Man, it really was just one split-screen away from being the perfect sequence. Adrianne and Robin take off in one direction and Robin and Shannon in another. Because of the good Christian agenda that rewards cramming one simple idea down our throats over and over again (I wanna go shopping I wanna go shopping I wanna go shopping Iraq has the capacity to attack I wanna go shopping) until it gains veracity in the frightened, cowed, undereducated half of the population, Robin and Shannon take off onto the streets of Paris. Adrianne tells us in a confessional that she knew Elyse didn't want to go to Jim Morrison's grave either, but that Elyse sacrificed for her. They wander aimlessly through a cemetery and opt instead for taking wacky Photomat pictures of themselves while cackling montage-ily. Meanwhile, punished by the editing for their godlessness, it's raining where Robin and Shannon are. Raining frogs and locusts. Better not have a first-born on your shopping spree, ladies, because no one knows better than you how soon he shall be slain. "Adrianne and I did our thing," Elyse explains, "and Robin and Shannon went to The Gap." Heh. No snark necessary from me THIS week, I guess. "In retrospect, I don't know why I wanted the four of us to stay together at all." Robin and Shannon, meanwhile, can't find their way back to the hotel, and a confessional finds Shannon telling us, "Some things Robin does might get on my nerves after a little while," and we cut back to find Robin walking about ten paces in front of Shannon, calling behind her, "C'mon, Shannon, you gonna have to walk faster." Guess she upgraded from her 56K modem. Which is strange, because everything she says sounds like a lot of dial-up static to me.

Speaking of which...you've got mail! What kind of mail? Oh, that's easy: Tyra Mail! Tyra Mail! Anyway, Robin starts to...You've got pictures! I...do? You've got pictures! No, there's nothing saying I should click on a thing that...You've got pictures. Crap! What is wrong with this...wait. Do I want to accept an instant message from "Skaerboi18"? Well, my heart says yes, but...You've got pictures! Wait. Now it's crashing. Hang on. Restart. Okay, this new modem is crap, y'all.

Tyra Mail! Tyra Mail! "You have until 4 PM to get ready for a spectacular night out." Adrianne and Elyse arrive at the hotel a quick cut later, and they pull themselves together in a right hurry. Shannon discovers that they have only fifteen minutes more to ready themselves for the evening, a-cussin' and a-bitchin', "Holy poop!" Okay, that is so much grosser and more descriptive than just yelling out the actual expression, don't you think? But then again, my mind has been warped from the amount of bad language on Six Feet Under ["to say nothing of the amount of actual poop on same" -- Wing Chun], and it led me to seriously consider a relationship with IM spam in that last paragraph, so my more recent attempts at social mores are clearly not to be trusted.