Meanwhile, the Fab Frosh have just returned from Bulk Mart and are lugging in canisters of food so big they could double as protective headgear. "Does anyone even have a popcorn popper?" Lizzie moans. Oh, I don't think that will matter. Throw enough booze or pot into the mix, and those raw kernels will be gone in a week. The guys flop down and survey their stash with unbridled ecstasy. Lizzie's irritated when Steven announces that he wants to spend the rest of the day seated right there. "We're going to eat all this cookie dough," Shaggy shouts, reaching into a three-family size jar of it and shoveling a giant glob into his gaping maw. Lizzie calls them pigs. I call them visionaries. Heath chortles at her with his mouth wide open and full of candy.
Ron enters gingerly, cradling his most valued possession -- the newly acquired five-video uncensored gold edition of Girls Gone Wild. He looks like a proud parent who's just birthed the Gift of Ecstasy. "It came!" screams Heath, barely coherent around a mouthful of crap, while Shaggy throws his arms into the air to celebrate. Steven's delighted. "What are you so happy about?" Lizzie accuses. "Um, I'm happy for him," Steven fakes. "He ordered it a long time ago." That line yielded my first big laugh of the episode. Lizzie derides them for being immature, so Ron does something immature -- he taunts her, and pretty annoyingly. "Are we immature, Mommy?" he minces. "I thought breasts made food, Mommy. What's so immature about that, huh, Mommy?" Heath laughs so hard that bits of food fly around inside his mouth like Lotto balls before the skank in the sequined dress pulls the lever, at which time she invariably picks five numbers that are blatantly NOT my numbers, because she's a crazy, lying, cheating cow who's threatened by me, and is trying to thwart me from winning the millions I richly deserve. Sigh. Is this episode still on?
Lizzie storms across the hall whining that Ron, Shaggy, and Steven are so pathetic for wanting to watch porn and eat junk food. Lizzie? They're guys. Welcome to the Y chromosome. She continues to pout, groaning that she maxxed out her credit card at Bulk Mart on mass quantities of stuff she didn't need. Last time I went, I bought eighteen Cadbury's Cream Eggs, thirty-six rolls of toilet paper, and a bottle of garlic powder as big as my arm. Of those, only the necessary item -- the Cream Eggs box -- is fully depleted. Lizzie has stocked up on "enough tampons to last until menopause" and an enormous amount of boxed hair dye. "I don't even dye my hair!" she gripes. That's why stupid people shouldn't have credit cards. Larice, who's been quietly making toast from a two-foot loaf of bread that's dangling off the counter, muses that she knows highlights because she once worked at her aunt's hair salon, Expressions, and she thinks Lizzie could use a few. Rachel squeals that it's a fabulous idea, and all three girls get the glowy, excited "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" look that Starship immortalized in song and which all TV characters wear when they're about to do something phenomenally stupid.