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It's Carwash Guy redux - as chiseled-jaw hunkboy Jason Gedrick reappears -- both in soapy flashback and as his real-life, babelicious self on this week's Ally. Unfortunately, however, Carwash Guy (also known as "Joel," but to me, he'll always be Carwash Guy) returns not in masses of Mr. Bubble and a foaming Jacuzzi but rather in the context of a lawsuit. Downer!

Meanwhile, among the rest of the cast, as Elvis Costello sings, "everybody's breakin' up somebody else's home/Before somebody else starts breaking up their own." In short, infidelity is the order of the day. But more on that in a moment. As always, it's law before sex in my reviews (as, alas, in my personal life as well). So cool your jets and think about res judicata, please. Not Inagadda Da Vida.

I. Outrageous, Baby!

Turns out Risa -- the woman Carwash Guy was supposed to marry -- is suing Ally for intentional infliction of emotional distress because Ally ruined her wedding. (And boy, did she. For details of Ally's Wedding Armageddon, see my review on the premiere). The episode illustrates that there's nothing worse than having great sex come back as a bad lawsuit.

A bit of legal background: intentional infliction of emotional distress - a.k.a., the "tort of outrage" - is a legal claim upon which it is notoriously difficult to recover. I believe the legal test for the tort is whether, upon hearing the conduct alleged, the listener would exclaim: "Outrageous!" This leads me to envision Austin Powers in a lavender velvet suit as the ultimate arbiter of intentional infliction of emotional distress: "Outrageous, Baby!" But actually, I think when you apply the test, you're supposed to envision how hard it would be to get, say, Oliver Wendell Holmes to exclaim "Outrageous!" And bang his cane on the desk. And have his spectacles fall off. And harumph like an old guy with too much phlegm. My point is that it would be pretty hard to get that kind of a rise out of Oliver Wendell Holmes. Probably about as difficult as getting the Honorable Oliver Wendell to improve his pecs and soap up in a carwash. In short, practically impossible. Let's face it. Nothing fazed that man.

Amazingly, however, I have to say the writers of Ally McBeal have probably come out with one of the few intentional infliction cases that might actually pass the test, and go to a jury. Breaking up someone's wedding by taunting her at the altar about how great it was to screw the groom in a car wash is pretty "Outrageous!" in most people's books. (Of course, I personally was rooting for Ally, but that's another story).

Recognizing Risa's case is actually pretty good and that Ally has no real defense, Whipper and Renee -- representing Ally -- try out a bizarre new alternative causation theory, under which Ally can prevail if she proves the marriage she ruined would have sucked anyway. As you might imagine, the "would have sucked in any case" defense is not one Oliver Wendell Holmes, or any lawyer, would recognize. Nor is the "would have sucked even more" defense favored (in the legal circles in which I run anyhow). Although it's not clear why that should be so. If someone else's life would have been even more sucky absent the bad, bad thing you did, why shouldn't you be entitled to get off scot-free? This is how I've gotten out of most of my relationships. It should work in court, too.

In any case, Ally cannot manage to convince Carwash Guy to testify the marriage would have sucked if she hadn't ruined it - thereby illustrating the lawyer's aphorism (or excuse): you don't make the facts. Ally loses her legal defense because, rather than embracing the Theorem of Greater Suckiness, Carwash Guy instead insists he still wants to marry Risa.

Hearing this, Whipper and Renee change tactics and sensibly try to settle the case by reuniting Risa and Carwash Guy. This unorthodox legal strategy - the "Kissy-face Ploy" - is almost as good an idea as the "sucked in any case" defense. Meddle in the life of the plaintiff. Heck. No one wants déjà vu in the form of a lawsuit - where your e-mails become evidence, and the details of your life are spilled by your friends under the legal compulsion of a deposition subpoena. There's no getting around it: suing is an ugly thing.

Much of the pressure to settle comes from the fact that this is an Insta-Lawsuit. No sooner does Risa serve the complaint on Ally, than depositions are happening that very same day. (We know this since every one is in the same outfits they wore for the Service of the Complaint). Next day, a settlement conference involving both Risa and Carwash Guy is arranged. Haven't these people heard of continuances? Extensions? A scheduling order, perhaps? Actually, it seems as though instead of following the Rules of Civil Procedure, someone on Ally is following the dogma invented by Harmony Korine and those Swedish filmmakers. This is the rule that compels them to have everything in their movies occur during a unitary time period, without even a break for a delicious donut with sprinkles like the one your trusty Reviewer is imagining right now.

