Season 2, Episode 22: And Baby Makes Five - Jackie's Knocked Up And Mel's The Father. I Mean, I Assume It's Mel And Not A Pile Of Coke.

In which a series of painful hysterical mix-ups and misunderstandings cause me to cry myself to sleep a little harder than normal.  Read on for all the agony hilarity!

We start off with Sappy Music as Jackie flips through a photo album, full of Jennie Garth's Kelly's baby pictures.

There's this one of Jackie looking at a Baby Kelly, at a time in her life when she wasn't coked up to Jesus.  I mean, I hope she wasn't.

Young Jackie holding Baby Kelly.

Pigtailed Kelly in one of those requisite class portrait shots with the 1980s' sky-blue background.

And another.

We fade to Current Day Knocked Up With An ABOMINATION Jackie, flipping the pages of the album, smiling vaguely.  Because she knows that she was such a heaping garbage-bag-full of a drug-addicted, alcoholic crap-mother and doesn't want to ruin her next kid's Mother-Daughter Fashion Show in fifteen years? I assume?

Enter Kelly, who sees what her mother is looking at and smiles, asking, "What are you doing?" Jackie tells her, "Oh, I was just remembering how sweet it was to hold a baby in my arms while still managing to cut a perfect line of coke, that's all." Kelly decides to brag about herself, even though it has nothing to do with what Jackie just said: "Yeah, I was kinda cute, wasn't I?" Jackie's only response is to laugh politely because it's not always about you, Kelly.

Kelly decides to cut a bitch by making her feel like a weathered, hanging-on-to-sobriety-by-a-thread old hag (oh, wait) and is all, "That was a long time ago." Jackie concurs, adding, "I'm too old for this."

As Jackie posts up to the island in the kitchen, Kelly asks, "You're going to the doctor today, aren't you?" Jackie corroborates this, saying, "As if I need him to confirm what every home pregnancy test on the market has already told me." Kelly asks, "What does Mel have to say about all this?" And I answer, "Who THUH FUCK cares?"

Which is basically Jackie's answer as well, seeing as she completely ignores the query and busies herself making eggs.  Kelly presses further and discovers that Mel doesn't know that Jackie's pregnant, because all he ever talks about is the day he'll finally be rid of his atrociously-coiffed, burden of a son, when he can finally throw all the all-night, group-sex-filled debacheries he's only ever dreamed of.

Kelly insists that Jackie must tell him and it's not a big deal: "He doesn't want a baby, you don't want a baby.  Why don't you just tell him that you're taking care of it?"

Jackie says nothing as the Serious Synth version of the theme song plays...

Season 2, Episode 21: Everybody's Talkin' 'Bout It - Let's Get Schooled On Safe Sex Practices, '90's-Stylezzzzzz. Which Means We'll Hear The Word "Condom" Spoken 57 Times Per Scene. That'll Do.

In which take it away, Salt-N-Pepa:

No, but seriously.  Let's.

We open here...

...and then we're in the living room, where we see the backs of the following heads: Cindy, Jim, Brenda, Dylan, AHHHHHHHHHHHHNdrea and her rat's ass...rat's ass, and Brandon's, who's sitting on the floor where he belongs.  They're immersed in some news report on the television, which goes a little something like this: "You've heard the old expression 'children should be seen and not heard'? Well, now there's a government survey that wants to know what kids have to say on a variety of subjects, but one of those subjects has some people up in arms.  Evan Eber reports."

And then AHHHHHHHHHHHHNdrea like, NERD SPEWS all over everyone, "Oh! This is it! This is it! Turn up the sound!" You're in someone else's house, bitch! Have some manners.

Onscreen, there are various shots of campus-y-looking places and a voice over of the reporter: "Many of the questions pertain to sex, and therein lies the controversy.  Critics contend the government-funded survey promotes a message that casual sex is okay."

As he speaks, we get more shots of students walking around, and protester-types holding up signs that say things like, "SEXPERTS GO HOME!!" which mostly reminds me of this and if these so-called "SEXPERTS" are anything at all like Carrie Bradshaw, then, yes, please do go home.  Because you clearly suck at your job and are annoying.

Here's a shot of 27-year-olds-parading-as-17-year-olds coming down a staircase, that shitty dweeb John Griffin from a few earlier episodes among them.

