Cut to a weird peephole-like Brian's-eye-view, circling around among Emmett, Lindsay, Ted, Mike, Melanie and Justin, all gathered around with cruel grins on their faces. Brian, totally out of it, asks them what they're doing there. Melanie gasps, what, you haven't heard? Emmett: "It's the last day of the rest of your life!" Brian asks whether he's dead, already, and Ted smirks, "No. But you'll wish you had [died]. You're thirty." Everybody laughs evilly. Cut to Brian on his bed, groaning, as everybody chortles at the other end, all dressed in black, like cat burgulars. Justin jumps on his back. Of course. Ah, to be eighteen again, and not have the good sense to control every impulse you have. Alas, I am twenty-eight, and can't afford every impulse I have. At least not the ones without actual price tags. Brian tries to push him off, and Justin grins, "Sorry, Grandpa." Brian succeeds in getting the boy off him, and snarls at them all to go away. Everybody all together, now: "No such luck." Brian lunges to the head of the bed, and they all jump in after him. Melanie starts throwing clothes while the rest practically sit on Brian, trying to get him dressed. MM snickers, while she's tossing, "Jesus, what a label queen." I start to snicker, too, until I realize I'm clothed head to toe in Banana Republic and Gap. "Nothing like recapping groundbreaking television to expose one's hypocrisies, is there?" I ask Coop, who's on the phone booking a truck for our move this weekend. He doesn't hear the question, so I just look down at the ring on my finger and sigh. Anyway, back to our story. So, they're all over Brian, who's screaming at them to leave him alone, and Ted's all, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt us! And as Mike ties a blindfold around Brian's eyes, Brian finally gives up and lets out an ear-piercing scream. After all, attention is attention, even if it's negative.
Mike and Justin drag Brian -- still blindfolded and struggling all the way -- somewhere. They rip off the blindfold, and Brian looks around him, bewildered. Directly ahead is a casket. As funereal music plays, the camera cuts to cake shaped like a tombstone, which reads: "BRIAN KINNEY, 1971-2001. AGE 30. RIP." Gay people. Death. Wait a minute, is this Six Feet Under or Queer as Folk? And, HA! I knew he was too young to have seen Temple of Doom in the summer of 1984! Jesus, didn't any movies starring hunky men come out in 1985? Anyone? All I can remember from that year is Goonies. Cut to Ted, solemnly presenting to Brian a scroll tied with a ribbon: "Your official membership to the Dead Faggots Society." Hee. Brian snaps, "Who are you, the fucking founding father?" Ted laughs, "You're really going to have to get some new material, now that you are one of us." Pan over to Melanie and Lindsay, about to cut the cake. Mike asks whether Brian should make a wish first, and Emmett snarks, "Oh, hon. He already has. He's still thirty." Melanie politely asks, "Okay, who wants some Deathday cake? Deathday cake, anyone?" Bwa! Justin sighs that he's glad he doesn't have to deal with the age issue for a long, long time. But the shirt he's wearing has the number "23" on it, which, ironically, is Randy Harrison's real age. So, you know, not that long. (I can't remember who wrote me and pointed that out, but thanks.) Mike, worried at how bewildered Brian is, assures him that being thirty isn't so bad: "You forget about it." Unless you're about to turn twenty-nine in a couple of months, and thirty's just looming over you, and you think, what have I done with my life? What am I doing? Am I really getting too old to wear baby doll t-shirts? How come I never applied for The Real World when I had the chance? [Cough] Um, or not. Anyway, seriously, back to our story. Melanie, handing Brian a piece of Deathday cake, says that he should think about all the fun he's going to have in New York. So, I guess Brian hasn't told them he got dissed yet. Emmett adds, "You've only just begun to fuck." He fucks any more, and his dick might just drop off. Brian finds the perfect way to ruin everyone's good time -- he gives them the bad news right there. He angrily strides away from their shocked faces, annoyed by the bunch of black balloons someone tied to his belt loop. I'm just getting all kinds of party ideas from this. Brian tells his confused friends that the job fell through. Now they feel all sorry for him, so Brian, once again, takes the point. Mike, as usual, is outraged that he, personally, wasn't informed! Brian reminds him that Mike's moving to Portland anyway, so why does it matter? Brian adds that it's no big deal, and Justin twists the knife a little bit more by replying, "No big deal? It's all you've been talking about. Leaving? Not looking back?" Hmm, there may be a ref's ruling on that point I just gave Brian. Lindsay, sadly: "You put your loft on the market." Yup, looks like that one went in after the buzzer. Sorry, Brian. Brian growls, "Anyway, it doesn't matter, I'm already dead!" And jumps into the casket, pulling his balloons in after him.