So a bunch of stuff happened last week. Check it out. I wonder if Brooke talks that way in real life.
“Hi, honey, I made dinner tonight. Check it out.”
“Hey, the pregnancy test is ready. Check it out.”
“Last week I found some naked pictures of David Hasselhoff on the internet. Check it out.”
Guess what happened next? Right, the weekly square dance. But since we’re down to six rockers it was a triangle dance. I wonder if they have those in really, really small towns. But I digress. They all celebrated the greatness of Patrice by munching on the mansion carpet. Then they moved on to the lickable wallpaper to get the taste out of their mouths. “Lovely stuff, lickable wallpaper!” cried Lukas, rushing past, while Storm exclaimed, “And when you lick a snozberry, it tastes exactly like a snozberry!”
Speaking of snozberries, Dilana refused to join in the toast Storm proposed in honor of Dilana’s first spanking, explaining that everything she says is taken the wrong way. Just like the other day when I called Moist Rub a dillhole. What I meant to say was, “Jolly nice day, old sport. How about joining me for some polo?” Storm pretended to be all caring and stuff not unlike when some snot nosed kid tries to show you his table salt collection.
So Dilana runs away crying so that nobody will know that she’s running away crying and sits morosely by the pool. Lukas was probably out there reminding her, “Dude, you fucked up, man…” when poor Magni comes by just in time to see Dilana’s meltdown, which involves the very uncool act of breaking her glass poolside. She’s going to lose her pool privileges for the rest of the summer if she keeps that up and will have to watch sadly from her window when it’s time for the big chicken fight tournament, which we all know how much she loves. The gravitational pull of Magni’s bald head also attracted several shards of the glass, one of which lodged in the speech center of his brain causing him to begin speaking exactly like Pee Wee Herman. We’ve yet to learn if this also affects his singing voice. Dr. Ryan Star tended to our fallen hero, waiting valiantly outside the bathroom door in case Magni passed out from blood loss so he could steal his bangin’ shades. With all this blood flying around, I’d hate to be Magni’s dry cleaner. They page Toby, who has been relegated to the position of mansion custodian, to sweep up around the pool and around Magni’s head. Meanwhile, Storm comforts the sobbing Dilana by holding her tightly and singing apartheid anthems, reminding her that she can always return to her homeland and be the Celine Dion of Sun City. Dilana calms down and sits on the ledge of her window, hoping to get crapped on by a pigeon.
Next is the photo shoot clinic. Dilana is afraid that she’s going to mess up this clinic as well by spitting at the photographer, because she’s just too honest to know better. Storm is up first and starts out with the titillating line, “Where would you like me – up on the table, I imagine?” She then proceeds to climb on the table and hump the candlesticks, but only like a brother. She claims to have done some modeling in the past, but as a respected journalist I had to verify this for myself and can report that she has in fact done some nude modeling.
They make Toby jump up and down on the couch, just because they know he won’t win and they want to mess with him. Lukas declares, “I ain’t no model, man” but works with the dude to get that totally “goth glam dirty rock shot” that has been his sole purpose since 9th grade. The other rockers played a trick on Ryan and, instead of telling him the photographer was from In Touch magazine, they crossed it out on Ryan’s invite and wrote in Angst Magazine. Magni tells everyone that he’s a singer, and not Harrison Ford, as if the photo studio were the Temple of Doom. He’s obviously uncomfortable, but I blame the roll of guaze wrapped around his head from the unfortunate wine glass incident. Finally, Dilana broods and wonders why anyone would want to take a picture of someone who’s as ugly on the inside as she is. And then she remembers it doesn’t matter because everyone else is her bitch and smokes the rest of the photo shoot.
Song selection time, so the producers text message the rockers on their Verizon VCast phones and tell them to drop what they’re doing immediately, hop in their Hondas, and get back to the mansion stat, because the friggin’ MSN servers are actually working and not timing out and they need to find out what the fans chose for them to sing. Storm was impressed with the “gigundus” flat screen monitor that would reveal the following:
Lukas gets Lithium so that he can have the opportunity to crush his arch nemesis Dilana. It doesn’t sound like he’ll be borrowing her hoodie, although it would probably fit.
Toby gets Rebel Yell and everyone is all like, EVS.
Magni, I believe, gets I Alone, but I’m not sure because I was distracted by the steel halo he was wearing while his head wound healed.
Storm gets Bring Me To Life by that band whose name I can’t spell. She declares it a tough one to sing, but I think she also meant to say it was a tough one to spell.
Ryan gets Clocks and plays up his role as a corporate shill by explaining that because of the feedback from his fans on MSN and VCast he knows how to sing the song. If Suave Porn had any integrity left they should kick him off the show just for being such a whore. But then they are executive producers of this mess…
Finally, Dilana gets Mother, Mother, and I’m so tired of her that I don’t even want to spend any time thinking of something clever to say.
Rehearsals, and we get to see Lukas trying to arrange Lithium in the folk flamenco style of Antonio Chacon. This gets Paul pissed off, because he’s Paul and has to listen to these little creeps tell him what to do. Don’t they realize he was in mother fuckin’ Nelson?
Finally, the epilogue – the group photo and they’re all dressed up like they’re going to a wedding and their parents won’t let them wear their black finger nail polish. Finally the photog suggests a nude photo. Ryan begins stripping immediately while Lukas has a panicked look on his face, suggesting, you know, that, well, maybe, I just guessing here, but he might regret that Tinkerbell tattoo on his ass. I know I regret mine.