Let's Make Fun of all the Clothes from Famous Original Beverly Hills, 90210: Part 1 of Season 3, Episode 5: Shooting Star / American in Paris - Speaking of shooting, time to shoot myself into the sun after this one.

Poor Brenda. Poor my stomach. Poor my long-simmering rage at this sinister story line on a 35-year-old nighttime teen soap opera. Poor my perimenopause causing me to feel 12-years-old and achy-hearted all over again. My god. Time is truly cyclical. And a mother-fucker.

Triomphe, Arc of.

Fountaines, of the Concorde.

This building, in which I want to live forever.

Fade to Brenda and Donna walking along a totally-non-Parisian street. Donna carries a HEAP of shopping bags, and Brenda says that she deserves a key to the city for "single-handedly reviving the French economy." Donna will be joining Maggie soon to shop some more at "Les Halles," but Brenda declines: "I am shopped out, or at least my wallet is. Buying Dylan's present left me awfully low on francs." She won't regret this gift at all; no, not at all. Also, the only gift Dylan deserves after the last episode is a swift punt to his penis and a fresh turd slipped down the back of his wetsuit.

Let's pause to appreciate both of their outfits here. Brenda's quilted leather vest with the mini is so chic, and Donna's floral dress is very of the era but also timeless and I want both of these looks in my closet, post haste.

So Donna's off to shop, and Brenda's planning to soak up their last few days in Paris outdoors. Before they head off on their own, Donna stops in her tracks!: "I almost forgot! I'm supposed to call my mom today. What time is it [back home]?"

Brenda provides another iconic (only to me) line when she responds with, "Oh, it's just about...beach time." They giggle adorably...

...and we're immediately at the BHBC, where extras mill about with surfboards, bicycles, boogie boards...

...and, ugh, kites and footballs, with the Kidz Kampz for Kidz at the shoreline.

Another Randy Spelling Sighting for the zero of you keeping track.

Andrea, a not-working Brandon and Cameron are trying to get a kite air-bound.

Cameron takes off with the...spool? Sure. (I've never flown a kite.) He's running, he's running, he's running the line and then!

He smacks RIGHT into...

...this guy. We don't get his actual name in Part 1, but I don't want to keep typing "this guy," so a real non-spoiler for all of you: his name is Jack. Yes: Jack. Because this show never met a character they didn't want to name Jack, or some variation thereof.

Cameron collapses to the ground in a real diva move if you ask me, like, okay Norma Desmond, dial down the histrionics a few notches.

Jack takes to screaming at a child, demanding, "Hey, why don't you watch where you're goin', huh?" and, good sir: you're the one standing awkwardly five feet away from a children's day camp and staring out at the waves, so perhaps you're the one who should watch where you're going.

Cameron may be deaf but he can tell the man is enraged and in response, he cowers on the sand...

...but then this tag-team, back again, comes a'runnin', helping Cameron up from the ground and signing to him, asking if he's okay.

Jack realizes that Cameron is deaf and apologizes for imprinting developmental trauma on a 10-year-old: "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare him."

Andrea, who clearly hates the unhoused, recoils, gives Jack a dirty look and leads Cameron away: "I think we've had enough kite-flying today. Brandon, let's just round up the kids, okay."

As Brandon picks up the forgotten kite, Jack non-sequiturs, "Kinda tough to get a shower on the road. I know I look like hell."

Brandon, about to solve the homelessness crisis in Los Angeles (and on the cusp of clearing up that whole racism problem that has plagued the city for decades), proceeds to stick his hand in his shorts' pocket and pull out a what appears to be a couple of coins, max, presenting them to Jack with a real cloaked-in-sincerity, "Here, man."

Jack is understandably offended, putting up his hands up and saying, "No, man, I did not ask for a handout." Are we all just adding "man" to the ends of our sentences now? Maaaaan.

He walks away shaking his head, as most people do when walking away from an interaction with Jim Walsh's progeny.

Brandon catches up with Andrea and she warns him, "I have an obligation to tell Henry about that guy." He disagrees: "What's to tell?"

