To quote my savior-yet-again, Demian, "Dear WB: Even though I tune into your network on a regular basis, I am not an idiot. Shut up." What is UP with the WB repeating that ridiculous "show within a show" intro? Huh? Trust me. If we got it the first time, we don't need a repeat. If you're trying to explain to newcomers just what the show is about, STOP. WE GET IT. Seriously. I mean, is there anyone out there, at all, who believes that this is some sort of "cinema verité"? If you do, then you probably believed that the kids in The Blair Witch Project weren't just some underpaid actors with time on their hands.
Anyway, the show gets off to a rousing start when Courtney's being photographed by a man who has obviously recently departed from the world of porn. He's telling Courtney to bend her back and play with her hair. Courtney flicks her peroxided mane around and complies with his every wish, dreaming one day of her very own Playboy centerfold wherein she will inform the salivating masses that her favorite ice cream is "Chock-Full-O-Nuts" and that her only desire is to find a cure for chlamydia.
Hunter and Tori2 are watching from the sidelines, wearing, respectively, a gold lamé frilly top and floor-length butt-concealing skirt and a terrifying silver-moon-studded purple halter and floor-length calico cat-puke-taffeta skirt. Why? WHY? Then Hunter, true to form, quips, "Why doesn't he just ask her to play with herself? At least then she'd look more natural." Wheee. I can clearly see that Hunter's going to make this ep a bona fide winner. Tori2's all nervous because Courtney's getting all the attention. She whines that Rob and Hope told her that Courtney has a one-year contract. With options. Oh no! Hunter's not worried, though. She just states, "Please. Look at her. She doesn't have any charisma. She doesn't even know how to run her tongue over her lips." Tori2's worried because Johnny likes Courtney. "I'm gonna lose him," she whimpers. "Wake up, Marcy," says Hunter. "You never had him."
Hunter then spies a wardrobe rack rolling behind them. Her designer-label radar kicks into gear. She stalks after the rack and fingers the clothes. She's sincerely upset because she's noticed that Courtney is going to be wearing Gucci. Hunter approaches Hope: "Wait a second. A girl from West Virginia would not be wearing these clothes." Hope, sporting a no-sex-having blue overshirt, white tank top, and fugly hair-don't barrette, tells Hunter to relax, that it's just for the photo shoot. Hunter spouts, "Maybe I wanna wear the Gucci top." Tori2 barely whispers, "I love Gucci too." Speak up, Tori2. We can't hear your insecurities unless you YELL. Hunter just rolls her eyes at Tori2 as Courtney sprites up and complains that she "felt so stiff" during the shoot. Note to Courtney: that was the photographer, honey, not you. She asks Hunter and Tori2 for tips. Hunter thinks REAL HARD for a second and tells Courtney, "Try to look thinner." BWA HA HA HA HA. Ow. My spleen.
Then we're in the middle of a group shot, and the Larry Flynt wannabe is directing Richard (or "Dad," as the photog calls him) to stand over by "Mom." Richard pulls his hermetically-sealed hand away from Johnny's shoulder and moves off to stand next to "Mom," only to find his hands magnetically attracted right back to Johnny's shoulders. Have I said "ew" before? Lather. Rinse. Repeat. The photog asks Quentin to hug Hunter from behind (ohhhh yeaaaaah, "from behind"...right...EW), and Hunter chastises Quentin for squeezing her boob. Quentin just asks, "What boob?" Excellent point, Q. The photog gets frustrated because nobody's naked, and moves Hunter way over to the side. Hunter bitches, "I'm in Siberia over here!" The photog then asks everyone to scootch over to her. They do, and the photog instructs everyone to say "Grosse Pointe." And they do. Only it's as if the dentist has given them a massive shot of Novocain and stuck an entire wad of cotton in their mouths, they're THAT enthusiastic.