Grosse Pointe
Barenaked In America

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Erin: B | Grade It Now!
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Mammaries...light the corners of my mind...

Hunter says that the entertainment business is fickle and that she hopes Coco didn't burn any bridges at Dairy Queen. Heh. Johnny enters as Hairless states, "This peach looks better peeled!" Wha? What in the HELL is he talking about? Jesus. Johnny inexplicably gets extremely angry and rips the magazine out of Hairless's hands. "Put that down!" Dickless yells. "That's disgusting!" "No worries, amigo," Hairless says. "It's a fresh copy." Ew. Dickless then says that Coco was exposed against her will, and that the entire thing is totally heinous. I have to agree with him. I can't believe I have to write about this entire portion of the episode. I just want to lay down and die. But I'll have another American Spirit instead. Hairless, in his dim-bulb way, thinks that Dickless is just playing the sympathy angle in order to discover the wonders of Coco's silky-smooth thighs. Unfortunately, such is not the case. Dickless lets everyone in on his own little secret. Years ago, he was an underwear model in Milan, and someone took pictures of him changing backstage at a fashion show and sold them to some cheesy Italian porn magazine. "That's terrible!" says Not-Gay-Dad. "Tell me the name of that magazine so I can boycott it!" Okay, I know in the past I've been extremely ooked out by the whole Not-Gay-Dad and his Johnny-obsession, but that's just damn funny. Dickless tells him that it's something like Celebrity or Celebrity New Day, and then tells Hairless not to look at the magazine because he knows how Coco feels. Not-Gay-Dad pipes up, "Celebrity New Day -- what is that, a monthly?" Again, damn funny.

Dave's hanging out in Hunter's trailer, playing with her iBook. It would seem that Dave's taken Kev's advice to heart and is writing out a "script," as it were, to facilitate his Schmarce approach. From what I can see, it's pretty crappy, but also very sweet. We'll hear the whole thing a little later...

Hunter enters, and Dave hurriedly shuts the computer. Okay, I realize that not everyone spends as much time in front of the computer as I do, but I think it's safe to assume that most everyone knows about the damn Alt+Tab function and how it can quickly hide any damning information behind a silkscreen of Microsoft Outlook or financial spreadsheets. Christ, I'm an expert at hiding my Freecell games behind an HTML mockup of the company homepage. Hello? Or, how 'bout this? How 'bout just WRITING THE FUCKING THING DOWN WITH A PEN AND PAPER? Talk about your sitcom conventions. Gee, I wonder what'll happen next? Hmmm...ya think maybe Hunter's going to discover this little gem later and think it's for her? Oh, no, not that! That would be far too Jack Tripper-ish, now wouldn't it? Whatfuckingever.

Anyway, Hunter tells Dave, "Better not be porn. Unless you're sending pictures of Courtney to Procter & Gamble." Guess they own the WB or something. You'd think I'd know something like that. But you'd be wrong. Dave tells Hunter that he was just updating her calendar. Hunter wants to know if Heath Ledger has called her yet. "Was he supposed to?" asks Dave. "I met him last night at the Whiskey," says Hunter, "and as soon as he realizes it wasn't a dream, he'll be calling." This is Heath Ledger we're talking about, right? The new Mel Gibson? The New Zealand heartthrob that basically made The Patriot even remotely watchable? Don't hold your breath, there, Huntley. I'd say Mr. Ledger has his pick of the litter, and you ain't even AKC registered.

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Grosse Pointe

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