Max and Michael dig and fight. I don't know what they're digging for. Or what they're fighting about. Digging! Liz! Risking exposure! FBI! Max: "There is something wrong with her, Michael, and I don't know how to fix it." Bringing the season commitment down to eighteen episodes was an excellent start. What other tricks are there? Max continues, "I have screwed up hundreds of times since we found out what we are. Do you know how many times Liz has?" Wanna play Price Is Right? I guess four. And I think the detergent costs $2.49. "Never." Damn. I went over. No Showcase Showdown for me. And I so need a new Winnebago.

And now, back at school. Liz sits in the guidance office and answers a suited man's question about why she'd like to go to Harvard. She gives her stock answer by naming a professor she once read one article on, and Harvard man tell Liz, "I think you two would really hit it off." He nods approvingly and makes a note -- "straight C average, truancy record, and interstate prison record notwithstanding, has heard of one professor on staff" -- while looking around for the rubber stamp that reads "Accepted!" and ruing the same quota that demands that a certain amount of talentless singer/songwriter guitar-playing girls from rural New Mexico have to be signed to lucrative record contracts every year or the whole record company goes to jail. Y'know. That quota. But uh-oh! The interviewer's next question goes all choppy and the Bar Mitzvah video effect kicks in again, leaving Liz unsure of what the questioner has questioned. She asks him to repeat the question. It's something about contributing to the community. We can see his lips move. She tries to answer, answering, "I guess. I'm not quite sure." Quick! Name that professor again! It's your only chance. But things are spinning, spinning, spinning, and in a moment Liz is cowering in fear and running out of the room yelling, "I'm sorry!" over and over and over. Don't be. This show's lack of irony at least assures me that the inevitable "now I probably won't even get into Vassar" crack isn't just around the corner for once. Which you wouldn't, Liz. I mean, probably. Oh, who am I kidding. Welcome to Poughkeepsie, here's your diploma.