Programming Note: NOOOOOOOOOoooooooo. But Sadly, Yes.

The Bane Of My Existence

Like my Forever Nemesis Brandon Walsh, I'll make this short: because I am a lazy snatch-dog, all of my screenshots for this blog came from another source. I would simply copy the image URL from this one particular website, paste them in a post, spew out some witty (not really) and clever (NOT AT ALL) observations (comprised of mostly nonsensical "sentences" and a lot of profanity) and call it a goddamn day. Early on in the blog's life, my boyfriend was kind enough to enlighten me on the idea of computer gobledigook something-something nerdlinger iPad Star Trek Star Wars twenty-sided die something or other technological who-ha. I didn't listen, preferring to play the role of the bitch-ass hare, desperate to finish the grueling race (or the DEPLORABLE SEASON 1 OF BEVERLY HILLS, 90210 CAN YOU BLAME ME) as quickly as possible. ANYhow, this essentially boils down to me probably taking out an innocent website because I used too much of their bandwidth. In conclusion: my boyfriend is smart. I am not. I'm also a petty thief. And, yes: I'M A MONSTER.

Can anyone spot the difference between Steve's hair
and a LaPerm cat?
BECAUSE I CAN'T.

What I should've done in the first place was steal the images, then save them to my own desktop. But really what I should've done, if it weren't for me being a whiny, worthless sack of blood-speckled feces, is while watching each episode on my laptop, taken screenshots, edited them, saved them on my desktop, and then inserted them in the blog posts. But I didn't. Because, like Steve SAUNders, I am The Worst, Always And Eternally. I may as well get a tight-rodded perm, fashion it into an odd, bushy mullet that sticks out an inch-and-a-half from my neck whenever I look down, button my silk-blend shirt from Structure up to my chin, and call it a fucking LIFE.

Don't do it, Poor (Just About) Dead Scottie! DON'T DO IT!

What does this mean for you, you (didn't) ask? Well, you don't have to read this godforsaken blog for a while. What does this mean for me, you (really didn't) ask? This means I'm going to "Pull A (Soon-To-Be) Dead Scott," shoot myself in the midsection, and bleed out all over Mrs. Scanlon's Persian rug. Why, you (SERIOUSLY FUCKING DIDN'T) ask? BECAUSE NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK AND WATCH EVERY. SINGLE. EPISODE. OF SEASON 1. AGAIN. And take screenshots. AND WATCH EVERY. SINGLE. EPISODE. OF SEASON 1. AGAIN. A.GAYYYYYYYYYNE. I...can't with this. I. CANNOT. Do you know the jig I was going to bust out when I was done with Season 1? Which, if you recall, was a mere TWO FUCKING EPISODES AWAY??? OH THE HUMANITY.

These Hot Bitches. GET OUT OF TOWN.

Also HOT BITCHES? Dylan's sideburns.

Luckily (or pathetically, however you want to look at it), I know the episodes well (*cough*what a geek*cough*) and should be able to just fast forward through the episodes and find what I need fairly easily. Yes, I watch this dickbag show on a continuous loop. BUT. Before, it was usually much faster than this, as I wasn't having to stop and write out a synopsis on how much Jim "Jay Sherman" Walsh's Back Of Fur grosses me out or the Glory Of The Brenda Bang or how tiny and douche-ridden Brandon is or how Early-90s-Dylan McKay + My 12-Year-Old Self = True Love Forever, Sluts. 

Never change, Awesome, Coked-Up Jackie ♥

What I think I'll do, to the relief of NO ONE, is properly screenshot the forthcoming episode, "Spring Training" (Hint: I HATE THIS MOTHER-FUCKING EPISODE), post that, then continue on with the arduous (yes, because I equate blogging with coal mining or living in a mud-and-excrement-packed hut in a third-world country) task of gathering all of the screencaps from the previous episodes. I just can't wait to revisit Poor Little Rich Girl Maryanne, and Surf Betty, and Thieving Tiffany, and Crazy-Eyed Trashy Sheryl, and Black James, and Disco Fever Danzel, and Awesome Coked-Up Jackie, and Probably-Sexual Predator Glen, and Rape Victim Wanda, and AIDS-y Stacy, and My Archenemy Butch, and Mental Defective Melissa, and Amanda And Her Teeth Of Corn, and Krazy Karla, and My Homeslice Curtis, and Mongoloid Sean Judson, and Just Really Awful Sky And Jack, and Brenda's Non-Cancerous Left Breast, and finally, Future #1 On The FBI's Most Wanted  List Roger Azarian. And by "I just can't wait" I of course mean, "Does anyone know if you can overdose on Centrum Flavor Burst Chews? If so, how many do you think I'd have to stuff in my facehole before I attain sweet, merciful death?"

