Now in the video, BritBrit and K-Fed are hanging out and now they're clearly closer than ever because there is less bantering going on and they're just talking more. BritBrit, more relaxed, babbles about what's good about them. "It's like we're friends, and we have good sex...well, I think we do. And I think we're cute. Like, we're cool. We're not too serious. We're not too anything. We're fun. And I like that." Okay, let me offer a quick rebuttal. A) You're not friends. You have a parasitic relationship and that can never breed true friendship. The hippo can "get along with" the tiny birdie who lives on his back, but they'll never be BFF. B) Your sex is certainly mediocre at best, because you're both always high, dirty, and there is always a transmission of virus involved in the act. C) Not cute. D) Not cool. Etc. Etc.
AHHHHH! Oh, it's just Fee. Hi, Fee. (By the way, I refuse to call her "Fe." That's not a word. "Fee" is barely a word, but at least it looks like how it's supposed to sound. "Fe" is something old Jewish men say when they don't like something. Actually, that's pretty fitting in our case.) Fee, in an unfortunately close-up shot, drawls on that BritBrit found someone she could trust and enjoy and open up to. Quick shots of K-Fed lookin' more toolish than the whole set of Makita drill bits sitting unused in the corner of my laundry room. Boobney tells us that she "fell hard" as a "sexy" version of "Oops!..." plays.
Suddenly, they're back in the same hotel room or whatever where we've seem them chatting before and BritBrit sets the feminist movement back a few years as she light a cigarette, glowing green from either the night vision camera or the Hepatitis, and says, "I'm all for girl power..." K-Fed interrupts, interjecting that everybody "needs to be loved," and that's funny enough that I'll just leave it alone. BritBrit continues her "thought," saying, "I want somebody who will take care of me." Whoa. Really? Um, then I think you picked the wrong guy. If you mean, take care of you, as in, give you twenty bucks for generic-brand cigarettes every week from the disability check he illegally receives in place of his friend who died last year in a meth lab explosion, then you're set. But I take it she means something a little more upscale. BritBrit continues, looking all faux-scared, asking to K-Fed's camera, "Is that stupid?" "No," lies K-Fed, adding, "It's the furthest thing from stupid." This seriously is the type of conversation you have at summer camp when you're fourteen and you're discovering the potent and dreamy mixture of cigarettes, the opposite sex, and freedom from your parents for the first time. Not when you're in your twenties and already have children. K-Fed isn't done yet. He continues, "It's probably the smartest thing I've heard you say since I've been out here." Well, now that's just sad then, if that's true. BritBrit cries. So do people with actual problems. You selfish, pointless, rude, mannerless, unloved cockslap! (Sorry, I think the Novocain is starting to wear off.)