Alias
A Higher Echelon

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Erin: C+ | Grade It Now!
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Bring Me A Higher Love!

"In London, we shut down Cuvee's access to Echelon and, thank God, kept it away from SD-6," she finishes. Will's all, oh, so, if someone gets Echelon, like, they become all Big Brother and shit, right? Oh, and again, nice total exposition of every last CIA and SD-6 secret there, Syd. I can't get you to make out with me or show me your boobs, but you're TOTALLY FINE with opening your big fucking mouth about every last thing having to do with the government.

Like, I get how the writers and TPTB are trying to bring us all up to speed in a matter of milliseconds, but, uh, do they have to do it in such an asstastic way? Will gets his face turned into Taipei top ramen and now he's suddenly Syd's mother confessor? I mean, ABOUT EVERYTHING? IN HER KITCHEN? Try to show a LITTLE decorum here, people. Make her give a report or something. Yeah, blah blah blah the apartment has a bug killer in it. Who fucking CARES? Syd's a SPY, and she can't keep her mouth shut about DICK. Seriously. I keep better secrets than her. Even the one about Ron Livingston and how he likes to have his big toe dipped in warmed honey and licked clean. I've never told a soul about that one.

What? Viggo! Stop reading over my shoulder! And -- wait. What's that smell? VIGGO! I told you not to come back from your fucking universal transversal or whatever the hell you call it until you reacquainted yourself with a BAR OF IRISH SPRING! You smell like raw sewage that's been left to rot beneath the left armpit of David Crosby, okay?! What? Oh, you wanna hear about Ron Livingston, do you? Yeah, well, shake hands with Mr. Bubble, dude. Because Ron has a healthy relationship with both hot water AND L'Occitane products, okay? Those two things alone are enough reason for me to toss your skuzzy arse in a vat of Pine Sol. Keep it clean, dude or we're THROUGH.

Syd blathers something about how her best bud Marshall was pulled out of SD-6 and taken into protective custody. "The CIA's gonna give him a life. A real life. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know he's safe," she says, smiling. Yes, if by "safe" you mean "suffering at the hands of an Asian actor who most likely detests taking on the mantle of a torturous madman of Asian ethnicity, but who also really digs the hefty paycheck." Because Marshall's about as far from "safe" as Anna Nicole Smith is from "svelte."

Dark Dungeon Of Dental Dementia. Marshall's freaking the hell out in the makeshift torture chair while one of SDAP's henchmen cranks Marshall's mouth open with a relatively icky-looking dental device. SDAP sneers something about how Marshall took something that didn't belong to him and how SDAP's employer would like it back. Then he goops something out of a squeeze bottle down Marshall's throat. Ew. I don't care what it is, that shit ain't right. I can't swallow Pepto-Bismol without going through about twenty minutes of heebie-jeebies, so this scene is incredibly ooky for me.

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Alias

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