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Ding Dong, Mrs. Dixon's Dead

Previously on Alias: I have no fucking idea, because my computer bailed on me early this morning due to a lovely new worm virus and I've spent all fucking day rebuilding it in safe fucking mode and I am just now, at 8:00 PM on Saturday, finally getting to the fucking recap, and I so totally will be awake until all fucking hours just to get it in before, say, NEXT FUCKING JUNE.

Owen? Baby? Bring me a keg of Stoli Vanilla and a straw. I am currently in HELL.

Right. So, Auntie Em's dead and Dixon did the killing. Remember this, okay? It'll be important later. After the extended "previouslys," we open up on a moody night shot, complete with torrential downpour. Syd and Dix flank Auntie Em's coffin as a hearse backs up to it. The hearse is all, "Beep. Beep. Beep." Heh. It's supposed to be a lead-in to a serious and heartbreaking scene, and I'm already giggling at the "backing up" noises coming from the hearse. Perhaps I shouldn't have had all that crack for breakfast.

Dixon tells Syd that he didn't have a clean shot at Sloane, but he took it anyway, and that's why Auntie Em ate some Tuscan grass. Then he informs her that he's putting in for reassignment. Syd tries to reassure him with a rather weak, "If I'd had the shot, I might have taken it." Gee, thanks, Syd. So YOU would have killed Auntie Em too? Niiiice. Dix then says that he knows how much Auntie Em meant to Syd and how sorry he is for having made her all dead and shit. It's a lovely piece of acting on Carl Lumbly's part, but he says "sorry" in this sort of Canadian/Minnesotan accent, so it comes out "soooory," and my friend Viva always says "soooory" when she's being insincerely sorry and basically NOT sorry, and I really need to keep away from the crystal meth because WOW am I tweaked right now.

Satan Sloane's Silo Of Secrecy. Agent Avenger is sitting at his desk, brooding, as Spy Mommy does her damnedest to get his bloody attention by repeating his name over and over again. I don't know why she's bothering, really. That damn bandage on her upper arm is seriously big enough to attract ANYONE'S attention. Like, it's bigger than her HEAD. Hell, it's bigger than the ROOM. And it's, like, nineteen feet thick. It looks like a water wing, this bandage.

Irina and her Bandage Of Biblical Proportions finally succeed in getting Agent Avenger's attention and she's all, dude. This plan might not hold up, okay? The CIA could totally guess why we were after the genetic database. Agent Avenger's not really interested in the database anymore. Instead, he wants satellite footage of Tuscany. "I want to know who murdered my wife," he says. Um. Well, that's easy, Arvin. YOU DID. Pretty much the second you grabbed your wife by the hand and HAULED ASS ACROSS AN OPEN LAWN, you signed her fucking death warrant, dude. So, screw the footage of Tuscany, man. Just order a hit on yourself and be done with it. Irina's right there! She'll do it! And she's probably hiding a bazooka underneath that gargantuan bandage, so she'll do it right now! For free!

Spy Mommy tries to reason with Dirty Harold over here, and winds up saying that they're really close to finding out what Rambaldi knew. Great. Now maybe we can find out that Sark actually IS Rambaldi, Syd actually IS his sister, and I actually AM not drunk right now. Agent Avenger grouses something about wishing he'd never even heard Rambaldi's name, and Irina engages in some inappropriate touching of her own when she reaches out and comforts Arvin with her hand. No, not like THAT! Ew! And gross! And I think I'll just douse my head in lighter fluid, flick a match, and cleanse my brain of THAT imagery with the purifying fires of death and damnation, okay?

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