail. He finds his father, Jim "Porno" Valenti, sound asleep in a brown (natch) recliner inordinately close to the camera, clears his throat, taps the mail, and finally resorts to slamming the door shut to wake up his deadbeat dad. Porno rises and asks how Kyle's day at work was. We learn that "it sucked as usual," and he banters in ready-made backstory about how he's been working at -- I guess -- some kind of body shop. He flips open the mail and reads, "Your credit rating may be adversely affected by this action," recapping for MightyBigCollectionAgency.com with the insta-snark, "Well, it was nice of them to let us know." Too bad we never got the same purely informational letter informing us that Kyle was now Kyle Valenti, Monochromatic Mechanic. It just seemed like it would have been a helpful bit of information, is all. Kyle walks into the kitchen all man-o-the-house, point-blanking to Porno, "So, how's the job search going? You got any prospects for a full-time, well-paying job in your future?" Poor oppressed bacon-bringer-homer Kyle, loosening the tie and pouring himself a scotch from the sidebar. Where's his chicken pot pie, bitch? But Porno has some sort-of news this time, as opposed to all those other times, in which we did not have the opportunity to see or hear anything about the build-up of this enticing drama because, plot develop all you want on a stumbling push toward continuity, "writers," but please do tack a post-it up on the "Writers'" Room bulletin board that reminds everybody that THIS SHOW DOESN'T AIR DEVELOPMENTS TANGENTIALLY IMPLIED TO HAVE TAKEN PLACE OVER THE SUMMER. There you go. Clip 'n' save. Dramatic tension of this scene pretty much diffused by that truism, we are not able to celebrate with Kyle when he smiles and asks of Porno, "You got a job?" For he has suffered off-camera for so long. Apparently. But Porno qualifies that it's not so much a job as it is "sort of a -- how do I describe this -- a business. Kind of a small business." The archetypal tough-guy auto-mechanic type, Kyle returns from the kitchen with a glass of hot pink bug juice in a glass, excited about his father's prospects. But Porno tells him that he needs to sit on the idea for a little longer, and he'll let Kyle know just what it is in a few days. Kyle, disappointed, returns to the kitchen to see if he can turn up the origins of this subplot under of a stack of old newspapers, or maybe in the cookie jar.
House That Government Subsidy Built, by the light of the Pier One candle clearance sale. Maria sits impatiently, insisting that Michael "come out." Michael's all, "Tell it to Max!" Which is weird, because there Max is, walking through the front door. Maria welcomes him with a pleasant "Hey, Max," which completely follows the narrative logic of the last thing she said to him, which was, "I can't believe you made her hold the gun," and then her best friend was sent to jail because of him. I'm just sayin'. Michael finally enters for his close-up, and Max spots him in the outfit, asks if it has something to do with sex, tries to act blasé about asking, seems disappointed when it doesn't, and finally gets around to the damn reason he's there to begin with: "Well, you heard about my dad and I. I moved out." To the cruel, subterranean borderland where razors and non-monotone line delivery fail to dwell. No Bic, no schtick, I hate you. Oh, my God. That should totally be the name of the new Roswell theme song. Anyway, Max asks Michael is he can crash (as aliens do) with him for a couple of days. Michael agrees, and is quickly off to join Kyle in his auto gear to prowl the nighttime streets for a plumber, a concrete finisher, and a tollbooth collector and finally make their dream of forming a blue-collar version of The Village People a reality for the millennium. I can't wait to see that band.
