But! Just around the corner of a stately brick UCLA building adorned with fake snow, Morgan Fairchild wraps a fur coat that's practically still bleeding from the kill tight around her and watches in a jealous rage. Max and Liz get all kissy. But! Liz puts her hands on Max's face, and just at this moment the green static electricity kicks up in her hands, knocking Max flat on his bony, aging ass. He sits up and squints in even further confusion, but Liz is all faraway-like with the bar mitzvah video imagery we experienced during Liz's Harvard interview some weeks back. He recoils in horror from Liz, yells "no!" and tears off. Well. Exactly. Then Liz appears dizzy and just falls down and it fucking rocks. Oopsie, Liz. Uh. Oopsie.

A strangely long scene change provides momentary hope that the set they were cutting to had already been knocked down. But, alas. We cut to a comatose Isabel, wondering why people are continually entering her bedroom and cranking the volume of their internal monologues all the damn way up. It's Michael's turn to drool good will toward the dying, so he launches into his own Thornton Wilder recitative, for your own continual coma pleasure, "First day of school, third grade. I'm standing by the lunch line, arguing with that ass Mr. Trevors. He tells me that the cafeteria won't take my food stamps. I said, 'They're for food, aren't they?'" No wonder Mr. Trevors was all, "Good one, kid. I'll reward your lack of respect to authority with some sewer grubs with a lint garnish I've picked fresh from my sweater. Now I'll let you lick my shoes for dessert. But first you'll have to do a little dance." And really, doesn't every school have its own Mr. Trevors, just like the one we see depicted so vividly here? Anyway, what is the point of this narrative? I don't want to speak too soon, but I'm guessing there's an Isabel-saves-the-day in which he makes her into The Patron Saint Of Sloppy Joes just because she's dying and he has to think of a time she was nice. Ugh. He totally wrote these lines himself. I'll bet everyone else in the cast thought they were "so powerful." Ergh. Anyway: "You pushed your tray of food over to me and said, 'You can have my lunch.'" Well, once a supermodel, as they always say. Michael wells up with tears and throws himself on top of her. A wave of bad effects ripples through their held hands. And then Isabel wakes up and actually zings him with, "You still owe me for that lunch." Hi, my name is Isabel Evans, and I'll be your entertainment this evening. I'd like to open with one of my favorite topics: Lunch! You still owe me for that lunch. Thank you, thank you. Say, anyone here from cardiology? Cough. Sigh. Anyway. Kyle and Jesse run into the room, followed closely by Porno and Dr. Who. Dr. Who holds up a mysterious apparatus to Isabel's ear and announces, "Her vitals are steady. Temperature 102!" Which might be good news or, if 107 is a normal fever, might means she's dead. Dr. Who announces, "I need a cigarette," links arms with Joe Camel, and strides out of the room to a better, more product-placed tomorrow. The rest of the crowd coos around her like she's a newborn, while she tells them with her eyes that there's no place like home. Which will probably piss off Jesse pretty hardcore. He always wanted to be Dorothy.