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Props to Gigabyte Deluxe. Jewel "Shiksa Without A Cross" Goldman lies on her bed, her blonde tresses spilling every which way toward Zion and the camera swooping across the perfect, snubby bridge of her nose like a rhinoplasty infomercial "after" testimonial. In her left hand, she holds her Picture Phone Of The Fuuuuuuuture, a device powerful enough to captivate the audience and oblige them to believe that constant phone conversations substitute for any actual development of the nascent relationship around which this show purports to center. Or so its corporate sponsors would have us believe. Over the phone, Jew-liet hears the voice of Adam "Looks Like Latin's Not A Dead Language After All" Roam, telling her, "I swear to God, I wish I had different parents. Anybody's parents." Jew-liet responds that Adam doesn't mean that and, I mean, I'm kind of inclined to agree. Anyone? Hitler and Eva? Liza and David? Two wild tigers who reduce to shredded bloody wrecks all human forms who shall enter their lair? But before Jew-liet can pose any of these illuminating hypotheticals ("Yeah, but, what if your parents were King Kong and Godzilla?"), she's drowned out by Adam's fierce protestations of "If I have to choose between them and you, Jewel..." Jew-liet claims that she doesn't believe in having to choose (I'd like to see the pedantic "It's a boyfriend, not a choice!" bumper sticker on the back of her 1978 Dodge), but remember that it's the man's choice too, okay? "I choose you," he says. "I choose you," she says. "I choo-choo-choose you," Adam would have responded, if his parents were Lisa Simpson and Ralph Wiggum. Some people just refuse to see how things could be even worse than they already are. Adam's mother calls his name from off-camera, and Adam panics -- Liza gets strong when she's drunk! -- and hangs up in a flash. Jew-liet cries out a plaintive "I love you!" but alas! He is already gone. Well, at least someone on this show is getting laid. We're in what appears to be a sleazy-ish hotel room, where we pan up the rumpled bedcovers of so many Dateline specials discussing the many human-stained reasons why the bedspread should not be touched, inhaled, or looked at. Poking out of the top of said covers (and adding liberally to its unsanitary nature, we can only imagine) are Thomas "Guilty By Reason Of...Love" Roam and his paramour, the sexy siren Sydney from Melrose. Their faces are close together on what looks like one pillow, and she quickly veers their post-coital musings into some of the most metaphysical pillow talk you're likely to hear on television this year: "Where are you?" she asks him. Oh, for crying out loud. You just banged it with the nasty, there's no need to celebrate it inside the pages of a Thomas Pynchon novel. And so, upon further reflection, Sydney from Melrose tells Roam what she's really thinking: "You just went home. I can always tell. Your eyes, your voice." But Roam -- perhaps thinking that this The Banging Of Lot 49 conversational cadence has run its course -- tries to steer things back in a linear direction by responding...holy dear sweet baby Jesus, what the hell is attacking that man's upper body? Somebody call in the freakin' park ranger, or something. Jesus, Roam's chest hair. Jesus! Indeed, I see fewer and fewer genetic similarities between him and his (come on, let's just deal with it already...adopted) son than I even did before. Roam whispers that "this is insane," and Sydney from Melrose retorts with a barbed but still smiling "Why is it always more insane afterwards than before?" She leans in and tries to make him love her with her vast physical repertoire of tricks, combing her hand through his vast thatches of chest hair and sending the cast and crew of the next Harry Potter movie scurrying from the on-set locale where they're filming the last three scenes in that one dark part of the darkest forest where the kids keep being told every year that they're not allowed to go into. But they just keep doing it anyway!