In light of my recent realization that Roswell will be airing a brand-new episode in its regular Tuesday time slot on New Year's goddamn Day while I'm on a plane watching Legally Blonde and trying to think about anything besides Roswell and crashing, I would like to offer the following gay Christmas tiding to the show, the stars, the "writers," the producers, the network, everyone who lives or works within a five-mile radius of the Paramount lot, the guy who invented the picture tube, the Chamber of Commerce of every over-hyped frontier town from Roswell to Tombstone to Orlando, any actual aliens, and God: I hate you and I've poisoned the fruitcake.

Hee. "Gay." Just like our apparel. Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

Anyway, screw you, Roswell. Happy scabby-ass New Year to you, too. Here. Have some poisoned fruitcake.

Fade up on the no-place-like-this-scabby-ass-town-for-the-holidays town of Roswell, New Mexico, to find Max "See The Flaming Tool Before Us" Evans and Michael "That Shook When He Laughed Like A Bowlful Of Jelly" Guerin walking somberly down a festively decorated street. Max begins the conversation "So..." to indicate that we're in the middle of a deep and pre-established chat. Golly. I do hope we can catch up! "So, did you and Maria officially break up?" Michael doesn't know: "She wants space [pun-tastic reference to Michael's interstellar pedigree thankfully ignored], but she still wants me in her life. All I know is that I'm not getting any [pun-free reference to Michael's interstellar libido predictably and extraneously included]." Meanwhile, Track #3 of Gratingly Clichéd Christmas Sound Effects For Your Cash-Strapped Network Failure, Vol. 1 rants on, as the dialogue is all but drowned out by the screaming background din of a looped Santa-sounding character bellowing "Ho ho ho" and "Merry Christmas" and what have you. I guess they couldn't get the licensing to use Track #1 (Salvation Army Bell Ringing Excessively Outside Safeway) or Track #2 (Madonna Singing "Santa Baby"), so they had to settle for this old standard. But Max and Michael pay it no mind, Michael keeping to the topic at hand and noting, "Let's grab a burger." Max is a tut-tutter: "That's not exactly giving her space." But someone's stocked Michael's stocking with tart, barbed, Gal Friday-esque retorts, and he detonates one here, shooting back, "I'm not gonna starve because I have a weird girlfriend." Okay, country mouse, for the last time: there are two McDonalds in Roswell, two Burger Kings, a Wendy's, an Arby's, a Denny's, and fifty million other crappy diners. There's no Jack In The Box, but I mean, come on. Those burgers suck and are furry. So everyone buy a yellow pages and give each other a time-out sometimes. Please? Really. Please. Besides, Max remembers, "I'm not allowed in the Crashdown." Yuck. And look at what such malnutrition has done to his weight class. I take back the yellow pages thing. But Michael sends continuity on an extra long holiday break, ending Max's season-long ban from Liz's airspace with the simple missive, "Do it anyways. It'll make her hot." Again with the bawdy quips! Oh, Michael! You one-horse-open-sleigh me.