Anyway, in case you wondered, this lawsuit is not normal. Not only do real lawsuits lack cinematography by Harmony Korine, they also take about as long to get over as mono. Nor, incidentally, is it normal to have depositions and settlement conferences take place like a free-form encounter group wherein everyone gets to "express themselves" as they feel the need. There is more structure to Billy's weird "male chauvinist pig" recovery sessions than to these supposedly legal exchanges. Law is not about expressing yourself. It's about repressing yourself. Let's get that straight, folks.

Finally, after a second tryst between Ally and Carwash Guy - setting off such genuine sparks that the tabloids must be right about their real-life romance - settlement works, and the wedding is on again. But not until Carwash Guy reassures his bride-to-be that Ally is "not the mother of my child" - whereupon Ally has a wonderful projectile birthing fantasy in which babies simply leap from her body into Carwash Guy's arms. All of this raises the pressing question: which is worse, projectile birth or projectile vomit? It's a question for the ages. Or for Oliver Wendell Holmes -- your friend and mine.

Note: If you were offended by that last question, I just hope it didn't make you exclaim "Outrageous!" Because now you know that if it did, you can sue me. Oops.

II. Shag-a-ttorney, Baby!

Everyone wants it. Everyone does it. No, "it" is not making origami swans with post-its and hiding them in your desk - you geeky Lawyer-Reader (Mon semblable! Mon frere!) It is sex - the topic that has drowned out the law on Ally.

Ling tells Fish she's faking orgasms, partly due to the increased stamina resulting from his Viagra use; but that "5 or 6 seconds of major muscle contractions" is no big deal. Instead, to Ling, it's a big yawn (I understand many associates' favorite 1 to 2 seconds of minor muscle contractions when a partner is in the room). As a result, Whipper seems to be on the verge of getting Fish back, mostly by wiggling her wattle at him. To which I say: ick!

Meanwhile, Billy hires a sexy new assistant, dyes his hair white-blonde, and gets an earring. He also gets into a male self-liberation agenda that requires expressing what an asshole he is, all the time, to anyone who will listen. (Or is all this just to increase his chance at partnership?). As a result, Georgia flirts with an aging alcoholic who likes to simply hang out with the drinks he orders although he can't drink them - a silly conceit that is something of an insult to real alcoholics, many of whom find it hard enough not to drink when the drink is NOT right in front of them.

Finally, the Biscuit can't tell if Nell comes, since she does it so softly. As a result of his indiscretion in chatting with Fish about the sound of her orgasms, Nell sulks. Amazingly, however, she does not go off with the first stranger she meets in a car wash. So, kudos to Nell for not jumping into bed with the first person she sees after a slight ego-blow, as do the rest of the cast. But yo, Nell: easy on that eyebrow pencil.

Unfortunately, all the cheating is ultimately boring, because little is at stake. None of the threatened relationships is engaging at all. None of them seems to truly matter - even the breakup of Billy's marriage to Georgia seems, somehow, not to matter. Perhaps this is because Georgia has all the personality of a stale crescent roll. In fact, these relationships don't matter the way Ally's self-exploration -- which has been fun and risky and insightful and often charming -- has mattered over the last few weeks. So, why should we be sad to see them go? On principle? Sorry, but in case the producers haven't noticed, we Gen-Xers are post-morality and very, very pro-narcissism. Someday there will be a drug that acts as both Prozac and Viagra and no one will ever need anyone else again. At least, not for more than those 5 to 6 seconds. Then, on to the next 5 to 6 seconds with someone else. Then write a brief. Then yawn. Then do it all over again.

A final note, on which I invite male comment. The friend with whom I was watching (fourth week, third babe; I'm fickle) and I had a little debate about whether Billy is accurately expressing the secret lives of men when he spouts his anti-nanny, pro-domination, no-more-wussy, "guy's guy" agenda - demanding that Georgia, in essence, stay home with the kids and lick his toes when he walks in the door every night in a sort of Millennial Geisha fantasy. My friend's theory is that, whereas Ally once expressed women's secret lives of baby-desire and insecurity, Billy now expresses the secret lives of men - while Ally is relegated to a sort of curio or court jester on the side. I try to think better of men, though. On our fortieth birthdays, my friend and I will have to compare lives to decide which of us was right. Let's hope, for our sake, we're not just applying the Theorem of Greater Suckiness.

Next week: a special Thanksgiving Ally McBeal. Although I usually only celebrate Wiccan holidays, I'm breaking down and giving thanks for Carwash Guy. Maybe then he'll show up at my house with a squeegee and some handcuffs.

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