In this episode we go full-on #Bartleby because, given the dour prospects of our already ruinous country, we’d really Prefer Not To. But the world needs humor (maybe!) and, failing that, I guess speaking erratically about a TV show will have to suffice!
(but you can skip to around 30 minutes in if you want to skip the political talk)
Oh the Hamptons, oh 2013, it was a simpler time (not really). Already, reports of nipple-rubbing displays of dominance are resounding up and down the coast of Montauk, and the amount of shirtless Jack in this episode is, frankly, unprecented. But hey, what can you do? With a ButterPersonality like that, you gotta flex those pythons whenever you can, especially when the Wee Baby Coerl seems in direr danger than ever before–menaced as he is by a certain Surprise Englishmun.
(cast Blaster, Couerl! it’ll reduce that lickspittle twerp to 1 hp and then daddy’s rock-hard nips will finish the job!)
So look, things Hamptons-side aren’t so hot either! Given Aiden’s Perceived Dubba-Double Cross, he’s clearly auditing a couple classes at the Tony Almeida Revenge Junior College, only to all-too-soon learn that 3 credit hours of yelling “MICHELLE!” isn’t going to suffice when he’s thrown deep into the battle-belly of Conrad’s finest Les Mis ensemble rendition you’ve seen this side of that movie where Russel Crowe pretty much just spoke-sang all his lines.
Speaking of the French Revolution, Margaux’s Dreaming a [comparatively low-aspiration] Dream of having her publishing magnate father show up in America for the launch of her magazine. When–BIG SHOCKO–he decides his daughter’s distribution debut is beneath him, Margaux stumbles around the launch party in a daze and stammers out some line about him being unable to attend because he broke his “jambe” getting broken “dans l’avion”–basically, the adult version of “my dad, the fireman-slash-president, couldn’t come to give a lecture to our social studies class because he’s in Canada fighting the Nazis”–and crosses her petite fingers & toes that nobody remembers their high school French well enough to call her on her absurd and easily rebuked lie.
Regrettably, listeners, it is Margaux’s cruel lot that her life be as pathetic as it is fictitious, and so it should come as no surprise that not only did Victoria minor in French during her time at Vassar, she also possesses the bat-like hearing and carnivorous blood-hunger of a true Vassar alum. Thus, with the scent of wounded-daughter in the air, Victoria homes in and whispers to a heart-heavy Margaux a mild set of words that just might patch the wounded enfant abandonné’s irreparably père-damaged couer that being: “you gotta use that femininity; like, with your body; the sensuality, I mean; it can, perhaps, be a weapon.”
And thus, confident with weaponized femininity like when you pick up a rocket launcher in Metal Slug and it goes all “RAWKET LAWN CHAIR” and you’re like “wtf this guy smoke before he do this recording??? :o” Margaux strides right out of that office and embarks on a bold and unexpected new life path of using her Femininity in the Weaponized manner (read: booty shake) to make Jack feel bad for standing her up at the launch party (read: in lieu of actually confronting her father). And that’s all she wrote! Wow! This shit really works! I got a feeling not a single bad or sad thing will afflict the young Lemarchal scion ever again!
Otherwise, Stuff is Rough! And you don’t need me to tell that. Emily certainly doesn’t, with the way Aiden’s going around being a prick (that being, because he has the hornies for her) and Jack certainly doesn’t with the way Aiden’s going around being a prick sort-of on Emily’s behalf (that being, on the business end of a louisville slugger), and Victoria certainly doesn’t, with the way Emily makes her waste whole Sundays on dress fittings which should be a holy and sacred event not something you invite the sweaty poors too–that being, did Emily really have to come? I know it’s for her wedding but…………………..–and Danny certainly doesn’t with the way he, hit harder by these eddying tides than anyone else, desperately wants to spend his day off watching Air Buddies 3: Space Buddies but he can’t because it’s child-locked inside a tempting hutch and none of the Martha’s will come over to Emily’s beach house to open it for him.
Look, it’s not going to be easy from here on out. You know it. I know it. Everyone with anything but a potato perched upon their neck stalk knows it. So let’s just try to think about, on the plus side, how many “ships” this episode “christens” (did I use that right??) when weaponized femiWINity of MarGack’s flares bright enough for even the upstairs Emily voyeurs to see and volleys its opening kiss gambit straight into the laps of PatLan’s “well I don’t exactly trust you with all the creepy stuff you did but I guess we’re here so let’s take our shirts off and see what these nips end up doing.”
Oh PatLan, we all knew exactly what those nips were going to do since the very start.
*whispers* …rub like the devil hisself…
Topics for Consideration:
A Toxic Brew Of Social Misgivings
You Are My Plasma Rifle (But Also So’s My Penis)
Victoria’s Marinara Trench Backup Plan
Clams For Days
The Feelings BUTTcony
WHO ARE YOU O_O
Also, my book is coming out! Like Wednesday! Wow! But you’re reading this on social media, so you’ve probably already been innundated with talk about that. Sorry! I don’t know where else to put it. Moving on, CLICK THIS HERE LINK.
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