"Jezebel" Evans trolls the supermarket for johns. She comes upon the strong-jawed person of one Jesse "Other" Ramirez pricing lime juice, as I so often do right before I'm about to get laid in the condiments aisle. Banter. Fancy meeting you. No, no, no, fancy meeting you, Other. Here at the Nook-E-Mart. Nookie between attractive non-Liz-and-Max types thankfully ensues, Other wondering why Isabel won't just tell her parents about them and me wondering, after the wacky directorial decisions made in the opening segment, why there aren't interspersed shots of overweight supermarket patrons incredulously staring at the couple in the corner, popping the proverbial maraschino cherry. And then maybe the words "the dancers laugh" could appear right underneath them. I don't know. I'm not a director. Right. So Jesse insists that Isabel come clean with her parents about their relationship, citing the fact that "eventually, the smell of microwave burritos is going to kill the mood." Wait. Wha? Was that a self-deprecating racial crack? Is this acceptable? Oh. Wait. Convenience store. Never you mind. So Isabel tells Other that she has to keep their relationship on the QT because "my parents can barely get used to the idea of me dating high school guys. You're a twenty-six-year-old lawyer who works for my father, who is…" He fills in the blank: "Who's Latino?" Isabel quips, "You're Latino? I thought you just had a great tan!" So I guess the jury is still out on the whole "microwave burrito" crack. See above. Isabel promises it has nothing to do with their checking two different boxes on the census form (it sure doesn't for anyone's relationship with Maria, for some unexplored reason), but that she thinks they need some more time before anybody knows. But, heavens to contrivance, there's Kyle! Well, I'll be. He utters a "whoops" and freezes. Kyle pauses for a fabulously awkward moment, pulls himself together to form the line, "My dad neglected to start the fridge, so I needed to." And God bless the kid, he's the only one who could pull this off. Because, I mean, "start the fridge"? I know Porno's been on the down-and-out, but no level of poverty leads to the imminent ownership of a refrigerator that you need to start with a ripcord like a lawnmower. So, duh. But Kyle keeps vamping, which is kind of amusing, looks around, utters, "Bye!" and just takes off. He needs a variety show. And for some reason, I want him to host it with Cher.
It's sometime between 0200 and 0700 hours. In the frickin' Army, it is. But over at Not Too Distant Future Inc., it's between two and seven in the AM, and Michael sits in his surveillance room with the rest of the peacekeeping security drones. But they have clipboards. And so they are extremely official. They stare silently at black-and-white screens until Michael hits one button -- probably the one marked "CONTRIVE," but I'm only guessing -- and the surveillance screen turns to a channel broadcasting a hockey game. What…what's that? It's "a replay of tonight's game." Uh-huh. Steve The Standing Guy suggests that Michael get back to work, but Michael has a little speech about this job "sucking," calling it "the most boring thing I've ever done in my life." I give speeches of that nature on a rather consistent basis, usually delivering verbatim words at 8:59 local on Tuesday nights. Michael continues that he is going to "improve the working conditions" of this sucking job, and he rips off his clip-on tie as an example of said improvements. The others follow, eventually including Steve The Standing Guy, who gets a big round of applause when he takes off his own clip-on. A win for fashion. A loss for Sears. Michael loudly celebrates the scoring of a goal he would already have seen. Celebrate and sympathize with them, folks. They're checking your carry-on luggage.
Yeesh. A montage. It's what I'll assume is the following night, Michael blazing into the office, tie-less, hat-less, shirt undone, bad, and we cut to these pent-up, pasty, mullet-y, chess club dorks playing poker, drinking Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage, cracking open a case of SNAPPLE-brand beverage long after we've seen half-consumed bottles of it sitting on the makeshift poker table, and dancing around the office to the music that I think only we're supposed to hear. Out in the hallway, though, Michael bounces a basketball and listens earnestly while last night's Steve The Standing Guy (easily recognized by his lack of mullet and his standing) warns Michael, "I just don't want this to get out of control. Some of us actually need this job." As opposed to those who take such a high-profile job just to get laid. Michael bounces a basketball and proclaims "Door 53 secure" before asking Steve The Standing Guy, "What's the worst that could happen?" Security breach! Security breach! Hackneyed foreshadowing has broken loose from Door 53!
Pizza and Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverages abound as the relaxed crew is suddenly rattled by the appearance of Dabney Coleman at the long end of a black-and-white televised hallway. Good thing they decided to watch that awesome No One's Driving A Pipe Bomb Into The Parking Garage show on the grainy but informative Security Camera Network for once, all the better to save their asses in light of this exciting new development. They clean up in a hurry, clipping on ties and matting down mullets. Dabney enters and quickly becomes Nine To Five's angry graveyard shift alter-ego "Crabney Coleman," entering the room and sensing the awkward vibe. That darn Principal Vernon is going to give them all another detention for sure. Three detentions? Four detentions? Five? Six? I can count all day, Judd Nelson. I can count all damn day. But it's hella worse than that, because he learns upon Crabney's entrance that "there has been a serious breach here at Medichem." Oh, yeah? What kind is that? "Someone broke into the company cafeteria and made off with a substantial amount of [Delicious] Peach Snapple [Brand Beverage]." Crabney says that the food service manager believes that it's "an inside job," and singles out Mr. Gweerin (my side!) to ask what they should do. Michael suggests getting "right on it," but Crabney bends down and comes back with the damning evidence of a Delicious Snapple Brand Beverage cap, retorting, "I think that the first thing you should all do is clean out your lockers. You're all fired." Worried glances. Minor chords. Fade to ominous black. Thirsty?
