This week’s BN episode gets awfully tense right out of the gate as Michael tries to impersonate a Russian spy. Reason being, the dude he’s grifting doesn’t much care for our Eastern Bloc pals. Ergo, he tries to blow Mikey’s brains out. I kinda get where he’s coming from. You see, that’s the thing about Russia: it’s a frustrating and confusing culture at times, with a “lot of ins, a lot of outs, a lot of what-have yous,” as Jeff Lebowski would say.

               Even a White Russian can harsh your buzz, what, with the spillage n’ all.

I say this with a modicum of genetic authority. My dad was born in Siberia during WWII, which technically means there’s a fair amount of Bolshevik coursing through my veins. Yet despite this advantage, even I’ve been unable to crack the Motherland’s code.

In 5th grade, I studied Russian in school, and the end result was an unmitigated failure. A couple of reasons for this. First off, the Russian modern alphabet contains a whopping 33 letters. Compare this to our 26 and you’ve come across a Cold War ‘arms race’ the West actually lost.

                          Difficult? Now try Googling those Maria Sharapova pics
                                             with only one hand, comrade.

I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around the Marx-infused hieroglyphics. In fact, I sucked so bad that one day, my teacher offered me some gentle words of Soviet encouragement: “Steven, you are a disaster! You are fired! I fire you from my class!”

Since I was only ten years old at the time, I’d never actually been fired from a job before, much less fired from, you know, education. Admittedly, I’ve studied and failed at more languages than your armchair John Q. Rosetta Stoner. French, German, Hebrew, Spanish, C++. But nothing bitch-slapped me into submission quite like Russian. Yep, the burly old gal – may she rest in peace – had a point. I was terrible, and if there’s one thing I truly respect about Russian culture, the thing that made it a glorious worldwide superpower, is the fact it has no word for ‘terrible.’ (*)

• (*) As far as I know – I lasted like, eight classes.

                                                     Compelling words of national pride, I’m assuming.

BN Season 3, Episode 14: ‘Partners in Crime.’ First things first: the Mason Gilroy storyline. In last week’s episode, Michael discovered our Sociopath-to-the-Stars wants to intercept an upcoming Miami-to-Poland flight carrying some hereto unknown precious cargo. This week, the goal is to find out who or what said cargo is. Posing as a Russian spy, Mikey attempts to bribe a Polish government official at a Miami-based military office. You know, to get the deets on the mystery plane. Sadly, as noted earlier, our Polish pal ain’t big on his former Soviet oppressors, leading him to almost blows Mikey’s head off. Back to square one. More on that later though. (*)

• (*) This is where I write clever stuff in small print sometimes.

‘Cause meanwhile, Michael’s agreed to help Sam with a posh client’s case. Four things to know about this woman: her name is Isabella, she’s hot, she talks kinda weird, and she runs a high-end Miami Fashion house that’s seen a bunch of money go missing. All fingers point to Tim Hastings, an outspoken employee who hasn’t been seeing eye to eye with her lately.

 What first appears to be an open-and-shut embezzling case gets a lot more complicated when Isabella’s found floating in a pool of her own blood in a pool of her own home. Turns out it’s a frame job, and ol’ Tim is the patsy. As such, he’s also the new client.

The gang holes him up in a cheap motel for a few days and gets to work on A) solving the murder and B) clearing his name. They quickly deduce the real killer is Isabella’s flamboyant business partner Damon. How do we know? The swarthy facial hair. If the Evil Twin episode of Star Trek has taught us anything, it’s that a dark goatee equals ‘bad guy.’

                                                      “Live shortly and un-prosper! … See what I did there?”

Next order of business: screw with Damon. Michael accosts the fashionista d-bag at Isabella’s funeral, identifying himself as her seedy, hot-tempered secret business partner who’s none-too-pleased about the whole ‘face down in a swimming pool’ thing. Intimidated, Damon agrees to meet with his murdery associate, track down Tim and pop a couple of bullets in his skull. The idea being that before they pull the trigger, Michael gets the cops involved and the two baddies are exposed as, well, two baddies. (*)

• (*) Perhaps they can plead to the lesser crime of donning white after Labor Day. For shame, fellas.

After a couple of mishaps (Damon brings a bomb instead of a gun – doy! – and Tim gets nabbed by the cops), Mikey and Sam get the two bad guys to turn on each other, thereby fessing up to both the murder and the embezzlement. You’re a free man, Tim! Go do fashion things now, like asking people who they’re wearing. (*)

• (*) Personally, I’m sporting the scalps of my enemies, which is the inspiration for the new Marc Jacobs line.

Back to the Gilroy plot now. Fiona – posing as a CIA agent – convinces our Polish pal to spill the beans on that secret flight. Although he doesn’t have a name to give her, Polish Guy does comfirm the plane’s cargo is a very high-profile maximum security prisoner. Best guess: evil Brit Gilroy’s been paid by somebody even more evil to help the dude escape. Ah, the plot thickens. Just look at Gilroy in the photo below: you know he’s up to something.

                                          “No Mr. Bond, I expect you to DIE…
                                     Yeah buddy, I’m totally that kind of villain!”
 

AfterBurn:

-- I’m writing this blog with a profound amount of ‘may cause drowsiness’ cold medication in my system. Can you tell? Sea-Monkeys?! Where?!
-- Badass Sam Axe Goodness: SAM (decked out as a CSI agent, channeling his inner Caruso): “It looks like our killer’s plan... (dramatically puts on some sunglasses) ... is coming apart at the seams.”
-- Showcase’s Burn Notice YogurtWatch©: This is the second BN episode in a row without any yogurt being consumed. Not to be all Jewish mothery, but I’m worried Burn Notice is wasting away.
-- One of the first words I learned in 5th grade Russian class was ‘factory.’ That’s a little on the nose, right?