Tony Clifton: I told you to do the wash.
Michael: I'll do it later.
Tony Clifton: Today!
Michael: I'm not your maid.
Tony Clifton: You're right. You're good for nothing. Do the wash now.
Bravo, I cry through the tears. Bravo, indeed! Oh my God. This so cannot be happening. Michael tells Tony Clifton to go to hell, and Tony Clifton responds by yelling something incomprehensible about Michael's parents and then throws the contents of the laundry basket all over his browbeaten foster son. Ow! Big fluffy cotton clothes! I can practically feel the low thread count of the Wal-Mart brand name chafing against my own sensitive skin! A shouting match ensues, Michael crying, "You're a man who keeps me around just to collect a monthly check." And even if that snippet of dialogue hadn't been featured in the "previously" section this week, I'd still remember that the identical line was used in the Pilot. I'm just that pathetic. At this point, Max and Isabel come running into the so-called "house" unannounced. Apparently, they heard some yelling even through the thick, currency-papered walls of their ivory tower. How good of them to investigate. Tony Clifton, spotting Isabel, asks the lady if she wants a drink. A fracas erupts when Isabel apprehends the drink from Tony Clifton's hand and throws it at him. Wow, Isabel. How very Sassy Old-West Dame of you. But Tony Clifton fails to view the situation from the same historical perspective as I do. She threatens, "If you ever touch Michael again I will kill you" and Tony Clifton counters by grabbing a Daisy Air Rifle of his own. But before he gets around to yelling more drunken threats and accidentally shooting himself, Michael holds out a hand and . . . makes Tony Clifton really, really itchy! Kidding. But how surprising would that not have been? Instead, Michael goes full-tilt Carrie on his father (he's not my real father, man!) and makes some chairs blow all around the room. What a productive use of your powers, Michael. So the Alien Three run like hell, leaving Tony Clifton hurling horrible epithets, including "you're a freak," after them.
Cut to inside the Alienmobile, where the three of them have apparently decided to drive and drive and drive until finding the protective asylum of . . . the front lawn of Michael's house. Michael again guilts Isabel and Max for having something to hold onto in Roswell, telling them that Tony Clifton was "the only thing I had, and now you guys screwed that up for good." But he was drunk, they say. He won't remember in the morning, they say. We're sorry, djb, they say. We'll knock off early and avoid ruining another one of your weekends, they say. Actually, they leave out the last part for some awful reason. Michael says he doesn't belong anywhere, and Isabel has a lovely moment where she asks Michael is it would kill him "to ask for help just once." So he storms off. Again. Remember the one scene in this episode that ended without Michael playing another round of Super Wah-Wah and running off somewhere? No? Funny, that. Neither do I.
Suddenly it's raining, as it only does in the desert when it's utterly essential for dramatic effect. Maria looks out her window to see Michael outside. But he's not the man she's had the nookie with before. What with his wet and matted down hair, he's easily six inches shorter. And this cleanliness thing doesn't do a whole lot for him, either. But it's all good, because the dialogue-free nature allows for a far briefer conclusion to this sequence. She mouths words through the window he cannot hear, ending with her repeated exclamations of "no, no, no, no, no." Good thing all chicks mean "yes" when they say "no," eh Michael? I'm sure that's a Tony Clifton-esque lesson you've learned well. Because we cut to Maria toweling Michael off, then undressing him and putting him in her bed They lie in bed together. But the water keeps coming. He's crying. This uncharacteristic display of human emotion actually brings a tear to my own eye. Then I ask my roommate to help me extract the butter knife I've just inadvertently shoved in my eye in an attempt to gouge it out as to avoid watching the rest of the scene.