Roswell
We Are Family

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Props to Seth and Justin. And, hi.

And now, on an all-new WB Monday: The Hybrid Chronicles II: Electric Orbaloo

Isabel "Upper Body Of Evidence" Evans clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably as we fade up on the Sheriff's Station and discover her sitting next to her brother, Max "Upper Body Of…Oh, Wait" Evans in the middle of a third degree with the only sometimes ambiguously sinister Deputy Hanson. Hoping to accrue enough screen time to dial up his temp job in Pasadena and tell them he won't be able to come in today, Porno's right-hand man (ew, not like that) lets loose with his fey Southwestern accent and asks the two, "About what tahm did you arr-ahv at the scene-ah?" Max stoically (duh) near-whispers (duh with fries) his overly pensive (duh combination plate with an eggroll and a free Coke) reply: "Nine-thirty." We cut from this room over to Porno's Office Of Slatted Lewdness, where last week's spiteful televised manifestation of the very evil that is my everyday existence, "That Me Guy," listens to Porno answer the very same question with the not-different-enough-to-build-the-dramatic-tension-no-how-response, "Shortly after ten PM." That Me Guy is curious to know just how Porno knew Laurie In A Box was trapped under the earth, and Porno puts his hands behind his head, arches his back in a stretch (sorry, Porno, but it's already been made explicit that flashing a little chest isn't going to sway the attention of the assembled law-enforcers, as we're learning four times over just in the next room, if you know what I mean, and I think you do), and lies, "I spotted the oxygen tanks." In the next room, Isabel answers what I imagine to be the same question with an increasingly we-get-it answer, "We heard her screaming." How many shots were fired? Porno says four. Max says six. Why am I still wearing brown this week? How many times do I have to write that I hate brown? Man, they're taunting me. Deputy Sometimes asks Max and Isabel just what exactly they were doing in the woods, and Max cuts off Isabel's response mid-first-syllable, telling Hanson they were "hiking." Porno, meanwhile, tells That Me Guy that Max and Isabel were "on their way back from the library; their car broke down." I'm sorry. Is this Gus Van Sant's shot-by-shot remake of the wacky Kevin Bacon/Elizabeth Perkins romantic comedy He Said, Porno Said I've accidentally flipped over to on HBO on a rainy Sunday afternoon sometime during the heyday of that classic screwball genre known as Wacky Juxtaposition Hijinks? In 1987? We get that they're lying. We watched Part I. We were invited to the backstory and asked to stay for punch and pie. Move. It. Along.

But really, they won't. Last week's doddering Judge Extra, Golf Extraordinaire, appears in Porno's office out of seeming nowhere to clarify, "Didn't you say you got to the scene at ten? Now, I may be wrong, but I think our library closes at eight!" Apparently no one in Roswell has informed the old man about this town's strict adherence to Continuity Standard Time (C.S.T.), under which eight and ten, June and December, and Max Evans and God all seem to remain remarkably interchangeable. Perhaps when Judge Extra becomes too confused to serve in his civic capacity any longer, he can return to the set and take a job as Roswell's continuity editor. On second thought, they'd better just go ahead and just wait for him to die before jamming a pen between the stiff fingers of his right hand and propping him up on a leather swivel chair, as they seem to have done to the current ex-man or woman who occupies the post. It's a much easier way of procuring script approval. And they don't mind a bit when you borrow their stapler.

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Roswell

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