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|:HOME:|:RANTS:|:JANUARY 21, 1999:
"Trials and Tribulations"
JANUARY 21, 1999

What was it, rut-night? Did we have to see just about everyone on the show going at it like dogs in heat- oh, wait, they ARE dogs in heat!

Anyway...

Since I missed the mark or dropped the ball or whatever on the WHY list, and since I don't wanna re-hash the Big Important Stupid Things that you guyses already pointed out, I did something a little different this time....

Dear Skeevy Stevie,

Why are you such a freaking pathetic loser? Why do I grow to loathe you more and more with each show? And what was up with the all the sacrilegious crap, huh? Although I appreciate the implications of "there but for the grace of Kelly," I think calling your pitiable Ode to Penisness the "gospel according to Sanders" was, oh, just a wee bit much. And how many times did we have to see The Technique? It's just underscoring your Capital-L-Loserness, you big weenie. However, I'm just really glad you cleared up the definition of a "PhD"... now that I know it can be a "metaphorical" term, I'll just quit wasting all my time in grad school. You stupid dog.

Furthermore, I am sick of watching you sing, yodel, laugh, preen, make google-eyes and all the other supposed-comedic gesticulations in your repertoire. Did you and Tori go to the same acting coach or something? Why doesn't the show just announce Steve and Donna are long-lost twins and get it over with?

Also, sugar, I'm pleased to see that you've been keeping up with our Episode here on the boards... the pinky-red shirt/red jacket combo - and calling Davy "Dave" - was tre Devon Dean the Big Queen. I'll consider it a shout-out and wait for my royalty check... or at the very least , a thank-you note.

Dear Donna-Tori,

Yes, I know you are so beautiful and attractive and desirable that we have to see your boyfriend totally enamored of you and hot for your bendy-wendy body, but must we be constantly subjected to too-long scenes of you grappling, pawing, osculating, gyrating and fornicating? I know, I know, you "do comedy" and what could be more gut-busting fuh-nee than the whole Catholic Girl turned Horny Girl. Plus it's endearing - not to mention a positive and strong feminist image - to see you after all these years so in touch with your sexuality and your carnal desires. However. That does not mean we want to see your hoisted leg, your tongue, your pneumatic bazoombas pressed up against that one-dimensional boyfriend of yours, and especially, WE DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU HAVING WACKY HIJINX WHEN IT INVOLVES SKINNY DIPPING! We don't ever ever ever want to see ANYTHING involving skinny dipping with you, Noah, or ANY OTHER HILLSTER EVER AGAIN. Who was it who said "raise your hand if *ew*"? Please tell your Daddy for us, m'kay?

Okay. And. I know you are stunningly beautiful and have a gorgeous (gore-juice?) body, but for chrissake, BUTTON UP YOUR SHIRT!

And speaking of Daddy, the whole Freudian notion of you "playing doctor" with your Daddy's stuff was really disturbing. And the shy/exhibitionist bit was awfully strained... I mean, you'll rut and paw and doink in front of all your friends, which is really kute and fuh-nee and sickeningly insecure (oops, did I say that?) and all, but you freak out with carpet men in the same house? Or your teddy bear... you can't doink with Mr. Hunnytub or Tiddlywonk or La-di-da-di-BoopBoop watching...? Try putting him in the closet, say, or under the desk. I just don't get the big deal about all this.... For Gawd's sake, can't you two spend a hundred bucks and rent a room?

And I know, I KNOW that you Do Comedy, but does your Doing Comedy have to take the guise of imitating other Comedy Done before you? For instance, I believe the "Oooooh nooooo" that you squeaked at Noah has already been Done Comedically by, say, Mr. Bill. And the whole sudden morphing into a Valley Girl with the bit about how doinkage in the parents' house "totally freaks me out" and you'd "totally trip" and all that was really Comedic, but, Moon Unit is so eighteen years ago. (Wait... EIGHTEEN YEARS!? ACK!) And truthfully? I do it much better than you. So, to quote from the movie: Fuck you... fer shur."

