Fade in on a vintage-looking chartered bus, whose apparent origin point was "the 1950s," traveling down a lonely stretch of highway toward its destination, clearly marked on the top of the bus as "Special." Awww. They're special. The faux-mysterious anthem of the sovereign nation of Planet Arium again clogs up a soundtrack better suited for some product-placed Destiny's Child in order to corral some cash into a show's F/X budget desperately in need of some serious government subsidy. And fast, before I have to suffer through the continued indignity of watching a production assistant kick over a pile of Lincoln Logs while yelling varied permutations of "boom" and "crash" and calling it a building explosion, such as the non-spectacle to be found at the end of last week's episode. Just a thought. A great thought.
Cut to the kitchen of Chez Evans, where an unnecessarily resurgent Bangs holds up a quiche of some kind and announces that it is a "Frijoles Frittata," which "Martha Stewart serves...to her guests in the Hamptons." Ah, the Humor of the Patronized Housewife. Ain't adulation for Martha Stewart just like a woman? Bangs pauses for a second after placing the delicacy on the table and turns around to yell for "Philip!" Of course there is no immediate response, seeing as this so-called "Philip" hasn't appeared in an episode of Roswell since the middle of the first season sometime, so no matter how many times his reduced-to-cameo bride yells his vestigial character's name, he isn't coming downstairs to enjoy any Frijole Frittata today. Sorry, Bangs. Bangs leaves the room to determine which inflatable air mattress infomercial or final guest on a pre-empted episode of Kilborn or victim offed before the first commercial break on SVU soundstage her husband has disappeared to now that his stellar work on Roswell has qualified him for some résumé-building experience elsewhere. This leaves Max "Extra Flavor, Extra Fun, in Pecstra Sugar-Free Gum" Evans and his sister Isabel "Breast in Show" Evans alone at the table to discuss some weightier matters. But first, hilarity! They regard the quiche thing warily for a moment, and Max (shudder) smiles ever so slightly before asking, "Who needs a nice, big glass of juice?" They both stand and stage-direct toward the refrigerator as Max smiles (two words: Shud. Der.) and, er, jokes, "I warned you about getting her a subscription to that magazine." And which magazine would that be exactly, Martha Stewart Yawning? Get. On. With. It. Isabel ignores him the appropriate amount Max Evans deserves to be ignored (that being "utterly" and "entirely"), and when he asks after this trend of non-communication, she pours the juice glasses half-full (what are they, five?) and rationalizes thusly, "We destroyed a race of people. I'm just trying to get past it." Max asks if there's anything else wrong, and she promises there is not. Max half-smiles, inspiring the predictable and involuntary ensuing half-a-shudder. Shud.
Back on the deserted highway, the Special Bus rides moodily. In my elementary school days, we had a bus we used to call The Special Bus, but it didn't so much describe where it was going as it described the people who rode on it. But I'm going to just leave it at that, seeing as it is totally not germane to the plot. Not to mention the suit of armor I'd have to walk the streets in to fend off the backlash I'd have to endure if I lapsed into a pointless and completely offensive digression about the Short Bus kids, anyway. I'd need a freakin' helmet. Hey, Short Bus kid? Can I borrow your helmet for a sec?