This Must Be The Continuing Saga Of The Beverly Hills, 90210 Visual Aids
Ring-a-ding-dingleberry: it's all the most important snapshots from the eighth-season finale!
The Again With This podcast that goes with these Visual Aids could be just nerves.
Because of course the show has to undercut Tiffani Thiessen's actual acting with this weird Walkman-product-placing blocking.
"Great," a variation on David's usual assholic stress reaction.
Waist-cardi is not the look for the club, hon. (Neither is the weird combed-down wig-looking layers situation on her head, but that's a gripe for another caption.
An ableist cautionary tale from the past.
And on top of everything else, her bedtime mascara is ruined.
Seriously, though: fuck this cliffhanger, and fuck the occupant of the foreground.
Forget David, Brandon apparently borrowed this jacket from Shaq.
Good thing there's video evidence of their mutual loathing.
Reverend Pathmark knows these two clowns aren't getting married.
That's...too much for the out of doors.
Miiiight want to up your SPF there, Steverino.
When it's going great/you just got a load of your GF's cleavern.
It us, but still: shut up, David.
This is a good quarter inch of lipstick, which manages to match her hair exactly but not stay inside the outlines of her lips.
Because if the bride and groom aren't doing the taste-testing, might as well use the drive...way?
We get it. It's STUFF. You don't need a full 360 on the arms.
The too-charming-for-this-STUFF Jacob and his aubergineckerchief.
Splat interrupted...after a careful Dodge product placement.
Maybe save the cube-poo rage face for someone who didn't just save your lady's life.
Frosty day eye.
Poetry appreciation? Left the coffeemaker on? Brow physically weighed down by four pounds of pomade? Who can say/cares?
In which Donna's hair, skin, and dress all clash with one another, and the cleavern clashes with our corneas.
Hashtag Team Phyllis.
Movies comma movies comma movies!!!
We missed you guys.
Easy, Lord Nostril. ...Well, unless you're aiming this flare-athon at your estranged wife's pointless tendrilling of an already-fuggo updo, in which case we will allow it.
Mannequin III: STUFF.
Bring back the Sanders grin. Please. Boo-boo-kitty sad Sanders voice is not for us.
This saggy-boobed wardrobe sabotage sponsored by Lanz Of Sagsburg.
The princess and her court.
"But ya are, Blanche -- YA ARE!" ...Goddamn, they really hate Garth. What do they even call that hiddy lipstick shade -- "The Donald"?
HOW ARE THESE TWO BOTH STILL SO SMUG.
The happiest, and cutest, they've looked all season.