Part Un.
Part Deux.
Part Trois.
Back at it.
Inside, in a real move-the-needle moment, Steve busses and Brandon chides him about missing a spot. I'd seriously rather spend the evening with The Zuck and her non-entity of a boyf than have to endure much more of this brainless rich-dunderhead-works-at-restaurant / is-a-total-failure / morally-superior-friend-has-the-last-laugh absurdity.
Worthless Nat emerges from the kitchen carrying approximately all the eggs. He calls out to Steve to help him in the backroom, and we're about to slip into some Imbecile Breaks Eggs Waka Waka Comedy (truly the lowest form of comedy) so buckle up.
Brandon scolds, "You better hurry, Stevie. Don't want to tick off the boss man." Steve spouts off some delusions about Nat loving him: "This is working out great!" I'm sure his barber also said, "This is working out great!" as he spun Steve's salon chair around after putting the finishing touches on the in-hibernation frillback pigeon slumbering on the back of his cranium, so I don't know how much stock I'd put into his words here.
As Steve scurries back to the kitchen, he puts Brandon in a non-fatal chokehold and the gang just laughs and laughs while also dying on the insides at having to feign delight at the low-rent clownery of two mega-chodes.
Nat apparates table-side as if from nowhere, and scares the ever-loving shit out of me, not unlike something something Steve's hair something something every time that sun-bleached steel wool bastard appears on screen something. He asks to speak to Brandon in private...
...and then takes him two feet away to sit at the counter. Worthless Nat: a true Virtuoso of Subterfuge. He tells Brandon that he's going to fire Steve, GASP, saying, "I don't know how to break it to him."
Brandon, nothing but a simpering, skeevy snake with a good head of hair, smirks and fires up the ol' gaslight: "Maybe you should just tell him the truth. I'm sure he can take it." Nat ponders, "I can't even figure out why he wants this job. It's not like he needs the money. It's like he's got something to prove, ya know?" I hope when all is said and done, Nat finds out everything and goes all Laney Boggs StyleZ, "Am I bet? Am I a BET?? AM I FUCKING BET????" And then beats Brandon to near-death with his fucking precious spatula, the handle of which is currently lodged in Steve's pubes.
Whatever whatever, Brandon seems to feel a bit of remorse and tells Nat to give Steve another chance and then there's clinging and clanging and crashing from the kitchen and, in the grand tradition of the iconic Chandler Bing, someone should really ask Steve on the daily, "How do you not fall down more?"
Nat hurries back to hopefully kick half-witted Steve's half-witted perm as Brandon chortles and ambles back to the table, asking everyone, "Omelets, anyone?" My sides? Decidedly not splitting.
Back at the McKay Craftsman, Dylan brings Brenda a mug of something, sitting down beside her on the couch and asking, "What did you tell [your parents] exactly?" She says they weren't home yet from Jim causing scenes at the Beach Club and probably being escorted off the property in handcuffs, so she just left.
Doorbell! Dylan and Brenda pop up from the couch as Jim puts on his deepest, butch baritone: "Dylan! Let me in, Dylan!" Glad to see that Jim has taken his hill-person trashery on the road to Dylan's neck of the woods. Such a delight for his neighbors.
Brenda, in place of FLEE this entire episode, hurries back to Dylan's bedroom saying, "I don't wanna see him" - something I say aloud each and every time the Jim character appears onscreen - "Don't make me go back, I can't."
Dylan opens the door to Jim, in a fierce canary yellow golfing-type jacket. Dylan tells him that Brenda doesn't want to see him, and Jim edges into the house, seething, "That's too bad. You tell her to get her things and come out here."
Brenda reenters the dining room - j'adore everything she's wearing here - and tells him, "I'm not leaving, Daddy." HORK.
Jim takes a few more steps inside, demanding, "You get your bags, young lady." Brenda responds, "Not until you accept Dylan as part of my life," and Jim fibs and tells her they'll talk about it at home, like she won't be literally Rapunzeled in her bedroom and bars placed over her windows as soon as they get back to the HoW. She knows this and therefore informs him, "That's not good enough," then MURDER Synth starts playing and she turns and walks back into the bedroom.
Of course this sends Jim into a tizzy and he charges past Dylan, hollering after her, "Brenda, you come out here, right now!!!" Dylan asks, "So, what are you gonna do? You gonna go down and drag her out kicking and screaming? That's what this has come to." Jim says that it hasn't come to that and takes his leave, hopefully into the waiting arms of Dylan's HOA, wielding torches and pitchforks and angry at having their Friday evening disrupted by this Midwest yokel and his bellowing, low-classy foolery.
