Episode Report CardAmorgan: D | Grade It Now!
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Cut to our new friend, Sketch, standing at a pay phone in the rain, breaking his date with his saccharine girlfriend, Natalie. "I gotta work late, I swear. I'm sorry, baby." Blah blah blah excusescakes. And, of course, the next shot is of him going over to some hot bitch's house and getting down like gangbusters. I wonder if James Cameron is trying to work through some of his own guilt re: his failed marriage to Linda Hamilton. Sometimes art can be really therapeutic, you know? Blahblahblahblahblahblahcommercialbreak. Back from commercial break, Max and Original Cindy are taking bets at their local hipster bar that Max can't listen to a phone on speed dial and repeat the numbers back verbatim. Of course, she can. She is so goddamned smug. Oh, but here comes an ex-boyfriend to take her down a notch. He cheated on her, she broke up with him, he tells her that he cheated on her because she is emotionally unavailable. Jesus, Cameron, give it a rest! I wonder if the rest of the season is going to be filled with post-divorce relationship mush. Ex-boyfriend strolls smugly away, having gotten the last word (she's like a "fogbank"). Max has a rare moment of self-doubt, but is bolstered by Original Cindy, who tells her that she's not emotionally unavailable, she's just mysterious. Hm. Well, that's what friends are for, I guess. On the heels of this pat on the back, Max receives a page, then darts out the door, refusing to divulge the nature of her errand. 'Cause she's mysterious. Cut to hard-on shot of Max riding a black Japanese-style motorcycle at breakneck speeds through the city streets. Jeez -- she can barely fit on that thing. You'll notice two things in this scene, ladies and gentlemen: she is now fully outfitted in a black leather motorcycle suit (NOT what she was wearing at the bar), and, in her motorcycle-riding close-up, her hair is not moving at. All. Even though there are loud motorcycle noises dubbed over, as if we are looking at her as she's riding. I'm just saying. Anyway, she rides her bike into a laundromat and busts into the back room to harass a man eating Chinese food. Oh, wait, there's her bar-wearing shirt under her black leather jacket. My mistake. Turns out the man eating Chinese food is not only the proprietor of a laundry facility, but also a private investigator. She's got him searching for (a) the woman who picked her up as she fled in her little grey hospital gown that long-ago snowy night, and (b) any other people with bar codes on their necks. He hems and haws and comes up with a few tidbits about the car that Hannah (Woman (a) from the previous sentence) drove and later sold, but he eventually tells Max that she needs to cough up more cash. Jesus, Jessica Alba's lips are HUGE. Sorry I didn't mention it before, folks. You should just know: this chick's lips are ridiculous. This is what Melanie Griffith was striving for. Yeesh.