How many more ways can I state that the guys on this show - main cast and tertiary - are true, witless pig-men who should be banished from society? I know it's only going to get worse before it gets...significantly worse, so joke's on me. Enjoy some more Y chromosome nonsense, I guess.
Kidz Kampztown, USA. They're playing Red Rover.
How the hell was this game ever allowed? Remember the bruises? And the persistent burning sensation in your wrists after another kid barreled through the chain of arms? Parents: is this still a thing? Because I can't imagine it is. Signed: Ye Old Marm who's clutching pearls over her uncouth childhood activities.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Still lurking from the sidelines: Steve, topless and broiled; Brandon, self-satisfied and not working. Brandon queries, "What is it about guys that makes them suddenly want the one girl they can't have?" Because you're a manipulative, narcissistic prig who views women as less-than and mere prizes to "win," thereby feeding your already-bloated ego? And I'm sure a host of additional personality disorders but that's the first theory that comes to mind and we haven't got all day.
Steve, still 44: "I don't know, I think it's hormonal." Please. I just ate.
Back over to AHHHHHHHNdrea: she blows her only friend - i.e. the whistle - and announces lunch...
...and this complete irritant ditches his dermally-compromised companion to run after her, GRABBING HER ARM IN THE PROCESS OF COURSE - which just made me feel like this, and also a whole lot like this - to which she responds, "Not now, Brandon." NOT EVER. God.
STILL HOLDING ONTO HER ARM, he ignores her very clear and concise boundary-setting and begs, "No, come on, please just listen to me for one minute, okay? I didn't sleep much last night. I was thinking a lot about what I did and what you said. You were right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or insult you."
AHHHHHHHHNdrea's titanium spine melts down into a puddle of T1000 right then and there and she immediately (and far, far too easily) forgives him with a smile and a, "Apology accepted." Goddamn it, The Zuck.
At least she promptly turns and walks away from him and his low budge apology, though he, naturally, can't let that be the end of it, so he follows her and asks, "That's it? Just like that, apology accepted? Ya know, you do have every reason in the world to think I'm scum." Self-aware king? She takes it a step further and calls him pond scum - yes! More of this! - but she's entirely too nice about it and when he asks if they're still friends, she much-too-kindly tells him that they are.
They smile back and forth at each other...
...and they're very cute here and if he wasn't such an arrogant, pustulating penis fissure, I might have endorsed their union at some point.
He also can't seem to turn the fucking page because he continues to follow her and asks, "You really like [Jay], dontcha?" because he desperately wants her to Cheap Trick him since it really gets his rocks off, so when she confirms that yes, she bafflingly does like that soggy piece of wood mulch in mortal form, he has to cover his ass and say, "That's good. I'm happy for ya." He's also miraculously able to admit, "You called it. Ya never know what you've got 'til it's gone," which I guess was admirable, but the bar for this clod is truly located in the absolute dregs of the Dead Sea, so that's not saying much.
Whatever, she walks away and he stares after her wistfully and don't worry, Brandon: your dreadfully-coiffed, deeply bigoted, equally-as-unjustifiably-smug princess is right around the corner. I can't wait to drown myself in the tub before then!
Styrofoam France.
Inside their room, Brenda and Donna are preparing for a party that will be attended by a bunch of really gross dudes that make Paris look like a true hellscape of sleaze. The girls - both looking hot as fuck and I will accept ZERO slander of Donna's giant hair and poofy, adorable dress; I unabashedly love them both - practice their French; Donna moans about being scared to speak it outside of their classes and also waxes yearningly about missing David, no thank you; they talk mad trash about Rube Lynette of the aforementioned Worthless Anne and Lynette.
Speaking of which, the rube appears just then in their doorway, ready to head to the party, with Maggie, also looking gorge, popping in to call everyone creeps again and telling them, "Now remember, if you get into trouble, just ask where the bathroom is: Ou esdt latoilette? Got it?" Sure, why not?
Fontaine.
Somewhere: a very French party, or what a French party looks like inside of my head, anyway. Empty picture frames hang from the ceiling, and Brenda appears to be as perplexed by them as I am.
In another area, a revolting 35-year-old "flirts" with Donna by asking her, "Voulez-vouu coucher avec moi ce soir?" which, as I learned from a Friends episode many moons ago, means that Donna should be on her way to le poste de police, se depecher de poster to report a goddamn pervers who's preying upon underage women at spooky, random parties that are set-decorated to look like a mid-'90s' Sarah McLachlan music video (complimentary [the Sarah McLachlan part; not the horrendous human male part]).
