Lights up on a cruise ship, chugging through the night sea like a fat man through doughnuts on Monday morning. Langly's in position on the deck in a Hawaiian shirt, holding a tropical drink, and says he's "been waiting half [his] life for this." For what? Vacation? A cruise? Nah, can't be that. Further inside the ship's interior is Frohike, dressed like a stagehand, and ogling the bedazzled showgirls walking by. One winks at him, confirming our board posters' opinion that Frohike is hot, and he hornily mutters, "If I wasn't working...." But he and the rest of the LGs are always on, baby. That's just the kind of life they lead. But it'd be great to see them enjoy the fruits, once in a while. Like, let's see Langly at a rock show, already. Then, we see Elvis. Langly relays via earpiece that "The King has left the throne," and Byers and Frohike snap to, pulling curtains and doing other stagehand-y stuff. The King strolls toward the stage like he owns it, and then we get a neat Groucho bit with Elvis checking himself out in the mirror, except it isn't a mirror, it's Jimmy dressed as Elvis. The mischievous music goes to town as the Elvi mug at each other, then wham, Jimmy gives The King a sedative (from what I've heard, it'd have to be elephant-strong to knock him out so fast) and hops on stage in his place. Byers and Frohike carefully remove the knocked-out King and Jimmy goes into "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog." Having just come back from Las Vegas, where I saw four Elvis impersonators (we can talk Liberace too, if that floats your boat), I can say that Jimmy is doing a pretty good job. As Chuck D said of Vanilla Ice, "The boy can dance." So, Byers and Frohike run the prints of the unconscious Elvis through their whatsis as Langly asks from the audience, "Is it? Is it him?" Some goo comes off on Frohike's hand, and they see that this Elvis has a lot of makeup on. In fact, like Jesus, this Elvis is black. His name is Thomas Eames, and "he's wanted for embezzlement and wire fraud." Whoops -- Jimmy. Just as he finishes the tune, U.S. Marshals slap cuffs on him and lead him off stage. Thank you, thank you very much.

Oh say can you see? The credits.

Lone Gunpad. Langly's perusing the newest issue of TLG: "MARSHALLS [sic] NAB ELVIS IMPERSONATOR." Jimmy is still in his Elvis wig and sideburns. They're not unbecoming. Jimmy likes them. Oh, Jimmy. It turns out that the other LGs are disappointed in this outcome: they thought that Elvis was alive and "hiding in plain sight," working as himself. Langly and Frohike both yell at Jimmy to make themselves feel better. The doorbell buzzes, and it's an old lady; she's a fan of their paper, and knows them all. She walks around their office and is just thrilled to bits. Dude, I've worked at papers, and if you're making old people happy, you must be doing something right. Or, the old person is nuttier than a fruitcake. We'll see how this one turns out. Alberta Pfeiffer is with her lawyer, Jeremy "Spoke in Class Today," and she came to see the LGs because her son is in the jug, the big house, in stir, locked up...prison, I mean. In Texas. They execute a lot of people in Texas, and Alberta wants the LGs to help spring her son, who, she claims, is innocent, but is now "pushing for an execution date. Eighteen months ago he fought his conviction tooth and nail; now he says he wants to die. There's some sort of conspiracy here." He won't see his mom, just Jeremy. Whatever it is, Jeremy did it. The end. Just kidding. Alberta cries touchingly, Jimmy cocks his head, and she shuffles out with Jeremy, bad guy. Jimmy is crushed when he learns that the LGs won't do anything if Mr. Pfeiffer won't talk to them directly. Then, he says that they can bust into prison to talk to him because "the A-Team did." Oh man, I love the A-Team. Please let this be a shout-out. The LGs groan and moan as Jimmy waxes poetic about the A-Team, and Langly says that "every TV show that runs out of ideas in its fourth or fifth season does its dress-up-like-inmates-and-sneak-into-prison show, but what's that got to do with what's happening here?" Oh, only everything, you clever, clever writers. This is so meta, I can't even stand it. Frohike says that they "wouldn't last ten seconds inside a prison," and I have to disagree. Byers would be toast, but I think the rest of them would kick ass -- or, you know, become somebody's bitch soon enough. Then Byers, with a glazed look in his eye, starts quoting Jefferson, and you know what? They're going to break into that prison, not because this is a TV show, nor because it was so fucking awesome when the A-Team did it, but because it is The Right Thing To Do.