In which I'd like to welcome my new readers! There's been a bit of a bump in views these past few weeks, and I'd like to shout out to Rach, who somehow found my blog (probably when I had that gun against her head and told her to type "modcam1923.blogspot.com" into the browser, whatever) and then mentioned it on THE MOST AMAZING SITE YOU WILL EVER HAVE THE PLEASURE OF READING, NO I'M NOT EXAGGERATING, Full House Reviewed. For real-reals you guys, this is the funniest shit you will EVER read. As the tagline says, it's every episode of Full House reviewed in chronological order, but in the most vulgar, amazing way possible. ANYWAY, Rach is a follower of that blog, and mentioned my little old waste-of-time-and-sanity in the comments section of one of the posts there. A few other readers took pity and came by for a visit, and they're apparently a bunch of masochists because they've stuck around and started weeding through the archives! Also: A special thanks to Teebore, who has left far-more-insightful-than-my-own comments on several of my posts. Thank you for making sense of my diarrhea-laced rants and then intelligently sharing your thoughts. So now...onto the show, which is kind of a bummer, as I'd much rather discuss ANYTHING ELSE. Why, you inquire? Because this is the one where Brandon wants to stick it in some 33-year-old BHBC waitress, but then he realizes that She Has A Secret, which is that she's currently riding the dick of some cokey-vibed beach club member who takes a really weird and spooky interest in Brandon getting a car. Although my theory is: dude's a pimp and thinks that Brandon's baby blues and dimples will look really fetching in some Rough Trade while selling his "goods" (if he has any...which he doesn't) on Hollywood Blvd. WHERE WAS I? Oh, fuck it. Whatever. Read on.
In the kitchen, Jim asks, "What time does your express bus leave?" and Brandon, all Put Upon and Sad-Sacky (YES, FUCKING AGAIN) tells his father, "6:30," even though it's CLEARLY 10 AM outside. So because Jim doesn't want to be around Brandon any more than any of the rest of us do, he says, "You better get goin’."
So Brandon gets up all grunty and whatever, and Jim's all, "What's with you?" And I interject, "He's a piece of shit," but no one listens to me, and then Brandon tells him, "Job burnout," AND WHAT THE HOLY MOTHER-FUCK IT'S BEEN A WEEK. And THANK MOSES Jim's there to agree with me and advise this monstrosity, "After one week?" and THANK YOU, JIM. Also: I kind of like Jim this episode. Kind of how I liked him in the “It’s Only A Test” episode. But just like that one, I’ll be sporting a major hate Woodrow for him at the end of this episode. My feelings toward Jim are very schizophrenic. I...don’t know. So Brandon, who thinks he's been working with radioactive materials or in a goddamn coal mine or something, says, "It’s the toughest job I ever had, Dad." So unlike mine, Jim's head does not detonate (that's two episodes in a row for me, if you're keeping track) and tells his WANKER son, "Spending your day at the beach doesn’t sound all that difficult," and SEEEEEEERIOUSLY, Jim's my boyfriend right now. Only not because that's a really unpleasant thought. And because I said it, I now need to go bathe myself in a tub full of flesh-eating ants and asbestos.
So then because Brandon is The Worst, Always And Eternally, he puts on this smarm-face and tells his father, "But you have no idea what my day is like. I’m the first one there in the morning, practically the last one to leave at night, I’m so busy all day the only way I know I’m at the beach is because my shoes are full of sand." Or because the fucking Pacific Ocean is RIGHT THERE, MORON. So Jim informs him that there's no free lunch and that, "You get what you pay for in this world," and than Brandon HONESTLY TO GOODNESS SAYS, "Ah, but you see, if you were to pay for oh, let’s say, half of what my car cost, I could quit and actually pretend it’s summer." WHATWHATWHAT??? I mean...THE GAUL. THE NERVE. Like, the self-entitlement on this one is just beyond reproach. Jim and Cindy should just bag him up, take him down to the Los Angeles River, drown him and call it a damn day. Which is basically what Jim implies he's going to do when he tells him, "Have a nice day, Brandon," but in a really monotone, "fuck you, slut" kind of a way. Jim is my Forever Temporary Homie.
We open on the House Of Walsh.
In the kitchen, Jim asks, "What time does your express bus leave?" and Brandon, all Put Upon and Sad-Sacky (YES, FUCKING AGAIN) tells his father, "6:30," even though it's CLEARLY 10 AM outside. So because Jim doesn't want to be around Brandon any more than any of the rest of us do, he says, "You better get goin’."
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