Grosse Pointe
Opposite Of Sex

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Erin: A+ | Grade It Now!
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Jason who?

Let's talk about sex, baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about how sexy Jason Priestley has gotten since graduating from 90210...

Hairless is sitting in his Rover, wearing sunglasses -- at NIGHT, mind you -- and listening to some classic rock, and he seems to be really, REALLY enjoying it. Oh, wait, I think he's enjoying something else. That something else being the hooker getting up-close-and-personal with Señor Happy. Cop lights start spinning behind his car as a Caucasian version of Divine Brown hurriedly wipes her mouth and backs away from Q's lap. It would seem that Hairless has not learned from Hugh Grant's mistake and has parked his ride on a Hollywood side street for a little oral stimulation. Stupid Hairless.

He tells the hooker -- who, by the way, looks NOTHING like ANY hooker I've ever had the misfortune to run across; she's young, pretty, has great blonde hair, and perfect sleazy makeup; she looks kind of like a smaller version of Pamela Anderson, but without the reduced implants -- to be cool, and removes his sunglasses to talk to the officer who's approaching his window. "Is there a problem, officer?" Hairless says, utilizing the universal phrase for "I am so totally screwed and I know it but I'm going to pretend like I'm as innocent as a lamb." The cop just looks at both of them as Hairless goes on to inform him that the sweet young thang next to him was just looking for an earring. Right. Her cubic zirconia just dropped into his tighty-whities (oh, come on, you just KNOW he's a Jockey man). Q steps out of the car for the cop and spreads his hands on the hood as the policeman reports into his radio that there's a possible seven-twelve in progress. "What's 'seven-twelve'?" Hairless asks. Pamela Lite is kind enough to fill him in. "Celebrity with a prostitute," she snaps, wondering if she can catch up with Charlie Sheen later. "Ohhhh no no no," Q protests. "This is just a terrible misunderstanding. I was just giving the lady a ride home." Hairless pulls away from the cop and leans into the car. "You ARE a lady, right?" Cut to Hairless standing in front of one of those "arrest walls," sans toupee and sporting a nameplate that gives us his full name: "Quentin Barnaby King." Hee.

Wow. This ep begins with a blow-job? It can only get better from here...

We come back from commercial as Q is lovingly scraping the back of his potbellied pig with a grooming brush and Rob is going ballistic about the bail money. "I expect that bail money by the end of the day and none of that 'talk to my business manager' crap," he spits. Q's very grateful that Rob's managed to get him out of this little mess. Unfortunately, it would seem that Hairless isn't out of the woods quite yet; Rob's promised his DA friend that Hairless would attend a month's worth of "Sex Obsessives Anonymous" meetings. Man, that's a tongue twister, idn't it? Rob's tripping over it, that's for sure. Try saying it ten times fast, people. I did. I sprained my tongue. Quentin's all, "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." "Don't whatever me," Rob says, shoving his finger in Q's face. "I don't care if you bang every woman at that meeting, you are GOING." Rob leaves as Quentin quietly ruminates over the possibility of a selection of yet more women he can screw.

Out on the lot, Clueless unveils a Grosse Pointe pinball machine to Coco and Dave. They're both extremely impressed, which makes me wonder just how stupid they really are. Turns out Johnny's bro has come up with this monstrosity, and the prototype is going to be released in six weeks. "I can't believe I'm going to be on a pinball machine," Coco gushes. I was going to make a little comment here about the difference between being "on" a pinball machine and, you know, being "ON" a pinball machine, but I'm pretty sure we've all seen The Accused and, quite frankly, just the idea of sex + pinball machine makes me nauseous so, you know, forget it, right? Anyway, Johnny apparently needs all the cast members who are featured on the pinball machine to sign off on it before it can be produced. Coco's in. Well, she's in if the machines won't be placed where tobacco or tobacco products will be sold. No, Coco, that would never happen. Pinball machines are only placed in bright and shiny little rooms that have Barry Manilow piped in over the sound system and tiny cherubs that flit around your head and bring you malteds and oatmeal cookies. Whatever.

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Grosse Pointe

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