Real World
The End Of The Skankocence

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True Colors

Night. Warehouse. Mel cries in bed to Danny. They don't know why that happened and Mel feels like she's in a nuthouse. Danny is grateful because he wouldn't have been able to get through a lot of the season if it weren't for Mel...and her daily blowjobs. While we see shots of the drunk boys sleeping, Danny reminds Mel that this is almost over. Oh, you don't have to remind me, homeslice. Commercials, in which we learn there'll be a reunion next week. If, as Neh says, Danny really does think he's a big star now, wouldn't he have bought at new hat? Because, you know, apparently not.

Day. Packing. Lacey drags a giant suitcase, surely talking shit about it to her garment bag. An empty closet. Kitchen. Five roommates (they're, minus Wes and Neh) sit around not talking. Danny camera-brows that it's the last day, and that there is so much tension in the house, which "sucks." Neh rubs his face. Danny and Mel look through the fridge. Rachel camera-blubs that she's looking forward to never associating with people like Neh and Wes again in her life. Or, you know, until the reunion show. Lacey camera-talks that Rachel isn't talking to Wes or Neh and they couldn't care less.

Rachel's cab comes. She tells us she's not going to say goodbye to either of the two boys; they don't look at her, so clearly, they don't care, either. Danny hugs her. Neh and Wes are now milling about, certainly nursing wicked hangovers. Wes camera-ghouls that Rachel "defied" their friendship last night, and that he can't forgive her; he goes on -- safe in his ludicrous justification because he has his macho lover Neh next to him, boxing out any regret like a short, less E.T.-looking Sam Cassell -- to say that Rachel made a mistake, he called her out on it and made her feel bad, and it was fair. "Good riddance," Wes says over the kitchen table to Neh, their eyes just starting to show hints of the looming twin Technicolor tragedy-scopes that their post-Real World lives will no doubt be.

Meanwhile, outside, Rachel hugs the others. (But not The Others. That's dangerous.) She babbles to us about missing Erik and that terrible, hideous little cock rag of a dog they have. She hysterically says that this whole experience has made her miss the wimpy, sexual non-entity boyfriend that she publicly humiliated and spectacularly rejected just a handful of episodes ago. Pity that their relationship does end up working, and she'll remain poor Rachel, forever trapped in a sexless relationship, their drippy-eyed kinda-poodle serving as pawn in an endless game of Who Can Pour More Of What They Don't Feel Like Giving The Other Into The Dog?, bound together by nothing more than the unexamined, unspoken thing that happened to them out on the battlefield, or rather, didn't. Seriously, what horrible memory of combat inaction drives Rachel to these fits of shrieking hysteria whenever someone brings up the war? One imagines her cowering under Erik's flabby arms while someone bleeds out twenty feet from her, the nurse bag trembling, unused in her arms. Or more likely, it was simply a year of fetid boredom which she regretfully tried to alleviate by sleeping with her gunner partner when they ran out of showtunes to sing. And for a final goodbye, the music department of B/M continues their decades-long streak of subtlety, playing a song over Rachel's cab driving off -- axles strained to capacity -- containing lyrics such as "It's time to move on." Indeed. Indeed.

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Real World

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