Celebrity Mole Yucatan - Episode 6 Summary

'Meanwhile, At The Hall Of Idiocy...' By Estee

{Slow focus on the visitor's dugout in Cooper Stadium, located deep in the heart of downtown Moleville (Mayor: Dennis Rodman). It’s late dusk: there's just enough illumination to identify the location and make out the shadows of perhaps ten people sitting in the stands. The light towers are turned off, no vendor cries can be heard, and the scattered group is waiting in silence.}

{The scoreboard fizzles for a moment, and the letters 'PH' glow for about six seconds before the bulbs blow out. An unexpected figure slowly climbs the dugout steps, then heads for the microphone stand located at home plate, taking awkward, cautious practice swings with a bat decidedly more suited for stickball than baseball.}

{The bat breaks on the third swing.}

{The pinch hitter stops and stares at the stub in disbelief. Roger Clemens comes rocketing out of the home dugout, scoops up several bat fragments, and slings them at the owner's box. Distant cries of pain are heard from the heart of the shadows.}

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{After taking a moment for listening to the last echoes, the pinch hitter casually tosses the stub into the stands, steps up to the microphone, and removes the attached remote. A quick point-and-click activates the JumboTron. A frozen image shows a few credits from The Bachelorette. A mutter of something dark, dangerous, and completely incomprehensible can be heard in the field level seats just before the recording quickly moves ahead to a blank, flickering screen.}

{The pinch hitter adjusts the height of the microphone, gets into a comfortable stance, and begins to speak.}

Everybody's made out who's going to make out, and we're not going to find out who won or lost for another week. You can all go home now.

{No one moves. A few whimpers emit from the owner's box.}

Look. This is a non-elimination inning. Sure, there's going to be a little bit of scoring -- nowhere near as much as we'll see on Survivor fairly soon, but some action -- and there's the usual chance of bloopers, bingles, and bunts. But really, nothing's going to happen here. It's just another sequence of foul balls -- and before anyone gets their gloves out, anything that leaves the playing field is going to be auctioned on Ebay. Can we just count this as my second, non-mandatory pre-Survivor effort and stop right here?

No?

Great... Roll recap sequence.

Last time on Celebrity Mole: Mark demonstrated major produce memory lapses, which should save him from being sent to the supermarket on emergency runs for oh, say, the rest of his life. The players showed they belonged in the 99th percentile of the California Achievement Tests (ninety-nine subtracted from one hundred, that is) by completely failing to recall both the number of continents and the name of the person they cheated off of to get through elementary school, which meant no one used their Phone A Blackmail Victim Lifeline and washed out well before reaching the magic $32,000. Tracey pocketed ten thousand dollars by giving Dennis an exemption, which had to be explained to him as a 'best three out of five series against the Wizards' -- a.k.a. an automatic win -- and was executed, taking the hopes, dreams, and Spidey-scores of hundreds of home players with her. And Mark, having made it to the end of the game, promised to come out a new person the next day. He did not say anything about coming out as an intelligent, comedic, insightful person who actually has a chance to capture our affection while having a shot at winning this game. But he might wear a cape. No idea why.

Angie (looking over the top of her sunglasses and putting on the worst femme fatale spy accent since (insert name of any James Bond movie here)): 'Av cahrse I'm de Mole...'

Mark (looking over the top of his sunglasses and putting on an accent that's just about 3,000 miles removed from the worst James Bond performance of all time in (insert name of any P.B. appearance in a J.B. movie here): 'Of course I'm the Mo'.'

Dennis (looking through his sunglasses and putting on the worst evil henchman half-mumbled, nearly-incomprehensible accent since -- wait, that's his normal speaking voice...): 'I am the Mole.'

One of them is probably right. Cue title sequence.

And we open with -- more darkened-room confessionals. Is anyone else starting to sense a trend?

Mark's first confessional-tell is a short (and therefore welcome) 'Whew!' Angie, however, is still having trouble escaping from kindergarten. Mentally. 'I'm in the fi-nals,' she c-t singsongs. 'I'm in the fi-nals...' It was bad enough when she did the K-I-S-S-I-N-G routine during halftime of the Super Bowl, but this in addition to your S-T-R-I-P-P-I-N-G in the second episode? That's it. Young lady, either go stand in the corner or take a nap. Alone.

Dennis c-ts us that he's going to miss Tracey, and that he thought she was the Mole. Had him fooled for a minute. You know the rules, Dennis: you must pick a new Mole before the start of the next episode, or you'll be automatically executed. (Wait a minute -- this is the next episode. Oh, well. Another Tracey FOMO bites the dust.)

Angie shows us her (temporary) tattoo with her lucky number 7 on it. It probably doesn't mean anything.

Mark promises to convince everyone tomorrow that he's the Mole, which is a sound strategy: his actions have become more Molish with each passing episode, and this is certainly the time to make one final push. He then follows this up with a slightly different, completely off-balance promise. 'Tomorrow morning, watch me. Superman. I will be in a cape.'

So that's it. Lex Luthor is the Mole. We can all go home now.

Or not, as Mark's promise turns out to be slightly off target. 'The game will no longer affect me,' he declares as the camera starts to pull back. 'The game will no longer affect me --!', as his arms start to wave in wild, near-mystic gestures, as the Foley people add in plenty of reverb, as --

-- the scene moves to the outdoors. And there's Mark. In a tight black tank-top. Red shorts with yellow fringe. Eye black with red trim painted around his sockets and trailing back to his ears, forming the world's first fifty-minute application mask. A white necklace. Sandals. And a long red cape.

'-- Henceforth, I shall be known as Mister Danger!...danger...danger!'

Um... Mark? The game has officially affected you. And Pick Boy's job is now in serious jeopardy.

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