My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance
Episode 3

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Halfway Done! Halfway Done!

The good folks at The Danny Elfman School Of Derivative And Uncreative Scoring have bestowed top honors on the soundtrack of My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé, citing general excellence for the show's progress in the "Advanced Beetlejuice Seminar" and its triumph of three straight, unrelenting weeks of stolen cues that call to mind Winona's discovery of the tiny town locked in the attic. Doesn't Randi know how much heartache could be avoided were she only to stop calling out Steve's name three times in rapid succession? She could make him go away entirely! Anyway, we open up this week where we left off last week: ensconced in sound slumber floating on a soft pillow of my own failed ambitions to do good in the world. This show, too, has apparently given up on trick editing and has begun just airing the raw footage in order, as we find ourselves still at the outdoor dinner of Randy Coy "Vey" and her poor, black-cloaked friend who possesses no personality other than the one prescribed for her by the producers of this show, that being "surprised by Steve." It's a non-persona so two-dimensional that Anna exists in my mind not as a real person, but instead only as an incredulous-looking Garbage Pail Kid I've taken the liberty of naming "Appropriately-Stunned Anna." The "b" card for Appropriately-Stunned Anna, by the way? Well, her I've named "Michelle Shocked."

Out on the Lie Lanai (the "b" card of which is called "Apocryphal Atrium," in my other series entitled "Garbage Pail Airy Locales"), Randi stays deliciously in character (because she's an actor too, see, and the joke is secretly on us) when she explains to Anna, "I don't know. It's so weird. It's the weirdest situation." The master orator at work. I can see why she's more famous than I am. ["I really don't think she is more famous than you are, actually. Has she commentated on any of VH1's pop-culture nostalgiathons?" -- Wing Chun] We montage back through dinner to rediscover Randi expressing her love for her mystery TV man, delivered via a series of gasps, foot-stamps, and peek-a-boo- I-see-you- no-I-see-YOU expressions that cumulatively typify a woman emotionally advanced enough to commit to marriage, fake or no. Clearly. Anna makes sure one more time: "And you know?" she asks, overpowered by a sense of déjà-vu that these exact words have already escaped her lips on TV last week, and Randi volleys back a very Valley "fersure," because she is Deborah Foreman and Steve is Nicolas Cage and this is, like, fully 1983. Randi takes an assured bite of what can only be her last remaining scrap of pride (braised with the sauce of her now-devoured sanity) while Steve finally approaches the table and everyone else vaguely considers going to Google "Deborah Foreman" but deciding it probably doesn't matter that much anyway.

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My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance




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