House That Government Subsidy Built. Maria is engrossed in what I can only imagine is Jason Katims's contract with Satan, while Michael rants around the kitchen complaining that whenever something goes wrong, "they point the finger at the people at the bottom of the ladder" just because someone stole a case of Snapple. Maria takes a glimpse in the fridge and uncovers a full case (but not for long! Look at how well it goes with everything, from leftover Chinese food to a fight with your waxy girlfriend!) of Delicious Snapple Brand Beverage. Michael cops to stealing it, but "that's not the point," because Crabney Coleman fired them without proof. Maria takes a turn for the All About Her, asking, "So I'm assuming I'm gonna have to keep paying for dinner and supplying the kerosene to light the apartment?" Kerosene? Jeez, Martha Washington. Buy a flashlight for the damn deadbeat, prop it up on a phone book, and get on with your life. No need to go around synthesizing whale blubber and burning it in lanterns and turning the place into Ye Olde Historic Ghetto House. Michael promises he'll get another job, and Maria asks about how "the other guys" reacted. She didn't know they all got fired, but Michael won't take the rap for it, because "we all drank of the Snapple." A woefully extraneous line about treading on "Biblical terrain," but not to worry: Delicious Snapple Brand Beverage is kosher! As well as parve. For your festive Passover meal.
Wait. I think I thought Steve The Standing Guy was all clean-cut, but now he's the guy who would turn out to be Michael's Mulleted Moral Compass. They look so different once they take off the hat. And if that's an excuse you yourself have used to rationalize some bad behavior of your own, I think you and I have a lot to talk about. Anyway, we're back at the Nook-E-Mart (seems that more folks than just me and Isabel were interested in getting through one damn episode without running into her parents), where we find Michael running into Steve The Standing Guy. They're both applying for "the clerk job," which Michael exposits pays "half of what we were making at Medichem." Half of a graveyard shift security guard's salary? No wonder people only show up at this supermarket sporadically; it's in Malaysia, and Michael and Steve The Standing Guy are twelve-year-old girls. But Steve needs a new job in a hurry, because "you gotta feed the wife and kids." Michael laughs -- wife and kids! -- before realizing that Steve The Standing Guy has a wife named Cheryl and kids. A wife! Plural children! And he's all passive-aggressively blaming Michael for getting him axed by eating pizza in the office? I'm just saying, it's all about personal responsibility here. And Cheryl is my sister's name, and I'm so glad she's not married to that guy. Steve The Standing Downtrodden Cliché takes off to "Burger Hut," because he heard there was an open position there. Before he goes, Michael takes a moment to apologize for his behavior. Steve The Standing On A Soapbox smirks, "That doesn't help me, Mike." The government shrugs an apology to Steve, for it has already given its every dime to Michael.
Crashdown. Liz is on duty, slinging hash and making with the trays of food. As she approaches the table, however, she looks up to note that some illustrations of aliens on the wall are…waving at her? She looks back down at the table and offers the first of the meals, "Galaxy sub." She looks back up at the drawings, and a speech bubble appears on one reading, "I miss you." The fuck? This is what the dude spends his time doing? If he's so good at making the walls move and talk like he's the string-puller on Alien Punch and Alien Judy, why not put the Mad Libs captioning to some better use. Fly around the world backwards and reverse last week's events. Turn Slackjaw into a goat. Become so gaunt and pale that you can slide undetected in and out of numerous locations at your leisure. Since the last one is obviously a project you've been working on for some time, I'll give you kudos for thinking of it first and let you get on with the wasting-away thing you do so well. I'm not trying to wax nostalgic for other crap here, but once, he allowed Liz to talk to the dead, which is far cry from the current "got your nose" approach to rabbit-pulling parlor tricks. But no, instead it's syndicated comic wackiness with the wall decorations. But Liz is the consummate professional, and she endeavors to serve her meals even after wall alien changes its message to "I want you." Blah blah insert joke about flat acting and two-dimensional characters. Kick-ass. All on the same page.
