The Again With This podcast won't cheapen what this is about.
Jamie, either buy a brush and use it, or consider a more practical style. This hot-rollered situation isn't indicated for an emergency room.
Obvious schemer is still obvious, but appears not to have a scheme for rinsing out her conditioner all the way.
Another magical Zipverse toilet.
Negative aura detected. Silent-movie overacting of same also detected. From...space.
Junkiespreading.
Savor your sole look at Turner, as getting an actor to agree to portray him in the present day was evidently too tough a sell.
These extras sure are savoring their shot at baleful gesticulation.
We hear you, buddy. It is almost incomprehensible how much Brandon sucks.
"And furthermore, let the record reflect that the student senator behind Mr. Diaz has just farted."
Yep, that's the kind of terror-at-being-confronted-with-the-feelings-of-The-Other leadership quality we've all come to admire in Brandon.
One scrunchie for actual hairstyling; one to use as a garrote on Shortstack McTentpants.
Donna's hair isn't great either, but what is this Clarrah Fawcett dealie?
Who doesn't like to be lectured by Nana?
...Right. Well, maybe he just needs a minute to consider the complex issues Ohhhhhndrea's trying to raise.
HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA! As if he'd ever tolerate being questioned.
Thank God, someone we like! And now that D'Shawn's gotten to the heart of Turner's whole self-promotion "brand," we can just spend the rest of the ep watching D'Shawn eat a sammich or read the phone book, right?
RIGHT?!
...Fuck. Fine, so meanwhile, Donna is wearing the brown long-sleeved polo my brother had on in his pre-K class picture in 1981, a sailor-styled napkin skort, nurse trouser socks, and a centurion helmet made out of her own hair. Why.
"Am I a sellout? And did I remember to feed the parrot that lives in these giant hoop earrings this morning?"
We don't doubt this signmaker's sincerity, but: henh? Is his/her point that anti-Semites...exist? Are...bad? Pull a PA off crafty and scare up a verb, will you?
Now that's the bray of a president. (Of SAG.)
Sincerely, dear reader: WHY ARE HIS LEGS SO FAR APART? He looks like when "Cotton-Eye Joe" comes on at aqua-robics! Ain't no way your branch stretches that far across the crick, motherfucker, so point your tiny knees forward already! HATE!
One of many way-too-close-ups of Brandon mulling his legacy (and about that: NO ONE CARES) while having crappy hair.
What the flaptastical aerodynafuck is happening here?
"Well, no, sir, he can't come to the phone; he has the gall to brood about this contretemps in the office of a man who risked his life to integrate the south. ...No, I don't believe he's 'finally gotten a fucking haircut.' ...No, I can't punch him in the dick; his pants are too big."
Kelly's cover is not that exciting, Donna, and even if it were, that story limps along for like four years, so pace yourself. Not to mention she's going with...
...whatever Kristy McNichol, Sister-Wife cosplay is going on here. Where'd they even get that dress, Carol Burnett's old Eunice closet?
Braying at persons not present. Note brows of profound self-pity.
Yikes. Not to mention the background actors look like they're at a museum. (Does anyone else always feel sorry for whatever PA had to create bigoted props/set design? I'd probably just fuck it up a bunch of times so they'd ask someone else.)
Donna's embarrassingly extravagant gift, which at first Sarah thought she was "wearing" because that "dress" is so short, it's a "dr."
It's...a one-night event that was on the brink of getting cancelled until like 10 minutes before the start time. Maybe make do with some oaktag? It's not like nobody heard about it.
Brandon contemplates what it all means...and no doubt concludes that he's King Shit Of Fuck Mountain again, some more.