HOW MANY MORE TIMES ARE WE GOING TO COME BACK HERE. They are sucking the udder of this storyline bone dry. Anyway, Steve, in his bedraggled, damp-looking hair-and-silken-street-clothes combo, exits the back room...
...and joins Brandon at the table, where he sits alone after everyone else bounced upon coming to the stark realization that his personality is terrible. Steve pulls out a couple of Jacksons from his wallet and places them on the table. Brandon's all, "What's this?" and Steve warns him not to rub it in, then proceeds to lie for all of ten seconds and say he quit, then tells the truth and admits he was canned, adding, "I'm just not cut out for this kinda stuff." Meaning life? Because, yeah, no, you're like, really bad at it. And will be for many years to come.
They walk out arm-in-arm wig, talking about Brandon being Steve's bitch at the Beach Club the next day. Brandon calls it, "A return to the natural order," and I stifle a yawn and do some meth.
Office Building of Taylor. I refuse to add the "Silver." REFUSE.
Inside to Kelly's brain-shaking bedroom and her ode to Aja Leith. David peeks in like the true peeping Tom that he is, asking, "You still up?"
Kelly invites him in (always a mistake) and he tells her that he just dropped off Donna and that she and he walked in the Manor to find Dr. Martin laying the pipe to Felice in the living room. Heave! But it really can't get any filthier than this:
So: way to go?
David says that the divorce is off and that Donna is going to Paris. Kelly notes that he doesn't sound very happy about that, and he says that he's going to miss his girlfriend, and I almost feel bad for him, but then I remember the Nikki Witt of it all - a plot which I had completely blocked from memory - so David can fuck all the way off and back again
And then: JACKIE!!!! Very pregnant!!! Rushes in!! Her water has broken.
I don't know what in HADES is wrong with me, but David says, "Oh, man, I don't know if we can get a plumber this late," and I guffawed, you guys. My brain is on a scary-steep decline to lizard status and I don't know how to process that
So Mel is "stuck in traffic," i.e. getting his dick wet, so Kelly pushes David out of the room, telling him to go get the car, then guides Jackie down the hall to grab her to-go bag and then head to the hospital to give birth to Mel's unholy spawn that will eventually become a pawn in a devastating custody battle between a philandering scumbag and a teetering-on-the-edge-of-sobriety addict. A true joyous occasion.
Here.
Jim brings Cindy - who sits teary-eyed on the edge of Brenda's bed clutching a stuffed elephant - a full glass of, hopefully after dealing with his ass all day, Belvedere. She weeps, "I don't wanna lose her, Jim." He assures her that they're not going to: "We'll figure this out."
Enter, Brandon, home from an evening of spreading his smug all over the Peach Pit. He asks where Brenda is, and after Cindy tells him, "She moved out. To Dylan's," he queries, "What are you gonna do?"
Cindy stares off into space like a drunk Nana and Jim says, "I don't know," AND THEN ASKS BRANDON HIS TEEN-AGED SON FOR SUGGESTIONS WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS SO FUCKED UP
But since Brandon 1) LOVES to boss Brenda around; and 2) LOVES the sound of his own voice, he is primed to share his opinion: "For starters, I think you two should really look at this situation a little differently. I tried not to get involved, I didn't want to [ed. note: the lies, the lies, the lies]. But I gotta tell ya, I think most of your problems with Dylan don't really have that much to do with Dylan."
The Piano of Realization starts up as Cindy and Jim exchange A Look and I believe Cindy also psychically communicates to him here that he is a disgrace as a father and that Brandon should be retroactively aborted. Oh, and also that she's leaving him and is going to go get some Nat Geo photog dong in the very near future.
Craftsman. Living room. Brenda sits on the couch in her pajamas.
She goes on to say, "I can't get away from them. I feel so guilty for leaving, it must be killing 'em." Dylan offers to sleep on the couch and she tells him she loves him; he says he loves her, too...
...and then she goes to get up and it seems like she's going to go in for a kiss, but he just looks down and she looks disappointed...
...and she turns before entering the dining room and softly says, "Good night."
Dylan, distracted: "Night." Thanks, I HATE IT. ALL OF IT. Whatever. This whole season can eat my shit. See you next time when things get even worse.
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