He's in the kitchen! He's in the kitchen! Liz dumps the plates and takes off to the back, devouring the shrunken remains of Max's tiny head (careful, that thing gets kind of prickly if you don't prune it every, like, six months or so). There is ill-advised panting and close-ups of tongue. He takes her by the head: "Midnight, Friday, I want you to meet me. Dress warm." But Slackjaw appears in the kitchen -- a room I'm not sure he knew existed before this episode -- calling for his delicate flower. Sorry, Mr. Slackjaw. She's being eaten alive by a tiny-headed alien right now. No wonder he's being so protective. Liz shepherds Max out the door just as Slackjaw finds his way in; he looks remarkably suspicious when she cops to "taking out the trash" and somehow pulls it off without lying at all.
Back in the dining room, Isabel enters to find Kyle sitting at the counter. She launches right in, offering, "You're probably wondering what you saw in the convenience store the other day." Kyle makes it through letting her know that "a stone unturned is…" before Isabel cuts off his swipes at Buddha For Suburbia and gives him the facts: "His name is Jesse Ramirez. He's my boyfriend." Kyle asks if he hasn't seen that guy leaving Mr. Evans's office before, though why he would care about that, much less know where the hell Isabel's dad's office even is or what he does inside of it, is up to the "writers" trying to string all this together to decide. I envy not your Herculean task, kids. Isabel explains Other's age, and they have a long, bonding moment over the sheer, unrelenting OLDNESS of being twenty-six (I mean, it's not like I'm running around sleeping with eighteen-year-olds or anything, but still…can it, young'uns). Kyle asks if Isabel has told Jesse about her "secret identity" (as "the only talented one"), and Isabel lets him know that Max and Michael would never agree to tell anyone else. They agree that it's "never easy" to be in a relationship, and Isabel thanks him for listening, tacking on a gay line about being forced to use the full extent of her alien powers arsenal (which, by current show standards, includes "thinking really mean thoughts about him") if Kyle were to tell anyone. As she leaves, Kyle offers her a "good for you," because all of the other aliens have been in relationships, and she never was. Except with Alex, which he fails to add. Alex? Exactly.
See, one of things that bugs the piss out of me about this show is that I never know if people are mad at each other or not or what. Because now that Max is staying at Michael's house and it's time once again to advance the plot of the Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage, they're buddying up like old buddies, sitting in front of a case of the aforementioned Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage, Max kicking things off: "So, you're gonna return the [Delicious] SNAPPLE [Brand Beverage]?" Michael marches on about the principle of things, saying that it's not fair to ruin someone's life over a juicy beverage (unless you order peach and they bring you diet peach. I freakin' hate the diet). Max monotones, "And this is ruining your life?" This scene is so intense that you couldn't dampen the dramatic fire even with a waterfall of refreshing, fruity-tastic Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage. Michael again explains his situation with Steve The Stand-Up Beggar, wondering why he feels so much guilt about the guy's situation. "You see, there's you and Isabel. And you guys are like family. And then there's Maria. And she's…I don't know, she's Maria. And besides that, I've never had this feeling. But these guys. It's cool. We laugh. And talk. And…" But he is lost for words, thirsting for male companionship as he is, looking for a place where he can relax with numerous other men in a relaxed, male setting. I think I know the kind of place you're looking for, Michael. And you certainly don't need no clip-on tie there. Standing suddenly, Michael decides it's time to return the Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage undetected, call in and report that it wasn't stolen, and get everyone's jobs back. Max trips the linguistic fantastic, telling Michael that what he proposes "isn't an idea. It's something you think about in your mind and then come up with something better." Something you think about in your mind? Shave. SHAVE!
