Back at Grosse Pointe, Tori2 alights from a golf cart, and Courtney skips up to talk about the "killer script" they're about to read. Tori2 hasn't read it yet because she went out with a friend last night and the friend drank too much and Tori2 had to wake up early to take her bedspread to the cleaner. Hunter, cell phone firmly placed against ear, joins them on their way to the table read, and Courtney asks her if she's read the script yet. "No," says Hunter. "And take it down a thousand. I've got the worst hangover." Tori2 looks at her disgustedly. "What?" snaps Hunter. "I told you I'd pay for the bedspread." Snicker. And what in the holy hell is UP with Hunter's caboose? Is it just me or are those jeans threatening to bust their seams? She's this teeny little thing with a GIANT REAR. Put her in skirts, put her in dresses, put her in ANYTHING but those skin-sucking jeans!
At the craft table, Hunter pours herself some caffeinated nutrients while Courtney effuses about the script and how she can tell this new producer is an awesome writer. "You can totally tell she used to work for My So-Called Life," Courtney states. Yeah. Cuz that's what I think of when I think "good writing." Sure. ["Wow, tough crowd." -- Sars] "So, um, like, what'd you do then?" "What?" "Like, after the thing, ya know?" "Oh, nothin'." "Oh, like, cool." Blah blah blah bad dialogue-cakes.
Tori2 hopes that this new producer can do for Grosse Pointe what she did for My So-Called Life. What, make it suck ass? That's exactly what Grosse Pointe needs. Once again, Hunter reads my mind. "What, get it cancelled?" she mumbles. "No," lectures Tori2. "Make it real and relevant and poignant." "Yeah," says Hunter. "Cancelled." Heh.
Everyone takes their seats for the table read as Rob makes an announcement introducing Shawn Shapiro, the new producer. There's just no easy way to put this. She's scary. I'm trembling right now. She's got on these nasty-ass thick-rimmed trendo glasses, a black sleeveless top that's doing absolutely NOTHING for her gargantuan arms, black sheer stockings, and black ankle boots that remind me of that scene in Flashdance where the Jennifer Beals dance-double is up on stage in nothing but some skimpies and a smile and she's wearing boots JUST LIKE THESE. In short, THEY'RE WAAAAAY OUT OF STYLE.
Shapiro says that she's looking forward to doing some terrific work with everyone. Hairless says to Kev in an aside, "Man, I'd like to get a piece of her so-called ass." Then Kev hands Hairless a chamois with which to dry the drool that's dripping down his chin. Rob wants to dive right into the script, but Kev informs him that Johnny's not present. Shapiro goes apeshit on this one. She's all klimpy and insulted and asks if anyone wants to read the role of "Brad." Dave practically leaps across the table and licks Shapiro's feet for this opportunity. After Shapiro gives him the go-ahead, Dave takes a seat next to Tori2, and the table read begins. Shapiro starts reading the script, and she's so self-important that I just want to grab a big, wet carp and smack her with it. Hunter kind of handles this task for me when she just lets loose with a gaping yawn and doesn't even bother to hide it.