At First, No One Could Look The Beverly Hills, 90210 Visual Aids In The Eye

The most important cleaverns, cat-butt mouths, and other snapshots from the S9 premiere.

Should the Again With This podcast be doing this?

Time to retire this b-roll, y'all.

MILF Hunter makes birthday plans.

Frosted(-Eye) Oaties.

When you're trying to poop a softball-sized clot of nunchakus. Well, or your hated parents want you to come to dinner. Could go either way with Woody here.

No-boundawies baby bought a pwesent!

If you think we're not going to call Ray Wise "Leland Hunter" for the duration of his time on the show, think again.

When your son's girlfriend AND her plastic surgeon both show evidence of a TBI.

When you're broke and your son is a log.

The test was negative, Val; please inform your face.

This definitely isn't Sydney because her hair is browner.

Given how poorly it goes, even calling this a "SHORT con" seems wrong.

You can't park on the Third Street Promenade, guys. Come on.

Little chilly in the Casa Walsh kitchen, eh what?

And now, another episode of Sarah Obsesses Over Vintage Benzes Shown In B-Roll.

Lord Pissface doesn't know how good he has it.

When you have to deal with an entitled bitch and his condo-size trousers.

This overplayed hand looks GREAT on you, jingleberry.

In the interests of respecting Valerie's new policy of truth-telling, her boobs have never looked better.

The Pleated Avenger's little head is an easy mark, part the gazillionth.

There's definitely a place for organized scheming -- not to mention that she basically invented the bullet journal -- but maybe get a little more granular?

Yeah, totally a standard scammer pic-a-nic basket. Where was she even storing that in her travels -- David's pants?

We can't believe he's lying next to this morning's dishes either. That caviar's got to be reeking by now.

Can she swallow her bite of cake first, Anaconda?


NO! Her face is not a corndog, shit's sake!

Credible single night of hair growth.

Equally credible natural hair shrinkage.

Ex-sex judgment-resentment bray.

Phew, they're on the same page with everything!


Where is Kelly going after she mourns her dowd-o-rama dress in the window -- a rave at a...crafting shop? Seriously, is Garth going to catch onto Wardrobe's shit ever?

Please fill with a Pacific breeze and blow David into the drink, pants. Please.

Barf. (Not least Brandon's all-beige outfit, brown shoes, AND BLACK SOCKS wtf.)

Concern brows are concerned about going on the honeymoon.

Post-mixed-signals-fuckin' bray.

You bray at the king, you best not etc.

Girl, you gots to take the china out and really sling the shit overhand if you want it to break satisfyingly! Or so Bunting has read.

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