The Audience Demands A Dip...And The Beverly Hills, 90210 Visual Aids Have DOZENS
Donna comes out (not like that), Dylan gives Hannah a run for her money (since he has none left) in the being-a-baby department, and D'Shawn wears a tux, you're welcome.
It's like the Again With This podcast that accompanies these Visual Aids joined a cult or something!
This is a marginal improvement over the Brazilian-wax goatee? But it does make it easier to see the unearned smugness radiating from this little fucksuck like cartoony waves.
Presidential candidate String Beane assesses Valerie's political landscape, if you know what we mean, and we think you do. (Her booty.)
Yeah, what a dump. [eye-roll] Although it's a little surprising that Ohhhhhndrea didn't object to sectarian artwork depicting Noah's ark.
A mother's hysterical intuition. Or maybe her face is falling because it's stupid Jesse who should be freaking out about missing the stupid milestones of the stupid baby he insisted they have.
Drama Martin, complete with a crunchy, overdyed proscenium of former bangs.
As this half-ass set dressing attests, it's July in the Zipverse, and these extras think Dylan is "celebrating" his "independence" from all of his money a little too loudly.
We hesitate to sign off on any of Dylan's shittiness in this episode, but this "pinching a loaf" mien is really the only correct reaction to Donna's debunnouncement.
In the land of no pockets, the tiny backpack is king.
When we said Kelly made a serious sandwich, we meant it. Like, it looks like a triple-decker! How do you abandon that uneaten?
Not that Travis has a whole lot to recommend him -- being named "Travis" is already two strikes -- but when a girl's other choice is this bozo, "not David" is plenty.
That said, Travis should seriously consider choosing himself if this condemned front porch and Cloroxella De Vil hairstyle is his best option.
Judgy McSuperiorpants is horrified that Dylan is drinking a beer. HORRIFIED. And angry that Dylan isn't conducting himself according to the McSuperiorpants code.
I mean, right? You're not owed an apology for tolerating the imperfections of others, Moral Majority. Find a different expression.
Work it, Val. (With different shoes, though. My grandma owned those in three colors.)
Hee, dig D'Shawn's saint-triptych soccer-ball halo. Not to mention the eyebrow he's throwing the drunk 50-year-old to his right.
What's worse, the cleavern happening on Donna's torso, or Felice's orgasmic reaction to seeing it for ten minutes?
Simps gonna simp.
The Goofus and Gallant of tuxedo style.
Oh, you only ordered one undersized smoldering trash heap of self-righteousness? Sorry about that.
We get it. Your Boots Of Poverty-Stricken Emotional Fragility trump everyone else's bourgeois manners.
It's important for couples to share common interests -- like mistakenly believing they're the wronged parties here, and glaring furiously at Dylan.
Is Jesse cheating on Ohhhhhndrea with a lady where he workzzzz who cares. I'm too busy laughing at 1) the extra's uber-'90s Jughead-cap styles to laugh at 2) anyone hitting on Jesse for any reason.
Doing body shots with a slampuppy who smokes and tried to hit on Jesse is pretty bad, but it's the tainting of the fugly robe that's a bridge too far.
Cat-Butt Mouth: The Awakening.
Braykfast of champions.
No wonder he's crying; somebody combed his bangs with an eggbeater.
Fasten more buttons, please. You're here to apologize, not breastfeed. Also, stop doing that weird navel-picking move; it's gross and nobody wants to see your treasure trail. (Especially now that the treasure is in Mexico with Kevin and Suzanne, stupid.)
Great, now you've upset Rex.
Oh goody, Clare's a sophomore just like the rest of the gang! Too bad that juicy chess-club brain isn't going to stop her from boning most of them.
In which "the" T-bill is spent in a poolward spiral.