Just then, we hear a rather dry, "Hey." The camera swivels and it's Fauxlio, just standing there with her arms crossed. Oh, she's not EVIL or anything. She only has NO inflection in her voice WHATSOEVER. Syd's all, this is Michael! You know the one! From the bank! THE ONE! Fauxlio's all, doesnotcompute. Nicetoputafacewithaname. Takemetoyourleader. Syd's all twirly and girly behind Vaughn's back like, this is him! The guy! You know, THE GUY? Fauxlio just looks at her as if she's trying to figure out if all humans act this crazy, or if it's just this one. Vaughn kind of sneaks a glance back at Syd, who immediately stops her silent chittering and tells him that they should catch their plane. Fauxlio's all, anotherbusinesstrip. Syd's all, uh, yeah, a conference or something...hey, aren't you gonna tell me to quit my job or whatever? Fauxlio's all, haveagoodtripyouguys. She is seriously Stepford, dudes. Vaughn shakes her hand again and looks at her kind of curiously, then walks off. Syd gives Fauxlio this look that's all, uh, dude? Did you eat some bad clams or something? Syd was obviously expecting Fauxlio to start jumping up and down and shrieking, "Aiiiieeee! Thass yo boyfrien'! Thass yo boyfrien'! Ooooooh...he's soooo cuuuuuute!" When Fauxlio just goes, "I'llseeyoulater," and slaps a mechanical smile on her face, Syd's expression is like, what the --?
Regina: Oh, no. Her personality isn't palpably different or anything. Not at all.
Wendy Kroy: Well, even if it wasn't, that dark eyeliner is a dead giveaway.
Regina: Oh, yeah. Without question. What, did they fire the circus clowns?
Wendy Kroy: Apparently. And they've been replaced with the entire makeup crew from Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Syd and Vaughn finally leave, trailing an air of confusion. After they exit, we return to the Francinator (tm Merrin Dungey), who drops the fake grin faster than you can say "Colin Ferrell is a himbo" and just glares after Syd and Vaughn as if she's going to pull a gun out right then and there and just go to town on the lovebirds.
Cayenne Conch Shell. Cue the synth-heavy pseudo-porn music. Syd's in a pool, doing the breaststroke. Or the boob-stroke, as the case may be. Thank you very much! I'll be here all week! Tip your waitress! Syd swims toward the steps as the porn music continues, and everyone in the audience born before 1977 harkens back to that one time at the multiplex when they snuck in just so they could see Phoebe Cates get out of Judge Reinhold's pool and take her top off. Syd exits the pool, all dripping wet and hotter than hell, and disappoints those of us who remember just what Judge Reinhold was doing in the bathroom 'round about this time by not taking off her bikini top. But Syd does manage this sort of exaggerated hoochie-mama tiptoe thing over to a pair of waterproof blue Candies and steps into them, raining water down over everything. I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed this trip down mammary lane. All week! I'll be here all week!