…and we cut for a moment to Isabel's dream state, where Isabel tells dreamy Khivar that she gets married tomorrow and leaves him behind forever, just as…

…we find Max torturing other not-drunk-enough guests at the party, Max's new conquest revealing quietly, "We talk on the phone all the time. Except when he was doing that FBI thing." The guy continues that it was "classified" and "national security. That kind of thing." Jesse comes over and gets mad at Max for interrogating his friends, just as Michael sinks a few balls and a big brawl breaks out in the bar. The line "these red-neck jerk-offs are trying to hustle us!" is delivered in dead seriousness, which is only a good thing because it means that the line "I'm a statistician!" doesn't function as the dramatic high point of the scene.

It's four hours and thirty-six minutes until the wedding. We're wherever Max and Isabel are, Isabel screaming, "You broke his nose?" She's mad, saying that he doesn't trust her, asking, "Do you really think I would marry someone I don't even know? Someone who might secretly be working for the FBI or maybe even an alien? Don't you think I walked through his dreams a few times, and that maybe I checked on his alien status a long time ago?" His, um, alien status? She becomes sad that she trusted Max to stand up at her wedding, and that he wasn't there for her. She storms out in a hurry, leaving Max standing forlornly next to a foosball table that takes up the entire portion of the frame not occupied by Max's nine-pound body. Tears. Tears at the arcade.

Tonight on your local UPN news: Airport insecurity! Your airport may not be safe! Thanks for the update, U-R-Many-Steps-Off-The-Pace Network. Also tonight, this shocking report: light blue and dark blue are both shades of blue.