Back to Brenda, looking stunning, wending through the crowd. She pauses at three men shoving cigarettes and lighters in her face in a real show of class and chivalry.
Over at a table filled with ALL of the pastries...
...Donna selects a puff and eats it, delighted. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PARTY? All of these disgusting grown men hitting on minors appear to have the coke sweats; meanwhile, there's also an laughably enormous dessert spread that wouldn't be out of place in a dainty tea room. IS THIS FRANCE???? I'm so confused.
And alarmed: these 40-year-olds hit on Lynette and Anne, who have no fucking idea what's going on and are absolutely getting sex-trafficked by night's end.
Donna has the right idea and continues to feast upon the sweets; this time, a giant slice of cake.
Back to this crime in progress.
And more of this.
The lech who nauseatingly propositioned Donna earlier stops Brenda and suggests the same to her; Brenda thwarts his advances by informing him, "I sleep with her," and pointing...
...toward Donna, who waves and continues to go to town on the confectionery buffet.
This sloppy douche then asks for a threesome with two teenagers and it's played for laughs and I really need to invest in a Sarco pod, immediately, following the consumption of all of these deviant plot lines about the grooming of adolescent women. I'm going to attribute my current-day brain rot to having watched these skeevy narratives play out ad nauseam on basically every television show I loved as a fellow rube growing up in suburban Denver.
Brenda continues her endless meandering over to another area of the party...
...and this ridiculously handsome mirage appears, a la DJ Jazzy Dave in Part 2. But, like, an actual welcome mirage.
Brenda scurries over, happily squealing, "Dylan!"
Except that it's actually Not Dylan, who kind of looks like a young Flea?...
...and he and his friend proceed to leer at her and she turns away, all, "Excuse moi," and looks defeated.
Fade back here.
Inside the Taylor/Silver cabana, David lays down some "sick" "beats" on his Yamaha as Kelly sits at a table, reading a magazine and looking visibly annoyed.
Her solution is to scream at her stepbrother about him getting them kicked out of the Club and stomping away out onto the patio...
...where she OF COURSE runs into this one and continues to moderately flirt while doing her whole vomitous baby-voiced giggling bit, to which he responds with a far-too-wide smile and oh, eat a dick, the both of you. I've had it and we've barely begun down this vile path.
Bleh, he tells her he's headed to Jack's parole hearing, she wishes him good luck and stares after him like the disloyal dickhead she truly is and have I mentioned how much I hate this?
McKay Lockup holding pen, where a be-suited Jack sits.
Enter Dylan; they again shake hands in true heartwarming fashion.
Jack pulls Dylan's letter from his blazer pocket, telling him, "This is some letter. Guess I wasn't too bad a father after all, huh?" and this level of non-self-awareness should be studied in a lab and then set on fire somehow. Dylan agrees with me, saying, "Don't believe everything you read."
Jack smirks, unfolds the letter and reads as follows: "'My father taught me to never give up. When I was six, I was having trouble learning how to read. Every night, no matter how busy he was, my father would sit with me for hours. It wasn't sinking in. But one night, I looked at the words and somehow it all clicked. I never thanked my father for that. This is as good a time as any.'" Sounding like the most successful used car salesman in the Inland Empire, he assures his son, "There won't be a dry eye in the house."
But Dylan calls him on it, telling him the letter was a lie; that it was Iris who actually taught him how to read.
And also how to ingest hallucinogens and do whatever the fuck this is.
Anyway, Jack informs Dylan that's a load of crap: "You have a damn selective memory." And then, in possibly one of the worst, most butt-puckering, Fremdschämen moments in the history of MAN, Jack begins the recitation to end ALL recitations:
I will never recover from this.
But it apparently works wonders on ol' Daddy Issues here, seeing as he looks completely taken aback and touched, and QUITE EMOTIONALLY brings it on home for Jack: "...I do not like them, Sam I am." I had completely forgotten about this scene and for that I am forever grateful. Please let it now head back to the dark, dank recesses of my fog-enveloped mind and die a very quick and painless death, never to be seen or heard from again.
As Understanding Synth kicks in, Jack reminds his son, "Listen, kid, whatever happens in there...I am glad that you're here." Dylan wishes him good luck, Jack adds, "Let's do it,"...
...and then they head out for the hearing but hopefully they actually kept on walking into a deep, dense wooded area where they can hide forever following whatever that violently embarrassing display was. That was change-your-identity levels of please, god, NO and the only answer is my patented Vanishing Without a Trace Method™. Try it today!
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