Max is wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and talking some serious trash about some guy "jacking their power on bath night." Who cares about his cannabis plants? They stole the power first, and it's theirs when they want it. Kendra is acting like a Greek chorus or Baptist choir in this scene, just affirming whatever Max is saying. As they wander back into the apartment, they begin having one of those made-for-TV versions of girl talk where they talk about sex and how much they hate cuddling and just want the noogies. It's just such a guy version of girl interaction. Speaking of which, I was watching some embarrassingly bad television last week due to a nasty head cold and a severe lazy streak, and MTV was having some self-aggrandizing/cheap advertisement show about the MTV Movie Awards. The only thing worth watching the show for was some short movie about the making of a movie that they had made (if you could follow that), where Lisa Kudrow plays a faux choreographer teaching women how to dance around a table to some crappy fifties song in the appropriate manner for some female bonding time. 'Cause isn't that how we ladies spend all our quality time? Dancing around a table to some retro tune? Isn't it? Maybe in James Cameron's wet dream. I can attest that, in twenty-five years as a female, I have never EVER danced around the table using a hairbrush as a microphone. Doing a dance-based interpretation of "You Spin Me Round"? Sure. But that's entirely different than dancing around a table with my three closest female friends.
Moving on. So Max and Kendra are having one of those conversations about Kendra's date that night. Max is opining that there is no way Kendra and her mystery man have sex for twelve hours straight. It's not possible. Kendra points out that it is indeed possible. Ask Willie Nelson. Or Sting. Max says that in her experience that has not been true. Well, if her experience and vast knowledge is based on the likes of Scrappy Doo from the second episode, no freaking wonder she has no clue about the mysteries of twelve-hour sexcapades. Kendra says that Max has already met the man, and that she'd better keep her genetically-engineered sloppy-seconds hands off of him Word, girlfriend -- you never know when Max is going to be in heat again. But I have to second Amorgan's opinion on this; since when did Kendra become a man collector? Whatever; it's not like the writers spend a lot of time on character development.