***VERY NON-IMPORTANT NON-UPDATE: While I was writing this posting, the website I thieve all of the screencaps from went back online. THANK GOD. I don't even know if it was my fault that they went down for a couple of days, but let's pretend I'm just that powerful. ANYway, while I am glad for them (and, for the moment, my blog; I've republished all of the Season 1 posts, REJOICE! Or continue scratching your ass, whatever), I am going to forge ahead with replacing ALL of the stills with my own. Eventually. I mean, it'll take some time, as I have a job and really like to take naps whenever I can (i.e. anytime I am not at work). But at least all -33 of you reading this blog will have something to cling to while you await my next scathingly brilliant masterpiece. And by "scathingly brilliant masterpiece" I of course mean, "my writing is the equivalent of trench mouth with a side of pencil eraser-sized tonsil stones and just a dash of cankers." So, never fear, fellow Hillster losers aficionados! The blog that you mistakenly stumbled upon one night while drunk off Charles Shaw White Zin is still at the bottom where it's always been on its way back to the top!

Season 1; Ep. 19 - April Is The Cruelest Month: I Would Say July Is The Cruelest Month. Since That's The Month I Had To Recap This Crap-Ass Episode.

In which I desperately try to not to call Matthew Perry's "Roger Azarian" character any variation of "Chandler Bing," up to and including "Ms. Chanandler Bong" or "The Chan-Chan Man." ALL THE MONEY says that I fail miserably. Also: Donna is outed as a complete moron, which will continue to be proven in the coming seasons by her choice in men, e.g. David, Ray, David, Cliff, David, Noah, David, Wayne, Noah, David. DAVID X INFINITY. Anyway, full steam ahead.

We open with 17 hours of this. Chandler Bing...crap. Well, if not "Chandler," can I refer to him as "Sandy," Carol's boyfriend who dies of complications from a death blow he receives as a result of getting into a car accident while driving drunk on A Very Special Growing Pains?

No? (Also: WHY DIDN'T BRANDON  "Pull a Sandy" AND DIE AFTER GETTING INTO HIS DRUNK DRIVING ACCIDENT??? GOD.) Okay. How about I refer to him as "Roger Not Azarian," his character from Dance 'Til Dawn?

No?!? C'MON, PEOPLE! IT'S THE SAME FIRST NAME. Whatever. Also: this was one of my very favorite, favorite, FAVE.OR.ITE. movies as a kid. It basically starred EVERYONE EVER. Meaning: Alyssa "Samantha Micelli" Milano, Alan "Dr. Seaver" Thicke, Tracey "Carol Seaver" Gold, Kelsey "Frasier" Grammar, Tempest "Vanessa Huxtable" Bledsoe, Christina "Kelly Bundy" Applegate, Brian "A Lot Of Things" Bloom, and Edie "Ed Rooney's Secretary" McClurg. See? EVERYONE. I loved it so. This, and Camp Cucamonga... 

...which basically starred EVERYONE EVER Who Didn't Turn Up In Dance 'Til Dawn. Meaning: Jennifer "The Rachel" Aniston, John "Cliff Clavin" Ratzenberger, Chad "Our House" Allen, Richard "Wilhelm from Seinfeld" Herd, Candace "Donna Joe Tanner" Cameron, Danica "Winnie Cooper" McKellar, Breckin "Travis Birkenstock" Meyer, Josh "Paul Pfeiffer" Saviano, Sherman "Weezy's Husband" Hemsley, G. Gordon "Watergate" Liddy (!), and Jaleel "Did I Do That?" White. Weren't the late-80s/early-90s just like, THE BEST as far as entertainment? No, you say? It was a heap of feces-covered refuse? Because of programming such as Dance 'Til Dawn and Camp Cucamonga? I'LL BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN.

