Roswell
Independence Day

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Tony Clifton's Revenge

Now this is just plain disgusting. Later the same evening, Maria and Liz arrive at the DeLuca residence. Hey, new place! You can practically hear the champagne corks popping on the sound stage as a Roswell Set Designer resets the "we have been [this many days] without a new set" counter from two billion days back to zero. Pie everywhere. Liz complains about being too tired to study, and as they dig into a pie for the practical purposes of a "sugar rush," Liz spots numerous other unfinished pies strewn all around the place. Perplexed moments of curious sleuthing ensue, culminating finally with Maria sitting down on Porno's hat. Strange, actually, considering that I always considered the hat to be Porno's locus of power, and I wondered where the extent of his virility would be if ever he were away from it for too long. DeLucawitz is on the front lines of discovering the answer to these questions, as from behind a door off the kitchen comes the girlish giggling of, well, hopefully it's her. Maria stomps around, making her entrance into the house known. DeLucawitz stumbles out of the room, and the hemming and the hawing reach their apex when Porno stumbles into the kitchen also. His shirt is kind of untucked, his hair is kind of askew, and there is a big cheesy lipstick smear on his face which looks more like the result of my great-aunt Sylvia from Lauderdale giving me an "I haven't seen you since you were THIS BIG" kiss on the cheek than the result of vigorous, ahem, pie-eating of any kind.

Oh, yes, weekday board-game hour with the parents. I remember that from my high-school days. Er, not. Back at Chez Evans, the Perfect Suburban Family plays a game of "Monopoly: A Parable for the Societal Gulf Between Rich and Poor." Oh, you say that's not the name of the game? Well, the Evanses must have a newer edition of it than you and I, because in this scene its primary purpose seems to be symbolizing the harshness of financial realities. Because I know so many people who spend their own lives traveling around a city, accruing their fortune in real-estate ventures from the comfort of their wheelbarrow. Michael owes Mr. Evans $975 and offers to "catch you next time around." Oh, how the Perfect Suburban Family laughs at the folly! Isabel, sensing tension, offers to lend Michael the money, but Mr. Evans (nickname pending) clues him in on that "borrow from the bank" rule. I'm sorry, but has this show become so boring that I'm delivering a play-by-play commentary of a Monopoly game? Clearly, it has. Anyway, Michael gets all in a huff and storms off. Again. Isabel follows and apprehends him on the porch, telling him that he has to speak up, and that Our Father The Savior (there it is) can get him the help he needs. Michael tells Isabel that he doesn't want to become "the poster child for domestic abuse," perhaps because it would conflict with his current corporate sponsorship of the poster child for increasingly ferret-headed hair nightmares. I mean, really. It's only getting worse, and dramatically so. He leaves. Max comes onto the porch and tells Isabel that "you can't make up in one night what he hasn't had in a lifetime." I don't know. Someone had better run over to the new DeLucawitz set and tell that to Porno. I know he doesn't get a whole lot of that pie he was so recently taking a bite of, and judging by the sepulchral sneer plastered on his face, he was making up for a lot of lost time back there.

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Roswell

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