|The Bane Of My Existence|
Like my Forever Nemesis Brandon Walsh, I'll make this short: because I am a lazy snatch-dog, all of my screenshots for this blog came from another source. I would simply copy the image URL from this one particular website, paste them in a post, spew out some witty (not really) and clever (NOT AT ALL) observations (comprised of mostly nonsensical "sentences" and a lot of profanity) and call it a goddamn day. Early on in the blog's life, my boyfriend was kind enough to enlighten me on the idea of computer gobledigook something-something nerdlinger iPad Star Trek Star Wars twenty-sided die something or other technological who-ha. I didn't listen, preferring to play the role of the bitch-ass hare, desperate to finish the grueling race (or the DEPLORABLE SEASON 1 OF BEVERLY HILLS, 90210 CAN YOU BLAME ME) as quickly as possible. ANYhow, this essentially boils down to me probably taking out an innocent website because I used too much of their bandwidth. In conclusion: my boyfriend is smart. I am not. I'm also a petty thief. And, yes: I'M A MONSTER.
|Can anyone spot the difference between Steve's hair |
and a LaPerm cat?
BECAUSE I CAN'T.
What I should've done in the first place was steal the images, then save them to my own desktop. But really what I should've done, if it weren't for me being a whiny, worthless sack of blood-speckled feces, is while watching each episode on my laptop, taken screenshots, edited them, saved them on my desktop, and then inserted them in the blog posts. But I didn't. Because, like Steve SAUNders, I am The Worst, Always And Eternally. I may as well get a tight-rodded perm, fashion it into an odd, bushy mullet that sticks out an inch-and-a-half from my neck whenever I look down, button my silk-blend shirt from Structure up to my chin, and call it a fucking LIFE.
What does this mean for you, you (didn't) ask? Well, you don't have to read this godforsaken blog for a while. What does this mean for me, you (really didn't) ask? This means I'm going to "Pull A (Soon-To-Be) Dead Scott," shoot myself in the midsection, and bleed out all over Mrs. Scanlon's Persian rug. Why, you (SERIOUSLY FUCKING DIDN'T) ask? BECAUSE NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK AND WATCH EVERY. SINGLE. EPISODE. OF SEASON 1. AGAIN. And take screenshots. AND WATCH EVERY. SINGLE. EPISODE. OF SEASON 1. AGAIN. A.GAYYYYYYYYYNE. I...can't with this. I. CANNOT. Do you know the jig I was going to bust out when I was done with Season 1? Which, if you recall, was a mere TWO FUCKING EPISODES AWAY??? OH THE HUMANITY.
|These Hot Bitches. GET OUT OF TOWN.|
|Also HOT BITCHES? Dylan's sideburns.|
What I think I'll do, to the relief of NO ONE, is properly screenshot the forthcoming episode, "Spring Training" (Hint: I HATE THIS MOTHER-FUCKING EPISODE), post that, then continue on with the arduous (yes, because I equate blogging with coal mining or living in a mud-and-excrement-packed hut in a third-world country) task of gathering all of the screencaps from the previous episodes. I just can't wait to revisit Poor Little Rich Girl Maryanne, and Surf Betty, and Thieving Tiffany, and Crazy-Eyed Trashy Sheryl, and Black James, and Disco Fever Danzel, and Awesome Coked-Up Jackie, and Probably-Sexual Predator Glen, and Rape Victim Wanda, and AIDS-y Stacy, and My Archenemy Butch, and Mental Defective Melissa, and Amanda And Her Teeth Of Corn, and Krazy Karla, and My Homeslice Curtis, and Mongoloid Sean Judson, and Just Really Awful Sky And Jack, and Brenda's Non-Cancerous Left Breast, and finally, Future #1 On The FBI's Most Wanted List Roger Azarian. And by "I just can't wait" I of course mean, "Does anyone know if you can overdose on Centrum Flavor Burst Chews? If so, how many do you think I'd have to stuff in my facehole before I attain sweet, merciful death?"
***VERY NON-IMPORTANT NON-UPDATE: While I was writing this posting, the website I thieve all of the screencaps from went back online. THANK GOD. I don't even know if it was my fault that they went down for a couple of days, but let's pretend I'm just that powerful. ANYway, while I am glad for them (and, for the moment, my blog; I've republished all of the Season 1 posts, REJOICE! Or continue scratching your ass, whatever), I am going to forge ahead with replacing ALL of the stills with my own. Eventually. I mean, it'll take some time, as I have a job and really like to take naps whenever I can (i.e. anytime I am not at work). But at least all -33 of you reading this blog will have something to cling to while you await my next scathingly brilliant masterpiece. And by "scathingly brilliant masterpiece" I of course mean, "my writing is the equivalent of trench mouth with a side of pencil eraser-sized tonsil stones and just a dash of cankers." So, never fear, fellow Hillster
losers aficionados! The blog that you mistakenly stumbled upon one night while drunk off Charles Shaw White Zin is still at the bottom where it's always been on its way back to the top!