Season 1; Ep. 18 - It's Only A Test: Of My Patience. Get It? No? Whatever. I Don't Have The Energy. Enjoy This Soul-Sucking Episode. That's All I Got.

In which...whatever. This thing took me FOR.EV.ER. to finish. Obviously. But THANK ALL THE HEAVENS, it's just this one, and then four more, and then WE'RE DONE WITH EXECRABLE SEASON 1. And then we get to the kind-of-crummy Season 2 Summer episodes. And then some not-so-great, ACTUAL Junior-year episodes. So, okay. Like, MANY MORE EPISODES TO GO BEFORE THE FAIR-TO-MIDDLING PART OF SEASON 2. But I mean, there are still moments of "good" to come in Season 1; things like...Matthew Perry's performance as Rich Kid Mental Patient Roger Azarian? Except that that's more "unintentionally hilarious" than anything. And...I guess like, Brenda and Dylan Doing The It on the night of the Spring Dance? So fine, they're few and far between. But we're going to wade through the remaining crud together. Crud like this one. Where Brenda might have breast cancer. But totally doesn't. And Loathsome Steve and Equally As Loathsome AHHHHHHHNdrea kiss. And then an entire nation contemplates becoming Amish and throwing their televisions into the nearest dumpster. So, let's just...limp towards the finish line, okay? Hit it.

We open on these two jerks. Who have apparently become big fans of earth-tone-colored clothing of late, since THAT'S ALL THEY EVER SEEM TO WEAR. It's gross. Not that some of the Sinbadian shirts Steve wears in the coming years will be anything to celebrate. It's called Somewhere In The Middle, Steve. You should take a visit there sometime. ANYhow, Steve's going on and on about some "Alfred B. Cook" course that he's taking to prep for the upcoming SATs. Brandon's all, "You can't study for the SATs," and Steve shows him some brochure deal, and says, "They offer this special accelerator crash course, okay? I'm only thinking of you, buddy. You know what they say: Alfred B. Cook or You B. Fried," and I think this is the fastest that I've ever begun to hate Steve in an episode. So Brandon's all, "It's $500!" and because Steve is lacking in EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD except for money, he says, "So?" And THANK GOD Brandon's there to tell this shitsicle, "Forget it. You can't make up for 16 years of of ignorance in one week," and Steve continues sucking all, "Yeah, well that's true. But it's incredible what you can do in one month." WHATEVER.

Also: WHAT IN MATTED LABRADOODLE PELT HELL is going on on top of Steve's head? Like, if I were Ian Ziering, I would've sued the hair people who worked on 90210 for emotional distress for making me look goddamn HIDEOUS week after week, for years and years. I've mentioned before that the erstwhile Steve SAUNders is actually a pretty handsome dude (EXCEPT NOT ANYMORE BECAUSE CHIPPENDALES). I just...I think they really could've done a better job on his hair than...whatever this is. And we haven't even gotten to his Ultimate Mullet Phase, which is infinitely worse, if you can even imagine that being possible. So anyway. Moving on.

Brandon luckily ditches Steve and heads into the Blaze office, where he unfortunately has to deal with AHHHHHHHHHHNdrea, who's chewing on a pencil. Brandon is rightly grossed out by this all, "You know, I've wondered who's been masticating all the pencils around here," and AHHHHHHNdrea starts to get all suspicious with, "'Masticating'? Why did you use that word?" and Brandon doesn't catch on and says, "Because every time I turn around to grab a new pencil it's like, uch! Teeth marks," which was actually fairly funny.

GADS. Speaking of shitty hair. ANYway, AHHHHHHHHNdrea goes off, all, "Yeah, but you could've said chewed; I mean, 'masticating' is the kind of word they use on the SATs, the kind of word that you learn at one of those expensive SAT prep courses," and Brandon mentions Alfred B. Cook and AHHHHHHHHNdrea turns ALL accusatory, "I knew you were taking one of those prep courses! Let me just tell you something, Brandon, okay? That puts you at an unfair advantage over those people who cannot afford those expensive courses," meaning unseemly people who live in The Valley. And then Brandon basically gives her the same speech that he gave to Steve: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your fire, AHHHHHNdrea. First of all, I'm not taking one of those courses, Steve is. And second of all, I don't think they work. The SATs are designed to test you on stuff you already know, you can't cram for them."

