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Millennium
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| Title: | Jose Chung's Doomsday Defense |
| Episode Number: | 31 |
| Season: | 2 |
| Season Episode #.: | 9 |
| Production Number: | 5C09 |
| Original Airdate: | Friday November 21st, 1997 |
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Jose Chung seeks refuge with the Millennium Group after his latest book Doomsday Defense upsets the followers of a cult called Selfsophy. As Frank attempts to track down the religious members who have killed the person responsible for giving Jose his information, he also has to find a killer hellbent on killing the three Antichrists.
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| Series star Megan Gallagher does not appear in this episode.
| This episode is arguably a crossover with The X-Files, one of only two. It is a follow-up to the episode Jose Chung's From Outer Space, both written by Darin Morgan with Charles Nelson Reilly as the titluar Jose Chung.
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| | Artist | Song Title | Played When | | •Johnny Legend | Let's Get Goin' | |
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| Robbinski: In fact, many of Hollywood's elite are Selfosophists, so I ask you: how could a religious order with ties to Hollywood be involved in anything immoral?
| Robbinski: Detective, you obviously possess many unique skills, but I sense that your negativity is holding you back. Are you aware how often you use negatively-associated words?
Geibelhouse: Uh, no, I don't, neither.
| Peter: Selfosophy? No, Frank. No, no, no, no.
Frank: What is going on, Peter? We've never backed away from anything. Why, we've even looked at evil incarnate.
Peter: Evil incarnate can't sue.
| Jose Chung: This is how it will all end: not with floods, earthquakes, falling comets, or gigantic crabs roaming the earth. No, doomsday will start simply out of indifference.
| Frank: Do you not believe in God, either?
Jose Chung: Oh, there are times when I've been, yes, a devout believer; and other times I have been a staunch atheist; and sometimes I've been both, during the same course of the same sexual act.
| Mr. Smooth: Writing more blasphemy about Selfosophy?
Jose Chung: I'm trying to, but it's awfully noisy in here.
| Jose Chung: I'm always grouchy when facing a deadline.
Mr. Smooth: Maybe that's because you call them a "deadline". You might react more positively to them if you called them a "liveline", or "birthline".
Jose Chung: If you're here to kill me, fine, but please refrain from murdering the English language.
| Mr. Smooth: This is all just a lark to you, isn't it?
Jose Chung: Certainly not. Humourless people like you scare the hell out of me. But I've developed a few therapies of my own. I've learned to appreciate the preposterousness of any profundity. And in my distress, I am able to find the smallest, most absurd details. Yes, as if God were looking down, winking at me, and letting me in on the joke.
Mr. Smooth: Well, my god doesn't wink.
Jose Chung: Don't I know it. I once knew your god. He worshipped me. He thought I was a literary genius. And I was, then. Then he asked me what I thought of his writing and I told him: "Goopta, you stink." Because he did! I never saw a man, other than myself, a grown man, cry so hard, for so long. I put my arm around him, I said, "It doesn't matter that I don't like your work! It doesn't matter. What matters is that you enjoy doing it, you must do what makes you happy." But I didn't know that what would made him happy would be to be a deity! So you are here to kill me because I once told God to not be dark. Isn't that funny? So feel free to use your Onan-o-Graph and your therapies, if that's what it takes to make you happy. And I truly mean this: good luck to you, buddy. But please allow me to wallow in my own misery in peace. And if I should look up from my downbeat abyss and find you to be a fool, that's no right for you to commit upon me a foolish act.
| Jose Chung: Well, all's well that ends well. Though that's easy for Shakespeare to say - he'll be around for another millennium. But what of our own millennium? Will it all end well? No one, of course, can know, but that, of course, doesn't stop anyone from guessing. And the nature of these predictions always revolve around the usual suspects: salvation and/or self-satisfaction. With that in mind, I humbly add my own prophesy of what the dawn of the new millennium shall bring forth: one thousand more years of the same old crap.
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