Roswell
Independence Day

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Tony Clifton's Revenge

Allow me to digress for a moment before we return to the inaction in unprogress to let you know that I took a two-hour impromptu break from recapping to clean my bathroom. I did so without benefit of gloves, a sponge, or assistance from anyone besides my new best friend, Gross Shower Drain Bacteria. And it was still a more pleasurable, palatable experience than watching the remainder of this episode. Oh, and did I mention I cleaned the entire thing with my tongue? Still, though.

Returning from commercial, we find the daytime version of Michael and Maria in bed. The high drama over and the rain gone with it, Michael's hair has apparently returned to an alien's natural style of flat and lifeless rather than aloft and puffy, and for a moment I'm pretty sure that it's Max in bed with Maria. DeLucawitz enters and finds the two together, freaks out unsympathetically because she doesn't know Michael's plight of being really bad at Monopoly, and rants him right out of the house. She demands Maria's presence in the kitchen, presumably because the kitchen has better lighting for this particular mother/daughter confrontation. Cut to said brightly-lit kitchen, where Maria attests that all she and Michael did was sleep. DeLucawitz then proceeds to display the poorest example of parenting skills this side of Susan Smith in basically telling Maria that the reason she can't have boys sleep over is not because she's sixteen, not because she's living at home, not because all boys only want one thing, but instead because she can't abide by the fact that "it's okay for you and it's not okay for me." She then slides effortlessly into that parallel universe in which gritting your teeth and attempting speech through clenched jaws substitutes for acting concerned, telling Maria that "I can't go back and change my life, but I will be damned if I watch yours go down the same way." Cue tender woman-bonding music. Hang on, I think I missed a spot underneath the medicine cabinet. I'll be back in another two hours.

School. I just noticed that, for a show whose first half-dozen episodes kept us trapped in an educational setting more than Head of the Class, this is the first time we've been classroom-bound in a good long while. Tender music continues. Michael, apparently able to access whatever worthy-of-recall gel product necessary to reclaim his hair's usual, ferret-like form, sits in class. Knock on door. It's the police. They want Michael. Cut to Porno back in long-lost inquisition mode, asking Michael for an alibi for last night. Denial, denial, denial. Porno informs Michael that after a night of screaming and crying and a gunshot heard by neighbors, Tony Clifton has disappeared. Michael, alibi-free for the evening, looks very very guilty.

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Roswell

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