And then AHHHHHHHHNdrea LOSES IT (her shit, that is) and says, "Then again, maybe you can! Maybe, just maybe there is some kind of system! Brandon, I am so bad at standardized testing [YEAH, RIGHT. AHHHHHHHHNdrea's totally one of those goons who ADORES standardized testing], I mean the colleges, they look at them as if they're gospel and I don't know what to do, I mean, this..." and then Brandon literally shakes her out of her babbling psychosis (although I wish a slap would've been involved as well...and possibly a roundhouse kick or two to her ugly combover-hair) and tells her, "Get a grip! We're talking about test you can retake twice if you want to. A test that's..." and then she interrupts with, "Going to determine whether I go to Princeton...or Pacoima." And then Brandon uses his Mad Investigative Journalistic SkillZ and asks if she's been talking to Steve. She says she has; that she "ran into him at my locker." Also: AHHHHHHHNdrea's jacket might be cute on anyone else. ALSO-also: Gabrielle Carteris should've been a co-plantiff in Ian Ziering's imaginary lawsuit against the show's hair styling team.

Programming Note: I Am Essentially A Lazy Asshole. But Now I Come With 10% More Riboflavin! (And By "10% More Riboflavin" I Mean "A Job".)

In which I FINALLY GOT A JOB AMEN HALLELUJAH FUCKING MY GOD. I was seriously beginning to think that I was going to have to start working at some "hip" LA eatery where the proprietor looks like a low-rent Melissa Manchester and wears lingerie and doesn't pay minorities and talks about cumin all the live long day.Or, that I was going to end up at some dumpy diner where the owner is fucking worthless and makes bad jokes and very obviously lives in The Valley because HIS HAIR, and should really only wear shirts with a blue collar because seriously. And then at some point I'd have to dress up as some nightmare kitschy cliche-of-a-waitress named, oh, let's just call her LaVOYne, and speak with a not-found-in-nature/humanity/the galaxy/New York-or-any-surrounding-areas accent and basically induce hatred and strokes in EVERYONE IN ALL THE WORLD. ThankHEAVENfully, I didn't have to do either of those things. But the moral of the story is: FINDING A JOB IN LOS ANGELES BITES THE BIG ONE. "THE BIG ONE" being "A GIGANTIC, PHALLIC-SHAPED TURD." But now that I am actually employed and am part of The Establishment, I ♥ The City Of Angels. Move over, Glen. 'Cause this is my LA now! Bitch. Also: You're creepy. Also: Paula Poundstone called; she wants HER ENTIRE WARDROBE BACK. Also: I finally made it to Venice Beach. It was gross and smelled of incense, urine, and overly ripe-vagrant. YOU CAN HAVE IT.


Where was I? Oh, right. Something no one cares about except me: my job. I actually have to take the subway downtown to get there, like Some Kind Of Adult! Okay, here it's called The Metro, but that's boring and mundane, so subway it is! And basically, my life is now a lot like this:

And OF COURSE I have to relate it to a TV program from the 90s. Would you expect anything less?



In terms of Business Casual Office Attire, I've been attempting to bring some Season 2 Brenda Walsh Menswear Realness. But I'm deluding myself because NO ONE will ever look as GLORIOUS as she did in this type of ensemble. NO. ONE. Also: pretty, pretty hair. Moving on.


What I'm trying to say, to all  -27 of you (not including my Imaginary Friends...oh, who am I kidding? They don't read this dreck, either) is that eventually, once I get used to my new schedule (meaning, no more drinking boxed wine and mainlining Nutella 'til the break of dawn), I should be able to get back into Blogging Mode. I know! Aren't you so beyond excited that you're doing this right now:

(Sorry; my Homeslice For Life Benjamin [Hi, Benjamin!] sent me this yesterday along with the news that he will be making a trek down to LA from San Francisco for a visit in a few weeks [why do you care about this? You don't.], and now I need to insert it into as many of my life settings as possible. Basically, this will be queued-up on my phone at all times, so that I can use it as a reaction to whatever good news comes my way. Also: SHARON NEEDLES 4EVA.)

