Next, we see a car that is apparently driving itself down the road. Oh, wait. My bad. Webster's driving and forgot the phone books back at his apartment. He's talking about how he's done pretty good for himself and then he...well, I'm not really sure how to describe it in words. It sounded like a cross between a hyena and Phyllis Diller deep throating a bunch of celery. I guess you could call it a laugh. A giggle. Maybe a chuckle, if you were to pervert the realm of what is ordinarily considered a chuckle. Whatever it is, it frightened my two-year-old son half to death. He ran screaming from the room and didn't come back until the show was over. Webster says that he's an entertainer first and an actor second. And Michael Jackson's sex toy third. Don't think we've forgotten about the King of Pop schlepping you around the globe in his arms like a retarded chimp, Webby. We know the name of that tune. We saw the stains on the seat of your pants every time that transparent pervert dragged you out of the closet for a movie premiere. We're not ignorant. Webster says he's a very private person, which translates into Hollywood speak as "My career is so dead, I can't even get hired to narrate Portuguese snuff films." There's a quick clip of Webster golfing, and I swear it looks like an outtake from some Special Olympics broadcast. He swings at the ball and it goes about six feet. Webster enters the mansion, screeching, "Luuuu-cy! I'm hoooome!" and then cackles maniacally. This is the type of guy who laughs after everything he says to beat it into your head that what he just said is to be construed as "funny." I hate people like that. I hate midgets like that even more. He gets all the hugs that everyone else did as they enter the house. And believe me, you haven't lived until you see Vince Neil try to bend at the waist to hug Webster. Corey excuses himself to go have a smoke and Webster pipes up, "Yeah, you just keep doing that to yourself." I think I like Webster already, because he wishes Corey dead as well. Vince takes Webster on a tour of the house, but it's more for our benefit than his. Webster cackles at a TV Guide cover from his childhood days which is prominently displayed. Amazingly, Vince doesn't pop the little bastard a good one upon hearing his annoying cackle.
Next is Gabrielle Carteris. She's got two kids and a wonderful husband and is not coming on the show to be anybody's mom. Thank God. Nothing kills a surreal reality/comedy series quicker than some supporting cast member from a teen show that ran its course five years before it ended trying to be anybody's mom. She also has her own talk show, which comes as a shock to me -- mainly because I thought you had to have some sort of personality to do such a thing. The Gabber's no longer working that "sexy bookworm" look like she did on 90210. Now she looks like a chipper soccer mom who bakes a mean lasagna and has migraine headaches every time her husband wants some chipper-soccer-mom sex. She notices the "Walk of Fame" stars in the sidewalk (one for each of the stars of the show), finds hers, and says that she must have it. I don't blame her. It's not like she'll ever get a real one in Hollywood. She says that when opportunity knocks, you've got to be there to answer; that's why she's coming on the show. Well, that and the fact that Robin Givens turned it down. Vince greets her at the door, and they share a hug. They're checking out the full-length Warhol pop painting hanging in the den of all the cast members. They recognize everyone but Jerri. Gabby asks, "Who's the top one?" and Vince admits "I dunno." Five minutes into the show and Jerri's already received her comeuppance for every evil thing she did on Survivor.