Roswell
Destiny (2)

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I Want It Crap Way

Cut to Porno's van, where Michael curiously inquires as to why exactly Porno is helping them. Porno responds that "there is a right side here and a wrong side, and I don't think Pierce is on the right side." That's fine. But then he continues on by invoking, for some absolutely baffling reason I am currently at a loss to discern, Kyle's name. Strange. I didn't even know Porno had a son. But it was important for him to mention it, I imagine, as even the vaguest reference to Kyle sets up the action for much of the second half of this episode and allows you, the viewing public, to take the reigns and create your own "foreshadow" joke, necessary as one may be in this situation. But before you do, hearken to the action of Liz and Max running madly into a clearing as a large red van comes tearing up behind them. Porno stops the van and Michael jumps out, holding out a hand and finally displaying his one mad voodoo alien power of thinking really hard and turning everything in the camera's frame really, really white. Which, considering the complexion of every actor on the entire network for twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours it spends airing original programming, that power might actually be just a little bit stronger than we'd initially anticipated. Max and Liz jump into Porno's van and he takes off, leaving Pierce and the other inhabitant of the red van stumbling about helplessly in said cloud of white. Hey, cool power. For a crayon.

Porno and the Alien Three arrive in some new, completely nondescript desert locale that looks like every freakin' dingo-ate-your-baby set we've been trapped in for the course of the last three episodes. Porno gazes longingly at Michael and promises, "You know what I want, and it'll get you a new bike, alien boy." Okay, that's not what he says. Can't it be? Can't it just be for one second? In fact he says, "You'll be safe here for a while," and Michael recaptures his recalcitrant James Dean bad-boy thing, which was once so unbelievably tiresome but would now be a welcome respite for the static drone of one character blending into the next we've encountered since the show came back from euphemistically shrouded terms like "hiatus" and "respite" and "last-ditch creative retooling." He mutters, "There is no safe anymore," before exiting the van and storming into this new ambiguous "place they'll be safe for a while." Liz follows, and Max tells her that he'll be right in. With just the two of them outside, Porno flashes his pearly yellows at Max, a facial accouterment further accentuated by Porno's pre-pubescent, thirteen-year-old-Bar-Mitzvah-boy moustache he is able to cultivate without fear of rebuke, now that there are officially no women left for him to creep right on out of Roswell. He tells Max that he has to know "everything." (Fifteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds to the first "tell me everything." BO-ring. That doesn't even rank in the top five.) Max doesn't know where they're from. Max doesn't know why they're here. Michael and Isabel are also aliens. Max hilariously attests that "Liz, Alex, and Maria are the only ones who know," and I would probably waste the paltry remainder of HostPro's woefully limited bandwidth ranting about the vast quantities of everyone else in the world who knows, but with so many hands of the "who cares" clause left to be played, I'm going to let the "writers" off the hook for this particular bout of contrived, delusional, bereft-of-linear-narrative psychosis. Go, me. Okay, no I won't. I can't. Hey, Max. Don't forget about THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT. There. They know, too. Sigh.

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Roswell

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