For now, I'll leave you with the following: the erstwhile Steve SAUNders...wait for it...WILL BE DOING CHIPPENDALES IN VEGAS THIS SUMMER CHRIST ALMIGHTY THIS IS YOUR CUE TO LAUNCH YOURSELF INTO OUTER-OUTER SPACE. I mean. I guess there's nothing wrong with it, really. No. You know what? There IS something wrong with it. Specifically, this:

ALL OF THIS. SWEET SHIT. I just...I can't. No. I CANNOT. WHAT YEAR IS IT? THE GUY ON THE FAR LEFT APPARENTLY CAME HERE IN HIS DELOREAN DMC-12 FROM TOTAL REQUEST LIVE IN 1999. WHY, IAN ZIERING, WHY????? Remember in my "Slumber Party" recap, where I actually praised Mr. Ziering for apparently not aging since the year 2000 (WHEN THE GUY ON THE LEFT IN THE PICTURE ABOVE WAS IN A SEVENTEENTH-TIER BOY BAND OUT OF ORLANDO CALLED, LIKE, O-FACE OR SOMETHING) and being handsome, etc.? Well, I take it back. ALL OF IT BACK. 

Mostly because in this picture, it looks as though he's taking an especially painful grumper while executing an overhead press. This series of photos, by the way, are of Ian preparing for the aforementioned Chippendales gig with a little CrossFit.

Okay, fine. He still has a nice smile. And I mean, he's fit blah blah PUT YOUR STEVE SAUNDERS SPECIAL BACK ON I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THAT blah. He looks...good. I mean, dude's pushing 50.

And speaking of The Steve SAUNders Special, I think Ian will do juuuuust fine with the tacky little collar-and-bow-tie (plus cuffs!) that is the standard Chippendales uniform. Although, I really think they should allow him to remove the tie, slap on a nape-length frizzy wiglet, and relive his curly-mulleted "youth." I'm sure there will be housewives in the audience who will get off on a little Steve "Lace-Front" SAUNders-action.

So, I guess I'll be back. Soon, I hope. The remaining episodes of Season 1 have all been transcribed; it's just a matter of finding the time to come here and put my brilliance and humor to good use. And by "brilliance"  and "humor" I of course mean "durrrrrrrr" and "I am basically a watered down version of Jack and Sky combined, which kind of makes me want to drown myself in a puddle of my own vomit, tears, and fecal matter."

See you on the flip side! Whatever that means.

(Images via Google and Too Fab, with my Mad Microsoft Paint SkillZ shining through on the last picture, obvs.)

Season 1; Ep. 17 - Stand (Up) And Deliver: A Lot Of Things Would Be More Enjoyable Than Watching This One. Things Like Rabies. Or Being Scalped. Or Death.

In which the author of this blog seriously contemplates elective insulin shock therapy, just to avoid having to write about Brandon running for Junior class president. In March. Of his Junior year. Also to be dodged: delving into the reasons behind Brenda's sudden status as an outcast, which ultimately leads her to associating with two supremely self-important windbags (no, not Brandon or Steve) who fancy themselves "funny" and "relevant," but who I find rather "annoying" and "the predominant reasons behind my ultimate psychological demise." You'll most likely want to beat up your television set after this one, so gather your boxing gloves, a couple of jugs of off-brand wine, and what's left of your common sense (I mean, you are willingly watching the show and reading this rant-soaked blog) and let's set this night to hatred.

We start out with...two boring losers. Brandon? Please stop wearing shirts that look like you've washed them fifty-seven times and now they're faded pieces of shit and you can't afford new ones. Or just buy yourself some goddamn Cheer Colorguard. AHHHHHHHNdrea? Stop wearing...that. ALLLLLL OF THAT. ANYway, AHHHHHHHHNdrea tracks Brandon down in the hall (which probably wasn't hard, considering she most likely stalks him all the live long day) saying, "Hey, yo, Ace! Wait up," and I'm assuming that Tony Micelli got his hands on the script again. And Brandon's all, "Oh, you've got a determined look on your face," and AHHHHHHHNdrea replies, "Nope. What I've got is a proposition."