Andrea takes off her BHBC-issued sleeveless button up to reveal Paris Hilton's photo-shopped Stop Being Poor tank and advises, "You can't just let strangers hang around the kids. He looked creepy." Brandon informs her that Henry is "~~Worthless~~ powerless to do anything. It's a public beach. Besides, the guy's harmless." Andrea asks him how he knows this...

...but before he can answer her question, Brooke rollerblades up in A Whole Ass LOOK: Spandex American Gladiator shorts-onesie and accessorized to the GODS in full arm-and-knee pads. She greets them with a, "Hi, guys."

In a very un-Andrea-like way - meaning, no walking by in a huff or INSANELY turning her back on and ignoring Brandon and his current Flavor of the Week mid-conversation in true humiliating fashion - she leaves Brandon and his Hair Twin Mama, telling them, "I'll see you later, okay?" and then does this nice little arm rub thing with Brooke as she goes, which, I don't know - I thought that was a nice, natural touch by Mz. Carteris.

As is his wont, Brandon begins immediately negging Brooke about her 'blading skills: "With a little practice, maybe you'll be able to keep up with me," and, more condescendingly than he's ever been before: "Why don't you meet me back here at 7:00 and we'll see how ya do?" Rather than planting a size 8 inline skate in his the small of his back, Brooke takes his emotional manipulation in stride, smiles and goggles at him...

...then they both look down the sidewalk to see Jack walking across it.

Brooke looks ~~intolerant of someone without a home~~ concerned, which Brandon notices, so he tells her, "Oh, hey, don't worry about him. He's harmless." Brooke dials up the reactionism to a cool one-hundo and, with evident disgust in her voice, sneers, "Yeah, well, I'm gettin' really tired of all these transients hangin' around here. Too bad this isn't a private beach" Whoa whoa whoa. Lady! Don't let your true colors show so soon! I mean, Brandon will for sure fuck you, because, contrary to his and everyone else's patently false beliefs, he has little-to-no integrity; he mostly just likes to stand on soapboxes and lecture people. And get in their faces:

And get in their faces some more.

And some more.

And so on...

...

...I could do this all day. What's that, you say? I just did? Oh. Also: should I curate an art exhibit to showcase my vast screenshot collection of Brandon Being Angry? It might be a hit. Anyway, you catch my drift re: Brandon being a piece of shit in general and not the Mr. Morals he's incessantly perpetuated to be.

He turns to Brooke and teases, "Ooo, aren't we the elitest," and in response she puts her arms around his neck and admits, "Actually...yes."

And then some gross kissing happens and I've had enough.

I've also had enough of this anesthesia of a story line that hasn't even begun yet. SIGHHHHHH: Another one of David's ear-searing songs is playing out, loud enough to be heard throughout the club, and I'm curious as to why no one has made any complaints to Henry. Not just about the noise but also David's presence on the premises in general. So a topless Steve and his boiled ham of an upper body are walking toward the Taylor/Silver cabana, bopping his head along to whatever passes for a "beat" in said song, which is to say, there is no beat detected...

...and inside at the table is David, once again fucking with his keyboard sitting before him, mixing something that sounds like aural diverticulitis.

Steve mooses in next to David's chair, asking, "Whose tape is that?" David informs him that it's his own, and Steve, in desperate need of medication with the way he can just flip on a dime, says, "No, I mean, who's singing on it, dog breath?" The lightning quick jump to "dog breath"? I'm the Founder and President of the Southern California chapter of the I Hate David Silver Non-Fan Club, and even I think that's a step too far.

Snooooooooooze, this goes on for a millenia, with Steve refusing to believe it's David's music and attempting to futz with the board, and David slapping his hand away and also ensuring him that it is indeed a Silver original - woof - then procuring a demo tape out of thin air and offering it to Steve to listen to: "I've got a lot more songs if you wanna hear 'em."

Steve is still disbelieving and the words "Milli" and "Vanilli" get thrown around for good measure before he takes the cassette with a, "I'll try and get around to it," and struts out.

Come on.

I can't.

But I will. Bare minimum:

Kelly's been avoiding Dylan. He reminds her, "Somethin' happened between us." She, however, insists, "Nothing happened."

