Michael, from in front of MHS, offers this: "Let me tell you what's really going on." Maria wasn't already doing that? Apparently, well, not. "Tess is pregnant. Maxwell's the dad. Here's the problem: the baby can't survive on Earth, so we have to find a way home. Which, fortunately, I think I did." You think YOU did? When did you do anything? No, seriously. He picked up the Zapf Dingbats journal with the full translation contained therein and, like, three-hole punched it and brought it to his boss. That would be like me walking into a Barnes & Noble and picking up a linguistics book explaining ancient languages and exclaiming, "Somebody needs to translate the Rosetta Stone!" [FLIPS OPEN BOOK TO TRANSLATION OF ROSETTA STONE] "Lucky for y'all, I already did."
The Scoping Fjords Of Sandy Land set has been buffed and polished for its recent resurgence, and we cut to inside the granilith chamber to find the Alien Four looking predictably somber. Veeeeery slowly explaining the power of the granilith to his constituents is "Old King" Max "Was A Very Old Soul And A Very Old Soul Was He" Evans, product-placing the hell out of office supply stores nationwide (King Office Max, 'haps?) in holding the translation of the Zapf Dingbats journal, held together by one of those giant industrial binder clips. Nighttime on Planet Exposition: "This is a key." A what? A key. Oh, a key. "When we insert it, the granilith will transport us home." I'll thank you, Max, never to say the world "insert" in that smarmy tone on network television ever again, even if there are only four of us watching. "It will take twenty-four hours to prepare itself." So if it's twenty-four hours in the translation, who decided that was twenty-four Earth hours? Maybe twenty-four hours on their planet pass in three seconds of Earth time. Or ninety days. Or a whole new fucking season. Maybe it's one of those. Sigh. I mean, SIGH. "When it's ready, we have to be on board or we don't go." My my, what a convenient narrowing of the action. Does anyone else get the feeling that the "writer" of this episode just got to the lesson about "central conflict and the 'A' story" in his one-hour drama writing class at the Gotham Writer's Workshop? Perhaps this will convince you: "The granilith is capable of one mission, only one. When we use it, it's gone. It's our only way home. Is everyone ready?" Yes! God, yes! Just go now, and call when you get there so I know you're okay. Isabel "Graduate Of The School Of Hard Knocks, San Francisco, California" Evans, sitting mid-Hatha-stretch defensive pose in a corner of the room, whispers, "This is happening too fast." Max notes that they don't have a choice, but Michael backstories the continuing plight of Roswell's overrun of bland, carbon-copied, Multiplicity-afflicted blondes who have plagued them all season, reminding us and them and you, "What about Leanna? If she's still out there, how can we leave? I mean, she's already killed Alex, what's to stop her from killing Liz?" What, indeed? Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha! "Or Kyle or Valenti or Maria?" Oh. Those deaths wouldn't be quite as fun and hilarious. I mean, in a really sad way, of course. And aren't "Kyle" and "Valenti" the same person? When are these people gonna stop pretending they don't read the recaps? Call him by his name, people. Let's have the Massapequa High School cheerleaders remind us of just what that is: "P! O-R! P-O-R-N-O!" He's boom, dynamite. Clap clap.