And because Brandon is emotionally manipulative and a gigantic horndog, he slings his arm around AHHHHHHHHNdrea's shoulders all, "Well, your desk or mine, huh?" and I don't have to tell you that I immediately shotgunned a bottle of apple cider vinegar and a box of baking soda after hearing that inhumanity escape Brandon's facehole. But AHHHHHHHNdrea totally gets off on it and probably thinks it's actually going to happen HURL and then creams her Granny Panties as she says, "Look, it came to me in the middle of the night like a vision," and hands him this:

WOW, what an attention-grabbing flyer! How could you not RUN FOR OFFICE after seeing this thing? ANYhow, Brandon says, "Run for office? No one even knows me here." He forgot to mention that he's also a condescending dickbag most of the time, so people probably wouldn't want to vote for him anyway. Good thing I was around to remind everyone.

Also: I'm only going to mention this once (even though I kind of already have), because it really bugs the shit out of me but UM, I HOPE THIS IS FOR THE NEXT SCHOOL YEAR BUT IT TOTALLY ISN'T BECAUSE YOU'LL SEE LATER THAT BRANDON'S IDIOTIC CAMPAIGN POSTERS HAVE "JUNIOR CLASS PRESIDENT" EMBLAZONED ON THEM AND DAVID REFERS TO BRANDON AS AN ENTRY IN THE "JUNIOR CLASS PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION" AND THIS IS WHAT, MARCH AND THAT MAKES NO SENSE. BECAUSE BRANDON IS CURRENTLY A JUNIOR. UNLESS THE WRITERS HAD ALREADY DECIDED THAT THIS WAS ACTUALLY THEIR SOPHOMORE YEAR AND DIDN'T MENTION IT TO THE VIEWING AUDIENCE.WHY DON'T I HAVE A LIFE? BECAUSE THIS KIND OF STUFF KEEPS ME AWAKE AT NIGHT. Moving on.

But AHHHHHHHHNdrea, who really needs to go back to the drawing board in terms of hair, clothing, eyeglasses, and demeanor, says, "Yeah, but that's perfect. No one knows you well enough to hate you," and I would like to interject here and say I KNOW HIM WELL ENOUGH TO HATE HIM. ME. RIGHT HERE. And then Brandon is all, "Have a nice day, AHHHHHHHNdrea," and AHHHHHHHHNdrea's got a case of the sads because she thought he was serious about bumping uglies in the Blaze office. And she says, "Brandon, please. The candidate I was backing chickened out; there is no reason we have to let the popular airheads [read: Anyone Who isn't Deep And Profound Because They Live Out Of The District, i.e. AHHHHHHHHNdrea] run the student government. Now are you a candidate, or a coward?" And I'd say "coward" because he's a huge pansy about most things, but whatever.

Season 1; Ep. 16 - Fame Is Where You Find It: What Would Ease The Pain Of Having To Sit Through This One? Crack Cocaine. Crack Cocaine Would Be Helpful.

In which Brandon's already overinflated ego gets engorged even more after he's handpicked to become the next leading man on some teen-centric shit-show. And no, I'm not talking about Beverly Hills, 90210. And Brenda is at once NO NO NO NO NO and FUCK NO when she transforms herself into "Laverne," a god-awfully "New York"-accented, cat-eye-bespectacled, lip-syncing waitress who terrorizes customers at The Peach Pit when filling in for Brandon while he's taking the first, tentative steps towards his EGOT. YES ALL OF THIS IS SERIOUSLY HAPPENING. Grab yourself a vat of Pepto, a pallet of TUMS, and a loaded Beretta (for when - not if - things get a little too alarmingly awkward and uncomfortable and suicide is your only way out) and let's do this.

MY GOD UNFORTUNATELY, we open with this. Brandon's playing hockey all by his lonesome in some park, which looks suspiciously similar to the park where he and Karla "broke-up." I use the term "broke-up" loosely, as THEY ONLY GODDAMN KNEW EACH OTHER FOR ONE GODDAMN WEEK. Moving right along.

I mean...at least it's not a Canadian Tuxedo? His proto-Old Navy cargo pants are hiked up to Jesus, however, and I'm certain that if his hand...pad? protection? glove? weren't in the way, we'd probably being seeing a whole lot of his Little Minnesota.