I would also like to congratulate you on promoting Roolz Grrl rules for Kelly on how to keep that man interested. "Play it cool and don't tip your hand." That's really a sound philosophy. You oughta inform your cousin Gina of that one.

Dear Noah,

How many times are we going to have to see you save Poor Frail Donna as a tertiary (TM xix) validation of her Essential Wonderfulness and Lovability, because someone that Wonderful deserves a Heroic Boyfriend who is willing to Save her when she's in Big Trouble. Take a hint, Boat Boy. Die.

Dear Davy,

First of all, quit laughing at Gertrude, you lout! Second of all, didja know that Gina somehow got into your house to root around in Dylan's stuff and bring him his drugs? Third of all, SHAVE!

Dear Kelly,

So you invite a guy to go away with you for the weekend and you expected him to pay for everything? Why have I never tried that!? Oh, and, Dr. Kelly, Psych Student, thank you for throwing around overused Psychobabble terms like "closure" and analyzing Dylan's Dysfunctions for us... but if you're so insightful, how come you are so pathetically insecure and can't recognize it? I mean, if we're talking pop psychology, Dr. Kelly, I have three words for you: Co-dependent No More.

By the way, what was up with the "I brought the onion dip are you guys naked"? Are you attempting to Do Comedy too? God help us all.

Dear Lawyer-Boy,

Do you have any personality at all? And I hate to break it to you, but having sex is not equated, germ/hygiene-wise, with sharing a toothbrush. And if you'll let Kelly use your toothbrush, why won't you let her be in the bathroom when you take a shower, or even keep the door open? Do you just not want her to know you pee in the shower?

What was up with your mixed message, hollering to the world that Kelly's your girlfriend, then sheepishly querying "Do you think anyone heard?" like you're embarrassed for doing it?

I *am* glad to see that you take such an active interest in the emotional well-being of your clients. I think a really neat thing to do in between jail and rehab is, say, going to a BBQ!

Scum-sucker. How appropriate that a lawyer is the new Hillster.

Dear Gina,

Yeah, I know it's the whole Vulnerable Bad Girl bit, but really, what did you expect from your so-called relationship with a rebounding junkie who has never disguised the fact that he's using you for drugs and doinkage. What are you, Gwynevere groveling before King Arthur a la Malory or something? "Let me take care of you!" "be with me!" "Come home with me!" We know you have a spine by the way you ripped Kelly a new rosebud-pink asshole, so please kick it into gear when Boyz are around.

Dear Dylan,

Go away. Your story line is boring. You are boring. If this is "taking your character in new directions" as promised, it ain't working. But I will say, you are the most polite criminal I've ever seen, with the reassuringly parental "shhhh" gestures and even being nice enough to say "I'm sorry" before you left. And the line about the "wasted phone call" was really ironic. Did you, like, do that on purpose?

Dear Janet,

What were you doing at Skeevy Stevie's court thingie? Why were you hanging all over him at the Big BBQ when he's chortling about the fact that he's a liar who's proud about his ability to scam women... and to scam men re: scamming women. I'll admit, having you on hand to call his stupid video by its true title, "At Home Training for Dirt Bag Losers" was a nice touch. But I don't get why you even share the same air as him.... Please, please, fight the Gravitational Pull of the Hillster Males and move to another dating pool. And while it was interesting to finally hear that you had a last name, I couldn't understand what the hell you said. Oh, and p.s.: loose those pathetic denim capri pants.

Dear Judge Judy- I mean, Judge Mary,

Why did you even listen to Stevie's drivel masquerading as a "closing statement?" Why did you put up with that "grandma approach" skeevy butt-kissing bullshit? Why are there martini shakers on the podiums?

Dear Security Systems People,

Why is it the Martins' house can have all these false alarms, yet Dylan can somehow manage to just barge into an even bigger and more expensive mansion with no security gates, no panic buttons, no nuthin'? Oh, and give Davy Silver a call... he needs a system set up quick so Gina can't drug-run for Dylan.

Dwanollah

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