The next morning, as an ovary gets in touch with her feelings, Dawson gets out of the Dawsonmobile at the Brookshaven and heads inside, calling out for Mr. Brooks. Bummm bummm bummm…DA DUMMM! (Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum.) The black monolith crashes through the ceiling and pins me to the floor as we pan past the pill box on the sideboard and down to Mr. Brooks passed out -- or maybe dead -- on the floor.
Next week: bamp chicka bamp bamp, wah wah wahhh wahhhhhh, bamp chicka bamp bamp.