...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.
In which fucking Steve, man. Just...what a blight upon mankind and his friends and curly hair everywhere.
So we start with approximately 87 hours of track and field events in slow-mo. First up is this guy doing the long? jump? And panting. And grunting. Also presented in slow-motion.
And then this different guy lands in the sand pit thing or whatever, with a bunch of Randos watching from the sidelines. All of this is nearly as fascinating as the early-episode hockey antics we were subjected to during "Fire and Ice."
High jump. More grunting.
These people run around the track, huffing and puffing and some are wearing Spandex bike shorts, which was required of anyone participating in a physical activity in the early '90s. Or by girls like me who badly wanted to be their middle school's Clarissa Darling or Kelly Kapowski and failing miserably on all counts.
A baton is passed. My nose begins to bleed because I've snorted a bunch of methamphetamine in a desperate attempt to stay awake.
This 37-year-old man prepares a shot put. We'll be dealing with this piece of shit's smug face more in a few minutes. Anyway, he - SHOCK - grunts and throws the shot.
Steve. Stretching. In one of his trusty Forever 21 clearance rack racer-back tanks. Which provides just a hint of a view of his right nipple. Thanks for that, Steve.
There's a gun shot, unfortunately not directed toward Steve's hair. It was actually a starting gun for these FUCKING GROWN MEN, like, straight-up 30-something-dudes, to start their hurdle race.
Then we get this shot of an old-school stop watch being stopped or started and we see that it belongs to...
...This Guy! You know, the guy in "The Next Fifty Years" where Dead Scott dead-Scotted himself into that great big dude ranch in the sky? Mr. Chapman! Or, Chappie, as I like to call him (no, I don't, but it stays for the remainder of the recap).
Here's a guy pole vaulting and can you guess what he's doing while vaulting? Can you???
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.
We open here...
So we start with approximately 87 hours of track and field events in slow-mo. First up is this guy doing the long? jump? And panting. And grunting. Also presented in slow-motion.
