Meanwhile, Salima's at home, telling us in a voice-over that she was willing to go with Morgan, against her parent's wishes, just so that Morgan could go to his senior prom. "And I was willing to face the consequences," she says, "which would probably mean getting kicked out of the house. He didn't realize that." Oh. Really? I've got a novel idea, Salima. TELL HIM. Jesus. He's a GUY. They don't know what in the hell you're talking about until you TELL THEM. Trust me. You should have told him what you were willing to do. My God. You're staying home alone tonight because you DIDN'T TELL HIM WHAT YOU WERE WILLING TO DO?! Shut up, Salima. Just shut up. Just curl up on your bed and wonder what it would have been like if you had SPOKEN.
Meanwhile, Morgan gets his picture taken with several people in formal dress; Kiwi tells Shanna she looks beautiful; some guy hangs all over Anna; and then Anna, in her beautiful dress, gets her picture taken with Brent-Damaged, who has apparently misunderstood the dress code and outfitted himself as if he were a member of the Sopranos cast. Black suit, black shirt, WHITE TIE?! God.
Oh, Jesus. We're at Brent's place, and he's showing Anna his collection of TREES. ["No, he fucking well is not. What? He is? DUDE." -- Wing Chun] "This is actually," says Brent-Damaged, "one of the largest collections of dwarf conifers and Japanese maples in the Midwest." Anna drops down to her knees and begs Brent-Damaged to take her as his wife, because his knowledge of obscure foliage awes her to her very core. "Take me, Brent-Damaged!" she shrieks, grinding her hips on his rented shoe. "Take me and make me YOUR DWARF CONIFER!!" Except she so doesn't. And I so want to kick Brent-Damage in the teeth.
And now. Prom.
Limos. Revolving doors. Girls in makeup. Girls with their hair done. Guys in suits that belong on Best Men at weddings. Children attempting to act like adults. Morgan chomping on tasty treats. Allie dancing like she's at a Dead concert. Shocker. Brad dancing with Roadster. Scooter. Ew. Scooter.
And then they announce the Prom King and Queen. Who? Who do you think?
Yeah. It's Anna. Yeah, she can't get a date. Yeah, she can't get a boyfriend. Yeah, SHE'S PROM QUEEN. How in the hell did that happen? Hm? The prom queens at my school were primarily those who had screwed half the football team beneath the bleachers before Homecoming. Anna? And this is a girl who is hurting for male companionship. God. She's gonna be a fucking Senator someday. Or President. President! She'll be the first woman President! God, Anna rocks. Anna's all, "Prom Queen wasn't a big deal." She got a cool t-shirt and everything and a nice tiara. Dude. YOU WERE PROM QUEEN. That is SO not a half-deal. That is a BIG deal in your high school career. At least, as far as self-esteem counts. In the real world, it doesn't mean dick.