Another shot of signs with some wicked burns on them, including one that reads, "CASUAL SEX KILLS" and another, ""SIN SURVEY = SINFUL WASTE." These people better step up their protest sign game if they ever want to work their way up to protesting homosexuals' funerals on behalf of the Westboro Baptist Church.  The reporter continues: "They claim that teen pregnancy, AIDS, and other consequences of adolescent sexual behavior cannot be prevented unless we know something about the behavior itself." The behavior itself being...? Teenagers are horny?

On the screen, Mrs. T!...

...followed by this middle-aged lady, who must be a school counselor or perhaps a teacher at West Bev or...oops.  It's just AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNdrea.  My bad.

AHHHHHH: "I look awful!" *crickets, a squeaky door opening and shutting, someone coughing, as no one disagrees with her* Finally, the uncomfortable silence is too much for Cindy to bear and she provides an over-the-top, "Oh, you do not!" that no one believes anyway.

Dylan, again grabbing the much-lusted after Line Of The Episode prize with this gem: "How come I don't see your bones up there, squeef?" of Brandon.

Brandon points to the t.v. and says, "There I am! Right there! That's my elbow, right there! See?" Everyone leans in for a closer look because Brandon is a lying sack of shit.  Brenda attempts to soothe her brother's ego with, "We could see your whole face if the sign wasn't luckily covering it."

And then this Rando Man who's WEARING A POLKA DOT ASCOT, because he apparently had to get himself all fancied up for the protest, addresses the issue: "Our public health is not served by prying into every corner of our children's lives."

Shot of AHHHHHHHHNdrea, SHDH as Ascot finishes up: "This is a wrongful allocation of taxpayer money, and we think the department should freeze the funding immediately."

Then we finally see Evan Eber, as he ends his story with a wooden, "No matter what happens tomorrow, one thing remains clear: when it comes to the issue of teenage sexuality, everyone's passion can become inflamed." Gross.  And: Evan, you're terrible at job.

So Brandon is sad that he "ended up on the cutting room floor," and Jim reassures him with, "Better luck next time, champ." It's pronounced chump, Jim.  Chump.  And then the Boring Old People are off to bed, and I'm not quite sure why AHHHHHHHHHHNdrea didn't join them.  Also, Brandon, like a boor, sits on the arm of the sofa with his feet on the seat.  And no one says anything, maybe because they're all oblivious, but most likely because he's a known asshole and they're not in the mood to deal with it.

And then Brenda and Dylan start making out, like, he sort of ROLLS ON TOP OF HER AND WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FREAK SHOW FUCKING FUCK IS THIS FUCK??? HER BROTHER IS RIGHT THERE.  Number of times I made out with my high school boyfriend in front of my brother? Well, I didn't have a high school boyfriend until I was almost out of high school, but that's beside the point.  The answer would've been zero.

Brandon fronts like he's not going to be masturbating to this image later and awkwardly asks of AHHHHHHHHHHHNdrea, "So, uh, staff meeting first period tomorrow, huh?" and she's all, "Yeah," and he's all, "Great," and she's all, "Great," and I'm all, "Fuuuuuuuck."

And then these pigs continue to make out IN FRONT OF HER BROTHER and I'm physically ill right now.  Physically ill.

Season 2, Episode 18: Walsh Family Christmas - Please Don't Make Me.

In which it's February and I'm writing about Christmas.  This was like the least fun thing ever.  And that includes the time I was hit by a car and left for dead by the side of the rode and then mauled by a pack of rabid coyotes.  And none of that ever happened but I'm pretty sure it would be a more enjoyable experience than anything having to do with this episode.

We open on this sign that says "New Mexico - Land of Enchantment." I've only ever driven through New Mexico (quickly), but never found it particularly enchanting.  Also, this music that you'd expect to hear on the soundtrack to Walker, Texas Ranger, plays in the background.  There's no other way I can describe it.

This bus rolls past the sign and since we unfortunately had to sit through the previous episode, we can be pretty safe in our assumption that this bus holds the fluff-headed dink we've all come to sort of grudgingly accept, one Steve "The Steve SAUNders Special" Sanders.