He asks, "Can't you even acknowledge that the other night did actually exist?" She admits, "We...we kissed, okay? No big deal. Let's just forget about it." Yes: LET'S.

But we won't. Dylan says that it was more than just a kiss. Kelly, farrrrrrrrr too late, reminds him that Brenda's coming home in a few days and it was just two horrible people who got carried away one night, that's all. I'll say!

Mea culpa, mea culpa, Kelly adds, "I am not gonna let that get in the way of my relationship with my best friend, or your relationship with my best friend." I proceed stick my head in several ovens. A very well-deserved GET BENT to all of this.

Trees.

Brenda walks through a park and winds up sitting on a bench, her cute tote with proverbial French baguette peeking out in tow.

Cut over to Beef Stew here, carrying a laughably gargantuan camping rucksack thing, which clearly holds the entirety of his wardrobe, all of the titles from the non-fiction section of his local library, and at least two-thirds of his immediate family members. He's skimming a piece of paper and looking dumb...er than he'll look over the course of his time on the show.

Confession time: I had a big ol' crush on Dean Cain here during this period. This may have involved YM Magazine cutouts of him included in collages of hunky hunky dreamboats with which I festooned my bedroom walls. I am not proud of any of this. For kicks, above is A Very '90s' Picture of him with Joey Lawrence at the Fourth Annual MTV Rock N' Jock B-Ball Jam event, a sentence that would make little to no sense to someone born after the dawn of the 21st century.

Moving on: the soon-to-be named Rick (Reeeek, if you're nasty or putting on a terrible French accent) spots Brenda reading a paper and approaches, because a woman can't just be left the fuck alone for once her goddamn life.

He spits some French greetings at her; she returns the favor; he gets hung up on a word and whips out his pocket dictionary...

...Brenda looks amused and tells him in The Accent (you know the one; we ALLLLLLLL know the one, we'll never not know the one): "Ah, you do not need ze book."

Rick breathes a sigh of relief, plopping down next to her and saying, "You speak English? Ah, thank God, I was dyin' here."

He then stares, dazzled by Brenda's gorgeous face - who can blame him? - and he can only get away with such spooky behavior given that he looks like that - pure The Bubble, but I also like to call it The Brandon Effect. The Rickster catches himself and chuckles, "I'm sorry...it's just that all my life, I've dreamed of coming to Paris, meeting the quintessential French beauty and...here you are." Dude, I know you're just looking to get your dick wet, but pull it back a little.

Brenda starts to tell him the truth, but sensing his abject stupidity, she decides to double-down on the ruse: "I am not 'quin-tee-zential,' whatever zhat means."

Rick falls all over himself - mostly because he's shocked he even knows the word "quintessential" - trying to explain it to her: "Oh, no, it's not bad or anything. I mean, it just means the, the, like, essence or the purest, or most typical, you know, the real...French thing. Now I'm speaking as badly in English as I do in French." I'm sure that's not so out-of-the-ordinary for you, beefcake.

Blah blah they introduce themselves, he says that he just hitchhiked into town and needs help finding his hotel, Brenda recognizes it as near her hotel, which she almost slips to Reeek, before catching herself with, "[It's] right by...where I live." She says she can show him on the map but he has other plans: "Why don't you show me in person? I mean, if you're going that way anyway." I have a feeling the charmless Styro Reek is gonna love the exterior of Brenda's charmless Styro hôtel.

Cut to a bustling street where they're now walking. He's droning on about his visit to London, exemplifying his dunderheadedness with, "They drive on the wrong side of the street. When I stepped off the curb I almost got killed." Rick sure is bucking those natural selection odds!

They stop and Brenda points: "Alors, 'ere it is. Your personal tour guide has brought you safely to your hotel." He claims it wasn't much of a tour: "Three Metro stops, that's it?" and then predictably, he proposes dinner and a boat ride down the Seine. The love-bombing or whatever the hell is going on here is...concerning.