Really porn-y music accompanies Michael's trip back to Not Too Distant Future Inc. He slides into the kitchen, a room illuminated by the light of only one shining beacon. Who guessed Snapple machine? Anyone? Takers? Thirsty? He finds the one empty rack where the Delicious SNAPPLE Brand Beverage once so proudly sat, sliding it back (I know he can change ketchup into mustard and all, and I'd also like to thank the continuity editor for having the good taste to change the case of Diet Peach he stole from the cafeteria into the case of Raspberry that he's returning. Thanks, guys!) and turning to leave. But hark! Crabney Coleman slides in right behind him, grabbing something from the fridge (does he want no SNAPPLE? Clearly it is he who is the bad guy) and retiring back into an off-limits kind of lab room. Where sneaky things can go on, because the room is made entirely of windows. Michael watches in pursed-lipped horror as Crabney empties some kind of vial something something and walks back out of the room. Michael speaks the words aloud, "[Crabney's] a thief!" Thanks, Greek Chorus. I didn't know you spoke Greek.
Den Of Drunken Porno. Kyle now sits in the Porno chair, Porno sneaking in under the cover of darkness. Kyle evilly asks where his father was, and father responds to son, "I was out. Just out." Ah, but the roles are now reversed, with nary a Kirk Cameron/Dudley Moore/Judge Reinhold/Fred Savage acting credit, mysteriously. Porno admits that he's been drinking a bit, and Kyle wonders if that's part of his father's "new business plan." But much to hilarity-inducing surprise, we learn that…it is! Porno sits down near his son and requests that he "keep an open mind about this," reaching into his pocket (uh…) and pulling out a flyer reading, "Cow Patty's Bar & Grill / Come on Down and Step in it / APPEARING THURSDAY NIGHT / The Country Stylings of Jim Valenti and the Kit Shickers." Oh, my. And let me go on record right now as saying that I disagree with the vast amount of capitalizations on that flyer, from "Down" and "Step" to the braggadocio of "THURSDAY NIGHT." Everyone knows that if something is going to get full-capitalization here, it's going to be thirst-quenching, cancer-curing, flea-and-tick-ridding corporate underwriter SNAPPLE. Hey, Thursday? You want to kick in the dough, you can get the all caps in the future. And they don't even make a peach-flavored Thursday, do they? Stupid Thursday.
But Kyle isn't so much in a parsing-of-syntactical-phrasing mood, is he? He simmers with rage, asking Porno, "How much does this pay?" Porno explains that it's not very much and that they "get a percentage of the door, but it's gonna take a little while to build up an audience." Kyle explodes, "This is your big business plan? This is it? I've been working my ass off every day at a job I hate and this is your big idea. Dad, we're behind in the mortgage. But I'm sure the mortgage company will calm down once they realize that all you have to do is build up an audience." Porno's voice cracks when he apologizes, and Kyle tries to calm down enough to explain that he sympathizes with his father, but "you know what I'm saying. Good night, Dad." I liked that scene a lot more before I knew how this episode ended.
Michael has really traded down socially this week, eh? He's hanging out with his new best friends Boomer and Boner and Biffy and Fly, all playing foosball at Michael's (he has a damn foosball table now?) and wondering what Crabney is stealing from the company. Michael reasons that if they expose Carl (who? Oh, yeah) as the thief he is, they'll be able to get their jobs back. But they'll have to "catch him in the act." The African-American friend among them reasons, "That sounds too risky for a black man." It's true. The move to UPN really has made this show tons more "street." So urban and edgy. I'll bet that guy loves really edgy street bands, like Quincy Jones and stuff. But no one will get involved in the caper, including Standing Steve, who won't even return Michael's phone calls. But Michael gives a rousing speech to the effect that no one fires a whole shift over a case of SNAPPLE, and that Crabney framed them all so he could be alone with the SNAPPLE and the vials and the oh my God I so don't care and neither does anybody else.
