Finally, let me just say that The O.C. is REALLY starting to affect me emotionally. Emotionally? ... 'emotionally', that's not the word I'm thinking of ... what's it called? What's it called when your pants feel a little tight? Erectionally! The O.C. is really starting to affect me ERECTIONALLY.
Starting to?
All right, that's enough out of you! Look, this whole Will She/Won't She fall back off the wagon thing ... I can't take it! What happens the NEXT time, when Seth DOESN'T come walking through the door at the exact moment Kirsten's about to forfeit her ... what chip is she on? 3 months? I don't remember, who cares? The point is, Sandy, HOW can you disappoint this woman? After all she's meant to the family! Shame, Sandy, SHAME.
And speaking of Seth, don't think YOU'RE getting off easy just because you might've had a bit of fortunate timing with your mom's alcoholistic-tendencies during periods of internal crisis! So many lies, Seth, SO many lies! How far would you go to ensure Summer goes to Brown? Give up comic books? Sell out Ryan? Melt down Captain Oats for plastic hot dog ingredients?
This whole thing's got me topsy turvy. I know a guy that graduated in my class who went to Brown. I've never talked to him in my life ever, but his name was on our school's sign outside the campus, right underneath the "Have A Great Summer!" However, should I ever get the chance to talk to what's-his-name, I'm sure he'd tell me that Brown isn't all it's cracked up to be. That Rhode Island University is just as good, with a comparable fine arts program and a robust three-wing gymnasium full of rowing machines, medicine balls, and two (count 'em TWO) weight benches with the 20-pound bars - not to mention the 150 pounds worth of additional weight to add on. You'll be a varitable Hollywood Dave Hogan; a real Ronald Schwarzenegger when you're through with your two years of schooling (three for the masters).
So, OK, NOW is it cool for me to wish I was Ryan Atwood? (by the way, I really enjoyed that part in the bar where that chick was all - "Don't tell anyone that you're not 21" and all I could think about was, "Really don't think there's any chance of anyone confusing THAT GUY of being under 21); let's look at the tally. He comes from Chino, so there's at least 137 chicks right there. Then Marissa, then he knocked up Theresa (who was really hot until she got all preggos on us), then he almost had Red Head, I think there were a couple of skanks all over him somewhere in here, like back in the first season when Marissa went and did Luke after she caught him almost hitting some tail in the Pool House, then back to Marissa for reals this time, then Sadie, and now Albuquerque Girl. Now I know why Bugs Bunny kept making that right turn at Alburquerque ... thems some FOXES over there! You better BELIEVE we're stopping in at a shitty diner on our road trip, Kon, that's all there is to it! Kon can ask the 40 year old alcoholic waitresses if they want to be with a real BIG man; and I'll ask the superfine 20-something waitresses if they want to go outside and check out my hog. When we get out there and she realizes there's no motorcycle, I'll just whip out my penis and she'll be all, "How many miles to the gallon do you get on this thing?" And I'll be all, "Well, I don't know ... no one's ever lasted that long ... you got about 47 hours to kill?" And she'll be all, "Steve, I'm going to tell ALL the fly honeys about you and your massive girth ... and look, it tastes like fruit roll ups!" True story. Or, at least, it WILL be ...
First of all, let me just say this: Why does Marissa have to ruin a good time? I mean, that look in Rachel's eyes (when her eyelids were pried open by a thumb and index finger) TOTALLY said that she wanted it in the back of a van! Those guys were just being accomodating to her needs. She NEEDED to get some sex, and she also needed to sleep! You're trying to tell me that, just because they didn't want to disturb her restful slumber, for some cockamaymie reason THEY'RE the bad guys?
I for one am outraged. I thought Marissa was a swinger, you know? I figured, hey, the more the merrier, and she'd strip down, say, "Come on Steve, I want you inside me," and then she'd reach her hand through the television, take hold of mine, and drag me into the O.C. world where I've instantly transformed into an 18 year old with washboard abs, a full head of blonde-brown hair (no redheaded guys allowed on The O.C.), and the cock size even Captain Oats would be intimidated by. Then, once I'm finished punishing Marissa for an hour and a half, bringing her to 78 consecutive orgasms, I'll grab the latest issue of "Newport Living" and head over to the nearest shitter, where my 30-minute poop will be punctuated with a jerk-session to Julie Cooper-Nichol on the cover for the 50th consecutive month