Brenda barely fights him on it - "I already have plan with my girlfriends, I'm sorry" - and then does the same when he suggests she give him a tour the next day, but he finally wears her down with, "I'm only in town for two days. You don't want me wandering around lost and bewildered, do you?"

And we don't actually see her respond to this, but we get a jump cut to Brenda and Donna's room, and an incredible line delivery from Tori Spelling, telling us all we need to know about Brenda's decision: "You're gonna do WHAT?!?" She's standing with Maggie as Brenda relays the story and preps herself for dinner.

Brenda goes over to the dresser to put lipstick on and explains to the other two, "I'm gonna show him around Paris, that's all." Maggie can't believe what she's hearing: "Masquerading as a native Parisian? You?"

Brenda, going back to the vanity: "Yes, me. I had him completely fooled for over an hour today. I was great, if I do say so myself...I just talk like zees, and he zinks that I am from Paree!" Probably because he has brain damage, Brenda, but okay. Also, poor Donna is probably having combat-related-type flashbacks of the last time Brenda pulled out her accent "work."

As Maggie pulls out her pack of smokes, Donna suggests that Brenda give Rick the truth, but Brenda refuses, saying, "I've gone too far to go back now. Besides, he might get pretty mad at me." Donna joins me in asking, "So the fuck what if he does?" though I maybe added a couple of words to my query.

Brenda insists, "He's a really nice guy. I mean, he's easygoing, he's fun~~, he has the personality of plywood~~. He's gonna be a writer." Of…? Road signs??

As Maggie continues to smoke, Donna demands, "Ugh, must you do that in here?" and then we hear the click of a lighter...

...and in another excellent line-reading from TSpell, Donna looks toward her friend and shrieks, "BRENDA!"...

...and we see Brenda lighting up a cig, advising Donna, "When in Rome..."

Donna, a woman on the brim, asks that they go eat, "before I completely lose my appetite."

Maggie and Brenda skitter out of the room, continuing to talk about what a himbo this Rick moron is, and Donna follows up behind, waving her hand in front of her face and rolling her eyes in the process, all, oh, these girls!

The kicky version of the theme song plays as we head over to Brandon and Brooke, rollerblading down the boardwalk, and it's very reminiscent of this and a little bit of this and kind of this, but with 100% more bigotry.

Also, I can't quite tell but Brandon might be wearing pleated jorts? They almost look seersucker-ish, but I'm terrified that's not the case. Paired with the tank and the gold chain, I'm going to need a cold compress and a fainting couch.

They slow to a stop and Brandon's disparagement-disguised-as-flirtation continues: "All right, all right, all right, come on. Admit it. You're exhausted." Brooke assures him that she's fine, but he suggests a race back to the Club.

She agrees and skates off, and before he can follow her, Brandon turns and spots Jack.

Jack meets Brandon's gaze and decides to pull out his hackiest one-liner from his apparent 1980s' stand-up comedy career: "Life's a beach, bro! What do you want me to say?"

Brooke reappears and asks what's going on; Brandon points out Jack as the one they saw earlier on in the day. Back to Jack, he sits down against a low wall, surrounded by a group of other unhoused people for Brooke to hate. Brandon says, "I can't believe people live like that."

Brooke, not believing it to be a shame in the slightest: "Yeah, it's, it's a real shame." She asks that they leave since being near The Poors is giving her a rash: "This isn't exactly the most romantic spot on the beach. Or the safest."

They start to skate off, but Brandon shoots one more lingering look...

...at Jack and his friends.

No. I will LEAVE.

This is trash.

More trash.

YOU GUYS ARE TRASH.

She's a vision in white with the icy blonde hair, like, no joke; gorge: "I just came by because I felt really bad about something I said earlier at the club. When I said that nothing happened between us...that it didn't mean anything...it's just that I don't want what we did to get in the way of real life."

Him, not beating those Bad Boy Cliché charges anytime soon responds with a husky, "Everything is real to me."

Her: "There is no us."

Him: "Why did you have to come here and tell me this in person?"

Her: "Because I wanted to see you...I admit it. I can't just kiss a guy I've had a major crush on my whole life and pretend that it doesn't mean anything. I just don't know what." Oh, shut UUUUUP.