Marshall gets up and blathers on about some of Rambaldi's drawings. And, yes, it's very funny, but as with all Marshall-isms, you really have to be there and see them for yourself so, like, recapping the whole thing isn't going to do anyone any good. Suffice it to say, Marshall discovered that some Rambaldi margin doodles are actually a DNA fingerprint belonging to a man by the name of Protero Di Regno. He's a private citizen living in -- get this -- Panama City! Wait, did we hear that before or something? Like, just a few SECONDS AGO? I think that'll be important later.
Vaughn and his forehead wrinkles are confused. He's all, wait a second here. You're saying that five hundred years ago, this Rambaldi doofus drew a DNA profile for some dude who's alive today? Kerry's all, dude, it gets SO much better! Apparently, Di Regno's DNA was actually a code key that allowed them to decrypt page ninety-seven of the Rambaldi manuscript. I'm surprised it's not page ninety-four, actually. Because, you know, that would be forty-seven times two and everything. In case you care. Dix wants to know what's on the page. Brandon tells him it's a bunch of dates predicting various apocalyptic events, including, but not limited to, Napoleon's bloody battle with the Russians, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand (which triggered World War I), and Hiroshima. Marshall either furiously scribbling all this shit down, or he's penning a mash note to Kerry. Can you imagine? "Hi. I, uh, you're cute. But, you know, not cute in the bunny rabbit way. More like the cute that involves champagne and bubble baths and...I'm gonna shut up now." Hee.
"There's a future date listed on the page," Syd pipes up. "Isn't there?" Brandon's all, yep. Forty-eight hours from now, actually. Syd's all, what's the prediction? Kerry's all, there isn't one. Just a time. Midnight Eastern Standard Time, to be exact. Jack tells Syd and Dix that they're to travel to Panama City and bring back the Lucky DNA dude. Brandon informs everyone that, until the deadline has come and gone, this operation is under NSA jurisdiction. Syd looks none too pleased about this little revelation. I'm none too pleased about having to come up with a nickname for yet another new character that will probably barely be in this episode and who will probably never appear again for the duration of the season.
Panama City Wanna Hump-Hump. Lucky DNA Dude is sleeping in his bed when he's awakened by a loud noise. He tries to turn on the lights, but nothing happens. He gets out of bed, his ridiculously shiny satin pajamas billowing around his decrepit body. He goes to close a window that's banging in the breeze when suddenly a man pops up from out of nowhere and grabs him from behind and stabs him in the chest. Guess he's not so "lucky" after all.
"Reggie? Kitten?" "Yes, Izzy?" "You do realize this show you watch is a pile of stinking crap, don't you?" "Oh, it is not, Izzy. It's great fun. You of all people should preach your undying love for it." "And why is that?" "Costumes. Camp. Unbelievable storylines that require great leaps of disbelief dodging. What more could a transvestite ask for?" "Hm. You have a point. Fuck the soufflé. Julio? Bring me my own bottle of Stoli and a straw. Auntie Izzy's going to take a load off and enjoy the ride."