And then, in another part of the park, MISCHIEF IS AFOOT. 

And this family is completely oblivious to the VERY OBVIOUS creeper looming in the background there, peeking around the tree like some ersatz Boogie Man, just waiting to steal some sandwiches or like, cut the string on their kite. MONSTER.

But no! This totally inept crook actually wanted the woman's purse. Which she was a stupid bitch about and just left laying on the picnic table, all waiting for all the world, or specifically, this guy with his gross, crotch-revealing, light x INFINITY jeans, to thief. 

So he doesn't get very far and then starts rifling through the bag, like, dude? Time to go back to Petty Theft School. And he also kind of gives me a Sparkly Vampire From Those Abortion Twilight Movies vibe, so basically, I want him to be caught, sentenced to life in prison, and sodomized repeatedly every time he takes a shower.

THANK GOODNESS this 35-year-old 2nd grade teacher with her SUPER-Ogilvie-home-permed forelock and MOTHER-FUCKING Steve SAUNders Special is there to save the day! She lays down the the truth talk on him: "Looking for something? Don't make me turn you in, Kirk."

And then Criminal Kirk is all, "Well, don't make me use this. I'll do it. I swear, I'll do it!" and we're maybe three minutes in to this and I already want to take a nap. Or a lethal injection of say, codeine with a potassium chloride chaser.

Oh, but this plucky gal sees right through Kirk! And dispenses some down-home wisdom that only someone dressed and coiffed like that could offer: "You wanna cut me? Go ahead. But you know that won't solve anything. Oh, god, you have so much to live for. Don't throw it all away. Not now, not like this," and Curly Sue, you guys? She is so wise.

Season 1; Ep. 15 - Palm Springs Weekend: Keep A Couple Of Home Depot Brand Buckets Nearby For This One, Guys. TRUST ME.

In which Dylan tries to pressure Brenda into sleeping with him, and kind-of-sort-of acts like The Biggest Tool In The Shed about it. It's called masturbation, Dylan. Look into it. I know you're all Experienced Bad Boy, but whatever. Also, Gap-Toothed Stuart Carson from Season 4 shows up (as a Non-Stuart bellhop or some shit) and David is at once The Worst Friend Ever as well as The Worst Grandson Ever. He also has The Worst Hair Ever. And The Worst Shirt Ever. Start it up.

CRIMINY. Look, you know how much I love me some Brenda + Dylan, but he's eating her face off here, LOUDLY, and it's quite disturbing. But his car is giving my eyeballs an erection, so whatever.

Brenda manages to push Dylan off of the snack bar that is apparently her face and says, "Dylan. We've gotta stop," an Dylan agrees all, "Yeah, we gotta stop; I'm dying here." Meaning he has balls the color of an overripe plum and is sporting a Woodrow the size of the Speedster's gear shift. 

And then he turns into Mr. Congeniality and says, "Brenda, we've been going out for two months now; I have been absolutely faithful to you and all I get is a bunch of promises and a lot of I'm sorry," and this is just charming. And by "charming," I of course mean "fucking gross." Like, because he somehow managed to not stick his dick into some other girl's bearded clam, Brenda now OWES IT TO HIM TO SLEEP WITH HIM??? Dylan, you are officially on restriction.

ANYway. Brenda says she's sorry, and Dylan's all, "Don't be sorry; be friendly," meaning "Give me a handy," I presume. And Brenda again denies him, saying that she can't; he asks, "How about next weekend?" and Brenda says, "I'm going to Palm Springs with Kelly and Donna next weekend," for Presidents' Day (a rocking, party-hard holiday if ever there was one) and Dylan gets all kinds of huffy (negative thirty-seven-hundred points for that) and then suggests that he get them a room in Palm Springs instead, and she can tell her parents that she's still hanging out with The Terrible Twosome. Because I guess 16 year-olds can just rent hotel rooms? But I guess because his father is Shitty Diarrhea Garbage Person Swindler Jack McKay, all of these swanky hotels all over Southern California just let Dylan shack up and fuck girls, etc., no questions asked. WHATEVER. 

So Brenda is still uncertain, and says she doesn't know and Dylan looks at her like this and says, "Yes, you do," and because I am not a robot, I love Dylan again. THE END.