Sure enough, as the bus comes to a stop in front of some shabby building, we see Mr. Sanders' mullet peering out of his open window.  I'm certain that all of the other passengers really appreciate the open window, given that it's probably, like, -13 degrees there in December.  My takeaway from this is that everyone from Los Angeles is a hideously-coiffed asshole.

Steve descends the steps of the bus, saying, "Sure is cold here," like, perhaps, then, you moldy q-tip, you shouldn't have had your window open.  He's followed off of the bus by a teenage-ish girl of indeterminate race, which is I guess supposed to tell us that Steve is not a racist.  A terrible person in many, many ways, including the hairdo and clothing departments, but decidedly not a racist.  Anyway, Girl (we never learn her name because of course she doesn't matter) says, "If we're lucky, maybe we'll have a white Christmas."

Steve calls the idea "kind of neat," and then Girl can't beat it the fuck away from him fast enough, lying, "It was fun traveling with you," and then confirming our theory that Steve is a self-absorbed garbage person, when, after he thanks her for listening to him, says, "What else was I gonna do for 16 hours?" They have a laugh over that one, although I'm assuming her laughter was a means of covering up her tears, she wishes him good luck on finding his bio-mom, then sees her mom and thanks her lucky stars that any interaction with this wool-headed douche is over.  Peace out Mexican-Maybe-Some-Kind-Of-Native-American Girl.  We really hardly knew ye.

So as this really, really terrible, like, diarrhea-heavy version of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" starts playing in the background, Steve flings his bag over his shoulder and starts hoofing it down the street like fucking Joe Buck or something.

Season 2; Episode 3: Summer Storm - The Grand Tradition Of Parental Dereliction In Beverly Hills Continues. And Our Long National Nightmare Of An Episode Where Brandon Is The Focal Point (Meaning The Previous Episode) Comes To Harrowing End.

First and foremost, I want to send a massive shout-out to my Homie For Life Benjamin, who came to Los Angeles from San Francisco last weekend for a visit, and presented me with The Most Amazing Gift Ever:

Yes, my friends know me spookily well.  And yes: within this adorable box (which has become like, my everything) are baked goods straight from his kitchen.  These heavenly slices are called "Banana Walsh" (for my beloved "Brenda Walsh")  HULLO FUCKING AWESOMENESS YOU GUYS which is Nutella (he had me at "Nutella") swirled banana bread.  Trust me when I tell you he's an EXTREMELY talented baker, and these little wedges of perfection are just the tip of the iceberg as far as his abilities with food goes.  But he seriously could've put his dog Blue's hardened feces inside the box and I would have still blown a load over it.  Also, just like one Brandon Walsh, I was a Life Ruiner and was ultra-death-sick last weekend.  My stomach is a shifty bitch who will end a good time before it's even started, and because I ate, like, a Rolo with a side of air, I wrecked our plans of drinking a lot of the hooch and...drinking a lot of the hooch.  Instead, we stayed in and watched Mean Girls 2 (which is just as terrifyingly wretched as you think it will be); She's All That (FILMED AT WEST BEV...meaning Torrance High School, but it will always be West Bev to me - GO WILDCATS! Also: fucking kill me, please), which I never realized or didn't care about the one time I saw it back in the hazy, halcyon days of 1999, when I was wearing track pants in public and topping them off with part-mesh, dragon-print shirts.  Next up was Clueless - a classic, obvs - filmed at Occidental College, which was also the filming location for...you guessed it! Beverly Hills, 90210 Goes To College.  Absolutely gripping tidbits of information, I know.  What does any of this have do with anything? Nothing, actually.  It just further proves the theory that the inside of my head is basically like the inside of Homer's brain, only instead of black-and-white cartoon characters playing "Turkey In The Straw" it's pretty much a continuous reel of this with the first few chords of the BH, 90210 theme song in the background:

ARE WE QUITE DONE HERE, you ask? Yes, I think so.  I also wanted to mention to the reading audience at large that I really appreciate all the comments on my blog posts.  I may not respond to them because I am a lazy sack of dicks, but I will attempt to be better about acknowledging them.  Just know that my favorite thing to do (besides writing about this show and watching a lot of Seinfeld) is be asleep.  So that kind of takes up the majority of my time.  ANYOHMYGODGETAMOVEONITWAY, on with the show...

