Episode Report Card
Djb: D+ | Grade It Now!
Too many khooks in the khitchen

He carries her over a threshold into the ugliest, most discolored Honeymoon Suite committed to celluloid since Superman and Lois stayed in that room where you could start your own fire by pulling down on the giant rope. And that room was just kidding. No one let this room in on the joke. They just painted the door bright pink and hung up some curtains whose primary purpose would be to outfit the drapery-inclined Mrs. Evans, should she decide to marry again and needed to throw together something patterned and familiar and horrible in a hurry. They "ooh," and then they "aah," over the beauty of the room. Jesse takes six pointless minutes tipping the bellhop (oh my God, get on with it, show. If you have something to share that won't take an hour, avoid making an entire episode), and once they are alone, he throws her down on the bed and they smack smackily for another hour. Those two must have sixteen rows of teeth between them. It's creepy. Jesse asks Isabel if something is wrong, and then crawls behind her on the bed (now this is where things could get interes…oh, no they couldn't) and gives her the "comforting guy" speech: "We're gonna be married for a long, long time. No reason to rush anything anymore. Everything's gonna be fine." They both smile too big again, and I forge both of their signatures on the back of my driver's license, just in case I ever need an emergency enamel transplant and Toothie-Dee and Toothie-Dum are the only ones out there who seem to have any left.

Crashdown, cover of broad daylight. Maria pours salt into saltshakers and eavesdrops as Monopoly Nazi Evans strolls in and sits down at the counter. He beckons Slackjaw over, and the two refer to each other as "Jeff" and "Philip," and I briefly think these are names they've adopted for each other because perhaps they're rehearsing a play or something. Anyway, Monopoly Nazi kicks it off: "I feel kind of funny about this, but can I speak to you about something?" Slackjaw assents. Monopoly Nazi clarifies, "In private?" Discreet men cavorting privately? Well, like father, like son. Slackjaw suggests, "Let's go in the back." Oh, la la. Like father's son's girlfriend's father, like son.

Jesse is worth divorcing. Golf on TV? Yes, I know Isabel is sound asleep on the bed, but shouldn't he at least be doing something constructive like watching scrambled porn or reading some leaflets about the history of the town and trying to very slowly sound out how "La Jolla" has a J and two Ls and still rhymes with Goya? Anyway, that's just exactly what I'd be doing. On my honeymoon. With my wife. Anyway, Jesse finally gets tired of waiting for Isabel to wake up, so he takes a break from thinking about his putts (Geddit? Thank you! Goodnight!) to see what the hotel has to offer. He picks up a little information card atop the television, and we cut to him clad in only a towel, entering a steamroom kind of room. He puts a leg up and closes his eyes. He has a flash that someone is in the room with him, and opens his eyes to find himself alone. A moment later, a flash again. Anyway know exactly what's coming here? He opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with Khivar, which also causes Isabel to sit up in bed and wonder as to Jesse's whereabouts. Khivar bids him a "hi" just as Isabel finds a note from Jesse that he's gone to the spa at 2:30 and that he'll be back in an hour. Isabel glances at the Timex clock and notes that it is 5:38. Wait a second! That faulty clock math doesn't work at all! Danger!

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