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Countdown to Ecstasy II: Nearly-Cancelled Boogaloo

BoyTess drives alone. She checks her rearview mirror to note that a small truck has pulled up behind her. She readjusts her mirror and does justice to the stage direction, "As if to say, 'Wha --? A truck?'" The truck pulls up close enough to hit her from behind, then pulls up next to her and smashes her on the driver's side. The truck flips her off the highway and leaves her upside-down in her car, screaming for help. A guy who I think is London Fog (or he's not, but he's wearing the coat) looks at BoyTess suspended upside-down in her car and counsels, "Hey, it's a beautiful night. Just try to relax and enjoy the desert air." At least he didn't say anything about "just hanging around." He unearths a ticking clock that's counting backward from one minute, and places it next to her head. Oh, dude. That is totally original. She screams for help, and hark! Up drives Michael Michael Motorcycle and throws the door off the car with his hands, pulling BoyTess out of the car as the clock counts down to zero and then several seconds past. BoyTess tries lip with Michael about him following her, but then watches the car explode and realizes that her lips would have been all on fire with the rest of her had Michael not worked his voodoo magic shit at just exactly that moment. He's a superhero: "Any more questions?" Ooh, nice catchphrase. It's an "hasta la vista" for the new millennium, except one that no one cares about.

Max and Liz study and flirt at The House That Government Subsidy Built, because when you're cramming for mysterious exams we've heard nothing else about, it's important to do so in a space in which neither of you actually lives, where you won't be interrupted by trifling décor like overhead lighting or a lack of roaches. But no matter. Michael Michael Motorcycle enters in a huff and introduces "Connie. Her father is the pilot of that crashed jet. Air Force said her father was a traitor on the run, but she doesn't buy it. Neither do I. They tried to kill her." Well, thanks for the "last half-hour on Roswell" brush-up. I guess I could just as well have tuned in now when the rest of you were…ah crap, there's still no one here, is there? BoyTess says Michael heard that Max could help. And so it's private confab time. Max and Michael step outside, Max asking, "What's going on?" Michael tells him to "trust your second-in-command to know what's right." Max employs that therapist's staple of conversational acumen by taking the last two words the other person said and turning that into a new question: "What's right? What's next, JFK was killed by aliens?" Oh, enough JFK already. Everybody knows he was killed by the Mafia. It was McKinley who was killed by aliens. Duh. Max and Michael resort to the comfortable patter of Script Fighting By Rote, with the serve-and-volley tension ("What's happening to you?" "Me? What's happening to you?") escalating to the point where one of them threatens to ask what is happening to the other yet another time. What I'm really interested in is the conversation that's gone unfilmed in the next room. "So, I hear you're a robot." "Yup. So, I hear you're a boy." "Yup."

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