And so we cut to a montage of them sneaking in, while Michael voice-overs that "tonight he's got the entire graveyard shift to deal with." And so like eight guys sneak in and attempt to hide another camera in a heating duct where Michael sits in the ceiling above the curious vial in question. Scooter and Lefty slide in a videocassette while Michael records Crabney from above. But lo! Just as they capture him at his most diabolical, er, swabbing of liquid from a vial (the monster!), the videocassette breaks in their hands, a phone rings in the office, Sheriff Hanson calls and reports faulty dealings with the security system, and -- oh, this one's my favorite -- the ceiling gives way under Michael's weight (I'm just sayin') and he comes crashing down in front of Carl. Carl is less that amused, asking "Gweerin" what he's doing. Gweerin actually sees fit to report that he was "dropping in," because apparently the script doctoring by the guy who writes "Ziggy" got there juuuuust in time to be useful during this sequence. Crabney threatens to call the police, but Michael threatens in turn to show said police the videotape they're putting together of Crabney stealing from the lab. Crabney deems this new wrinkle "too bad," and wields a gun at Michael, because when blood sugar gets low from a lack of refreshing SNAPPLE, tempers flare. People. The best stuff is so not in here. Someone write an angry letter and we'll split the damned free case.
Crabney points the gun and demands the videotape. But just as he cocks it and I'm sure he's going to kill Michael -- just sure of it! -- the ceiling caves in at Michael's behest on both of them, just as Hanson bangs in behind them and says that they'll all be going down to the station. First, however, Michael insists they see the videotape. But the tape! It broke! So the tape! Michael fixes it! What was the point of having any of that happen, then? Feh. So close to the end, now. And so they watch, Hanson immediately handcuffing Crabney for no discernable crime that we as mere viewers can understand. What did he steal? How did Hanson know it was wrong? How did Hanson know anything was wrong? And why did that X-Files guy answer the phone when he called? But all's well now. I, um, guess.
What the FUCK? Back at The Waterless Pier, Max and Liz handglide off onto the moon with Max's haughty promise to "make all of [her] dreams come true." Her only dream is to do a live stage-reading of Baron Munchausen? That's so weird. That part must have been cut from the script. You guys watched. Tell me that wasn't the whole scene.
Kyle nervously hangs out with an ashtray and a humiliated expression on his face, while his dad's rock band tunes up on a small stage in a shitty little pub. The bartender asks if he's twenty-one, and Kyle gives her that "but didn't you hear me making fun of twenty-six-year-olds like a page and a half ago?" look and orders himself a coke. And then, the big show. Porno takes to the mic holding an acoustic guitar, warming up the crowd: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Jim Valenti, and we are the Kit Shickers." Porno counts off, and the bands kicks into a country ditty that quite unfortunately turns into the most annoying Barenaked Ladies most annoying song, "If I Had A Million Dollars." More sugary-sweet than the kiwi-banana flavor (which I hate) and slightly less marketable than the green tea (hi. Who buys that shit? ["Your boss. Steal any and you're fired" -- Sars]), the crowd is up and whooping all excitedly by the end. And now they have their audience, and their financial situation is over. Ladies and gentlemen: how to become famous.
Max and Liz return to the Crashdown (he couldn't have dropped her off and taken her innocence in the parking lot, the better to have avoided the upcoming confrontation?), her sneaking upstairs and getting really dewy-eyed about him offering to fly a kite and be on it at the same time. She goes upstairs, and Max turns to leave, finding that Slackjaw has been sitting in the shadows of the bar. "I'm asking you man-to-man where you took my daughter in the middle of the night." Somehow there's no worse idea than the truth in this situation. Slackjaw rails at Max and insists, "Tell me that being with you doesn't put my little girl's life in jeopardy." Max has nothing to say. Slackjaw threatens that if Liz and Max are ever to speak again, she'll be shipped off to an all-girls' boarding school just to keep her away from Max. "Goodbye, Max." Max thinks of the sadness of having her in that awful, awful place all by herself. Girls? He doesn't even like girls.
And finally tonight, Michael shows up at Steve The Standing Sultan Of Security's house. Steve answers the door -- standing -- and Michael hands him his badge and proudly announces, "I got your job back." His job. That everyone hated. Because it sucked. Blah. Steve takes the badge and listens as Michael explains that Carl was a crook. "Why'd you do that?" Steve asks, turning to see Steve's wife and child inside the house, looking gaunt but hopeful because the soundtrack music is telling them it's all gonna be okay. Steve tells Michael that he's a "crazy bastard," and Michael offers, "Welcome to my world." So all's well that ends well, in a job with all the free…ah, never mind.