So as it turns out, I've heard the "Superhero" song before. I even remember turning my nose up at it, on a porch in Dallas, TX, the week the album came out: it's a Jane's Addiction song, from their Strays album. Which explains why I didn't remember it. It's a failed-Lollapalooza of generic inspiration, and that's not even a diss, because Jane's Addiction invented half of the tics this song portrays in the first place, so, way to pioneer, guys. And don't ever leave the three-foot-square area you've tacked out as your own. You deserve it. And props to ever-vigilant Kristin W., Rob B., Mei-Lu, and the forum's Hissa, all of whom came to my aid immediately. I hope none of you are such big fans of Perry F. that you cry when I tell you I hate it, hate it, hate it.
We open on a boxing match (Klitschko/Sanders, for those who might care, or even recognize those names for that matter), where I spot Evander Holyfield, and Drama (he earns a real name in this episode, which itself earns at least some fraction of the show's audience) shouts "Lights Out!" and bumps fists with someone whose name may or may not be "Lights Out!" Actual celebrities, ya'll. Some rap song that may or may not be by A3 but might as well be, all about "mama shut my door," plays while Klitschko and Sanders fight really...slowly. It's not very intense. I've not seen much boxing, in my time, but I thought it would be faster, somehow. Also, the lady in the sports bra that holds up the sign and woggles herself all over the place to say what round they're in? She totally exists. How disheartening. I thought that was a joke from a long-ago era, like the lady dressed as a whore that swings around in a restaurant. Also real, by the way. Even still. I know. The fighting gets faster and there's blood, which makes it more fun. Some nerd-chic dude next to them yells something complicated at Turtle. I hope it's the well-deserved Cheney Surprise I like to give Turtle every time I see him on screen. It's like a drinking game, only with yelling at the screen. Which itself implies drinking, you say, and that's valid, but there aren't any rules for that part of the game, because really it's game-adjacent. Heavy drinking during Entourage is more of a necessity, let's say, than simply a way to spice things up.
The boys get into an interesting discussion on their way out. Turtle's position is that $3M for eight rounds is money for nothing, and Vince -- who must protect The Face -- completely disagrees. Turtle maintains that he would let Klitschko beat the fuck out of him for $50,000, and Eric -- hi, Eric! -- offers to beat the fuck out of him for free. It's all very spontaneous and well-timed. The rhythm continues as Turtle mentions that -- as I myself just noticed -- Klitschko doesn't seem to hit very hard. Or quickly. Drama jumps in with some social studies bullshit about how Klitschko has "Mongolian Genghis Khan warrior blood" in him, and I don't know what that means, but I'm happy about it. My face now starts to do that thing that happens to the Grinch where the mouth starts smiling and you can't stop it and it kind of hurts like marble cracking and my heart grows...well, an imperceptible amount, really. But it's nice not to be crumpled into a ball at the opening scene like I usually am. Turtle maintains that in the ring with Klitschko, he'd do three shots of Stoli and let Klitschko "blast away." Turtle, don't go fuck yourself just yet. I'm kind of interested in what you have to say, and not because it sounds like the back of a gross East European porno. Drama gives him a kidney punch and gets called a "fucking dick" for his trouble, which is kind of okay because that's a crappy thing to do, because what are you, eleven? Turtle points out that he'd "hit" the girl exiting ahead of them for free, and then accidentally does when Drama pushes him. This is all very puerile, but it's delightful, really, compared to the unbelievable, belabored and forced "boys will be boys" bullshit from the last two episodes. I'm seeing actual boys actually being boys, and it's nice. And way less creepy.