...in which Brenda's sort of a cunt, Dylan's parents are shady as fuck, Brandon gets very little screen time (HOORAY), Steve breaks out both The Steve SAUNders Summer Special AND his trusty belly shirt (HEAVEN HELP US), I actually feel kind of sorry for Kelly (even though she squeals, giggles and baby-talks her way through most of her scenes) and Donna and David fall even further down the rabbit hole of their awful, jacked-up relationship which we will only be spared from NINE SEASONS FROM NOW when this moldy, hellfire beast of a show has reached its long overdue conclusion.  I guess let's dive in and hope for the best and then be really disappointed.

We open at the H.O.W., nighttime.  Or maybe it's like, four in the afternoon, who knows.

Inside to the Foyer Of Walsh, where Jim's coming down my Dream Staircase in his Gay Pride shirt, getting ready to leave for some Nerdlinger Accounting Something Or Other.  No one cares.

He joins the rest of the family in the living room and tells Cindy that he can't find some blue shirt of his, and then Brenda chimes in with, "Uh, Dad, actually I wore that shirt to the beach last week," and Jim asks her why she has to wear his shirts, and she's all, "Because they look great," and remember when we all thought that was the case? I recall stealing my brother's shirts a lot and they were enormous and baggy but man! Did I think I looked fly as fuck in them (Real Talk: I did not look fly as fuck in them).  So then Brandon has to meet the quota of Grossly Inappropriate/Incestuous Comments for the episode by adding, "Mmm, girl in a guy's shirt, Dad, there's nothin' like it," and it's only taken all of about a minute and a half and I already need to go lie down.  And by "lie down," I of course mean "simultaneously slit my wrists and drown myself in a tub-full of acetone and fire."

So then the news report they're watching starts in on a story about Shady Fuck And Dumpster Garbage Dad Jack McKay getting caught or turning himself in to federal marshals in Mexico on twenty-three counts of income tax evasion.  Does ANYONE care? No? We're all just waiting for The Car Bomb Heard 'Round The Marina in Season 3 when Jack is presumably blown to smithereens while wearing a really unfortunate sweatsuit? And then rolling our eyes so much that they get stuck like that in Season 10 when the writers can't think of any more story lines for Dylan and they bring Jack back from the dead? Exactly.

Oh, and here's a shot of Not Real Jack McKay.  This is the second Not Real Jack McKay in as many seasons, if you're keeping track, or playing some really depressing, solo drinking game at home like I am.

As the report goes on, Jim says to Cindy, "Smartest thing she ever did was break up with that guy," about Brenda and Dylan, and I guess we're supposed to believe that he says it all under his breath on-the-sly or some shit, but he's actually really obvious about it and Brenda absolutely would've heard her idiot father.  And then he's all, "It was only a matter of time before they caught up with that crook," and Brenda pulls out the whole, "He's innocent until proven guilty," and I am so, so bored already I'm actually REALLY looking forward to seeing Steve's navel later in the episode.  At least it will give me something to do, i.e. throw up the Entemann's donuts I just ate all over my hands, laptop and the cat sitting in my lap.

Cut to Dylan's apartment/condo thing and he's broodishly watching the report or broodishly listening to it in the background and his phone rings, and I CANNOT WITH THIS here's his answering machine greeting: "Hi! You know what to do, after the beep-a-rooni," and YOU GUYS.  SERIOUSLY.  THERE IS NO WAY IN ALL THE HOLY HELLS that this would be Dylan's message. "Beep-a-rooni"???  He's supposed to be all Mysterious Bad Boy (although he's really more GIANT Bad Boy Cliche) and this is his outgoing answering machine message??? Was the writer who came up with this line brand new, and like, this was their first line that they ever wrote for the show? A show which, APPARENTLY, they had never fucking seen?  This is the shit that makes my aneurysm act up.  ANYway, of course it's Brenda calling, although why she didn't immediately hang-up, change her number, her name, her hair color and move to Coeur d' Alene, Idaho after hearing this message I don't know, and she's all, "It's me, Brenda.  Are you okay? Dylan.  Dylan, please pick up." Whatever.

Season 2; Episode 2: The Party Fish - My Idea Of Hell On Earth? A Horrifyingly-Titled, Brandon-Fronted Episode Where Steve Gets To Say A Lot Of Words And Brandish His Increasingly Worrisome Chest.

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.

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’."

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.