“Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles” has a long name. I’m trying to remember if there’s ever been a good show with a colon in the title. I’m coming up with nothing. Maybe there’s a reason for that...

The pilot picks up shortly after the events of Terminator 2. Apparently the writers, like the general public and possibly the governor of California, want to forget that T3 ever happened. Sarah randomly decides to go on the run again after settling down with some dude for a couple months, much to the dismay of her son/future messiah. John doesn’t understand why they have to leave. After all, didn’t they destroy Skynet at the end of the movie? Wasn’t the future apocalypse averted? Well, that didn’t stop a third sequel and it sure as hell isn’t going to stop this show. Soon enough, a glowing-red-eyed Terminator is on their trail.

But that’s okay, because Summer Glau is here as the most waifish Terminator ever. If you didn’t buy Kristanna Loken going toe-to-toe with Schwarzenegger, you’re not going to buy this. [Yet for some reason, we bought it in “Firefly.” It’s all about the crazy. -ed] Glau also comes equipped with more human-like emotions, leaving open the possibility for some truly bizarre man-on-robot romantic tension. John: “What model are you? You seem...different.” Terminatrix: "I am." Honestly, that may be the only thing this show has going for it.

The episode totally breaks down about 20 minutes in (yes, it’s an hour-long program). A new, 6’2’’, 250-pound substitute teacher arrives in John’s high school class. This man is, of course, a Terminator. After opening fire on John in the classroom (and missing!!!), the Terminator leaves to pursue his quarry, but not before stopping, turning to the other scared, huddled students, and saying, “Class dismissed.” [Zing! -ed] Nope. We’re done. I realize that perhaps part of the charm of the Terminator movies was Arnold reciting his ridiculous catch phrases, but this guy’s no Arnold and he doesn’t have any James Cameron special effects to back him up. I’m not going to bother giving “The Sarah Connor Chronicles” three strikes. Just one incredibly forced, horribly lame zinger is enough.

And now it’s my turn. Hey “Sarah Connor Chronicles,” I won’t be back.