As they do research, Darwin tells Lee May he thinks it's destiny that they are working together. On a wall-sized hanging Lucite board, Lee May brings up files and images as she types from a console in the middle of the room. That's pretty cool. In a typically skanky way, Darwin comes on to Lee May. She rebuffs. "Boyfriend?" he asks. "No," she says. "Lesbian?" he asks. Now, why wouldn't he just say "girlfriend?" Oh, right, because he's a dick. Lee May answers no to that one as well. "Lukas?" "Not. Interested," Lee May repeats. Darwin wonders if he hit a sore spot. "Lukas is married," Lee May expositions. Yeah, to me, so hands off, bimbo! Based on her résumé, Darwin doesn't think Lee May would "shrink from a challenge." "I got tired just reading it," Darwin adds. "See, that's the thing, Darwin. The younger guys? They don't get tired," Lee May smirks. Darwin stammers over how old she thinks he is. Lee May suggests that they get back to work. Yeah, working on a sexual-harassment lawsuit, sheesh!
Okay, so what's happening here? Is it a blipvert? Not really; it's more like we're in a hover-car going impulse.
An old man joins Lee May, Darwin, and the Old Men on the Block. When Darwin catches sight of the old man and his fat, bearded lawyer, he's all, "That's the guy you kicked out?" and Kevyn Aucoin is all, "Chah! Now you see why!" Darwin greets them and quickly is made to realize that the old man -- not the fat, bearded dude -- is T.J. I was confused by his confusion, because I actually realized right away that the old gent was the ex-crooner and never even considered Comic Book Guy as anything but his lawyer. I'm smarter than Darwin. T.J. further verifies his identity by saying, "Yeah, lead singer. 'I'll Be Loving You Girl Tomorrow Morning.'" At Darwin's flabbergasted face he adds, "I was the cute one?" Lee May remembers her grandmother singing that song. T.J. adds that in 1982 they were the boy band that knocked the Go-Gos off the chart. Whatever: as Wing already pointed out to me, there weren't any boy bands in the early '80s that answer to this description. Why not make them a boy band of the early to mid-'90s? Sure, they wouldn't be in their seventies, but they would still be expected to look older than twenty-two, and therefore the plasticized point would still be there. Darwin keeps with the flabbers and the gasts as he realizes that the Old Men on the Block are sixty-six, sixty-nine, and seventy-two. "But that information is subject to attorney/client privilege -- it doesn't get out," Kevyn Aucoin states. Why? I mean, unless they change their identity and keep reinventing themselves as a different boy band every twenty years, wouldn't their fans know how old they are? Maybe people of the future can't do arithmetic. "We've had some work done," Kevyn Aucoin adds unnecessarily.